Spreading the Aloha on Valentines Day

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Happy Valentines Day! Let’s be honest, I could barely type that just now without a snarl on my bitchy resting face. Screw Valentines Day. I started this fake holiday off in the same way I prefer to start most of my Sundays – with champagne. Mar and I polished off two bottles while I did some blogging and she did…whatever it is that girls do in the mornings that takes so long. I still haven’t quite figured that out. And I even lived in a sorority house. We had reservations at Duke’s for brunch, so we invited A&B to meet us there for a little Valentines Day drinking.

We figured the restaurant was a short stroll down the beach so we started walking. We soon found ourselves in the path of a hottie with a body playing football on the beach. I told Mar – look at the abs on that guy! At this exact moment, the hottie came running up to us to say hi as if we were all best friends. It took us a second to place him – well, he had to remind us of who he was – it was the waiter that cut us off at the restaurant yesterday after the snorkel tour! I had not realized he was so hot in my drunken state, probably because he had his shirt on yesterday.  We gave him a little shit, his buddy informed us that we were the talk of the restaurant, and with that, all was forgiven.  He then informed us that Duke’s was too far to walk and we would need a taxi. Mar and I wandered up to the front of the hotel trying to get one of the four ubers on all of Maui to come drive us three miles. A lovely couple in their twilight years pulled up in a yellow convertible. Much to my embarrassment, Marissa asked them to give us a ride, and after a short deliberation they agreed. So we hopped in the back of someone’s grandparent’s convertible and headed off to brunch. When they dropped us off, the woman asked us to take a picture with her husband so they could tell their grandkids that grandpa picked up two hot chicks in Hawaii. All in a day’s work.

Our ride to brunch

During a boozy brunch at Duke’s, Mar and I made the executive decision to change our flights and stay an extra day. Aren’t all good decisions made while drinking? We have our entire lives to go back to work. When magic happens in Hawaii, you roll with it. We then all went back to A&B’s place where we played beer pong and formulated a plan to get to the infamous Sunday Beach Party at Little Beach. What are a couple of tourists to do when they are drunk and want to attend a beach party an hour away? Call King Henry of Lahaina, of course! You’ll all remember King Henry from Friday night when we did shots with him and he offered to drive us to the beach party. And I said something about how there is no way we would actually take him up on it. Fast forward two days and many drinks and we are telling him we have three chicks and a gay guy and would love a ride to the party. We didn’t actually have a gay guy, however straight men are far more obliging when there is no one to tilt the odds of getting laid against them. Simple math and little white lies. King Henry came through and picked us up in his pickup. I made screwdrivers in water bottles and we made the journey down to the beach local-style, in the bed of the truck.

We got to the beach just as the sun was setting. As we hiked over the hill to Little Beach, a magical scene was revealed. Nudists and clothed alike, frolicking together in perfect drunken harmony on a beautiful beach. It reminded me of Woodstock: the Beach Remix. Not that I attended Woodstock, but I think you get my drift. We met some of King Henry’s friends….and their nipples. Lots of nipples. Did I mention Little Beach is a nude beach? All these nipples seemed to be attached to girls from Minnesota or Maine, or some other wretched place where you can’t rage on a beach in the middle of February. Well done for you, ladies. But let the record show my tan was still better than theirs. We met a lovely man who was pleasuring people with his flute. No, really – he was playing a flute naked, standing in the water. See what I did there? Mar and I obviously had a photo shoot with him. Pictures included, but if you are at work you might need to scroll through them quickly. And just when you think this beach party can’t get any better, the sun goes down and everyone makes a big circle as fire dancers perform. It was epic. It was really fucking beautiful. And it totally trumped your Valentines Day. No seriously, it did. I don’t even need to know what your’s consisted of to make that statement. Thank you to King Henry of Lahaina for, as he puts it, “spreading the Aloha”.

