Shots and Yachts in Cabo San Lucas

Friday, June 10, 2016

I’ve had my fair share of crazy times in Mexico, but this one just might take the cake. I’m honestly not even sure were to start. Mimosas at 10am followed by Vodka shots at 11am is probably the best place to begin this ratchet tale of international debauchery. Our plan was innocent enough: a nice boozy lunch at the Mango Deck, followed by some beach time, then naps to recover and out to a fancy dinner. Ha! In our defense we at least made it to the Mango Deck, so 1 out of 4 ain’t bad.

Cabo 1
#Witz’sbitches

Suzanne woke up at 8am for some ungodly reason and went down to the market to get champs and eggs. Mainly because she knows I get cranky if I have to start a day of vacation without either of those things. Mimosas quickly turned into group tequila shots (vodka for me, of course) and we were off to the Mango Deck at noon in our friendly neighborhood big green taxi van. Ah, the Mango Deck, how I love you. For those of you who don’t know, the Mango Deck is the better of two big bars on the main beach in Cabo San Lucas. They do two-for-one drinks pretty much all day, and even graciously host wet t-shirt contests for a little afternoon entertainment. Quesadillas and tits on the beach is always a recipe for a good time. We sat down and immediately ordered a round of shots, drinks and guacamole. The holy trinity of bachelorette parties. Our waiter was a nice guy named Hugo who had the abs of a greek god and hustled to bring me chilled vodka on command. What more could a gal ask for? We made Jenn do some games on stage that did not require her to remove her clothing, like bobbing for beers in ice water. She killed it. No one wants to see our old tits flopping around up there anyway. So you’re welcome, Cabo.

The early afternoon went a little something like this: shots, drinks, repeat. We met a boring bachelor party who looked like they were generally terrified of women. You know the guys I’m talking about – the ones who immediately inform you that they are married if you glance in their general direction. Chill out dudes, I just asked who the groom was. And for the record, he was on the golf course. Because apparently he would rather golf by himself than party on a beach with his friends at his own bachelor party. It was clear we would need some new party companions, however these boys would have to suffice for the time being.

Some nice woman was selling headbands with funny sayings on them. For some reason I opted for one that read “Baby Dick” because I thought it was hilarious. Hopefully that gives you some idea for my mental state at this point in the day. I then made the executive decision that it was banana boat time. As two of the girls in our group are braving Mexico with broken bones, we grabbed a few of the lame ass bachelors to fill the extra spots and off we went! Pictures of the drunken banana boat below for your viewing pleasure.

And this is where the day takes a hard left to crazy town. While in the process of moving from a table to some beach chairs, a boy came up to us and uttered the most beautiful words in the English language: “DO YOU GIRLS WANT TO COME ON OUR YACHT?” I immediately turned to see him point towards a 100ft beauty out in the ocean. Why yes, my knight in nautical armor, yes we do. We would later attempt to rationalize why they chose us on that glorious, sunny June day. We there younger girls to choose from? Absolutely. Sluttier ones? It’s Cabo, so obviously. I can only assume that their criteria for yacht party companions included the ability to withstand 12 straight hours of vodka to the face. I’m also assuming they saw 10 soaking wet drunk chicks who had just been thrown off floating banana wearing headbands that said “Baby Dick” and “Pussy Monster” and said to themselves, man I want to party on a boat with those broads. Whatever the reason, I have never been known to turn down a party on a yacht. Or even a fishing boat for that matter. So off we went in a glass bottom boat to meet the yacht that would make all my P. Diddy dreams come true.

Cabo 5
Captain Allie

These boys were in Cabo on a bachelor party, along with about half of the town. But make no mistake, they brought their A game. They even had a full staff to make us drinks (or my case, chill my vodka shots) and a chef to feed us. It was heaven. We spent hours running around the boat, dancing on every surface, drinking to our hearts content. And when the staff informed the boys that they had only booked the boat till 6pm, they just threw money at the problem and extended the party. My kind of people.

I feel like I’m not accurately painting the picture here. This yacht party was ridiculous. Even for me. I wish I had more details for you, but to be honest I’m about 47 shots deep at this point in the day, so it gets a little fuzzy from here. Alas, all good things must come to an end, so once we docked we had a decision to make. Do we try to salvage any part of our original plan to be real people and go to dinner? Or do we just continue down the rabbit hole and move the party to the bachelor party’s rented mansion in hills of Cabo? Decisions, decisions. So party on we did. Until well past our dinner reservations. Until we could party no longer. Until Jenn took a drunken spill in the infinity pool and quite possibly broke her foot. We bid adieu to our new best friends, sans tons of shit that we lost along the way during the day, but just happy that we were within ear shot on that beach earlier today when they said those magical words I will never forget. If you learn nothing else from this blog (and you probably won’t), please remember that answer to anything involving a yacht is always YES.

