Sailing Able Tasman

Friday, Dec 19

Today we went on an all day sailing trip though Able Tasman national park. We woke up feeling surprisingly good, made breakfast and packed a lunch for the day and we were off. Boyfriends are leaving today…so it’ll be a quiet night in. Which we desperately need.

We get on our catamaran around 10am, which just happens to be beer o’clock. That’s right my friends, BYO sailing trip. The sun is actually shining, which is a fucking miracle in NZ and something we usually only get once every few days. Nothing too notable to tell you here. The usual shit: everything was so beautiful, blah, blah, blah. Big waves, the actual sailing part was cold, which is something you tend to forget because the prospect of being on a boat is just so appealing.

Got pretty windy...
Got pretty windy…
On a boat - where I belong
On a boat – where I belong
Happy Stina on the cat
Happy Stina on the cat
Our views for the day
Our views for the day

So since I have nothing too ridiculous story-wise, I’ll introduce you to some of our bus mates. Some are new, just joining the bus on the South Island, and some have been with us a while and I just haven’t discussed them. But since a lot of our key players hopped off in Wellington, we need to get you acquainted with some the new group:

We have the Germans. Who we refer to as “the Dick Docs” because they are actually dick doctors. Urologists, if you want the technical term. One of the poor guys actually offered that little piece of information to us, having no idea we would then use it to ridicule them endlessly. Have you boys learned nothing over the past week? FYI, we like the Dick Docs. They are fab. And hilarious. And honestly its just fun to talk in a funny German accent to them.

We have the weirdo who fondles men in bars, which I told you about in yesterday’s post. We basically spent the whole day on the boat making fun of that freak. Oh – apparently someone asked him if he was gay, you know, because he was grabbing dude’s junk, and he said no. We may have to stage a gay intervention to let him know that we are actually more aware of his sexuality than he is. I’m sure I’ll lead it. Can’t wait.

Who else…omg. The fucking storytelling photog. Another freak. This dude is from Sweden (does not look like it) and keeps interrupting people’s convo’s to tell stories. Problem: he is the worst fucking storyteller in the universe (yes, Kim Ortloff, worse than you). Not only does no one care because he’s weird, that shit never ends. Get to the punch buddy. It get’s worse. He spent the entire day on the boat taking pictures of all the girls. And I don’t mean sneaking pictures under the radar. He just walked around snapping pics of girls. I should get him an application for Girls Gone Wild cameraman. That is his calling. Fucking pathetic. Still, it get worse. This is what made me hate him on an entirely new level. His feet. They make me want to die, but I can’t stop looking. He has massive finger toes. He literally has one too many joints in each one. He could paint the fucking Cistene Chapel with those nasty litte fuckers. And he can curl them up and it LITERALLY looks like a fist. As in, a hand. I couldn’t make this nasty shit up if I tried.

There is a group of German girls who literally don’t speak. Like, ever. And they just stare at us. I have caught them staring at us like 5 times in the past few days. I’ve ruled out the fact that it’s because they think we are beautiful American goddesses. Not really getting an admiration vibe from these creep-tastic stares. And you never know with the Germans because they can be cray so I’m not sure what they are plotting. They are also fucking morons. It took them about 12 minutes to figure out how to get off the catamaran. I’ll give you a hint…it involves walking down steps, and….nope that’s it. And I was behind them, so you can probably imagine how close they came to be pushed off a boat today.

There is also a super smelly dutch girl who shall henceforth be referred to as smelly cat. She always stinks. And she is like the monkey on Family Guy, always lurking, just a sniff away. And then we have Bonnie. Oh, Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie. What the fuck are you doing on this bus? She is about 45 years old, if I’m being generous, and thankfully I’m in a good mood. She carries around a giant camera, wears soccer mom pants even though she has no children, and looks at all of us like we are the exact reasons she has decided not to procreate. However I suspect the real reason for that is the lack of men knocking on her door. And once they do knock, they probably find little children stacked in her over in her house made out of candy.

We do like some other people: A dutch girl who hates the storytelling photog even more than I do. Which is precisely why I like her. A French-Canadian who is pretty cool. We got some new Americans, but it’s definitely the B-team, nothing exciting there. We hang out with our driver a lot because she is fucking awesome. And her most-used phrase is “fucking awesome”. Anyone who uses the word “fuck” 498 times a day is a friend of mine. Today she caught Stina and I making Marcel the Shell and dino growling noises at each other and laughing hysterically (which we do about 47 times a day, on average). She told us she thinks we have problems. She is correct.

I think this bus Company should hire me to give a social interaction class to everyone before they get on. Like a orientation for how to not be a loser. Actually, fuck that. That would be awful for me. Great for the kids, but awful for me. Plus our bus driver thinks (knows) that I’m fucking crazy, so I don’t think they want me rubbing off on anyone.

I can’t end a blog without a little story of Kiwis giving no fucks. We went to a pizza place for dinner with a few peeps. It is actually the same hippy honky-tonk that we drank at last night. Small town. Can’t get a menu or water. Ask 4 times. Get menu and water. Can’t get anyone to take our order. Waitresses walk by and don’t stop when you say “excuse me!?” One of the two waitresses then sits down to have a nice meal. In the middle of dinner service. Other waitress then stops by her table to have a little chat. We finally place order. When food finally comes, we ask for a side of sauce. They tell us that we, their paying customers, have to go ask the pizza oven guy ourselves. They don’t do that. Stina goes to get sauce. They tell her to ask the waitress. She holds her ground and finally gets sauce. This is why the whole “no tipping” thing is not as cool as it looks. Not that Kiwis would give a fuck even if you did tip them. Oh, did I mention the part where someone drives a beat-up 1986 honda INTO the outdoor restaurant where 4 people who I’m pretty sure actually live in the car, together, get out looking like they just came from burning man. Bizarre, right? Who would do something so rude? Something that probably violates about 12 health codes. Oh, just their FUCKING EMPLOYEES. Yeah. Remember high-as-balls bartender from yesterday’s post? He was one of them. Wait, no health codes in NZ. Because THEY DON’T GIVE A FUCK. So yeah, we laughed our asses off through dinner.

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