Monday, January 3, 2011

It Was Christmas Eve Babe... In the Drunk Tank

The famous first words to that amazing holiday song “Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues. I figured this was an appropriate title what with this being the unofficial song of my Christmas holidays (that and we sang it at least 47 times a day over the holiday drinking binge). Christmas time in New Zealand is a little different that back in the US of A. First off, it’s the middle of summer so Counter, Axel, and yours truly took this opportunity to make the most of the sunshine by sitting outside drinking and singing at the top of our lungs for about a 2 week period (the complete summer in Invercargill). It was also an opportunity to introduce the newest craze in drinking (by the way you heard it here first so please try it out): The International Drinking Laws.

Glad you asked. The International Drinking Laws are simple yet deadly.

Law 1: Thou shalt only drink out of your left hand.
Law 2: Thou shalt not speak anyone who is present’s name.
Law 3: Thou shalt not point with the index finger.

Sounds easy right? Give it a try and get back to me.

So Christmas finally comes around and I head to some small town (I can’t remember the name and frankly it’s not even close to important) with the twins for their family celebration. Dysfunction doesn’t even begin to describe this family. The twins are the only ones who resemble normal. We take off and start our drinking weekend on the car trip (which is legal here as long as you aren‘t driving, God bless this country) and are a little tipsy by the time we arrive. When I say small town, I really mean a family farm surrounded by well sheep mainly. I get introduced to the other family members. The brothers, sisters, in-laws, children, step children, step in-laws, and a guy who looked like a hobo. The barbeque and drinking festivities continue and I’m ready for a good night.

Enter skinny blond girl. She was somehow part of the family but who can keep that shit straight. The girl immediately starts talking to me and finds me very interesting. Oh did I mention that she was only 16. Honestly what the fuck? Although that is the legal age of consent in New Zealand, that’s a little much even for this guy. So this means some avoiding for me will have to happen.

Axel and I head outside to play backyard cricket (ps check out my article in the St. Clair County News about cricket) with the kids. It’s acting like a normal family event when a small ginger kid starts crying.

Side note: Gingers don’t have a soul. If you are a ginger and didn’t know this already, I would apologize but I’m not going to. It sucks for you that you have this condition and I would consult your local physician to look for a cure to gingeritits.

Anyways, tackling starts for some reason and I end up getting kicked in the ear by a 10 year old. Weird afternoon is starting to turn into a very drunken night. We teach everybody the International Drinking Laws and the night begins. It was a fairly normal night of drunken debauchery including people taking caps off beer with the fishslice (or spatchula for the rest of the world) much like the movie Once Were Warriors.

Side note again: This movie is often referred to as New Zealand’s favorite romantic comedy. If you get a chance to watch please do. It will give great insight into the life of the Maori culture. This movie has everything. Alcohol abuse, domestic abuse, rape, gang initiation, drugs, suicide, honestly what else does a movie need?

About 3 am rolls along and I head off to chair to catch some z’s waiting for Santa to arrive. And arrive he did, in the form of 3 children under the age of 12 at 730 am. I warned them that I would end them if they continued to try and wake us up that early but to no avail. We then do the family gift giving where the spoiled kids get way too much shit and complain about not getting more. I am working off a massive hangover when the 16 year old starts parading around in these low cut tops trying to show off her surprisingly large tits. They must have been hiding in the jacket from the night before.

Side note numero 3: Yes I felt dirty at the time and still do for looking and for some thoughts that passed by.
Moving on, we have lunch and head back for the house. Thus ending one of the drunkest holidays I’ve ever had. I managed to get loved by somebody else’s family, kicked in the ear, had a 16 year old slut it up around me, and get absolutely hammered. All in all, good weekend.

A few days later I moved to Christchurch. Not much to report from the first few days here. I won some money at the casino, found a new place to live (out of the gimp room!), and had a house party. Hopefully some new awesome stories to report soon.

Happy 2011 everybody,

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Getting Back on that Horse (With the Help of a Wingwoman)

