Cool. No Worries. Free to Party: Risky Business, Advisor Meetings and ANZAC DAY

Wednesday night was a Pajama Party at the Tav. Theme parties there are usually crowded, but there is never a huge line to go inside. However, on this night, every Curtin student wanted to be there. Apparently, the possibility of impersonating Tom Cruise in Risky Business, or dressing uber-casual to a bar is the most exciting thing for a young Australian. Luckily for us, Harry had been waiting in line for awhile, so Nick and I were able to cut the line and walk in. Our friends surrounded us so quickly that it was like the bouncer hurled us into the bar and as we were flying towards the dance floor, ten dollars came out of wallets and upon landing we had a full jug of beer. This expedited entrance led to a blurry night that left me with a tough Thursday morning.
Friday night, we finally found the coveted 1st Choice liquor store, which offers the cheapest alcohol in Western Australia. Although we have been looking for it for awhile, it was six minutes away from campus. Our Tom Tom GPS failed us because we would always type in First, not 1st, Choice, and Tom Tom could not handle this discrepancy. The worst part is that we asked if they had any jobs available and they said they were looking for male workers, but had filled those positions that day. What a cruel joke! I wish the person lied and said that they could not hire Americans or that we were too sexy to work there. Knowing that we were a day late about landing a dream job is similar to
At HQ, we started to play a massive game of pyramid B.S. to put ourselves in a festive mood. Even though we had about twelve people playing, everyone kept sending drinks Liza’s way because she is too nice and too fun to not give her all the drinks. It is not a conscious decision to gang up on her, but you look around the table and see her and are helpless to not make her down her drink. The easiest comparison is like when Dick Cheney shot his colleague in the face while quail hunting. Cheney was trying to shoot quail but he is a dickhead, so he could not stop himself from shooting an innocent man in the face. Like Dick Cheney’s victim, Liza had to retire early.
Since it was Friday, we went to the Tav to catch the party bus to Northbridge for some clubbin’. At the first bar, the Deen, one of the girls came up to me and asked me if I wanted to bite one of the candies off her friend’s necklace. Taking my vampire course, I had no problem sinking my teeth into her neck (lace) and sucking her blood (red candies). Unfortunately, I never thought that the girls would want something in return. In fact, it was her bachelorette party and there were six girls in cowgirl themed dress behind her. As a result, I had to buy her a drink, and of course she orders the most expensive drink at the bar. Undeterred by their shenanigans, I started to strike up a conversation with them and they invited me to the dance floor. Feeling the pressure to show them a magnificent performance, I went into the middle of the circle and blew their minds. I was like Michael Jordan in the playoffs: unconscious. I probably never have or never will dance better than I did then. For my efforts, they gave me one of their sweet cowboy hats as they kissed me goodbye. In light of my success, I tried to keep it going, so I looked around for the biggest stage to highlight my newfound skills. At the back of the dance floor was a platform and I nearly sprinted up there. On the dais, I found a girl to dance with and my newfound flair was still working. She matched me move for move and in my mind, we were dancing like we were Patrick Swayze and Baby in Dirty Dancing. Reality briefly returned when she walked away and I looked down for Ben and could not find him. He had sent me a text saying everyone was going to the casino. The last thing I wanted to do was to go to the casino because the Burswood Casino and I have a mutual hatred for each other. Consequently, I had to lone wolf it around town. I tried to go to the bar across the street, but since my button down shirt had one too many buttons not buttoned the bouncer forced me to butt out.
Paramount was my next destination, but along the way I saw about three people passed out on the streets and the police were having a difficult time waking them up. One of the people actually did wake up from his alchohol-induced slumber and tried to convince the cop not to arrest him because he was not drunk, simply tired. The cop was going to believe that like Matt Stone and Trey Parker believe Tom Cruise is heterosexual. The drunken idiot was tossed hard into the cop car and I continued my trek to the club. Inside the Paramount, I noticed this girl with a big ol’ booty who I had to go up to and ask to dance. Whether it was my boldness, innocence or ridiculousness, she enjoyed my company and we started tearing up the dance floor. Midway through our session, I saw my advisor at Curtin who approached me and gave me a hi-five. The best part about the hi-five was that it came with a 50 dollar bill, which he told me to put towards my night moves on the girl I was dancing with. Best mentor ever! Things took a turn for the worse as I made a quick bathroom break and on my way back to the dance floor I was escorted out by the bouncers. I did not even fight or make an argument. That is just what happens here. Getting booted from a club has occurred more often than a supposed anti-gay and/or pro-family politician being caught up in a raunchy sex scandal.