When it was time to leave the beach, everyone gets in a big drunk line to file out, as you have to hike back down and around some fairly treacherous rocks. Or at least it seemed very treacherous in the dark while drunk with one shoe. Did I mention I lost a flip flop? King Henry was ever the gentleman as he assisted us down the rocky trail in the dark. We all piled into the bed of his truck and sprawled out to watch the stars as we drove back to Lahaina. King Henry dropped us off at a bar, so naturally I went in with one shoe. No one even batted an eyelash. Because, Hawaii. At this point the fearsome foursome decided that we had already won Valentines Day, so why not put the icing on the cake and spend the rest of it in a hot tub? We called and uber and headed back just in time to get thirty minutes in the hot tub before Marriott security kindly asked us to get the fuck out. A&B headed back to their hotel and Mar and I went to bed. If this is Aloha, I could use a lot more of it in my life.

Open Ocean and Open Bars in Maui

Saturday, February 13, 2015

Today we had access to an open bar for a grand total of about 7 hours. Turns out, no one needs an open bar for 7 hours. Ever. We started the day by doing something really stupid. Shocker. We walked down to the meeting point for our snorkel tour, but we somehow missed the tour representative on the beach checking people in. So we waited around a while and figured they were just on “Hawaii time”. No big deal. We went to the nearby coffee shop to get Mar a coffee and when we came back five minutes later, our boat was sailing away. That’s right, we missed it. Enter: Captain Kevin. Or as we like to think of him, Captain Save-a-hoe. A man on a dinghy with the Company’s logo pulled up to the beach, so we ran over and gave him our best damsels in distress act. While he was not happy about it, he quickly motioned us into his dinghy and drove us out to meet our big boat mid-ocean. It was basically the most embarrassing moment of my life. Marissa thought we looked like VIP’s. But I knew we just looked like hungover ass holes. The Captain of the big boat was a woman named Arika (As in the pirate version of Erica). Arika had a nasty case of resting bitch face. Made even bitchier by the fact that we interrupted her safety briefing with our late arrival. Turns out the rest of the crew thought she was a bitch too, and they even called her “THAT”. So THAT is what we referred to her as for the duration of the trip while we avoided her at all costs.

Now here is the way the snorkel tour bar system works: You can only start drinking once you have finished snorkeling, because apparently drinking and swimming is dangerous. I prefer the snorkel tours of Mexico where they send a floating tray of drinks out to you in the water, but we are playing by Maui’s rules here. We jumped in and found a turtle within about 5 minutes. After that, there is only so much coral a gal can look at before that open bar starts calling her name. In our defense, we made it longer in the water than a few other people. We hopped back on the boat and headed to the bar where Eli (who’s name was actually Mark, but we are ass holes and called him Eli all day) made us a concoction of vodka, champagne, and a splash of juice. This guy is basically my bartender spirit animal. How else could he have known that vodka and champagne are my two favorite things in the world?

Mar and I took our seats up on the top of the catamaran and settled in for some drunk tanning. When it was time for our first refills (i.e. five minutes later) I couldn’t help but notice that there was a window right next to me that looked down on to the bar. Being the lazy drunk that I am, I popped my head down so that I was hanging upside down from the ceiling of the bar and requested that Eli (who is actually Mark) refill our drinks via our custom drive-through bar window. I’m not sure if it was shock and awe or disgust on his face, but bless his heart, he obliged. There was a guy down at the bar who witnessed this all take place. He took one look at me hanging upside down like an alcoholic nautical bat and said “I’m coming up to hang out with you girls”. And this is how we met our Maui partners in crime, Adam and Britani. Adam brought his girlfriend Britani up to sit with us. She gave us some side eye while she sized us up, but we quickly all fell into step as we regaled each other with stories of our awesomeness. How awesome are Adam and Britani, you ask? Well let me attempt to demonstrate. Last year on Valentines Day they took a romantic walk on the Santa Monica beach where they fed pigeons a mixture of pringles crunched up with ex-lax, and then laughed as the birds shit all over people. This Valentines Day they got drunk with Mar and I and went to a party on nude beach. I think we can all agree that these two are a bloggers dream. Let’s call them “A&B” for short, because they are going to make many more appearances in the upcoming blog entries and I don’t want to keep writing their names out.