As most of you guys out there know, the act of luring a woman (or hooking up if you will) is truly an art form. There are some out there who are born with this ability (we all know those assholes who it all just comes naturally). There are some who have worked hard to perfect their craft (this guy included). And then there are some who just don’t get it. Regardless of the category you fall into (hopefully not the last one) even the best of us occasionally need some help. This is where having a good wingman at your disposal always comes in handy.
Wingmen come in all shapes and sizes. The one in this story happens to come in the shape of a chick. Being in New Zealand has brought me many new experiences that I would have never had in my life, and this particular Friday brought another.
Thursday was my last official day of work and I could not have been happier. This seemed like a good enough reason to celebrate. I got done with work and decided that drinking would be a good plan. I went to town with Pint Size and another friend (we’ll call her Sparrow) to celebrate the occasion. It had the makings of a great night until I’m standing at the bar and I see 5, yes 5, of my now former students. Buzz Killington could not have killed my good time any more. Needless to say I proceeded to get hammered. I woke up early the next morning to return my keys to work. I have had some bad hangovers in my time but this one was definitely top 5. I went to work and returned home to sleep it off for most of the day.
About 430 pm I’m awakened by Axel asking me if I wanted to go to with her, Counter, and Max to the cricket match. Now as you have read, I am not the biggest cricket fan in the world but I’d never been to one so I decided to come along. Cricket live is still not all that interesting but can become so when drinking. So we start drinking at the match and enjoying our team being terrible and losing again. The rain started and ended our good time early. We headed back to the house and kept the drinking going.
As the night went on we continued to get drunk when Counter says she has a friend (we’ll call her Josie) who is going to stop by. A single friend at that. Thank you Counter. Apparently she used to work with this chick and thought that we might hit it off. Josie shows up and brings along a friend (some dude named Paddy). We took one look at this guy and just could not think of the words to describe him. First off he looked dirty and smelled a little funky. Not to mention the fact that this kid was missing two of his bottom teeth in a fairly noticeable way. Me and Axel immediately had a great desire to make fun of this guy.
A lot more drinking, some awesome heel clicks, and a round of goon of fortune (during which Paddy was the first victim to spew during the game, thanks for the dead grass in our backyard asshole) we were all pretty drunk and I start to notice that this Josie chick is actually pretty good looking and decent to talk to. The fact that she kept dropping sexual hints didn’t bother me either (nor did her huge boobs. I’m just going to pause for a moment to give everybody a chance to appreciate the greatness of boobs. Just think about them for a minute. Keep thinking. A little longer. Alright moving on.)
It is at this point that Counter steps up as the wing woman. She is talking me up big time to this chick and things are looking very promising. She is also attempting to give me some tips to help with this chick. I pretty much had it in the bag at this point but appreciated the help non the less. Off to town we went. Josie and I could not ditch Paddy quick enough. A few more drinks and suddenly it’s just us in a dark corner of the bar.
Now I have a pretty high opinion of myself, in case you haven’t noticed. I consider myself to be pretty good looking and quite a catch (not to mention the awesomeness factor which currently is off the charts). In this dark corner of the bar she says a phrase that seems to keep happening me “fuck you’re cute.” Check and mate. We start kissing in the bar and I am very much in when Counter reappears. I head to the bathroom and when I return, Josie practically drags me out of the bar. We head to another one because she wanted to “kick my ass at pool.” Things get pretty hot and heavy at the practically deserted other bar while we are playing a game of pool that I somehow managed to grab defeat from the jaws of victory.
A short walk and a long cab ride back to her place happen next. I’ll leave the rest of the night to your imagination (high 5, high 5 again, wait for it… one more time… morning high 5. Seriously what is a better way to start the day than morning sex?). I will give you one of the details though, she snored. Oh my god did she snore. Advice to women, warn a guy before keeping him up all night (post sex) with your buzz saw sounds.
Now normally I would have gotten the phone number and used it as a “don’t answer” but this girl qualified for multiple entries. So I was alright when she texted me later. The next day was one of those mixed with a hangover and sleep deprivation. Much like this day has been. Gotta love a Wednesday after a date (which apparently they don’t do here in New Zealand. The normal protocol is you have drunken sex, then you do it again. If you do that a third time it’s a relationship. I know, confused me too.)
The first week of non-employment has been good to this guy and things should continue in this way. I am moving between Christmas and New Years so wish me luck.
Later kids,

