Boxed wine, Doc Martins, Braces, and an RV

3 Jun

Hologram Doc Martins, yellow plaid pants, white wife beater, braces, acne, body resembling a twig, short boy hair cut my mother convinced me would be a good idea: welcome to my fourteenth year.

Twas the year a ouija board saved me from severe punishment.

Let me explain.

My friend Monica and I convinced her mother to let us throw a slumber party in the vacant RV sitting in their driveway.  Her mother thought we wanted to feel like we were camping, but in reality we had discovered the stash of boxed wine kept in the garage, and desired the proper venue to explore the joys of drinking alcoholic grape juice from a spout in peace.

Sophistication and class have clearly been with me from the onset of my adult personality-as nothing quite screams those traits like an RV and boxed wine.

In addition to acquiring the proper ‘hotspot’ for such a party-we also ached for a place we could invite the two boys across the street over so as to fully showcase our hip and all-knowing ways of the party scene.

They were skater boys.  One of them even had a tattoo, and the other one could play guitar WHILE flipping his long grunge-inspired locks out of those piercing blue eyes.  He was two years older, he was a bad-ass, and he and his friend were most definitely the objects of our affections.  Butterflies flew in my stomach the one and only time he had grinned and me and told me I had a cool name.

Monica and I were fairly certain that enough interaction with the two would eventually lead to true love. But first we had to prove our coolness in order to turn their pupils into tiny pink hearts whenever they gazed upon our subtle yet hip nature.

I’m fairly certain we paced in front of their open garage watching them tune guitars and smoke cigarettes for a good twenty minutes before gathering the courage to walk in and invite them to the party.  Monica did most of the talking, as I was too busy contemplating the oversized studded cuff on my wrist and blushing to manage more than a simple hello.  Though I did chime in to confirm that yes-there would be alcohol in the RV, and yes, she and I would like it if the two of them would show up at around midnight and give a little knock on the door.

I’m sure they thought I was mute, but I was so excited my palms were sweaty and I couldn’t believe that simply telling these two sixteen year old boys that we had boxed wine got them to smile at us like that.  Who knew that alcohol and girls were all boys needed?

There is a naivety to being fourteen that once lost, can never be regained.  But I digress.

At ten o’clock that evening Monica and I decided it would be safe to each have a glass of wine just to take the edge off.  While sipping the warm juice we also agreed to consult the ouija board on any and all love prospects that were likely to occur from inviting the rebel boys over for drinks.

Later on, the boys arrived, drinking occurred, and all eighty-five pounds of me passed out at the table.

The ouija board remained sitting on the formica table until seven oclock the next morning, when I woke up to the sight of Monica’s mother as she walked past the cheap window of the RV.  I could hear her shrill, excited voice chatting with what sounded like an army of suburban mothers and a herd of rumbling mini-van engines.

Unbeknown to us, she had decided to host a garage sale that morning.

Unbeknown to her, there were two very hungover teenage boys sleeping in the RV mere feet from her junk-sale.

Monica and the two boys were in the bed, hungover amidst the carnage of sleeping bags and spilled cheap wine.  I was just piecing together the deep conversation about song lyrics from the night before that I had so desperately tried to look cool in when the door to the RV swung open.  Standing there with one hand on her hip and a huge smile, Monica’s mother yelled out:


The board had been the only thing her eyes had settled on, and to my complete and total relief she was so furious about it that she slammed the door in my face while sreaming: ‘MONICA, I NEED TO SEE YOU IN THE KITCHEN THIS INSTANT!!’

It was fortunate really, because while Monica dry-heaved waves of stale boxed wine in the kitchen as her mother ranted on about the devil’s magic, I was able to successfully usher the two boys out of the RV and back from the depths of grunge-guitarism from whence they came.

Standing in the RV after they left, I grabbed the ouija board, threw it in my backpack, laced up my Doc Martins, and waited at the sale for my own mother to come pick me up.