After being kicked out of a bar in Perth for the millionth time, I walked across the street to Atlee and Rikke’s favorite late night cheesy bread stand. While munching this delicious creation, I saw my mentor stumble out of Paramount and I went over to thank him for the 50 dollar loan. He told me to keep it and that we needed to have an advising meeting, so we went to a bar and got more shitfaced. During our conference, we discussed how I could improved my game and not look so American while I was out on the town. At first, he had me captivated because he brought up some valid points. For instance, I was wearing khakis and everyone around us was wearing jeans. He even asked the guy next to him to rag on me for appearing like such a ‘wanker,’ which I did not appreciate it, but it helped support his claims. However, he never really progressed from the jeans aspect. He must have told me that I needed to wear jeans about fifteen thousand times. Every other question he asked me was, “So what are we going to wear next time?” To that, I would reply, “Jeans.” Although I may have not received a plethora of advice, I know now that I will only wear jeans when I go out in Perth in the future.
The weekend was a long one because of ANZAC Day, a holiday for the fallen Australian and New Zealand soldiers, which is celebrated by a dawn service in the morning and then a massive Sunday Session afterwards. The dawn service was at 4 a.m., so we skipped that but were sure to make it to the beach by one to start partying. We dug ourselves lounges out of sand to lie in, which were so comfortable I could have stayed there all day. Every once in a while though we had to go the bathroom and as a result we would walk into the water, pause for a few seconds and then walk back out. Anyone who was paying attention to us would have been disgusted with our lack of effort to at least hide what were doing. Luckily, everyone was doing their own thing and reveling in the beautiful Sunday sun, so they did not notice our “public urination.”Next, our movement to get inside the Cottlesloe Beer Garden was expedited by the sand war that Nick started. He and Sam thought it would be funny if they knocked over Ben’s lounge area while he was in the ocean. When he came back, he was under the impression that Sam was the main culprit, causing him to destroy Sam’s. Then, he realized Nick was the instigator, so he and Sam obliterated Nick’s area. Having no more places to relax in and no more grog to drink, we knew it was time to march into the bar. I would love to tell you exactly what happened inside the Beer Garden but that two hour period has been erased from my memory. I know that I must have bought two of their 12 dollar pints because I had no more cash in my wallet when I left there. Additionally, I was a hilarious mess because I have received many comments from people in KV over the last few days about how they saw me and that I seemed to be having a LOT of fun.
Sierra, one of our newfound American friends, was gracious enough to drive our car and pick us up from the Cott. She was a trooper about it as she seemed to enjoy our drunk antics rather than be appalled at our loud screaming and retarded comments. If you could handle a bunch of wasted people putting one techno/mash-up type song on repeat the whole trip, yell take a Larry or Roger at every turn and try to make you stop at every fast food/ bottle shop that they saw, then kudos to you. Although she did not appreciate how I seemed to run off to places, and told me that I needed a leash when I go out. What she does not understand is that I am more apt to chew through that leash than allow it to stop me.
Cinco de Mayo is next week, so if you can grow a dirty stache, then let it rock out next Wednesday. Also, if you are not on the 49ers bandwagon right now, the draft proved that you need to be. For all the Trinity students out there, please sign the petition to add another section of Viewing The Wire. This was/is the best show ever on television and the fact that Trinity is offering a class on it, is the tits, the tequila and everything else that is wonderful in this world. Until next time, enjoy the Sharks still swimming in the Playoffs, the Giants pitching staff dominating opponents (except Todd Wellenmeyer, he blows) and Happy Birthday to the Killer, Jim Kilgore. It is his 50th anniversary of being able to drive, so it is a big one and if you see him, be sure to congratulate him on this milestone.