Monday, December 6, 2010

My First 3 Months

So I’m taking a break from my usual format of telling stories about my awesome life to write a few observations of my first few months in this foreign land at the bottom of the world.  I just want to say that I have truly enjoyed my time here (minus the job, teaching sucks in whatever country you are living.  In case you have been considering a career in high school teaching GET OUT NOW!!!!) and have met some fantastic people.  As different as this place has been, some of it has seemed way too similar.
1)      Invercargill is almost the same as Alabama except with better accents.  Seriously eerie similarities.  There are a lot of rednecks, tons of people from farms,  a large amount of racism (mainly against Asians strangely enough), and every guy has an initial desire to fight anytime they have a conversation with someone.  I have almost been punched more than once mainly because I have an accent.  Seriously had it not been for Axel I would have gotten in a fight with some old guy because I didn’t give him a good enough answer to his question of “what do you like looking at?”  I told him “cool stuff” which apparently was not good enough for him.  Luckily I had a kiwi to save me.
2)      The scenery is unbelievable.  I’m talking about actual scenery (not the female scenery.  There are some good looking ones but you really have to look, hard.  And then you still will have some problems finding them because either they don’t exist or you can only find them if you know where to look much like the entrance to Hogwarts.  Yes I just made a Harry Potter reference, you have the next 30 seconds to make your jokes and send them to me.)  I’m talking about mountains, beaches and just the sheer beauty that can’t be found anywhere else in the world.  This is some of the only untouched nature left in the world.  But moving on.
3)      Cricket is the most damned confusing game I’ve ever seen.  As most of you know I am a big sports nut.  Honestly what guy isn’t?  However being here in the truly deep south I have discovered a game that nobody in the good ole US of A has ever seen or heard of, and it’s called cricket.  No not the annoying bug that makes a lot of noise when you are trying to fall asleep.  This sport actually can be worse than that.  It’s a sport that is sort of like baseball but takes longer.  The quick games actually aren’t so bad but the “test cricket is excruciating.  They last 5 full days to play one game.  In addition to being long and boring it is also very confusing.   The best I’ve been able to figure out is there are 2 guys batting and basically can stay batting for multiple days just trying to hit the ball with a weirdly shaped bat.  I don’t understand it and I guarantee that it will never take off back in the states.
4)      They are on a completely different level of swearing.  Fuck is quite possibly the worst word you can say in America.  Here it can be said on TV as long as it’s after 8 pm.  I honestly considered myself somewhat sailor like but I’m an amateur compared to New Zealanders.  They cuss on the news for fuck’s sakes.  In this PC world that kind of stuff is just shit that can’t be tolerated (does sarcasm come across through blogs?).  They also often use words that I had no idea were swears or were even words, which brings me to my next point.
5)      We all speak English but we don’t speak the same language.  It took me a couple of weeks but I think I finally understand New Zealandese.  I realize that as a person from the southern states that I might speak a little slower than some but down here I speak really slowly.  I think that they are actually those old timey auctioneers.  You know the ones I’m talking about.  The ones that are like “doihear5hundred?igot5heredoihear6anywhere?hadagataheyigthadagataheyigthadaataheyigt SOLD!”  I have been given very dirty looks often for asking somebody to repeat themselves for the 5th or 6th time.  I still can’t speak it all that well, I sound very strange using some of the kiwi phrases, but I think I finally know what some of these people are saying.
6)      Kiwi’s can drink.  I mean really drink.  Most of the stories that I’ve told here have involved drinking mainly because that is truly what they do best down here.  The local and domestic beers here are excellent and they disappear very quickly.  I consider myself a good drinker (because well I like to party) and I feel that I can hang with just about anybody.  I have been practicing for a while and am pretty good at my craft, but there are children here that can outdrink the majority of Americans.  A lazy drinking night for them is not just having a couple.  A couple to kiwis is roughly a dozen.  That’s just a night sitting around the house.  I know of two guys who recently had a drinking completion with the final score being 47-38 in the span of 12 hours.  I have to say that even I am impressed.
7)      New Zealand local television is fairly awful.  Now there are some shows that are decent but for the most part I can’t watch.  The worst of the worst is Maori TV.  It is an entire channel where the Maori language is the only thing spoken.  My personal favourite is Mr. Ed dubbed in Maori.  Just terrible.  But most of the shows where I can actually understand what they are saying are night time soap operas.  As much as I love stories with too many characters and multiple (haha I said multiple) storylines that make less sense the higher the number gets.  I actually have attempted to watch (by that I mean, certain people like it and if I want to hang out in the living room, or lounge if you will, then I’m forced to watch) a show about a hospital.  At least I think it’s about a hospital, or maybe it’s about a bar by a hospital, or maybe it’s about a nurse who murdered people, or maybe it’s about …. Ahhh, too much to try to follow!
8)      People have absolutely no awareness of cars here.  Simple rule of the road: do not get in the way of cars.  Pedestrians in this town have no idea of this.  I have almost hit 4 walkers and 3 bicyclers.  They simply walk whenever and wherever they want.  I actually had to stop forming a line of traffic behind me because a woman was in the middle of the road and appeared to be taking a picture of a powerline.  Not making this up.  And just the other day I had a biker follow my car into a parking lot because I “almost knocked him off his bloody bike.”  First off if you are over 40 you should not be on a bicycle, nor should you have a pony tail and wear socks with sandals.  Secondly don’t ride your bike close enough to a car that when they make a turn that you run the risk of getting hit, moron.
9)      The only thing that is cheap here is housing.  I am living for fairly cheap here but that is the only thing that is cheap here.  For those of you bitching about gas, it is almost $2 a liter here which ends up being about $8 a gallon.  A pack of smokes is $15 and a case of beer is about $30.  However if you are only paying $80 a week for all expenses then you can live pretty well.
And my personal favourite observation
10)   It is 1987 here.  I have been told more than once that NZ is about 20 years behind the rest of the world, but I didn’t think it was true.  The fashion looks like something straight out of the Fresh Prince.  I’m sorry but when did the tight jeans tucked into bright high-top sneakers come back in style.  And chicks, spandex is a privilege not a right.  Why are you wearing skirts with these long tights?  I thought that defeats the purpose of the skirt.  It certainly defeats my purpose.  One of the most popular songs currently is a techno version of that song from Dirty Dancing.  Yeah I realize you’ve had the time of your life but seriously that song sucked then, why bring it back?  Also the A-Team is on tv every day, seriously?  There are very few things to come out of the 1980s and I don’t see the ’85 Bears shuffling anywhere around.  Dear world, the ‘80s were not the best decade please do not bring them back!
Anyways, I am moving my awesomeness to the big city of Christchurch soon.  My stay in Invercargill has been pretty good but I’ve always thought I was too big for the small town life and will take a crack at more of big city living.
Later readers!

