stalker! party of three!

OH MY GAWWWWWWWD!1!11!!

I am so overwhelmed with joy right now I don’t even know where to begin. My fingers are paralysed with excitement and have almost forgotten how to do typey times. No cute little butterflies in Kiki’s tummy. Oh no. My stomach has been over taken by giant radioactive moths with the attitude of Samuel L Jackson in every movie he’s ever made. Motherfucker moths!

Thanks to The Newest Manly Fan Lozzy alerting us to the event, today Sassy, Marlo and I purchased tickets for his tres important and illustrious tribute dinner. ZOMG WE ARE REALLY GOING. As a trio we have already experienced much success socialising in the football sphere, and we hope to be just as personable this time around. We pray Gordon Tallis attends so we can do the Hustle again. Bitch has the moves.

Aaaaah, memories.

Sadly for all involved I think it’s a sit down dinner. I was hoping for a buffet. For two reasons….a)the endless amount of Beaver Buffet jokes to be made and b) so I could shoot the breeze with Alan Jones over the omelette station.

Oh god oh god oh GOD. Deepest apologies to Our Lord but I don’t know how to cope with such excitement without blaspheming constantly. Soz big guy! But you see, a lifelong dream of mine is about to come true. I am about to meet the Beaver.STEVE FREAKING MENZIES PEOPLE.

Okay readers, a bit of explanation is in order. We have indeed covered the ageless awesomeness that is The Beaver in previous posts, but I have yet to fully explain my obsession with him. It’s something so intrinsic to my Kikiness that I just couldn’t casually drop it into something as insignificant as a game recap. This shit needs it’s own post. Oh yeh, it’s that important.

Steve Menzies was my first Real Crush. The year was 1995 and I was 14 years old. At the time most teenage girls were obsessed with Devon Sawa and obsessively buying TV Hits for new posters of him. Not me. I was the weirdo clad in a blues jersey with Menzies across the back (thanks Peter Wynn!) scarily pestering the newsagent…HAS THE NEW RUGBY LEAGUE WEEK COME OUT YET…FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TELL ME!!

I don’t remember when I first started crushing on Steve. Obviously at some point I saw something in him and thought ‘this is the man for me’. Maybe it was the headgear. Or the fearless way he would run at the line and miraculously break through scoring a trillion tries a season. Regardless of its origins, my Steve Menzies crush personifies the mid 90s for me. Just for the record, unlike my slutty peers I was generally unimpressed by actual boys. I just wasn’t interested in ‘going for walks’ in the bushland during house parties. I’M WAITING FOR STEVE THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

(Obviously things changed once I discovered alcohol but lets leave that for another blog shall we?)

I still don’t know exactly what it is about Beaver that makes me go SQUEEEEEE. He just does. I can’t explain it and I think thats part of the joy. But oh, the drama. Teenaged me did not take kindly to anyone speaking ill of him in my presence. The amount of rubbish pick up I did at school directly related to Steve Menzies incidents is kind of shameful. However….I still maintain ‘accidentally’ pushing a boy down the stairs for saying Beaver is over rated is PERFECTLY REASONABLE. I mean broken ankles heal right?

And lets not even start on the Steve related fights I had with my mother. Unsuprisingly she wasn’t a massive fan of me permanently scarring the walls with Blutak with my myriad of Beaver posters. Bedroom okay, but Kiera do we really need them in the loungeroom? Errr yes mother we do. We also need them stuck to the windows so Beaver faces outwards into the street because our neighbours need to know how much he means to me.

On more than one occasion I remember storming out of the room crying I HATE YOU MUM!!! HE DOES NOT HAVE A BIG NOSE.ITS JUST PROMINENT!! *slams door*

As time progressed my crush dissipated into almost nothing but a sentimental ‘awww I used to love him!’ type deal. I thought this was the case until I ran a certain Mick Monaghan in a fine Manly establishment a few years ago. He announced that I had ‘schmick pins’ and ‘excellent definition in the calves’ (thanks Mick, it’s the pilates) and then casually I told him about my teenage Steve Menzies obsession. He responded by getting out his mobile and saying ‘hey look! I’ll call him now you can speak to him!’ then dialled his number.

I FROZE. My hands at my mouth, my eyes widened in terror. I think my knees even buckled. I CANT TALK TO HIM….WHAT WHAT WHAT….WHAT WOULD I SAY? OH MY GODGODGOSL;IHSFKHG!!! You know what they say about flight or fight? I chose flight. I turned on the spot and fleed to the safety of the bathroom (how very SBW of me). I’m fairly sure I stayed there for the next 20 minutes trying desperately to stop shaking. I spent the rest of the night trying to avoid Mick and his mobile of terror.

Suffice to say, my Steve Menzies crush is still very much in effect. If any of you are also attending the dinner, I’ll be the girl in the fetal position under the table.