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.

Zack

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.

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 10^th 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!

Christchurch Can Make You Cry

At 4:36 am on September 4^th of 2010 Christchurch, New Zealand was hit by an earthquake that hit 7.1 on that scale who’s name is making my mind go blank at the current moment.  At about 10 am that day I woke up with a hangover from hell.  I had seen a lot of images on tv and expected the city to be completely destroyed.  The reason I tell you this is because about that time I received an email from the sister/cousin/some relation that I could not remember of a friend from college.  I had met this girl (we’ll call her Lilly) about 4 years ago on a road trip with said friend.  All I could really remember was that she was hot (solid 8 if memory serves) and she was definitely flirting with me on our only occasion of hanging out. 

Anyways, her email said that she had been living in Australia for the past year or so and was soon to move to Christchurch.  I decided that since I hadn’t been to Christchurch before, and apparently the city was still slightly standing, that I would go up and give her a friend for the weekend.  Seemed like a good idea from my end and she sounded excited about seeing me (who isn’t?).  So on a Friday afternoon I leave work and hop in the car for a what I didn’t realize was a 7 hour drive.  7 hours by yourself is a really long time in the car.  But no need to worry about that.  I finally arrive at about 11 pm that night.

After a hello and a little small talk we decide to grab a drink.  The rest of the night was spent mainly catching up and essentially getting to know each other.  We shut down one bar and headed to another.  It was pretty much just a chill night with a little drinking and light flirting.  No big deal, we have the whole weekend.  There was no need to rush this one, because well she was still as hot as I remember.  We head back and call it a night.

I am awoken the next morning by Lilly’s text message at about 9 saying something along the lines of “Wake up, I’m bored!!! take a shower and we’ll go get breakfast!!!!”  Now as much as I enjoy getting awaken by an excited girl, this was just a few too many exclamation points for 9 am.  So I wake up and get ready for spending all day with this very hot girl that I barely know. 

Christchurch has a lot more to see than Invercargill so we set out to see what we could see.  We had a nice breakfast and headed for a gondola ride up the mountain to look at the city.  I have never seen someone more afraid of anything than Lilly was of riding up that mountain.  I’m maintaining it as just an excuse to get close to me but she would probably never admit that.  Anyways so after a trip up the mountain we head to see more of the area.  It was a nice drive and I was finding it pretty easy to have a conversation with this girl.  Both of us seemed to be a little nervous though.

Rule for a first date (this can also just be applied to life): Just relax and enjoy yourself.  Some people tell you that you need to just be yourself and the other person will appreciate you more for it.  I’m not a big believer in being yourself right away, because nobody wants to see your craziness on a first date.  Unless you are as awesome as, well me then you might want to just show a little of your true self.  Easier to do this if you are relaxed though.

So after a drive on tiny roads we find the beach.  A nice walk, a cave, and some scary looking children later we decide to have lunch at this place right on the beach.  Things were actually going really well and all I could think was “shit, do I kinda like this girl a little bit?  Oh well, I’m just going to have some fun and see what happens.”  After lunch we decide it’s time to head back to town and I tell her that I’m taking her out on a date tonight.  She agrees and we go to get changed.  I change quickly and am now looking to kill time.

Traveling tip in New Zealand: Stay in backpacker hostels.  Cheap and all over the place.  Also there are always interesting people to meet along the way.  I am outside enjoying a cigarette when I am approached by a Maori guy with about 6 teeth.  He says that he and some other guys are out back drinking before heading to a concerts and I should join them.  I’ve never been one to say no to, well just about anything so I join.  I down four of this very awful tasting “homemade kiwi drink” as they called it and go from sober and a little uneasy to kind of drunk and ready for my date.

I pick up Lilly and we take a cab into town.  We stop at the first nice restaurant that we see and I tell her to get a bottle of wine.  Now I’m not usually much of a wine drinker but when in Christchurch, do as the Canterberrians do?  Not really sure if that one works but moving on.  This seems to loosen her up and she begins telling me about the real reason why she left Australia.  I’m not going to bore you with those details but she had just recently just gone through a bad break up.  Drunk, lonely, vulnerable, and only knows one guy in a foreign country.  This sounds right up my alley.

Next thing I know we are at another bar drinking more and she suddenly starts telling me that as much as she wants to, she’s not sleeping with me tonight.  Apparently she is “not that girl anymore who sleeps with the hot guy on the first date.”  To all of you out there who have heard this line before: it is a fucking lie!  Most of the time.  Apparently I was on top of my game that night because I respond with something along the lines of “I just wanted to take you out and maybe give you a good night kiss at some point.” 

Rule number two of a first date in a foreign country and well anywhere else: Play it cool.  Guys can play the hard to get card too and it works the same as when chicks do it.  So out of not really nowhere I know Lilly jumps me and kisses me.  “Wow, you are a good kisser” she tells me and we spend the next couple of hours being that couple in the bar that you want to ignore but you just can’t look away.  We were making out and people probably were making bets that we were going to have sex in the bar.  I’m not that big of an exhibitionist but why not, she is really hot.  The waitress had been coming by fairly often at the beginning and apparently I was “making a scene,” I called it just making conversation to use to my advantage with the other people that were getting the free show. 