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Movember Rain

As most of you are aware, the moustache is the greatest piece of facial hair in the history of man.  Honestly look at the great men who’ve had a moustache and see if they aren’t awesome, I dare you.  So with the month of November came about the work contest of Movember.  Short version: we each put in $5 and the one with the best mo wins.  I decided to go with the chopper style and it came off more as child molester.  So I made the attempt to enter the Invercargill “night life” with an awesome member of the beard family.
I decided that landing a hot chick with a moustache was going to be difficult, but my hopes were high because well I’m awesome.  The first night out I realized that it might be a bigger task that I’d imagined.  This particular Friday night had all the makings to be one of legend.
Pint Size, the twins, and yours truly started the night at the house with our version of pregaming.  A few rousing rounds of “Name that tune” (a musical drinking game that I highly encourage.  Here’s what you need:
1)      Plenty of Alcohol, useful to all drinking games
2)      A knowledge of many songs that have at least at one time been considered good or popular
3)      An Itunes library full of said songs
4)      At least enough people who have #2 to make it competitive
Got all these?  Good.  Next you make sure it’s good and loud and everybody is paying attention.  Have one person in charge of music and controlling the shuffle feature.  The object of the game is to name the song title and artist the quickest.  If you do, everybody else drinks.  If nobody gets it then the person controlling the songs makes everybody else drink.  Sound like fun?  Yes, so go out and try it.) and a round of Goon of Misfortune.  By the end of Goon, we were ready to hit town. 
Pint Size, Counter, and I grab a taxi and we’re off to a pub that has a band.  I still have no idea who this band was but they played decent enough songs, which they made sound country/western, and we were on the way to having a good night.  I then noticed something very strange.  Sitting one table over from us were some girls and one of them was very pregnant.  Now I’m not a big believer in people being pregnant (seriously use protection) but I had to give some mad respect to this chick.  Who wants to sit at home on a Friday night just because they are soon to give birth.  I decide to strike up a conversation, one of the friends was kind of hot, and talk to them for a little while.  Time goes on and this kind of hot girl ends up being very rude to me.  Honestly, get on your level.  She’s the best looking option in the bar so I decide to try to use her rudeness to my advantage.  A little more conversation and I simply ask her to dance.  She says she can’t because she was there on a date with some guy.  He appeared to be about 60 and she was mid to late 20s.  I have never been so confused in my life.  This seems like a lost cause.
We take a trip outside to get some fresh air when my wingwomen step up for me.  There are a couple of women outside that are pretty decent looking and would, at least by Invercargill standards, pass as cougars.  Moustance and cougar, sounds like a good combo to me.  One of them (we’ll call her Amy) keeps telling me how cute I am and how I’m going to be “trouble.”  All I can think is Jackpot!  Kind of hot even came out and sat next to me for a minute and attempted to distract me for a few minutes before leaving in a huff.  How dare I blow her off?  Again, get on your level.
Anyways, the night wears on and each new whiskey drink tastes better than the last.  It gets down to me and the two chicks outside when one of them (who was bitching about the guy she was talking to being an ass to her) says “all I want to do is have some random sex.”  A smarter me just goes home with her at that point, but the other one looked better (damn standards).  Pint Size and Counter had taken off, giving me a thumbs up on the way out, and Amy was about ready to leave.  I had been listening to this girl talk about her child and her problems for a little while and figured this was going to pay off in the end.  We walk out to get a cab when she says she will just walk home.  A little making out later she keeps saying that she can’t go home with me tonight because she has some “loose ends to tie up” (not again).  I then go into my best 2 minute drill.  I am throwing out everything I can think of.  The classics like “I really could use some company in this strange city” and “It’s too late for you to be walking home by yourself.”  No luck.  She leaves and I get a phone number.  My guess was she’s married and miserable.  Oh well, there’s always tomorrow and there’s always more whiskey.
The next night started out in a similar way.  More drinking and more of us ready to go out and see what this town could offer.  This time, Axel is going to join us.  Always a good time when she decides to come out.  Counter looks online and sees that the best band in Invercargill is playing at this rednecky bar on the outskirts of town.  We have gone to see this band a few times and needless to say, they know us.  We are those people who yell for them to play certain songs (mainly Freebird) and they seem annoyed to have such loyal fans.
We arrive there to see a decent crowd and we’re all a little tipsy.  More drinking and some dancing later I see Pint Size talking to these two friends of hers who appear to be there by themselves and they have just finished off their third jug.  I walk over and put on my best Alabama accent.  It seems to be working when I find out that they are both married and just having a girls night out.   I don’t remember how but the next thing I know I try to talk them into a three way.  As my face stung from the slap it had just received I headed back to my table. 
We headed outside when I see yet another pregnant chick, this drinking and smoking a cigarette.  Sound parenting there.  So I go over to her and her friends and strike up a conversation.  Once again the accent gets a reaction.  This time from a girl who might have been as bat shit crazy as anybody I’ve ever met (DIBS!!!).  After an arm wrestling match we go inside to dance.  I show off my sweet dance moves and she gets even drunker and crazier as we dance.  I hesitated for a second (went to the pisser) and when I came back she had disappeared.  It seems that I’m just not destined to pull with a chopper moustache.  Or so I thought.
I proceed to get too drunk to stand and we continue to annoy the band.  I am then propositioned as the redneck bar is closing.  Normally I would at least give this a little thought because well I’m easy, but one look was all I needed.  This woman, and I mean woman, probably was attractive at some point.  However the effects of an active life had left this probably 60 year old a little worse for the wear.  I actually flat out said no (first time for everything) and somehow managed to not get a drink thrown in my face.
We share a cab with a very large Maori guy and head back home to spend the next few days with massive headaches.  A disappointing weekend but lots of fun none the less.  One piece of advice, the moustache is not a good wingman. 
We went out again the next weekend with a few of Pint Size’s friends (including Silent and Sammy) but that’s another story.
Happy Thanksgiving everybody.  My parents came into town a few days ago so I will have to take it easy for a couple of weeks.  Hope you’ve enjoyed these and I’ll be back up to my crazy ways soon.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Germans, Asians, and Kiwis Oh My! (Aka One Crazy Week in Auckland)