We drank our asses off. There were some other cool people on the boat (although not quite as cool as the four of us). There was a couple from Georgia who are apparently swingers. They were there with the husband’s family. The girl introduced us to her “mother”, at which point the woman corrected her by saying “mother-in-law”. Burn. The teddy bears of the world made an appearance. Gotta love those Canadians. They are just so damn unoffensive and lovable. AAAAAArika made me turn my music off. Buzz kill. Eli broke it to us that his name was Mark. We felt like dicks. Nothing new there. At one point Mar and I were telling A&B that we are actually only two-thirds of the trio known as “DFR”. When I asked him to guess what DFR stood for, he thought long and hard before he said “dicks for reference”. When I inquired as to the meaning, he basically said it means that you are encyclopedia of male genitals. I obviously found this to the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I’ve asked a lot of people what “DFR” stands for and this was by far the most thoughtful and inventive response.

When we got back to shore we decided it would be a great idea to go to bar. Because that is exactly what we needed after four hours of unlimited booze. So Mar, A&B and I headed to a restaurant on the beach where a bright eyed blonde boy tried to take our drink order. He was quickly overwhelmed by our blatant lack of sobriety and told his manager on us. Literally, tattled on us like a little rat. The manager came over and informed us that he would let us order one drink, but after that he would not be able to serve us. That’s right, cutoff on round #1. It was probably for the best – when you can’t coherently form an argument your only option is to accept defeat at the hands of the sober people. Britani actually got the entire thing on video, but I’m too cheap to pay wordpress so I can’t upload it. Check it out on my insta. Teaser: the tattle-tale waiter makes a shirtless appearance in tomorrow’s blog. Maui is a small world.

Snorkel 5
Can’t imagine why we got cut off….

We parted ways, as Mar and I had to get ready for our Luau and no one who values their liquor license would serve us a drink anyway. We made plans to meet up later that night while we were drunk enough to think we were capable of making it out. Mar and I went back to the hotel room where I promptly died and then resurrected myself with a hybrid bath/shower that consists of drunkenly laying in the tub while the shower is running because you are too intoxicated to stand. It’s a little move I developed in college. There would have been some serious personal hygiene concerns without it. I even had to lay down in the back of the uber on the way to the luau. It was not my best moment. But I rallied. I rallied hard. I’ve included before and after pictures for your reference below. We clean up pretty well for a couple of thirty year olds who drink like twenty year olds.

Did I mention the luau was open bar as well? And when I say open bar, I mean wide open. Those sexy luau men in their skirts made it their goal to keep everyone drowning in booze. Every time I blinked there was a tan, shirtless man asking me if I wanted another drink. Why yes, yes I do. The luau was pretty awesome, despite the fact that our table consisted of us and a Chinese tour group. We tried communicating for a bit, but then I just gave up and offered to take pictures of them. Nothing endears you to a group of Chinese tourists like taking their picture. One of the hot shirtless waiters came by and gave us his phone number on a piece of paper and told us to call him later. Another one dropped a bunch of plates while trying to hit on us. Being the only single game in town is really working out well for us. All you people that said Maui is no fun for single people can bite your tongue. When Rory and Marissa are together, every place is fun for single people. We could find a party at an AA convention. Despite the invitations from the young luau men, Mar and I were down for the count. The plan was to stop in town and pick up Mar’s credit card from last night (yes, we left it at the bar, don’t act surprised) and then head home to sleep. We called an uber, and who came to get us? It was none other than our Knight in a Shining Tacoma, Christopher! Apparently Maui has like 4 uber drivers, so you get to know them.

Now, I know I told you yesterday that today’s blog was ridiculous. But that was before I lived through Sunday. And Sunday is a doozie, my friends. Spoiler alert: the King of Lahaina makes a second showing and a party at a nude beach with our new friends makes for a very interesting Valentines Day.