And here is the anthem...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V775PPuBc7Y

You are a Champion, Mate: The Green Machine, Red Bull Jets, Goon of Fortune and Caves

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Special Edition: Spring Break in Bali

Late Saturday night, Ben and I made the decision to plan a last minute excursion to Bali. Tuesday morning Ben, Sam, Harry, Jenny and I were flying Air Asia at 4:50 am to Denpasar airport for what we hoped was the adventure of a life time. When we landed we were more jacked up than Bill Romanoski after injecting some steroids. The first day was spent exploring Nusa Dua and enjoying the beaches and pools at our hotel. Feeling well rested, we headed into Kuta for some late night debauchery. First, we went to a delicious Japanese restaurant for some dirt cheap sushi and cocktails (I refrained from using the adjective bomb, as in It’s Da Bomb, to describe the Japanese place because putting bomb and Japan together seems a little insensitive, Hiroshima and Nagasaki know what I am talking about). The only down side to the restaurant was that we had to sit Indian style around this two foot high table. This seating arrangement was a major problem because we were way too big for the space provided and this naturally meant that I was going to end up breaking something. Towards the end of dinner, as I stood up to go to the bathroom, I smashed into the picture that was hanging above me. I picked it up and tried to fix it, but that only made it worse. Interestingly, I did not feel too guilty about it because me crashing into something in that delicate environment is as expected as the sun coming up in the morning. Ruining the artwork expedited our exit from the restaurant because it was weird and awkward to stay when I just humiliated myself. To relieve the stress that I caused, Ben and I went bargaining for some massages. Bali is a true paradise because the average massage is 50,000 rupiah or the equivalent of 6 US Dollars. Passing up a massage at that price is a worse financial decision than handing your money over to Bernie Madoff. After an hour of bargaining to obtain the price we wanted, Ben and I received a delightful ½ hour back massage, which reenergized us to take on the night. Our excitement was momentarily curbed when we stopped to talk to two British women who were having their feet scrubbed. In the middle of the conversation, I looked down at the bucket and it was packed full of dead skin from their nasty, old feet. I had to quit the conversation immediately otherwise I would have thrown up all over the massage parlor. To rid our minds of that disgusting image, Ben and I bought a few Bintangs, the local Bali beer, and joined back up with Sam, Harry and Jenny to bring the noise to Bounty Dance Club.

The night club scene was as hoppin’ as a frog on crack (you can thank Atlee for that “gem” of a simile). The men outside the club were selling anything they could to you. Their main commodity was Ephedra, which is used as a weight loss pill back in the US. Although I was feeling self-conscious about my figure, getting wasted and taking an Ephedra pill is probably not recommended by Jenny Craig. Once inside the club, I walked past two British girls who could not stopped laughing at my hair. Since I have phenomenal flow, they must have been on some type of weird drug they got from the straight-shooters outside the club. I asked them what their deal was and they said that they had bought a magic mushroom shake from the bar. For a brief second, I contemplated buying one and joining their party because they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. However, I realized that trying to deal with these ‘shroomed out girls, regardless of my state, was more impossible than stopping Tim Tebow from praising God after every other word he says. Back where Sam, Ben and everyone were, this creepy old man was rocking out to the live music and grinding all over everyone in his vicinity. Watching this man terrify the entire bar with his wrinkly body gyrating wildly all over the dance floor reminded me that I was not in Kansas anymore. In Australia, Harry was kicked out of a bar for being too drunk when had only one beer to drink that night. Here, this man who looked like Cotton-Eyed Joe after a heroin binge was allowed to run amuck and no one did anything. If this place had no rules, then we were going to take full advantage of this free pass to go nuts. Up top at the main dance floor we had a blast dancing all over the stage, on the poles and in the rusty cages, which Ben and Sam loved the most. While Ben went wild in the cage like he did in the foam at Beach Bash, Sam came up from behind and started shaking it like it was Shakira music video. This action was a terrible idea because in no way shape or form did this structure seem sturdy, but you only live once and you better live it up.
Waking up the next morning at 7 to go on our white water rafting trip was brutal. Ben and I managed to drag ourselves out of bed because we knew that downstairs was a spectacular breakfast buffet waiting for us. After crushing that meal, we felt well enough to at least make it in the cab that would take us to the river. Our cab driver was named Made (pronounced Ma-Day), which was the same name as our white water rafting guide. Apparently, Balinese people only use four names for boys and Made was the most popular. We figured that we could be alright if we called every Bali person we met, Made. The rafting itself was amazing because even Dick Cheney would have a wide grin racing down the rapids and going over 20 foot high drops. On the cab ride home, Made told us that if we wanted to, he could take us to see a cock fight. I became highly intrigued at this offer because although it maybe gruesome to see these birds claw each other apart, it may also be extremely exciting to bet on it. For better or worse, we never found the time on the trip to do it, but if anyone wants to see one, Bali is the place to go.
Dinner that night was satisfying for most of us, but not all of us. Our cab driver and brudda, Made, brought us to this sea food restaurant on the beach where you selected the fresh fish for them to grill up. When I saw lobster, I convinced myself that I had to buy it. I realized this decision was a huge mistake because of how little meat there was in it and how expensive it was. To add gas to the fire, I had to sit and observe everyone enjoy their amazing fish dishes. Before I made a scene, the team calmed me down, but to this day I am still angry about my choice. Next, we went to Kuta for some cheap drinks and some good ol’ fashion amusement. That night we met some Aussie kids wearing neon green security vests and signaling for Taxi’s to stop and then subsequently flicking them off. The drug vendors tried to pull them out of the street, but their efforts were futile. The Aussie blokes decided to make fun of the knock-off drugs that the vendors were advertising rather than listening to them. Being absolutely clowned by these Aussie tourists, they had no choice, but to flee. Later, we hit up the club next to Bounty called Paddy’s and ordered some flaming shots, buckets of beer and other drinks that we cannot afford at Aussie bars. On the dance floor Harry and Sam Bro’ed out hard to their new favorite techno jam: Welcome to Riverside Motha Fuckas (we have no clue what the name of the song actually it is but those are the only words in it, although Sam believes it is Step Aside). I found myself a Norwegian cougar who I had danced with the previous night and I continued spitting game at her. Things went well for awhile but eventually her younger sister (I really hope it was not her daughter) pulled her away. On my way out I found Ben having the time of his life talking to one of the ten million prostitutes surrounding the club like vultures waiting to pounce on the drunken and horny tourists. Ben was not trying to make a deal with this hooker, but he found it thoroughly entertaining to talk about the dirty sexual acts that she would do for money. Most people protest prostitution for being amoral, Ben just thought the profession was absolutely hilarious.