About a month into my trip to New Zealand I was robbed.  I was parked in front of my house and in the middle of the night my car was “broken into” (I put this in quotations because the genius that is me left my door unlocked).  They got my Ipod, the fm transmitter, and my briefcase.  I have no idea why they didn’t take the gps but apparently these “criminals” weren’t very smart.  I had very little hope of getting any of this back and was all set to replace everything when I realized that my passport was in my briefcase.  Shit!  How am I going to get a new American passport in southern New Zealand?  I call up the American Embassy and discover that I can get a replacement/new one in Auckland.  About the same time I get an email from a friend (we’ll call her Jill) saying that she and her boyfriend (let’s go with Don) are going to be there for a week in November.  Looks like I now have a good reason to make the trip to the other side of the country.  So I set an appointment, get a plane ticket, and book a hotel.
I took a couple of days off work and boarded a plane headed for the “big city.”  Auckland is New Zealand’s largest city having about 1.3 million people (mostly Asians but more on that later) and does its best to look like a big city.  After a couple of drinks served by a sexy Brazilin bartender I head off on the short 2 hour flight across the country.
A long shuttle ride and I have finally arrived at my hotel.  Jill meets me at the door and the weekend is ready to begin on this Thursday night.  After a trip to the store and the introduction to Don we decide to go to dinner. 
Now this hotel is more of a hostel/backpackers building.  More like a big house than hotel and everybody gets to know everybody else pretty easily.  So I’m standing by Jill and Don’s room when I see this pretty blonde girl standing next to me.  I decide to strike up a conversation and discover that she is a German here on an indefinite vacation.  We talk for a few minutes and I head out the door only to hear “she was cute; you should have asked her to come to dinner with us.”  I go back in and ask her if she wants to join and she somewhat happily says “okay.”  5 minutes being in Auckland and I have a date with a nice looking German chick.  I love this country.
We walk into town and find a place to eat.  Things seem to be going well but I discover that she doesn’t speak the greatest of English.  I could understand most of what she was saying but subtlety sometimes gets lost in the translation.  After the worst excuse of Asian food (I think it was Thai but it was more like a very odd combination of food haphazardly thrown on a plate) the four of us decide to find a place to drink.  A couple of drinks in, German chick finally starts to warm up to the idea of being on a date with me (apparently she didn’t know I was asking her on a date until I paid for dinner).  A few drinks, a few smokes, and some laughs and we’re on our way to buy fireworks. 
 Side note:  Fireworks are one of the greatest inventions of all time.  I love them.  Jill and Don love them and it had the possibility to be romantic and fun as all hell.
I mentioned that Auckland is full of Asians and I’m not exaggerating.  Everywhere I looked were people stopping in the middle of the road to take a picture, driving very poorly, and running from Godzilla.  There were more signs in squiggly characters than in English.  We find an Asian fireworks store and Jill is officially in heaven.  All four of us start acting like fat kids on the candy isle the day after Halloween when everything is 75% off and your mom says go nuts.  Don spends too much on a ton of fireworks and we are prepared to go shoot them off in the park.  Or so we thought.
Something else I’ve discovered about New Zealand: the weather is often shit and even more so is unpredictable.  The one thing that could ruin this night is some rain, and sure enough a downpour begins.  We walk back in the rain and decide that the guys should go get alcohol and make it a good night anyways.
A short walk to the store and Don and I have alcohol to save the night.  Or so we thought.  I walk in and find the German chick.  She is in the kitchen with what can only be described as the soon to be founding member of the fourth Reich.  It is two more Germans (what are the odds of running into not one but three Germans who don’t know each other and are staying in the same hostel in Auckland, New Zealand) who I believe were what Hitler had in mind for poster children.  The girl was alright but the guy was a sight to see.  He was a blonde, blue eyed German asshole who happened to be ridiculously drunk.  He finds out I’m an American and immediately begins asking me questions about American politics.  Now I’m firmly in the middle of the road when it comes to politics.  I am a registered independent who infrequently votes and pays attention even less.  I am not the world’s most patriotic person but I do have some pride of country.  This ass starts yelling at me because I’m not really interested in what he is asking me in broken English.  Me not being one to back down begins insulting the kid. 
The rest of the night consists of me and him arguing (I tried like hell to continue the date but it seemed that he was not going to let that happen), him insulting everything American, and being ridiculously cockblocked.  By the end of the night I was ready to punch the kid in the ear.  I resisted because I was still making an effort on what was looking more and more like a lost cause.  I was right and she went off to bed never to be seen again.  I took a cab into town and should have just stayed home because the city of over a million people had a little over a hundred in town.
The next day was spent in town with Jill while Don was working.  We walked around, shopped, and just had a good time catching up.  It had been a few years since we’d hung out so there was a lot to talk about.  We also had to make a plan for the night.  After a few hours we headed back for a quick nap and to get ready for dinner.
The rain had stopped, the sun and people were out, and I had suited up in my beautiful new suit.  A much improved dinner from the night before and it was officially on.  Walking around town got me plenty of looks and dammit if I didn’t look fantastic in the suit.  We head to a bar and begin drinking.  Very few prospects here and I was definitely the best looking person there.  I assume that there have to be people somewhere and we just have to be patient because, well it is still early.  We head to another bar only to find a birthday party full of 18-22 year old girls…. and their boyfriends.  I attempt with a few of them but it’s clear that this path was not one to continue down.  A few more whiskey drinks and we’re on the move again.