The Road to Hana and Lots of Vodka

Thursday, March 11, 2016

My morning at work crawled at a snails pace. Obviously because I was leaving at 3pm to catch my flight to Hawaii. My driver (aka Dad) took me to the airport, where I settled in to the admirals club lounge in the American terminal for all the free vodka I could drink. Props to my brother Drew for getting me his credit card in my name for the sole purpose of allowing me to access free booze when traveling. We Bostons are always looking out for each other. I made friends with an old white guy in the admirals club – shocking, I know. Their younger counterparts want nothing to do with me, but the old guys just can’t get enough of Rory. I may be single now, but I’ll be crushing it in the nursing home in about 40 years. Around the time my flight was supposed to board I headed down to the gate at a leisurely pace, at which point I heard my name being called over the loudspeaker to board immediately. I had to sprint my drunk little ass down to the gate where I was told they “boarded early”. Have you ever heard of such a thing in all your life? If I had been waiting at the terminal sober and pathetic, like I usually am, I’m sure the flight would have been delayed. Because life’s a bitch like that.

So I boarded my flight with no dinner. And y’all know Rory does not skip a meal. So it was a shockingly detestable turkey sandwich and a few red wines for me that night. The free portion of the in-flight entertainment left much to be desired. I actually started watching an episode of “Blackish” at one point. I’m still trying to un-see that shit.

My plane arrived in Maui early, about 5 minutes before Marissa’s, so I met her at the gate sans lei. We exchanged all kinds of endearing pleasantries like “hi pumpkin muffin bunny lover pie!!” If there was an Olympics for “Making People Confused and Uncomfortable” we would have more gold than a certain pot smoking swimmer. We high tailed it down to Avis where we picked up our rental car. Mar asked the woman for a list of color options. No white available so we opted for red. The only thing I hate more than driving, is driving with the windows rolled down. Because (1) long hair, (2) it’s loud, and (3) my head is really small so I feel like I look like an alien when it’s in a pony tail. But, hey, when in Rome.

After a quick stop at Tutti Frutti, where we elected to name our car “Tutti” for the rest of the weekend, we got to the hotel just before 11pm, which is 1am LA time. On a typical Thursday night I’m in bed by 10, so we knocked out pretty quickly. We have an early wake-up call tomorrow for the Road to Hana!!

Friday, March 12, 2016

Today we were up around 6:15 so we could get on the road by 7am. The Road to Hana is about a four hour drive each way from where we are staying in Kaanapali. I wanted to be in the car by 6am, but apparently that is insane to anyone who wasn’t raised by Linda Boston. So I compromised. Laid back travel Rory strikes again! I was ready to go in about 10 minutes, so I headed down to the Starbucks on the beach (only in Maui) to get Mar some coffee in an effort to keep us on schedule. I had elected to drive the first portion as I am generally at my best in the mornings. I typically pop out of bed like a jack-in-box. No caffeine needed. We got the car from valet where the nice Hawaai guys gave us a “Road to Hana” CD, a map, and a tutorial on how to put the top down. Hawaiians are very genuine and helpful. They might even be better than Canadians. And those lovable little Canucks are hard to beat in the nice department. I was slightly suspicious of this congenial behavior at first. I’m from LA, so when a boy is nice to me it’s usually followed up with an unwanted dick pic and a proposition. I’m liking the change of pace.

Road to Hana 1
Looking so fly

So we are officially off to Hana. First stop, Paia. Paia is a little hippy town on the North Shore of Maui. It basically marks the start of the official “Road to Hana”. It look like someone took an old Western town from 1892, moved it to the beach, and replaced all the guns with surf boards. We stopped and got Mar more coffee and some food. Thank god I don’t drink coffee. I find it to be such a damn waste of time. Think about all the time you spend going to buy coffee, actually buying the coffee and waiting for it, and then sitting there and drinking it. The rampant inefficiency and waste of time that rules the coffee drinking irritates the shit out of me. Beverages and breakfast in hand, we left Paia and headed to Hana. Now, for those of you that aren’t familiar with the Road to Hana, it’s in a very scenic and super windy road that takes you to the town of Hana on the other side of Maui, where everything is quiet and time moves a little slower. When I say winding, I mean vomit-inducing, DUI test-walking WINDING as fuck. It’s like the yellow brick road on acid, with a beach view. Luckily, Mar is no stranger to my offensive and jerky version of driving and she actually quite enjoyed it. Finally, someone who doesn’t bitch about my driving non-stop! Because everyone does. My own mother wouldn’t even drive with me. I shit you not. But Marissa was practically a fan girl of my driving style. Shocking.

