The Yacht Week Day 6 – Keeping it Classy

Friday, January 1, 2016

Gotcha! Did the title fool you?  If so you need to jump back in this blog and read days 1-5 of the Yacht Week series.  The first day of 2016 certainly started off innocent enough. ..

This morning we awoke to the Legend telling stories of Adonis getting his ear bit off the night before.  Talk about a happy new year!  But we also awoke to increasingly rough seas.   Kim and I were on a mission to get the hell off the boat.  We were actually crawling out of our skin to get off the boat.  We had enough of this anchoring bull shit, taking long tail boats back and forth between the boat and the island, and the vomit-inducing rocking of the sea as we drank warm beer from our broken boat fridge.  So we headed in Koh Phi Phi town to get breakfast and regroup.  First on the agenda, Kim found us a nice longtail boat driver to take us all out to Maya Bay.  Yacht Week field trip!  Next on the agenda, get some food and book a hotel room for tonight.  That’s right, we are cheating and sleeping on dry land.   When you are actually 25, surviving seven nights on a boat is an adventure.  When you are pretending to be 25 but are actually 30, seven nights on a boat requires more Xanax than the FDA currently allows me to carry.  And it’s not that easy to get in Thailand – trust me, I tried.   So yeah, I’m booking a room so that my head can be the only thing swaying when I pass out tonight.

After breakfast we headed out on the longtail to Maya Bay on Koh Phi Phi Ley, which is just a 15 minute boat ride from Koh Phi Phi Don.   Yes, I had to google that, because we were too drunk to figure out what island we were on most of the week.  This is the island where the movie “The Beach” was filmed.  If it’s good enough for Leo, it’s good enough for me.  The islands consists of tall limestone hills contrasted with amazing ice blue water and beautiful sandy beaches.  We pulled into the bay and immediately noticed the cluster fuck of Chinese and Russian tourists frolicking around the beach in all their offensive glory.   What’s worse than laying on a beach with a Chinese tour group breathing down your neck to get a good selfie?  Doing it hungover.  So we found a nice little cove and settled in for a few hours of sun and snorkeling.  Quality crew time without booze!  Honestly, we didn’t even know what to do with ourselves.  We either forgot how to speak while sober over the course of the week, or we were just so fucking sick of each other that we soaked it in peacefully.  I’m thinking it was the latter.  But all relaxing things must come to an end on yacht week.  We hopped back in the long tail for a frightening ride back.  Over the course of two hours the sea had gone from mildly choppy to the perfect storm.  That ride was more fucked up than a water slide at a Vietnamese water park (side note: never go to a Vietnamese water park).    We stopped at our boat to grab our shit and headed to our hotel.

Don’t worry, I’m getting to the party.   I know that’s all you really want.  Because you are hoping I do more stupid drunk shit.  I’ve been called a lot of names, but unreliable is not one of them.  So let’s get to it.  I had actually considered skipping the pool party because I felt like shit – but Carly used her magical smelling salts to rouse Nicole and I into rage mode.  By smelling salts I obviously mean warm vodka.  Because you know I don’t go to a party sober – even a day party.  People don’t invite me to parties for stimulating sober conversation.  They invite me to parties to turn that shit up.  And I hate to disappoint.  So shots to the face were had and we wandered down to the bar in town for the pool party.  When we arrived things were awkwardly mellow for the amount of people that were pissing in the same pool.  That only means one thing in Thailand – time to hit the fucking buckets!  I’m not really sure at which point that party took a turn, but we took a hard left to crazy town real quick.  I think it was around the time Matti and Kita showed up.  Nothing turns up a pool party like some lesbians!  This shit got more ratchet than a Vegas pool party.  Because in Vegas, people are somewhat concerned with trying to flex their muscles, look cute and keep their mascara on in the water to really let loose.  At yacht week, if you have mascara on at the day 6 pool party, you have probably been riding the basic bitch  bench all week.  This group has been groping each other like horny preteens all week.  We literally have nothing to hide anymore.  Shit, a few days ago I was face down in the sand dancing like a mummy, so let’s get crazy.  People started splashing like lunatics and tossing each other around the pool.  We eagerly chugged our buckets that were now filled with piss water in addition to vodka and we liked it.  Our crew was doing the yacht week wrist flick all damn day.  The DJ was on point.  Not that I would really know the difference since I listen to country music, but that’s what Carly said.  At one point there were boobs flying around (I won’t name names…cough…Kita…cough, cough) and I was on some dude’s shoulders chicken fighting some girl.  Okay let’s be honest, I was on some dude’s shoulders making out with a girl on another dude’s shoulders.  When I say it got weird, I’m not lying.  It was at that exact point that Kim and Brandon walked in and just started laughing their assess of.  If only I could have seen us through their amazed eyes.   They were so proud of us crazy kids.