By this point we had been to a couple of bars and picked up a random guy to join our night.  He was an Australian (call him Daniel) who was there on vacation and getting drunk too.  I was playing third wheel, so me being awesome and generous decide I’m going to wingman it for this guy.  Jill and Don decide that they are going to be old and call it a night.  Down to just me and Daniel.  We head to another bar and the hunt officially begins.
Wingman rule: If the guy has potential, you should try to help him out.
Wingman rule 2: Never try to help out the guy who’s wearing shorts, socks, and sandals to go meet women.  It will not work out in his favour and you end up being the guy in the awesome suit who makes this guy look like shit.
“Excuse me (random chick who I should have tried with instead), have you met Daniel?”  I thought I was doing him a solid and he had a shot.  I walk away to get a drink when I discover that 30 seconds later he was gone from the chick.  Okay, not that one.  I was going to find him and we were going to try for a different one.  One problem, he’s gone.  I don’t mean he’s working another chick, he’s officially gone.  Not at the bar anymore, and in the immortal words of Whitesnake “here I go again on my own.” 
A few more drinks and a few unsuccessful attempts later I am being told “you’re cute, let me buy you a shot.”  Now usually it’s a bad idea for me to take shots this drunk into a night but this is a hot, I’m assuming half Asian with a ton of tattoos.  Any girl with that much ink has to be a little crazy and have some serious daddy issues.  Sounds like just my type.  We take some shots and are talking a little outside when she says “let me pee and then we’ll get out of here and have some real fun.”  She then goes inside never to come out of that bathroom.  I’m assuming she passed out but who knows, she might have died. 
While she was gone I had begun speaking to her friend (we’ll call her Ganna).  Another good looking Asian who seemed to be interested.  She said she was leaving and asked if the “hot lawyer from Chicago (not a bad story and somewhat of a future dream) wanted to go to a different bar with her.”  After a few more drinks and some dancing we are now making out in the middle of this crowded bar full of, surprise surprise, more Asians.  Now it might have been the loud music but I was having a very difficult time understanding this girl.  I blamed it on that anyway.  I knew she was talking a lot but I had no idea what any of it was.  By the time 4 am rolls around I discover that she is not going home with me but wants to hang out tomorrow.  We exchange numbers and I head home.
The next day comes, as it always does after a 10 hour drinking night, with a hangover from hell.  I spend most of the next day sleeping it off when, to my sheer amazement, Ganna sends me a text.  We make a date to meet up later and I am thinking this could turn out in my benefit.
We meet up and have dinner.  I discover that she is easier to understand when she’s sober but also she never seems to shut her mouth.  She told me, besides essentially her entire life story, that she is Mongolian.  I was annoyed with this girl very quickly and wanted to lemon law (you have 5 minutes to decide whether or not you want to commit to an entire evening.  Similar to the “call from the hospital”) her but I had (and still haven’t) an Asian.  So I was determined.
This girl turned out to be a pretty awful human being.  To top off her just being unpleasant to be around, she yelled at the waiter for whatever she ordered not having enough of whatever it was.
Advice: Now I have never worked in the service industry but have plenty of friends who do.  These people work hard and when they have less than an hour of work until they close, don’t be an douche to them.  And tip well.
So we eat dinner and go for a few drinks.  Now I had to be on a plane the next morning at 7 am.  Meaning I had to be in the shuttle at 530.  I let her know that we are on a time limit but she pushes on.  A few drinks later I realize that my god can this girl talk.  She talked on and on, and on, and on, and on.  Plus I also discovered that the more she drank, the worse her English became.  So there I am, buzzing in a strange city on the world’s most annoying date.  I kept saying that we needed to head back (partly because I was trying to get some but mostly because I was trying to get out) but she was determined to keep going.  This is where the night officially goes to hell.
The next bar we went to was what she thought to be an “Asian bar.”  It wasn’t.  We had stumbled into a gay bar.  And not just any gay bar, a gay bar after a big drag show. 
Now I am not at all homophobic.  I actually like the gays.  I like their music, I like their style, and I like how they tell me when shit is appropriate or not.  I however am not a fan of being taken to a gay bar on a first date when I have to leave to get on a plane in 4 hours.  But we stay for a drink, and then another.  At this point I’m officially done with this girl and just want to get away, but every time I try to leave she kisses me and convinces me to stay for a few more minutes.  The gay bar produced her becoming desperate and no less than 4 drag queens telling me I’m hot and she should sleep with me.  Didn’t work.
It’s now 330 in the morning and I’m officially over this but I agree to one more drink at a different place.  After that drink I start to leave and she tries to stop me.  She was fairly close to convincing me to stay when she lets that broken English say way too much.  The next words out of her mouth are ones that most people long to hear but not after 24 hours.
Advice to you women: Never, never, ever, ever, ever, ever tell a guy “I love you” when he is leaving town and you have no idea what his actual name is.  That’s what happened though.  I was freaked but luckily had gotten my out. 
“I had fun, later” I say as I run towards a line of cabs.  I jump in the first one and tell him “I don’t care where you take me just get me the fuck away from here.”  He understands and I head back to the hostel.  Ganna was left with a shocked look on her now annoying to me face and I was headed out of freaky Asian land.
I got on the plane feeling worse than ever.  I had reached that combination between being still drunk from the night before and the initial onset of the hangover.  A short flight and too long of a drive later I had arrived back in Invercargill. 
I told this story to Axel and Counter when I got back.  They are now firmly of the belief that the girl was a “ladyboy.”  I don’t think so but I never got a chance to check.  So this will now forever go down as “the time Zack picked up a ladyboy.”  Thanks for that girls.
I’ll keep going out being awesome, hope you will too.
Later bloggers