My mother didn’t care about the ouija board, but had Monica’s mother discovered the two hormones masquerading as boys in the bed-I am not sure I would have survived to see fifteen.


18 Responses to “Boxed wine, Doc Martins, Braces, and an RV”

  1. Gnetch June 3, 2010 at 4:04 pm #

    Haha! Memories. I can imagine the reaction your friend’s mom had after seeing that. 🙂

  2. Just B. June 3, 2010 at 5:09 pm #

    I was laughing out loud imaging this whole thing go down. Then stopped mid-laughter and thought “Waittt… Grungy boys, cheap alcohol, severe hangover… This doesn’t really differ much from my life now.”


    • wanderingmenace June 3, 2010 at 5:13 pm #

      just remember, in the dream I had-we were drinking with SUCCESSFUL athletes, NOT grungy boys in garage bands

      • wanderingmenace June 3, 2010 at 5:17 pm #

        p.s. I cannot believe I was able to find the exact image of those damn shoes on google.

  3. Man-shopper June 3, 2010 at 11:27 pm #

    The retelling of this story was even better than the first.

    Also, now I am craving boxed wine.

    Thanks a heap, Ryan. Where am I going to find boxed wine at Logan Airport??

    • wanderingmenace June 4, 2010 at 8:28 am #

      We have had far too much great wine in Paris for you to be craving boxed wine, though I’ll give you that you’re in the best country for it at the moment.
      Shame on you, shame!
      But if you must, just order wine at any of the airport bars. I’d be willing to bet some of the ‘house’ specials come out of boxes.

  4. Courtney June 4, 2010 at 1:21 am #

    Now this is the perfect story to share with Jami while she’s drinking wine. That’s when I usually divulge some of my more interesting adolescent experiences with my mom. She handles them better that way. 🙂

    • wanderingmenace June 4, 2010 at 8:29 am #

      Yes I believe that is how I originally divulged this tale to both of my parents during one of the infamous Christen Christmas European Dinner Disasters.
      A good ten years had passed, so I was in the clear.

  5. S.I.F. June 4, 2010 at 7:09 am #

    That is insane!! Oh my gosh, you lucked out so much! Ha! I miss the days of sneaking boys around! 🙂

    • wanderingmenace June 4, 2010 at 8:31 am #

      I know I still can’t believe she never bothered to venture further into the RV to find either the boys or the wine. Either would have been sufficient grounds for terminal punishment chez moi.
      Thanks for the comment! 🙂

  6. Holly Renee June 4, 2010 at 7:26 pm #

    This is an awesome story. Who knew that a ouija board really could do some good. I love that picture of the doc martins too. I remember getting my first pair of “docs” around the same age. I thought I was SSOOOO cool. LOL.

  7. Matthew June 5, 2010 at 2:28 am #

    the portal to the spirit realm saved those boys’ lives, too.

    it’s kinda weird she didn’t go any farther. ha. weird in a glad-it-saved-your-life way.

  8. Grandma Heleln June 13, 2010 at 5:25 pm #

    Ryan! You are REALLY lucky that I wasn’t there!

    • wanderingmenace November 21, 2010 at 8:59 am #

      I know Grandma, I am pretty sure I would have been in some SERIOUS trouble if you had been there.

  9. Angel June 22, 2010 at 3:14 am #

    This was awesome in such an insane way. :))

  10. ziazitella August 8, 2010 at 1:34 am #

    RV, boxed wine, wife beater…you were a fashion & pop culture guru at such a young age.

  11. L A Hunter August 18, 2010 at 6:57 am #

    Hahaha!!!! This story just absolutely lifted me out of my stranded-in-a-tiny-Cambodian-town and craving-a-burger depression. Absolutely priceless. Oh the things that happen when adolescents engage in boxed wine… I can recall my own similar story, involving boxed merlot and a police scanner. Good. Lord.

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