Violent crime

Once again high heels have caused me a great deal of trouble. Last night I went to the Melbourne Uni commerce ball at the Docklands, that lovely event everyone lined up for overnight. Overall the night went splendidly as I spent it being one of the only sober people and only getting two drinks poured on me. Success. I did have a tiny diva tantrum when the first drink was splashed over my favourite shoes along with broken glass but I slapped myself in the face and got over it.

The night went by fairly uneventfully with a few people stacking in on the dance floor, a creepy camera guy zooming in on girl’s butts while it was projected on a large screen and the serving of a very interesting mystery meat for dinner. I didn’t drink as much as last time either so the ability to see was an unexpected surprise. Those who know me would know I’m not the biggest party animal in the world and would rather spend a night in on the couch than go out drinking till 4am...generally because I get sleepy at about 11 or 12 and start dozing off....at clubs. I’m just lucky my mum has enough money to keep paying people to take me out and be my friends.

All was going great until the ball ended at midnight, at which point my carriage turned into a pumpkin and the horses turned back into mice. Ok not really, but what actually happened included torrential rains and misleading bus drivers. The after party was set to be at Prince as it was the year prior with buses apparently waiting outside ready to take us there. When we got to the buses, we were sent away, told that it was the bus for Monash students going to Tramp. Because of this, we went on an adventure in our tiny dresses through the rain to find a cab. Eventually we found one with a club photographer in it on his way to Eve so we jumped in with him. After finding out our jobs paid less than half of his, we finally arrived at Prince freezing our butts off and feeling less than stunning. This is the venue where I would later be carried out of in a great deal of pain.

15 minutes into the afterparty, shit went down. We were all dancing when a young lady lost her footing and began to fall from a step. On her way down she stood on my foot in her sky high stilettos, twisting hard as she fell. Don’t worry, she was fine, my foot on the other hand was not. I don’t usually swear much because my voice is really high pitched so it just sounds odd so when I do, you know something is serious. I yelled the f-word out for a total of ten seconds before limping away to the bathroom. As soon as I got in there, I sat down to check out the damage. Already my foot had swollen with a lump the size of a golf ball just above the toes on my left foot. I didn’t even realise I’d sat next to my friend Jacinta but thank the holy mother of Jesus that I did. After 20 seconds of trying to be a big girl I burst into tears with the most excruciating pain I’d ever felt finally becoming too much.

Many girls came and went through that bathroom, all with an empathy I knew all too well. I’ve been stood on multiple times but nothing like this. I was offered ice and water but no alcohol. At that stage I was in need of a whole bottle of tequila, regretting my foolish decision not to drink in the first place. Soon my wailing was becoming too much for my friends so they decided it was time to make a move. They pushed through the crowd hoisting me off the ground while screaming “SHE HAS A BROKEN FOOT, GET THE F*$#K OUT OF THE WAY!” Finally I was down the stairs and in a private room getting fed nurofen while my foot was up on top of a table. At that point, all I wanted was my mummy. The call to her went like this:

Me (while balling my eyes out): Mum, someone stood on my foot in a stiletto, I think it’s broken

Mum: Are you drunk?

Me: No mum, I’m unfortunately sober and my foot is broken. I need you to come get me.

Mum: Who are you meant to be going home with?

Me: The Brighton girls. Mum-

Mum: What time are they leaving?

Me: I don’t know! You are not understanding the gravity of the situation! My foot is broken! I need you to come get me!

Mum: Ok, ok I’m coming.

I later found out my mum thought I was kidding. What kind of person calls their mum when they’re drunk and says they have a broken foot? More like who calls their mum when they’re drunk in general? Long story short, I went to the hospital, got pushed around in a wheelchair, got an x-ray and was told it wasn’t actually broken but just a chipped bone. I feel bad for my poor friends and my mum who had to put up with me whinging. The entire time I was in hospital, all I complained about was how I would have to wear a boot or worse, have to wear crutches. My mum also asked me if I punched the girl. Such a good role model.

In conclusion, until last night there was nothing heels could do to make me think about them in a poor light. I’m not quite willing to hang my pairs up just yet but I do think I’ll take more care when dancing with drunk girls...or take knuckle dusters next time I go out.

Cinderella didn’t lose her glass slipper waiting in line

Yesterday I had the delightful experience of lining up for a university ball. This one in particular was the Melbourne University commerce ball, which I attended last year but skipped the line up. This line up goes for around 26 hours and 33 minutes ish. Basically, tickets go on sale on the Monday morning and there are 75 tables to be snapped up so all these people begin lining up in the wee hours of Sunday morning to camp out in the hopes of going to the ball. My group of friends were luckily enough to get the 11th spot in the line, with dreams that next year they’ll be number one.


I arrived at a casual 4:00 in the afternoon to meet two of my friends who were on their shift. It literally looked like a campsite....minus the grass. People had tents, speakers and fold out chairs to go with the large amount of beer they were consuming. My friends, however, had set up camp with none of these things...just chips. Whoever said girls don’t eat clearly hasn’t met my friends and I. So while we sat around, I brought out the bible AKA Cosmopolitan magazine. I literally think you can learn how to have sex just by reading that magazine. Some of my favourite quotes include “Is it weird if I squirt liquid from my vagina when I orgasm?” and “be a pants-down winner between the sheets”. Thanks to Cosmo, many things have been opened: many magazines, the world of sex and lots of women’s legs. Love it.

As loud as us girls are, it was inevitable that a nearby boy would become engrossed in our conversations on how to make sure your man arrives second and why guys are attracted to skanks. Before I could even finish my sentence asking this boy if he wanted to borrow our magazine, he had already let out a squeal of a yes and snatched it from my outstretched hand. Eager beaver.

We then started telling drunk stories...generally about my lovely friend Anna. This girl is a veteran of the line and decided she would drink when she did it last year. This resulted in her stacking it multiple times and just being generally a class act. My favourite part of the reminiscing of this story was when the random boys sitting near us starting adding to the story, saying they remember these incidents happening last year and more. I think that’s when you realise it’s gone too far, when a random stranger you’ve never seen remembers you from a whole year ago. I’ve never been so proud.

I’ve also discovered my humour consists of sarcasm and throwing in the odd “your dad didn’t think so last night when I was in his bed” joke after someone insults me. Is that what I’ve become? I myself find these jokes hilarious, but only secretly snigger on the inside while tumble weeds roll past as the sound of crickets rings in my ears.

As immature as my sense of humour is, I can’t ignore the fact that today I’m still in my pj’s sniffling and chowing down on vitamin c. How is it that I get an intense cold from staying outside in the cold for four hours? My other friends weren’t wearing nearly as much clothing as me AND they were staying overnight yet I seem to be the one on my death bed. I need a new immune system. Pronto. I feel like I’m a hundred years old and I’m just waiting for my great great grandkids to bring me a get well card. Looks like I’ve reached senescence at the age of 19, what a joy!