Special Correspondent Fosh

As some of you have already figured out by reading previous blogs, the man they call Zack “The Jew” lives a pretty interesting life. I know because I had the privilege of living with the slob while we both were in college.
Yes, I am the drunken guy that bangs my head against things and overall becomes a redneck with each sip of whiskey I consume. I am the one he calls Fosh.
I still like to party and I still hit my head on things when I drink, but since then I have some how became a productive member of a shitty society.
Over the years of our friendship I have come to realize a few things about Jew’s personality that translates in the actions he takes out in various situations.
Jew and I played rugby together. You can ask anyone who has ever played rugby, who you are on the field, dictates the person you really are in life. The same applies for our blog writer.
Jew was never the most athletic person on the field, but he made up for it in determination and guts. The same goes for his game off the field. His female social skills is lacking in what some call ‘game.’ He made up for his lack of game in determination, guts, and one hell of a wingman (cough, cough, hint, hint).
Jew may have picked his game up since he left the states or maybe his accent is really working that well. Jew’s “game” is much like a pitcher in the major’s. Sometimes he goes out and throws strikes the entire game and even closes. Sometimes he just sits on the mound and chews on his glove.
Jew, like myself for a while, always seems to attract some crazy females. There was the crazy bi-polar girl from Los Angeles (which should be his first indicator that she was bat shit crazy, I mean that place is from the fruit cake capital of the world). There was Morbidly Shiny aka Pageant Girl (she seriously refereed to something as being morbidly shiny like the gloss of a fire). The list goes on, and believe it or not, they get crazier with each girl.
There is just something about Jew that attracts girls with self-destructive habits and daddy issues. He may look like Dr. Phil in a few years, but he really is an asshole. Maybe these girls are punishing themselves by being with him.
I have no room to talk. I have had the bat shit girl magnet around my neck for a while. We won’t go into any details about me, but in some ways they surpass Jew’s.
I digress.
My point is, even half way around the globe, if there is a crazy chick to sleep with, Jew will be the first to unbuckle the straightjacket and take the plunge with his penis.
Jew has made me proud. Few of you may not know this but a few months ago he thought he had met “the one.” Now he is out sticking anything that moves in the back of hatchback cars and getting phone numbers on used condom wrappers. If that doesn’t make a best friend proud nothing will.
Going forward I urge all of you to remember two things.  Number One: Never Eat the worm. Number Two: Remember this name, the International ­­­(Insert future here) of Hebrew and Fosh.
The two of us are going to take over the world. Jew is starting from New Zealand. I am doing it from a Podunk town. Eventually we will own you so be nice.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Halloween Means Party Time

