Let me say, for the record, I do not believe in being 'unlucky' when referring to life. In a game of cards? Yes you can be unlucky. In life? No. Are you breathing? Are you alive? Well you are lucky. Even if you feel sad, depressed, unloved or even unlucky, remember, that is life. And you are great! Don't say your life is cursed and you are unlucky for I believe there is no such thing.
There is also a slight essence of clicheness woven into this story. It is about a teenager so what kind of book would it be if there was not a slight bit of clicheness and stereotypical debates to urge it along??? :)
But let us push all that aside and enjoy this story. I hope you enjoy it and find Oscar's misfortunes as amusing as others.
Love you my marshmellows and enjoy :)
-rhi
Chapter 1
My story started on New Years Eve.
New Years Eve is one of 'those events'. Well it is in our families calandar.
It is one of those events where we invite family, friends, workmates and people who we need to invite because otherwise we wouldn't hear the end of it untill next year. It is one of those events where you see your family and then don't see them again until next event, which in our case at the moment, would be Australia Day.
Everyone brings one of those platters because they are 'good guests'. It was a shame that they all seemed to have the same idea. You could see the tables bowing under the weight of the following four platters;
a) Starter snacks. Ranging from olives, cheeses, crackers and spreads.
b) Slight variations of salads ranging from garden salads right through to potato salads.
c) So much meat and chops and sausages and kebabs.
d) Desserts. I'm talking 17 different flavour cheesecakes, all the flavours of jelly under the sun, 8 different flavour cakes (2 of them chocolate) and 3 mousses.
And always crammed at the end of the table would be those fucking brilliant little dinner roles, that mum would cook in the oven and then cram full of butter so it was like eating a doughy croissont.
And lets not forget the punch.
Yeah. You know what kind of event I'm talking about.
We had not seen our family since Boxing Day (where Uncle Peter got in a punch up with Uncle Jack because Uncle Jack turned the sausages and Uncle Peter didn't like the arrangement. I mean all Uncle Jack did was flip the fucking sausages!) We always hosted New Years Eve mainly because we had the best pool and the biggest living room so we could all fit in and scream the countdown.
Before everyone arrived, Dad stalks around in his thongs and bintang singlet with faded shorts and complains about having to see his brother and sister-in-law again so soon. The complaints are always the same.
"Their kids are feral, out of control!"
And mum would reply, "I know hun, calm down. It is only for a while."
And then Dad would crack a nice solid Dad joke, "He is going to be here until next year" (and right on que my younger brother, Josh, would burst out laughing and yell out "good one dad!"
And dad would continue.
"All Bob brags about is how much money he made this year."
"He always parks dead bang smack in the middle of the driveway"
"He always gets to drunk!"
"He fucking sucks at Karioke but he thinks he is like the next fucking Led Zepplin"
(Dad is obsessed with the 'classics')
And the ranting would continue until around 4 in the afternoon when the first guests would start arriving, placing their cheap ass platters on the tables set up and make there way outside to join the growing throng.
As the time ticked around to 6, Mum started yelling at Josh and I from up the hallway telling us to put on our swimming gear and start entertaining the minors before they ate all the starter platters and drank all the punch.
Josh thought this was his time to shine. He would jam himself into bright yellow boardies, cover himself with sunscreen and then, I tell no lie, would go screaming down the hallway like a fucking banshee before bombing into the pool sending tidlewaves towards our guests. And this year was no different.
I slowly followed out, ignoring the groans as the guests wringed out their singlets and hats while Josh would yell out greetings to all his favourite relatives while rapidly humping a sad looking blow-up dolphin.
I would calmly greet each relative, like I did every year because can I just say I am the fucking dream child in my relatives eyes (my parents often argue that point) and the clear favourite from the more mature of our social circle. I got along a lot better with the old farts, drinking coffee and playing cards then playing fucking, see-who-can-summon-the-biggest-burp competitions that our cousins played, hosted, obviously, by our very only Josh Daves.
But no matter how much I tried to convince my parents that letting me mingle with the adults was a good idea they would protest and force me to join in on all of Josh's favourite games.
This year as I slowly slipped into the water, I watched as a giant game of, underwater-wrestling unfurled. I half-heartedly joined in, losing every time due to Josh always partnering me up with our 17 year old Rugby superstar cousin (who happened to be Bob's son, much to Dad's disgust.) The game ended with a bang, when Allie managed to give Carlos a blood nose after sending an underwater king hit into the back of the head. Mum squawked and got Carlos some tissues and an icepack while he sat in one of the deck chairs, wrapped in four towels, blubbering like a baby even though he was 13 and sucking on a icey pole.
Josh turned on some music, while Mum attended to Carlos's war wounds. Some Kanye West at his Kanye Best as Dad liked to say was cranking out of the speakers. Dad, even though sported the whole 'teenage music sucks' morals, struggled to stop shaking what his mumma gave him while Kanye rapped shit through our SONY speakers. Mum on the other hand looked less then impressed with our style of music. She drew the line when Eminem came on, every second word being a naughty one. She yelled as Josh for influcing our cousin's minds and 'brainwashing' them to support 'such garbage.' Mum banned music and carried the docking station inside, hiding it in her wardrobe which was seriously off limits.
Without music the night dragged on. It got slightly interesting when Dad and his best mate Ken tried to see who could piss the futherest and Bob tried to show off his talents by aiming his dingledongle at an empty beer bottle and getting every drop in but it resulted in his weewee bouncing off the sides and spraying the pavement and some feet of people standing to close. But the real highlight of the night came around at about 10, when my godmother, Teresa, pulled out 3 tubs of giant sandwiches she had made that day.
Now if there is one food that I would marry it would be Aunt Teresa's homemade giant sandwiches. Everytime we went to their place or they came to ours it was mutually decided that the giant sandwiches would be made fresh and eaten that same night. But tonight was the first night I blame the giant sandwiches.
As it neared the countdown, the family slowly dwindled in, drunk out of their brains and singing really loud. Dad yelled at Grant Denyer who was one of the hosts for the channel 7 live broadcast of the Sydney fireworks. Grant Denyer got called all the names under the sun but he didn't seem to hurt by it all. I began to feel really sick in the stomach and the crowded room along with the smell of alcohol and food was not making me feel any better.
And there I was, standing in the middle of the crowd, trying to hold down dinner.
You know how at the start I said that my story began there?? Well I didn't know what else to write but my story actually started on the first second of the New Year. Oh yes. As the countdown ticked down, the 7 giant sandwiches I ate ticked up. This year I didn't yell Happy New Year with the guests.
Oh no this year I threw up all over everyone in a 3 people radius of me and sparked the beginning of my unlucky year.