Well in the middle of one of our make-out sessions she stops.  I look at her and she is starting to cry. Really?  She is not just tearing up, we are talking full on meltdown crying.  Apparently she really isn’t over the guy from Australia. 

Now I’m usually a good guy deep down so I try to be the nice guy who lets her cry and tells her that everything will be alright.  She calms down and starts to kiss me again.  “Alright, that was weird.  I guess she’s just drunk and we need to get out of here” I thought to myself.  She goes to clean herself up and I pay our tab.  We find a taxi and head back to where I was staying.  More kissing in the car and good times in my future.  Or so I thought.

We get inside and start making out again.  As the clothes start to come off, the tears return.  “Shit” is all I can think and she is way past the point of being consoled.  I do my best to try to get her back to normal but no luck.  Later I’m lying in a tiny bed with a gorgeous, shirtless, uncontrollably emotional girl asleep in my arms.  Nothing is going to happen tonight.

We both wake up with hangovers from hell.  She apologizes for the night before and suddenly realizes she still isn’t wearing a shirt.  I don’t know about you but I can’t really listen to what a topless woman has to say.  We go get some breakfast and say goodbye.  A hopeful weekend just turned into a crazy story.

As of this point, Lilly and I have somewhat stayed in touch and I’m still thinking that a second date could happen (mainly because quite frankly, she’s hot and I am somewhat disappointed for not closing the deal.  I guess even Mo Rivera blows one every now and then).  Maybe no more wine drinks for her next time though.

Long drive home and a Halloween Party the next week to look forward to.  Oh and on another note, although the earthquake sounded bad and people did lose their houses the damage was not as noticeable as I expected.  Christchurch is a pretty cool town and I will be making a return trip.

Thanks for reading, more awesomeness to come in the next instalment.

Later,

Zack

The Night We Suited Up

Now I’m sure that all of you have heard the expression “Suit Up!” from the awesome character of Barney Stinson (Neil Patrick Harris from “How I Met Your Mother”) but how many of you have actually heeded his advice?  This next story is one where me, Pint Size, and Fish lived a night that would have made even NPH proud.  It all started in our living room on a Monday night….

There we were, just sitting around having a lazy Monday when Fish shows up at our house.  Anyway, not to bore you with idle conversation we’ll just skip ahead.  Somehow the topic of suits comes up in conversation which leads me to tell how I’ve got an awesome 3-piece suit just sitting in my closet and I’m looking for an excuse to wear it (I’ve since learned that any excuse is a good excuse to wear a suit).  The twins and fish don’t believe that I look good in or even own a suit, and me being me had to prove them wrong.  I head upstairs and proceed to dress to the nines.  I am very proud of this suit because besides looking good on me, it’s also got a near perfect record (the one blemish was a Bat Mitzvah so I’m not really counting it).  So going into the night it was 2-0.  Anyways, I go downstairs to hear calls of “wow” and “damn” which were just the sounds I was hoping for when genius strikes me.  Fish needs a suit and Thursday night we’re suiting up and going out.

Tuesday when I arrive home from work, Fish is there and already wearing his new suit which he got second hand but still looked pretty damn good.  The suits were set, the night was set, the participants were set (Pint Size was going to dress up and join us), and all we need is the story.  Now I’m usually a very honest person, but with great suit comes great responsibility.  We needed a great story to explain the suits.  Invercargill is not usually a suit town, you get more “why are you wearing a suit, you asshole” than anything else.  So after some consideration we had a few different ones to choose from.  We were debating about the funeral excuse (note: I don’t like to use this one because tempting karma is not a good idea), wedding, brothers, or traveling executives.  Now as good as all of these sound, we couldn’t exactly pull off the relatives due to me being American and Fish being Kiwi.  Too many holes in the story, main one being that we sound and look nothing alike.  So we decide on the traveling executives idea.

First off I would like to thank the Ford Motor Company for being such a big name worldwide and being the biggest car name in New Zealand (Holden you can suck it).  We were to be Ford executives who had been in meetings all day.  I was an American sent here to do research on the plants and dealerships all around New Zealand.  Pint Size was my personal assistant for my time here and Fish was a higher up at who works in Invercargill that was the guy I met in the last meeting and offered to take me out.  I am not much of a car guy so I let him handle those discussions and I was just going to let the accent do its work.

So Thursday rolls around and we’ve all suited up.  Now I’m not sure about the rest of you but usually I can tell how the night is going to go by the first about 10 minutes of the first location.  We decided to first get a drink at a smaller pub that had some live acoustic music.  I ordered my drink of choice, whiskey and coke (Jamison whiskey to be exact), and the night officially began.  We had been in the bar about 14 seconds when every head had turned to look our direction.  Yes we did just walk in and yes we did look that good.  This was going to be one of those nights that we talk about for weeks or longer.  It will no longer just be that Thursday we went out, it will be the night we Suited Up! As Ford execs no less.

