Pairs well with: "Ain't Even Done With the Night" by John Mellencamp
and "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers
and "Hold On, We're Going Home" by Drake
and "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers
and "Hold On, We're Going Home" by Drake
It was 1989. December 31, 1989, to be exact. New Year's Eve.
We took off for the evening, about 14 or 15 of us piled in to Casey's silver Camry, but not without making a quick pit stop at the Corner Pack mini-mart for the night's necessities. I purchased a six-pack of Miller Genuine Draft long-neck bottles and a pack of Camel Lights (I've never denied my nickname, Fancy Girly Diva Kimmie, a day in my life!). I don't remember who belonged to what, but I clearly remember more than one bottle of Boone's Farm being bought as well as some Bud Ice tall boy cans. No one can say we weren't ready to have some fun!
We arrived at the site of the so-called "Party of the Year!" only to find an empty driveway, locked doors & a darkened house. What?! I don't remember exactly how we found out what happened since we did not have cell phones way back then, but the only thing I can presume is that another car full of eager teenagers drove up, too, and we all chatted about what to do next.
What to do next ended up being a quick drive across town to another party. No big deal. It was just going to be a minor change of scenery. The par-tay was still ON!
Alan drove us safely across town to the new party site and we all hopped out of the Camry and proceeded to gather - with the rest of our friends & Mandeville High Skippers -- in the empty lot across the street from the house where the party was happening. I quickly found out that the house was the party site for grown-ups; all teenagers/delinquents/party-crashers were to stick around the lot and ring in the new year under its shady oak trees and low-hanging moss. Again, no big deal. We were all together. I was feeling cooler than humanly possible as I high-stepped through the grass and sticks and leaves clutching my six-pack, cigarette lit in mouth. C O O L R I D E R.
I soon became engrossed in a conversation with a few friends about Bon Jovi's new album or Reebok high tops or something extremely important, because I was completely oblivious to the minor traffic jam happening out on the street in front of the party house. Apparently the grown-ups were pretty popular, too, and had quite the crowd coming to ring in 1990 here on the lakefront in Mandeville.
I twisted off the top on yet another Miller longneck, lit a Camel cig & was just saying, "I know Jani Lane is cute when he sings 'Cherry Pie' with his band Warrant, but have you seen that gorgeous model that's in the video?" when I felt a presence near my right side. I'm going to assume it's similar to that feeling that ghost chasers or spirit searchers experience when they come into contact with a force that's bigger & badder than anything they've ever witnessed before.
I finished my monologue on my favorite video vixens and happened to glance to my right. I needed to see what the presence was and/or what the hell all of my friends were staring at with mouths wide open and eyes bugging out of their heads.
The presence to my right was none other than Pam Crimmins, my mother. THE self-appointed Southeastern U.S. Director of the FBI. She and her stealth-like ability to fight crime (or bust your underage teenager drinking & smoking) had caused the traffic jam out on the street.
Without even thinking I dropped both my beer and my cigarette and cheerfully embraced my mom like she was a long-lost friend I hadn't seen in forever and was super excited to be reunited with after all this time. She did not, in any way, reciprocate my enthusiasm for the unplanned meeting. She also didn't have to say a word, but she did. And that was that I needed to take my @#$! to the car where my poor, hard-working father who just wanted a nice night out was waiting.
Ah, the car. The car is another story in itself. It was an old black two-door Chevy Chevette that my dad picked up for a hundred bucks. That's right, the bargain price of $100. He bought it on the premise that I'd learn to drive a stick shift and it would be my car to get around town. I had taken drivers ed, as He & Mom required, and had a job that would help pay for gas and air fresheners and Armor All to shine up the faux leather seats. It was the perfect solution to my endless requests (BEGGING) for my own car.
Despite my many attempts at driving the itty bitty car, I failed miserably at maneuvering the stick shift. My father is the epitome of patience and calmness; however, even I tested his limits while trying to conquer the Chevette. He wasn't going to just give up, though (No Way!), and admit this major purchase was in vain; instead, he decided that he liked the car enough that HE'D start driving it. Yep, my Pop, an outside salesman driving around town in a 5 speed Chevy Chevette with an AM/FM radio that was pitiful, no cruise control and manual locks & windows that squeaked like hell when you tried to roll them down (thankfully, there were only 2 windows, though!).
So, back to the story.
Of course it was.
