PARTIED LIKE IT WAS 1999

Freedom Friday was flapping wildly at me all week, because the husband and I had pulled out the big guns and secured a babysitter. It was time to dress up, go dancing, get my rock chick on and do some socialising with other adults at a bar.

Or…actually…was I meant to dress down? Was dancing still cool or were me meant to loiter loosely up the back in a dimly lit corner and nod our heads as we oozed grunge? Was I even allowed to use the word ‘cool’ anymore? Man (oops)… I was so out of depth and whilst desperately hanging out for some fun, I was also a little afraid.

For the previous month, as I had walked the kids around the hills of Coogee ~~trying to tire them out~~ getting some fresh air, I had seen loads of posters flapping off power poles advertising that the local club had got some big boys in to play. A band that…wait for it…I had actually heard of, and (after a quick google search) I even knew a few of their songs. This is big. These were not Playschool tunes or songs I made up ridiculous words to in order to get my kids to sleep. No. This was a home grown band, playing in a local venue that…and here’s the big tick…we could walk to (or even better, walk home from).

So we decided, hell yeah; we know how to rock it, we can fake the lyrics along with the best of them, we can talk or nod at each other over the noise, we got moves that these kids ain’t ever seen before…..

So we bought some tickets and then spent the week before hitting youtube to learn some lyrics, because we were all over this, right?

When Friday arrived, I was so ahead of my game that I even ordered pizza delivery online, because gone are the days of the (now so uncool) ‘you eat, you cheat’ mentality (more like the Uni days of when we couldn’t afford food AND alcohol), PLUS there were small children requiring sustenance before we hit the road. The kids were hastily fed and bathed, and though wrapped in their PJ’s, they could taste the air of something…anything…in the wind, and a little bit of wild tore through our home. The doorbell announcing the arrival of our friends was like a shot of adrenaline and bed time was absolutely not on their horizon. But speaking of bedtime, I was already feeling knackered and fast remembered that I was now in my 40’s. Though the pop of a sparkling cork still gives me the tingles, I made sure I put out the water glasses, also.

Because that’s how 40 something’s roll….apparently…

On that note, it was with a sharp intake of horror, that I had discovered earlier in the day that the tickets I purchased for a show starting at 7.30pm, was actually simply doors open; the main act wasn’t on until 10pm.

10pm I TELL YOU!

I feel tired just writing that.

Another shot of adrenaline to my kids who were already running on the fumes of their left over Halloween treats, as the doorbell rang to herald the arrival of our babysitter. Though she had never visited our house before, she was a carer at my daughter’s creche, so I was certainly comfortable having her mind our babies. But still, I was acutely aware of my tired, perhaps already ‘sparkling’ eyes, as I welcomed her to our home and showed her around. Whilst my husband ran through a few housekeeping bits and bobs, I hastily got them sorted for bed and looked suitably horrified about how much past their bedtime we had let them stay up.

Deal done.

Kids in bed. Perfume and lippy slapped on. Purse and phone (light as a damned feather without the ‘just in case of anything/everything mum bag’) and we shot out that door like the cork from the sparkling wine.

But of course, the question possibly not on your lips, but which had plagued me for a week, was, “What does one wear to see live music nowadays?” I stuck with a simple, shift, black dress. I went the safe option. I didn’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons. I wanted to stay comfortable. BUT, I will admit to making a poor choice of shoes. I wasn’t ridiculous enough to wear crazy heels, but the sparkly straps on the flats I went with were erring on the side of nearly broken; something I grew to regret by the end of the night. But that’s another story.

It was cool. Dammit; I will use that word. For a small, local, suburban venue, it felt like we were part of the gang, if not the band itself. At this point, I do have to give a shout out. This isn’t a sponsored post, it wasn’t a Mummy Muckups ‘thing’ or anything like that; we bought our tickets, BUT, if I can say, “awesome effort, guys,” on a job well done, I will. The band was Thirsty Merc (C’mon…who knows the Bondi Rescue theme song…In the Summertime..?? In your head now??), and the venue was The Bunker at Coogee Diggers; a local gym, come bistro, come swimming pool and, as I discovered, come local music venue. I finally understood the use of the term ‘intimate’ when describing a space, when I noted the band was hanging around in the crowd both before and after the show. We weren’t sardine squashed, and it felt a bit like the days of heading to the pub to see your mates band play.

We sang, and hit the high notes and fist pumped the air; and then checked our phones to see if the babysitter had messaged (which she had to say they were sound asleep) and then I even got to the point of passionate finger pointing in the air, because of course, no one waves their lighters anymore.