We stayed for that drink mainly to test out our story and I just want to give a round of applause to Pint Size and Fish for being excellent at thinking on their feet.  The story was working perfectly on the bartender girls who were sober and within minutes we had them eating out of our hands.  Off to the next place we decide.  Different bar, same story.  Everything was just coming easy for us.  It was like we’d been doing this forever.  When one of us didn’t have an immediate answer or was in danger of getting caught, another was right there to keep it going.  A few more bars, a lot more looks and Pint Size getting us free and cheap drinks, it was a beautiful sight.  There was only one problem: where the hell was everybody?  It was a Thursday night, usually a big night for Southland, but 3 bars down and we had exactly 0 prospects between us (by us I mean myself and Fish, Pint Size could have had whatever she liked).  Every pub we hit we got the same story.  “Wait a little while and go to Barluca.”  We played dumb and finally hit the most popular young people’s bar in town.  It’s pretty decent for what it is.  The drinks are reasonably priced, there’s a dance floor, loud but not too loud most nights, and usually an ample supply of girls who’ve had just enough to drink for me to be much more interesting than in real life.

We decide it’s finally time to put this to the test and try Barluca.  We walk in to the same response as everywhere.  The doorman checking some annoyed looking person’s id while he waves at the suits who are allowed to just walk right in.  Finally!  There are people at this bar and we are the best looking group to walk in all night. 

First rule of going out on the prowl:  Always make a lap.  The guy who immediately goes to one spot and stays there never scores.  Lap made, table found, whiskey drinks on the way…. Game time.  We were almost called out by people who thought they knew Pint Size and I did my best, along with an excellent effort on her part, to distract them so as to not blow our cover.  I do admire the kids for trying but in the words of Ferris Beuller “If I’m going to get caught, it’s not going to be by that guy.”  I was beginning to think that maybe the women just weren’t out tonight because although there were a few, most had a man with them or had turned one of us down already. 

Rule number two: You’re going to swing and miss on occasion.  There is no man alive who doesn’t get the occasional no, drink thrown in face, fuck off, slap, or my personal favourite “get on your level.”  If you think the night is over because of this then give up now and enjoy spending way too many nights alone (I know, I’ve been there but now I’ve learned that it’s all about confidence and persistence).  So we venture on when suddenly, Jackpot!  A group of 5 girls come in.  No men with them, all drunk, all hot.  I look at Fish and he sees them too.  “What’s our opening line?” I say to him when he suddenly comes up blank.  “Fuck it, follow my lead” I decide and we head to the bar where the girls are taking shots.

Rule three: When you see a group of girls, especially hot girls, taking shots of tequila, by all means go introduce yourself to these new friends.  That’s what we did next.  I start it off with some comment about the shots when the hot black chick turns around and I hear “you are really cute, where are you from?”  I had literally said about 4 words to her and she’s already good to go.  She asks me my name and why am I in a suit.  I give her our story only to be asked “have you been kissed in New Zealand yet?”  Before I could even respond, she had her tongue in my mouth.  I’m not usually great at the bar and never this quickly, it has to be the power of the suit.  Now since I have a chick who is already making plans to show me a good time for the one night I have in Invercargill I decide it’s time to help out Fish.  “Fish, look I got one, second hottest one at the party.  Let’s get you one too.”   After a few games of “Have you met Fish?”  The girl, who I have learned is from South Africa (although I was told later that she looked more Indian, to which I say what the fuck do I care it was dark and I was drunk but she still look good.) and that’s what we’ll call her for the sake of the story and she lives in New Zealand now, decides that she’s going to try and help out.  She calls a friend for Fish and the girl shows up at the bar.

Rule 4:  If your wingman gets a chick before you and said girl calls a friend for you, don’t let them leave the bar without you.  Now this is just good business.  I mean the girl came down there to meet you and you can’t just lay an egg.  Even if you don’t have your A game that day at least show up to play.  Fish however went up to the plate, looked at 3 down the middle and went back to the dugout.  I was really expecting more from him and do expect more in the future.  We tried and tried but it was clear that Fish needed to step it up or he was going home all by himself.  Which is what I’ve heard ended up happening.

Meanwhile, I had made out a few more times and kept being told that “I never go home with a guy from the bar” but we were in the cab headed that way.  Now this could be the drinking, the noise, or just the night but I was headed to the house of a girl I’d just met.  Or maybe I should say the parent’s house of a girl I’d just met.  One thing leads to another and we end up in the backseat of her car.  This particular vehicle was a hatchback and at 5’10’’ I’m not the tallest guy in the world but certainly a hatchback it going to make it tough.

Rule 5: Any awkward situation can be turned into a good situation.  Any time you find yourself not sure of what to do next, just keep experimenting until you make it work.  And make it work we did!  High 5 for this guy!  We finish up and she calls me a cab.  I get home and go to work 3 hours later for the most miserable Friday work that I’ve had in a while.  But as they say “bad mornings usually follow good nights.

This particular night was a great night.  Much praise to Fish and especially Pint Size for their incredible thinking on their feet and a great night. 

Keep Awesoming out there blogosphere!