We stopped at a lookout and took some selfies. That’s right, the selfie stick was the first item on my packing list. God damn I love that thing. We then decided to drive all the way out to the last stop and work our way back, in the hopes that all the other tourists would stop at the various points of interest on the way back. Since the general population of people can’t think outside the box, I figured this was a good plan. So we headed for Ohe’o Gulch with the Seven Scared Pools, and the hike through the Bamboo forest to the Waimoko waterfall. The hike was rated as “moderate”. In New Zealand, “moderate” translates into “life threatening”, but here in Hawaii it was pretty much on point. There were some other tourists, but it wasn’t too crowded. We had to pass a few groups of people along the way. I would give Marissa an impatient glance and she would yell “Passing on your left!”, at which point we would make our move. For some reason people gave us dirty looks for this. One woman even said “Jeez, is this a race?”. Well honey, if it was a race, you would be losing. We finally found a lone ginger hiker carrying a tripod. If you see a rugged man with a big camera on a hike, YOU FOLLOW HIM. He set a sprite pace and we were at the base of the waterfall in no time. We snapped some selfies and headed back.

By the end of the 4 mile, moderate hike, we were starving. So we turned around and headed to Bruddah Hut’s BBQ. I had found it on yelp and the pictures were amazing. I was ready to get aggressive with some BBQ. It did not disappoint. I meant to take a picture of the food for you guys, but my inner dinosaur inhaled it before the GoPro could power on. Sorry. We then headed to Wai’anapanapa State Park. This place was awesome. It is the home of the famous black sand beach, complete with lava tubes and blow holes. You all know how much Rory loves some black sand for the old sand collection. They actually had a sign that said “Warning. Blow Hole. Keep Away”. It took some serious self control not to steal it, because I know quite a few boys whose yards I’d like to stick that sign in. And finally, we were on our way back home to Kaanapali. I would like to take this opportunity to give you all some tips on driving the road to Hana:
1. Go slow. Like, painfully slow. Driving Miss Daisy slow. If someone is on your ass, just let them pass. And try to resist the urge to give them the finger…it is not common place in Hawaii like it is in LA.
2. Find a shield. You need a car in front of you, so that they block you from the oncoming traffic coming around the switch backs. Get behind someone going at a decent pace and stay there. But don’t get too close, or you will scare them away and they will pull over to let you pass. It’s basically like dating, if you move too fast too soon, you’ll scare them away. If you go too slow, they will pass you up for something faster.
3. Make imaginary friends with random cars. This one is weird, I know. But Marissa and I felt awkwardly connected to the random cars that we would spend half an hour driving behind, or in front of. At one point, we had two other red cars ahead of us, leading the way, shielding us from the danger of oncoming traffic. We called ourselves “the bloods”. When one of the cars would turn off, we would get really sad about it. We were basically the co-dependent, needy cars of the Road to Hana.