While Mom was yelling and reprimanding my friends I climbed in the back seat of the Chevette. Dad didn't speak a word. I closed my eyes and leaned back, hoping beyond all hopes that this was a bad dream or, at least, that I was hallucinating from the beer & nicotine & adrenaline combination. As I leaned back I realized (or felt) that the pack of Camel Lights were still in my front jeans pocket. Holy hell?! I had to get rid of them. And quick. I slowly pulled them from my pocket and leaned up and out (remember this is a two-door vehicle, so the front seat just sorta folded forward and I had climbed in to the back seat) and dropped the pack out on the street. Whew. Gone was the evidence. I leaned back, grinning with the thrill of the smallest victory possible, and closed my eyes praying this nightmare would end soon. When I opened my eyes, there before me -- as in, touching my nose and eyelashes -- was the pack of cigarettes. Mom, FBI agent extraordinaire, found them as she was getting in the car. And instead of holding them for later interrogation, she decided to put them as close to my face as possible and ask, "Are these YOUR cigarettes, Kimberly?" (sidenote: my legal/given name isn't even Kimberly, it's simply Kim. That's when you know your ass is in trouble BIG TIME).
Mom & Dad drove in silence straight to Stephanie's house. That's where we had gotten ready and where I was supposed to be spending the night. We marched right up to the door, Mom declared to Steph's mom what a menace to society I was, grabbed my stuff (which, most importantly, was the Caboodle that held my purple mascara, bright blue eyeliner and mood lipstick) and headed home. All of this was still LONG before midnight.
Once home I don't remember much except for the torment that a waterbed offers an intoxicated, scared 98 lb teenage girl. H E L L. I kept one foot on the ground all night as I rocked and moved and rode the waves in that effing waterbed that I absolutely HAD to have. That night I hated it with all my heart. Happy #$%@!$# New Year!
At some point I crashed (passed out) before the ball even dropped and didn't wake up until New Year's Day when Kelly, my little sister, was banging on my door begging me to let her in. "I'm on your side, Kim!" was all she kept repeating. With that type of bargaining effort, I couldn't turn her down. Once inside my chamber, amongst the posters of Dan Marino & Roger Clemens and the Nerf basketball hoop hung on the outside of my closet door and the purple jam box that had a dual cassette player, she announced that Mom was really upset. DUH. This is what I let you in for?! Pretty much everyone in Mandeville, even those who weren't at the party last night, but had heard the news before the new year rang in -- knew that!
I was going to have to meet my maker. I had no choice.
I walked out of my room and down the long hall towards the kitchen & dining room. I knew that's where Mom would be since she was big on the typical New Year's tradition of cooking cabbage & black-eyed peas for money & good luck.
As I walked in to the dining room/kitchen area, I immediately saw Mom stirring pots on the stove, noticed Dad in the living room watching football, Klink (our overweight dachshund who wouldn't get his fat ass up off his bed until food was served) was laying by Dad's feet and Kelly was by my side. OK, this wasn't so bad. Life was going on and maybe, just maybe, everyone could forget about last night's mishap. But then I glanced over at the dining room table. And there they were. Plain as day, for all the world to see. There, on the formally set table, with bread plates and water glasses and salad forks and butter dishes - on MY place setting, the seat where I always sat, my entire damn life - were the Camel Lights precisely placed on my dinner plate. Waiting for me.
Mom proceeded to fix everyone's plate except mine. Everyone sat down and started eating, except me. I was sitting down at the table, but I obviously wasn't eating since I didn't know what the hell to do with the Camel Lights?! But, I wasn't going to just give in quite yet. Especially since Mom hadn't said a word all morning. Not a word. Just ask my dad -- that had NEVER HAPPENED -- not before and never, ever since!
So, I sat there and just stared ahead waiting for someone to give me permission to move the cigarettes and get some food. I could clearly use some cornbread to soak up those Miller Genuine Drafts (but I was NOT going to say that out loud to Pam Crimmins, that's for sure!).
And that's when Mom started crying. Weeping in her cole slaw, peas & rice, smothered cabbage and buttered cornbread. Snotting before too long, actually. As I sat there, wide-eyed & wondering what the hell was going on?!
Then Mom slowly reached over, picked up the Camel Lights, held them up to me and asked, very loudly, pitifully, and in between obnoxious sobs and ridiculous snots, "Kim, I just need to know, are these marijuana cigarettes?"
Kind readers, I have to tell you I've never seen my Dad move so fast in all my life. He pushed his chair back from the table and took off squealing with laughter after Mom asked that oh-so-serious question.
My immediate response, although not taken well at all, was "You clearly have a lot of confidence in me if you think I'm capable of rolling almost 20 joints with little paper that has miniature camels on it." Needless to say that answer didn't suffice. I had to promise and pinky-swear and guarantee with sugar on top that they were indeed just plain old boring Camel Lights.
And then I finally ate. But not without Mom saying out loud, for everyone to hear, that I definitely needed to get myself an extra scoop of the good luck food. How original.
- BTW, Dad eventually returned to the table and finished his dinner. Mom was pissed at him for the rest of the day for laughing at her.
- Kelly probably got drunk most weekends during her high school days, but after my run-in with the folks -- they never gave her hell about anything.
- I got punished for two weeks. No phone or weekend nights out. And, I think I got a standing ovation when I walked in to school the first Monday after the holidays when everyone saw me & realized that I had survived the scariest encounter known to a teenager: The Big Bust!
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