I’d like to say I hit on some boys, but no one was hitting on anyone at that shit show.  Okay, I lied AGAIN.  I definitely hit on the hot Aussie skipper for the fucking fourth night in a row.  That basically makes this guy my longest relationship in quite a while.  At this point its just funny because I think he is genuinely terrified of me.  I don’t think it helps that I follow him around saying “I’ll find you!” in the creepy wedding crasher’s voice.  I cannot be the first girl that has followed that boy around a pool.  He is just too damn hot.  And those arms!  Oh yeah, I definitely relapsed and  bit some arms in that pool.  I’m trying really hard to overcome this hot man arm-biting disease, but  yacht week is not making it easy.  Step 1 is admitting you have a problem.   I think we can all agree I have conquered that one.  It’s step 2 where I get stuck – believing in a power greater than yourself, blah blah blah.  Is there a secular version of the program I can get on?  For now, the only powers higher than myself are Australian accents and biceps.  Preferably in tandem.

I’d like to take this opportunity to quote the yacht week “Arrival Info” packet (yes I actually read it, I’m a neurotic freak, get over it).  Under packing tips, they say “Follow the Three C’s of TYW Fashion: Cool, Casual, Classy.”  Under the Yacht Week Ethos there is an entire section entitled “Stay Classy”.  There are literally multiple references to the word “classy” in this thing.  You’ve all read the blog up to this point.  Have I painted a picture of class for you all?  Aren’t we just the picture of nautical sophistication?  Don’t we just ooze elegance?  After our super classy pool party we were all knocking on the black-out door, so I’ll tell you what I can remember.  Leaving the pool? Nope.  The Legend aggressively attacking a food cart in the street on the way home? A little.  In case anyone wondered what hotel we were staying in, we left a trail of pad thai all the way there.  Carly, Nicole, The Legend, another skipper and I all went back to our one tiny little room with 2 twin beds to pass out.   Spacial reasoning was obviously not our strong suit at this point.  Although, if I know the drunk trio that is Rory, Carly and Nicole…and I think I do…the original plan was probably to drink more and then go back out.  Instead we drunkenly wrestled around the room laughing hysterically and then feel asleep.  I think I might have showered.  I can’t be sure.  Carly spent a while slurring at everyone to get our lame asses up and go back out.  But we had all given up.  A wild, drunk pool party on New Years day is all the win I need.  It can only go downhill from there.  Call it a win and go to bed.  Is this maturity rearing it’s ugly little head?  Doubtful.

Apparently sometime later that night, drunk asa Carly got up and wandered through the streets of town shit faced and shoe-less looking for the yacht week party.  God I wish someone took a picture of her crazy drunk ass dropping it like its hot in the middle of the street.  Carly, Nicole, The Legend and I all randomly woke up at 2:30am and started recounting the events of the party and laughing our asses off.  Then we passed back out.  If this is day one of 2016, what in god’s name does the rest of the year have in store for me?  Another yacht week perhaps….