Ok, so where is the vokda portion of this story? Calm down. You know I wouldn’t tease you like that. We stopped at the liquor store on the way home, and then popped a bottle of champagne while we showered and changed. You all know how I love a good champagne shower (literally…drinking champs while showering). We called an uber, and our knight in a shining Tacoma, Christopher, picked us up. More on Chris tomorrow. He took us down to Lahaina and gave us a run down of where the action is. He said town was “going off” tonight. My dear, sweet Chris…we obviously have different ideas of “going off”. So Mar and I settled on a little bar/appetizer crawl. Our first waiter, Jiya, invited us to karaoke later, but we declined since he was a 42 year old career waiter that I’m pretty sure was on drugs. Our next waiter read us pretty well and told us about the bar that “girls in pretty dresses” go to, so we headed to “Down the Hatch” where we settled in with drinks and pulled pork quesadillas. Yum. We quickly became popular. I think it was because we accepted shots from anyone and everyone. The boys came, brought shots, flirted for a bit, and then kept it moving. It worked quite well. We met some girls from California who were also on a friendmoon. I actually recognized them from the BBQ truck in Hana earlier in the day, so I called them over to hang out with us. They called it a night and left us. And then, we met him. The self-proclaimed “King Henry of Lahaina”. Yes, he actually called himself that. After many drinks and lots of shot, and one attempt by the King of Lahaina to make out with me (ok I let him have a peck. I’m on vacation…), we parted ways and agreed to meet up with him Sunday. He offered to drive us to the famous Sunday beach party at Little Beach. We said sure, fully knowing that we couldn’t possibly take him up on that.  Could we….?

Tomorrow is kind of wild. We basically have an open bar for about 7 hours throughout the course of the day. It’s the kind of blog you guys wait an entire trip for.

Rory and Marissa get Maui’d

Ok, I’m not actually getting Maui’d.  I’m not even going to get “lei’d” on this trip.  Nor have I given up on men and started batting for the pink taco team…although if I go on one more awful online date  with a man who has an undisclosed disability or disformity, I just might take the plunge.  For now I’m still your favorite single, hetero-asexual, bitchy travel blogger.  This time I will be taking a romantic Valentines Day weekend getaway with one of my best friends.  Translation: one of my most dangerous partners in crime.  Be afraid, blog readers, be very afraid, because Rory and Marissa are going to Hawaii.  And where Rory and Marissa go, weird shit is bound to follow. We’ll be away a grand total of four days.  Why are we only going for four days?  Because (1) Marissa doesn’t travel much, and (2) I will take what I can get.  Keep in mind I am still working through my post-Thailand Yacht Week depression.  So this is basically my Yacht Week rebound trip – it’s quick and does the trick.  She could have invited me to Tijuana for a donkey convention and I probably would have said yes.  Anything to get over the post Yacht Week blues and get me out of the excel spreadsheet hell that is the cornerstone of my everyday life.  Now I know what your next questions is – why are we going to Maui, the land of gag-inducing couples and mid-western families vacationing in perfect boring harmony?  Well this is how I look at it: I’m not getting a dozen roses this valentines day.  But I will be getting a bomb ass tan.  Only the latter makes me look skinnier anyway.  Plus, all you boring couples reading this will need something to entertain you while you stare deeply into your partner’s eyes and try to convince yourselves that that a bouquet of flowers and some chocolate trumps getting drunk in Hawaii with me.  And yes, this installment will be full of bitchy single girl rants such as that one. At least I’m consistent.  If you don’t like it, go read a blog about a housewife making a meat loaf in the shape of a heart.

Now, I know you are all dying to know more about the latest blog character, so without further ado, let’s meet Marissa:

Name: Marissa

Codename: Mar, Rissa, the R of “DFR” (bonus points if someone can tell us what “DFR” stands for in the comments)

Likes: Cheese, brown liquor, capes, baths, spilling her drinks on people, cats, name dropping, internet stalking, judging people by what college they went to and which sport they played (especially men), drunk texing/messaging/facebooking, booking back-to-back dates in the same night, asking people what high school they went to and then naming someone from said high school (seriously…any high school).

Dislikes: Wearing pants, eating carbs (unfortunate, as this is on my personal “likes” list), short men,  minor insignificant qualities in every man she meets as a form of a defense mechanism, wasting perfectly good calories on eating when you could be drinking, cheap jewelry, cheap things in general (just try to get her in a Forever 21…I dare you).

How we met: In 2003 on our first sorority beer bus when I pissed in a cup on the bus (a weak bladder, even in my early years), and then we drunkenly called her dad to ask him if Marissa should get her tongue or eyebrow pierced, after which I passed out with my horrible permed hair on her shoulder.  [See below for an old school pic of that elusive perm].  I should also note that she pierced neither.  However, this did set a dangerous precedent for ingenious decision making skills while drinking.