The ride home that night was unbelievable. We were unable to find a cab, so we bargained with the locals on motorcycles for a ride home. The motorcycles are made for one person, but in Bali, some people use them like minivans and put their whole family on them. Going 100 km/hr on one of these things at 3am is one of the most exhilarating feelings you can have. The motorcyclists raced us back home and we were high fiving each other as our motorcycles passed one another. Harry ran into some trouble on his ride home as his motorcycle’s tire popped and the driver pulled over in a dark, sketchy alley way. He was ready to throw down like Rocky before his fight against Ivan Drago, but the driver was either too nice or too intimidated to try to mess with Da One and Only. When Ben and I returned home the motorcyclists attempted to make us pay more than we agreed, but Ben did not buy their monkey business and told them they would take this 50,000 rupiah or get nothing at all. Understanding that we were not dumb tourists, they quickly accepted the offer.

Made came to pick his up the next morning and drove us to Dreamland Beach. On our way there, we were stuck in traffic because we had to wait for a funeral procession to pass-by. While we were killing the time, Sam put in a CD that he found in the cab. The first song was My Neck, My Back (Lick It) by Khia, and for that environment, there could not be a better song to galvanize us for a great day on the beach. When we made it to Dreamland, two things highlighted the day: the Asian tourists and the persistent local vendors. The latter were like flocks of seagulls that would swarm around you if you bought anything from one of them. In a way, this was great because they offered to run up to the bar and bring you beers, making us much drunker than we planned to be. On the other hand, it became extremely annoying to have these people constantly in your face. Feeling a little tipsy, we watched as a mob of Asian tourists were doing the most ridiculous things on the beach. At one point, a few of them were being pushed towards the water on a boogie board and then falling head first into the sand. Generally, someone would stop after a few of these falls, but these people continued to do it at least ten more times. Moreover, many of them, including grown men, were scared of the water, but badly wanted to go into it at the same time. They would walk up like they were ready to jump in, and hurriedly run back like little school girls to land. Although this sight was extremely entertaining, I saw some topless women on the other side of the beach, so I grabbed the boogie board I had rented and cruised over there. I set myself up well as I could hang out on the waves and admire the nudity from afar and then occasionally ride a wave in, so I would not seem like such a creeper. Unfortunately, we eventually had to pull ourselves away from this fantastical beach because we had other fun to attend to. In Kuta that night, we had our regular night of drinking, dancing and massages, but the thing that made this night memorable was that we rented scooters of our own. Late at night jetting back on those things with your shirt off is a spectacular feeling. I felt more badass than Chuck Norris…well that is actually impossible, but I did feel as cool as Chuck Norris as one can experience.