Just the Tip…of Baja

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Off to Mexico! The day started off bright and early with a 6:30am uber to the airport courtesy of a guy who definitely used to drive a cab. I hate when you get a cabbie uber. It makes me feel like I’ve been duped by uber. After suffering though 15 minutes I learned that my uber driver (1) does not know that Baja California is not in California, (2) thinks all jews are ass holes, (3) gambles a lot, and (4) should probably stop gambling because it doesn’t seem to be going his way. I met Sheena in the American terminal and we hit the admirals club, where we were promptly notified that the champagne was not a gratis. So we could get a 7am vodka soda, but not a glass of champs. Beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to free booze at LAX.

Sheena and I got a few vodkas on the plane and two hours later I was officially drunk at the tip of Baja before noon. I think this is what all those millennials call #squadgoals. Killed it. We flew through customs faster than you can say “Bienvenido Señor Boston!”. Now that I’m in my 30’s I find it much easier to rationalize extravagancies like private airport transfers in Mexico. Shared transfers are basic as fuck. I don’t need a free tour of every resort in Cabo. I don’t need to make friends with the Portland couple on my plane who connected through LAX. I don’t need to fight people for the seats near the A/C in the van. I need be drinking in my pool as soon as humanly possible. So I just say to myself “I’m way to old for [insert anything basic here]”. Also, is there anything better than de-boarding a plane in a different country to a man holding a sign with your name on it? The answer is no. Sheena and I hopped in our suburban with a fully loaded cooler of beers and driver with a unique ability to open bottles with his seatbelt buckle and 45 minutes later my fat, happy ass was sitting on a stool in a pool bar. That, my friends, is travel efficiency at it’s finest. And I should also point out that Sheena and I set this international travel record with her gimpy ass in a boot.

The resort cleaning staff obviously did not get our efficiency memo, so we had no choice but to take shots in the pool while they finished cleaning the room. I’m sorry, did I say room? What I meant to say was THREE BEDROOM PENTHOUSE SUITE WITH A 2,000 SQ FT DECK OVERLOOKING ALL OF CABO SAN LUCAS. When Suzanne and I were looking at airbnb and vrbo options, this particular suite caught our eye due to their use of guidos as models in the pictures. If it’s good enough for Snooki and crew, it sure as shit is good enough for us. Sheena and I ran around screaming at our good fortune and frolicking in our private roof deck jacuzzi. The other 8 girls in our posse were due to arrive from the bay area in a few hours, so Sheena and I hit a different pool bar while we waited. Are you seeing a theme here? Pool bars are to Rory what water is to a fish. A happy home.

By the time the other girls arrived I had started hitting the Kirkland case of water hard. We had the whole night ahead of us, after all. I probably couldn’t have lasted 18 straight hours of drinking in my prime, so I’m sure as hell not going to hit my lushy prime here in my golden years. The girls did lots of tequila shots. I continued taking vodka shots because tequila hasn’t agreed with me since that one bad night in high school. It’s a cross that is particularly hard to bare when south of the border.

Before we knew it it was 7pm and our fearless leader Suzanne informed us that we were going to attempt to make ourselves presentable to the world and go to dinner. I was not particularly thrilled about this, as my general plan for the night was to drown in the jacuzzi Whitney style after peer pressuring myself into one shot too many. But alas, I am not in charge, and so I am going with the flow. I even showered. It was a struggle. I also put on makeup, but that was just because all the other cool girls were doing it. More shots ensued before leaving. I’ve lost count at this point. That’s a lie, I never started counting. Because I am the worst accountant in the world, remember?

All ten of us piled into a giant green van that would make Gumby look like a legit child molester. I told Suzanne to pay the Mexican man with the rape van anything he wanted to drive us around all weekend. She declined my advice. Probably for the best. We ordered all appetizers that consisted mainly of cheese. There was a wooden horse near our table that we defiled a few times in the name of the shared bachelorette party photo album. Everyone had margs. I stuck with the plan and got vodka. Consistency is key in a drinking marathon, people.

After dinner we walked down the street until we heard “free shots!” at which point our club for the night was chosen. Jenn tried to pass out until the shots revived her. Suzanne promptly took her place in the DJ booth. I had a drop-it-like-its-hot-off with a random guy in a USC shirt. And his moves were far superior to mine. Suzanne did some weird shot that they set on fire and then poured over a banana so that the only option was to deep throat it.

I’m rushing through this blog because my the hangover is real right now. We got ourselves on a yacht yesterday and shit took a hard left to crazy town real quick. Tune in tomorrow.

Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Sober One

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Jenn is getting married! Who is Jenn? Not relevant. Who is she marrying? Doesn’t matter. So why am I telling you this? Because it means I get to spend a weekend getting drunk in Mexico screaming “shots for the bride!”, and then write about it for your enjoyment. Not that I need an excuse to tap into my inner international alcoholic, as I think I have proven to you thus far. So let’s set the stage: Bachelorette Party in Cabo San Lucas. For all of you who don’t know, Cabo is at the tip of Baja California in Mexico. Unless you are my geographically disinclined uber driver from 7am this morning who is positive that Cabo is actually in California. There are 10 girls going on this trip, so I’ll just give you the run down on the people that I (a) actually know, and (b) can reasonably count on to engage in shenanigans that will ultimately benefit in the blog.

The Bride:
Name: Jenn Witz (soon to be Marasco)
Likes: husband hunting and ring shopping, snowboarding, getting kicked out of wineries, drinking in airport bars, shopping at Express (yes, it still exists).
Trip goals: I’ve heard through the bridesmaid grapevine that the soon-to-be Mrs. Marasco is trying to get TURNT UP on this trip. So let the games begin.

The A Team (i.e. the people I know):
Suzanne – A bridesmaid that has historically proven over the last 11 years I have know her to never say no to a party. Or anything, for that matter. Literally, never. She also always finds a way to get free shit. She just has one of those faces.

Allie – A bridesmaid and also my BFF who is likely to spend a majority of the weekend blacked out searching for quesadillas while simultaneously being the group hype-girl.

hype girl
My hype girl 4 lyfe

Sheena – a fellow non-bridesmaid who is braving Mexico in a boot after having broken her foot at the last bachelorette party she attended a few weeks ago. So basically, a seasoned professional.

Ryan – The group sugar daddy minus the sugar, double the daddy, and also the reason we all ordered men’s t-shirts. Why do we have a boy at this bachelorette party? Everyone knows you need your token gay (at least one) at these things. Get with the times, people.

A-team group goals: Get on a yacht. Don’t die. Don’t get arrested.

Now this wouldn’t be Rory’s blog unless I took this opportunity to give you a little single girl perspective on bachelorette parties. You all knew it was coming the second you opened this. Lets look at the pros and cons of friends getting married:

Pro: They are forced to pry themselves away from their other half for one weekend and attempt to be as fun as they were when they were single. You know, like back when you first became friends with them. Before they retreated into the abyss of Netflix and chill on loop.

Con – They turn into a pumpkin at the end of the bachelorette and once again become the friends you keep in touch with via text because they only hang out with couples now.

Pro: I get to party for a weekend. And I will take any excuse to party with my friends. I also get to use my go pro, so there’s that.

Con: This shit gets fucking expensive. Do you know how many bachelorette parties I have this year? A lot. And a bachelorette party can no longer just be one night of debauchery. No, no, no, these girls need and entire weekend of vodka to the face so that they can steel themselves to the idea of one man for the rest of time. Now, I’m fine with spending money on a weekend of fun just about anywhere. The only part that pisses me off about this is that by the time I get married (if ever), all these bitches will be settled down with kids. Meaning I’ll be getting “Sorry, Ror, can’t make it to your bachelorette weekend, I would need to pump at the pool. And Reginald Rotherford II can’t go more than a few hours without the tit.” So while everyone’s marriage trumps my single life, no one’s marriage can trump kids. Why does no one tell you this? The race isn’t to get to the altar. The race is to have a bachelorette party before your friends turn into milk machines who forget about the thousands of dollars you once spent on their life choices.

Pro: You get to see your friends blissfully happy, blah blah blah. Yeah, I get it. Weddings are great. Love is in the air. You’ve found the one person you are pretty sure you can probably stand for fifty years (*twenty at most*). By all means, let’s throw a party to celebrate this. Just make sure there’s a open bar, please.

Con: No one seems to give a shit about the single girl who didn’t get a plus-one because she isn’t in a “serious relationship”, who orders the steak because it’s not like anyone is going to notice, who secretly prays that her other single friends are still single by the time the wedding rolls around so she’ll have someone to sit next to. Because extended family thinking you are the lesbian friend is always better than being the odd number at a table of 9, set for 10.

Pro: Strippers.

Con: Some brides are too classy for stippers. Which is really just code for “my fiancé will bitch about it”.

Bridesmaid
Being bridesmaidy

Ok. I’m done. Rant over. I’m off to the land of booze cruises, pool bars, 2-for-1 drinks all day, and a general acceptance of anyone drunk before noon. Señor Boston is coming home, Mexico! There are really no cons here.

Tomorrow Sheena and I get drunk on a plane before noon.  Among many other things.