Favorite Travel Memory: Scaling a four story building in Costa Rica in an effort to break into an afterparty while simultaneously testing her “reflexivos como un gato”.  Turns out she is very un-gato like and wound up with metal in her leg, which I then treated with Costa Rican vodka in our hotel bathroom before getting drunk again the next day.  I would also like to note that Allie got glass in her foot and I lost my purse in that same night.  Pura Vida, baby!

In an effort to make you all fully aware of what you are in for, and partially to indulge my obsession with lists, I have put together a little catalog of a few of the most ridiculous situations Mar and I have gotten ourselves into during our 11 years of friendship.  So let’s take a walk down “Sorority girls gone mild” memory lane…

  1.  The time we (along with our friend Allie) were asked to do a photo shoot for our hotel in Cabo in exchange for a free lunch, but we haggled them up to a free steak dinner, then showed up at said dinner shit faced from a booze cruise and proceeded to order half the menu and dance around the restaurant with the waiters.  Sidenote: Allie was robbed and Marissa fell off the boat on this booze cruise, but did that deter us from the free dinner?  Hell no.  If anything, it only strengthened our drunk food resolve.
  2. That time we met an old ex-Los Angeles Laker at a bar in Venice and, after many drinks were bought for us, hopped in his limo to a strip club somewhere in LA.  After a fun night neither of us can recall the details of, Marissa puked in the limo on the ride back and we were promptly kicked out and left on the streets of LA.  This was before Uber, people.  The struggle was real.  For the record, I could make an entire list that just involves Marissa puking and me cleaning it up.  Now THAT is friendship.
  3. The four years we spent driving around in her Honda Civic yelling “Hey, boyfriend!” at every male pedestrian we passed while rocking out to one of her 30,000 CDs.  Remember CD’s?  There was also period of time where we yelled “Your boyfriend is cheating on you!” at every couple we passed.  Have you ever seen the look on a girl’s face the instant she considers that she might be being cheated on?  That is basically the bitter, single girl’s porn equivalent.  Don’t judge it till you’ve tried it, people.  We’ve rented a convertible for this trip, so the phrase “Aloha, boyfriend!” will be utilized to its fullest.
  4. When we were young and hot and owned Vegas for a night.  Okay, we didn’t own all of Vegas, but we literally owned the Palms for a night.  Rissa made friends with a promoter named Brice who took us to every bar and club in the hotel, comped drinks everywhere, until we finally made it to Moon night club.  One of the girls asked why the club was called moon, at which point he handed us the remote to open the fucking ceiling of the club.  Don’t worry – the night takes a turn.  We somehow end up getting escorted up to an “Eyes wide shut” party in a pool suite where we pretended not to see the threesomes and instead frolicked in the pool like the drunk little girls we were.  I’m pretty sure we got out just before the orgy began.
  5. Marissa “interned” at a club in Hollywood (which shall remain nameless) during college, and used to swipe ID’s that were left behind at the bar so we could use them as fakes.  And this is how I came to be “Jamin Gloria Sartaur” for about two years.  Pronounced “Ha-mine” but we liked to refer my legal alter ego as “Jamin” as in “jamin’ to your favorite song”.  One night we decided to test my likeness to old Jamin and dressed me up to look exactly like the picture (full Chola – fake eyebrows, silver chain and all) and then went to Von’s to buy vodka.  Apparently I am a very convincing Chola.

I think you get the gist.  We are weird.  Hopefully, I have persuaded you to follow us on our Jewaiian Vacation (term cred: Brett Boston).  I can personally guarantee at least one situation where we consume far more alcohol than is required or normal and make handfuls of random people uncomfortable (did someone say luaus are all you can drink?).  We will take their judgement with zero grace or humility.  And I will probably get in a fight at some point…especially if someone asks me to stop cursing because their children are within earshot.  As if (1) I give a shit, and (2) that is somehow my problem.