Ah it’s that time of year again.  That time of year where fall has officially set in, the leaves falling off the trees, it’s getting cold at night, and that wonderful holiday known at the end of October is upon us.  Well not here.  It’s warm and pretty but Halloween is still the same.  That one amazing night of the year where women let out their inner hoe-bag.  The only time where the sluttier the better, and I love this holiday.  I mean how many other days of the year do you get to get hammered and dressed up at the same time.
Halloween might be my favourite holiday and I decided that even if it’s not a big deal here that I was going to make it one and with that I was going to throw a party that was going to go down as legendary. 
I pride myself on being able to throw one hell of a party (if you ever attended one thrown by the International House of Hebrew and Fosh then you already know, but those are different stories) and I wanted to show New Zealand that Americans can hang with them.  So in early October I was sitting around with Pint Size, Counter, and Axel in the living room on a boring weeknight.
“Hey, is Halloween a big deal here?” I asked to no one specific.
“No, not really.  I mean some people dress up and stuff but not that big of a thing.” Was their reply.
“Well this year it is!  Party, our house, everybody dress up!” I decided and everybody seemed to think it was a great idea.
For the next few weeks we begin planning.  We decide that our garage is the going to be the location, a keg is needed, and we need a lot of people.  I don’t really know a ton of people in town (or at least by name, high 5!) but the flatmates do and the party is now officially almost here.  We had the decorations, we had Axel’s famous punch soon to be mixed, a keg on the way, a decently sized guest list, and some awesome costumes (my original idea was to be Captain Planet, which I may use at some point in the future but couldn’t seem to make it work on this night). 
So the weekend finally rolls around and we have a party to throw.  Pint Size, her sister, and yours truly spend most of Friday afternoon getting the garage Halloweeny.  Cobwebs (some that we bought and some that were just there) set the tone along with a skeleton hanging from the ceiling and spiders all over the place.  The setting was right perfect and the party was pretty much ready for the next day.
When you throw a party you tend to start a little earlier than everybody else and with Axel’s punch being delicious we decided that about 5 pm was about the right time to start drinking.  By 6 we were all almost drunk and decide it’s time to put on our costumes.  Earlier in the day I had scraped Captain Planet and found a fantastic 70s leisure suit.  It was pale blue, with a paisley shirt, and I found a pair of the ugliest brown platform shoes to complete the outfit.  It was awesome and sure to get attention from certain people of the slutty chick variety.
Not knowing very many people who are coming to my party does have some advantages.  Lots of strange would be crawling around and I’m the guy looking sexy in the leisure suit.  I had invited a few randoms from just being in town (such as the checkout girl from The Warehouse who actually did show up, but more about that later) but most of the guest list would be the friends of the roommates.
By 8pm people had already begun to arrive, we were Halloween suited up, and we were about drunk.  Some of the costumes were actually fantastic (Pint Size and her sister were a pair slutty vamire devil and quite a pair they were.  Axel made Pat Benetar look like trash with her 80s rocker attire.  Counter, who had just had surgery, used the crutches to her advantage as a Special Olympics athlete.  Max was a fairy princess and Monkee was being himself.  So I guess it was more of a drunk moron costume) and then some people just kind of showed up. 
So the party truly begins and I am pretty hammered by the time the sun goes down.  It was going really well but there seemed to be a lack of something.  Where are all the women in this town?  There are a few but mostly they are too young or too old.  Or just those that make you go, seriously?  Lucky for me Fish had arrived and suited up.  So I had a wingman, all we need is women when some finally appear.
Before I continue I want to go back to two days before.  Max, Pint Size, and myself are at The Warehouse (kind of a smaller Wal-Mart but not as evil) buying supplies for the party when I notice that the checkout girl is kind of hot.  She was wearing an angel outfit, which she happened to mention she had lost its halo (hell yeah), when I decide that she needs to come to the party.  So I do some mediocre flirting and invite her to the party, fully not expecting her to never show up, but she writes down the address.
After being outside for a little while, Fish gets my attention and says there is something important that I need to see inside.  Checkout girl is standing in my kitchen and has brought a friend.  Sounds like a good set up to me.  We start talking and things seem to be going well, when some of the worst words in the English language come out of their mouths.  “Oh, our boyfriends blah blah blah blah” (I didn’t listen to anything past the word boyfriend).  What the actual fuck?  We’ve been working these two girls for almost an hour and this is the first mention of this horrid fact.  Honestly who shows up to a party after being hit on at work, sober, and with a boyfriend?   Both of them having one too?  So after a quick bro pow-wow we decide that it’s time to move on.  They leave and we move on to the rest of the women at the party.  But the pickin’s were slim.  There was the 50 year olds with their tits hanging out (not too bad for their age but their scary looking husbands were right next to them) or the one who I later found out was 17 with her boyfriend. 
Side note: I’m all for the team costume idea.  Hell I’m even okay with the couple costume idea as long as it’s funny, creative, original, or even just kind of good.  There is a line that should not be crossed though.  This couple were both dressed as priests.  Both of them.  It would have been bad enough there but they weren’t done being my new least favourite couple in New Zealand.  What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of priests…. Jesus of course.  How many of you went little boy touching, show of hands?  Of course you did, well so did everybody else at the party and out come the jokes.  Word of advice: if you dress up as something ironic you better be prepared for the jokes, or better yet start them yourself.  Well not only did this guy get offended by this, he also tried to fight people for them speaking to his girlfriend.  Again, if you can’t handle it, don’t do it.  Throughout the night the guy got worse and just got douchier the drunker he got.  He also seemed to be one of the most whipped boyfriend in the southern hemisphere.  I was told that he went with his girlfriend to the bathroom.  I can only assume it was to help her wipe her ass.  He actually ended the night by almost crying in the living room and I can only hope that people got embarrassing pictures to remember it forever.
Back to my story, because well it’s more interesting. 
So there we are.  Single, drunk, dressed up, and not an actual prospect to be seen.  Pint Size was having similar luck.  Sure there were guys there that she could have her choice (well she is hot and it is much easier for a hot girl, fuck you double standard) of but even if you add them together they don’t make a double digit number on the hotness scale.  It’s about midnight and some people have heard that a lot of people have gone to town so I decide that seems like a good idea.  Monkee and his friend are headed up there so I decide to join them.
Town was jumping a little bit and I decided to ditch the leisure suit and go with something a little nicer.  We go to the bar and I ditch them pretty quickly.  Now I love having and playing wingman but these guys were not going to make my time any easier.  I make a lap of the bar and find one who looks pretty good.  So I strike up a conversation and we get a drink.  After talking a little bit I discover that I should have kept walking but me being very drunk at this point I was not thinking straight.  She was sober.  Two in the same night.  Halloween no less.  It seemed to be going alright anyways when her friends give me that “get the fuck away or we will actually hurt you” look and drag her out of the bar.  Oh well, moving on champ.  I decide that I’m way too drunk for town and should return to the party.  Can’t find a cab so I start the only about 10 minute walk when I get recognized by a car. 
Side note: in real life I teach high school (for now) and like to have no affiliation with anything that has to do with the school when I’m not at work.
In this car are 2 of my students.  Sober me says stay away, but drunk me says “fuck it, I’ll take the ride.”  So they take me back and the party is pretty winded down.  I go out to the garage and it’s just Pint Size, Fish, and Axel and they are as drunk as I am.  We spend the next while (no idea how long it was because after 4 cups of punch, 5 whiskey and cokes, a few beers, and a keg stand you tend to lose track of time) swaying and holding each other up because if it hadn’t been for others arms we all would have fallen.  And after about 9 rounds of “Tiny Dancer” sung horribly by all of us, we sang it a 10th time.  The party started with 4 of us and that was the right way to end it.  Good times with good friends and not too bad of a way to end the night.  Or at least I thought it was then end of the night.
Piece of advice boys and girls: if you’ve been drinking since the middle of the afternoon and you can barely stand by 3 am, don’t let your friend talk you into going to somebody else’s house to “meet these slutty girls he knows.”  Most of the time, yes they are slutty but you don’t want any part of these toothless, disease bustling, possible women.  And that’s just what these two chicks were.  So I’m at my third location of the night, hammered, and not really sure what’s going on.  The only alcohol left was warm beer and Jim Bean.  One shot later I was outside “peeing.”  I actually had that familiar feeling of puking up the shot and sadly I decided that I should stay.
I should not have, I should have left with Axel and just gone home.  These chicks were definitely trying to decide who gets who when Fish leans over to me and says “which one you want?”  Now as drunk as I was, these two still didn’t add up to double digits on the hotness scale.  Actually these two probably added up to a two on the scale.  So I decide that I’m going to drink until they were hot.  There was not enough alcohol on the planet for that to happen.  So as the sun starts to come up, I decide it’s time to go home.  I head back outside, puke again, and take a cab home. 
A two day hangover followed and some good memories.  So no play for this guy (damn soberness) but a great night none the less.  Plus I was going to Auckland in a few days and had a new suit for the occasion.  So awesome things should be in my near future.
Peace out and a belated Happy Halloween!