Ben at breakfast was looking Lindsey-wasted. He walked like a zombie down to the buffet with no shirt, no shoes and no conscience. The manager asked him to put on a shirt, but then realized Ben’s state and let him do his thing. After breakfast, we asked Ben to go grab a shirt and meet us at the parking lot, so Made could drive us to the boat for our snorkel trip. As soon as he left us, Sam said, “I bet you 15 notes that Ben went back to sleep, you should probably go follow him.” Back at the room, Sam was right. Ben had climbed into my bed and said to me that the snorkeling trip was canceled. The trip was in no way canceled because we had already paid for it, so I slowly directed him down the stairs and into the taxi.

The first stop on our boat ride was at a Bali animal farm. This place had everything from sea turtles to bats and since this is Bali, we were able to hold each animal whether we wanted to or not. The one animal I did not want to hold was the toucan, but the zookeeper forced it upon me. The bird must have sensed my apprehension because it decided to take a number two on my shoulder. This is not the first time a bird has taken a dump on me in a foreign country. In Turkey, when I was younger, a pigeon from high above nailed me right on top of the head, so this toucan’s excrement was nothing compared to that. In contrast, Sam loved the farm more than anyone else as he made friends with both the animals and the zookeepers. This camaraderie with the farm animals was representative of Sam and the Balinese people the entire trip. He fraternized with everyone he could and they all appreciated his amicability. Thus, it was sad to see SV leave Bali, because when he dies and goes to heaven, he will be unhappy because he will rather be in Bali.

The snorkeling itself was beautiful, but the current was overpoweringly strong. The second snorkel stop was in this cove where we could see locals making some kind of roast on land. We thought about swimming to shore and checking it out, but the current towed us in the other direction. Ben and I rapidly found ourselves against the rocks desperately trying to find a niche to hang on to. Being stuck in between rocks and a hard rip was not a great place for us and we were struggling to find a solution to our problem. Searching for a way out of this predicament, we saw Jenny swimming like Michael Phelps back to the boat. If Jenny was making progress back to the boat, we had to man up and do it too. The swim absolutely sucked; however, reaching the boat gave us a feeling of accomplishment like we had just climbed Mount Everest.

That night we decided to take one last joy ride into the city to enjoy our final massages, buy some of the cheap merchandise, including the bootleg DVDs, and as Kenny Powers would say, “Wake up the town tonight!” Everything was going well until Sam and Ben’s tire popped just outside of the main strip in Kuta. These kids offered to help them fix it and Sam and Ben had no real option, but to trust them. They patched up the tire but five minutes later it blew out again. Sam was ready to throw the bike into the ditch and walk into town, but Ben found some other people to help them. These people mended the tire and Sam and Ben were finally prepared to ride into town. Nevertheless, all the moving around to different “repair shops” disoriented Sam and Ben and they did not meet up with us for a few hours. In the meantime, Harry journeyed all over Kuta to see if Sam and Ben had been distracted by a bar special and were drinking instead of meeting up with us. Jenny and I grabbed dinner and drinks and waited to see if Ben and Sam had arrived at the rental place. I trusted that Sam and Ben were going to make it back safely, so I kept ordering drinks because I had to spend my rupiahs and I thought they were going to want to party when they finally met up with us. I was half right. Ben and Sam did come back safely, but the stress of the whole experience left everyone, besides me, ready to return to the hotel. Since they took hours to return I had drank one too many drinks and I was more in the mood “to make it rain” as opposed to packing it in. I pleaded with them to let me go out and live up the Bali party life one more time, but they pushed me into the cab, which was most likely the best decision. In the cab, I fell asleep and kept leaning on the cab driver. Everyone in the backseat told him that he could just hit me, but the driver did not seemed fazed by me. The cabbie’s indifference signified how I was not the first wasted kid in his cab and that he was used to dealing with tourists in my condition. When we made it back to the hotel, I finally was able to make it rain that night when the cab driver asked us for the fare. I grabbed the money I had in my pocket, which was not much, threw it up in the air and walked out of there. Up in the hotel room, Ben, Harry and Sam took advantage of my drunkenness as they manipulated me into some TK rants that are on tape somewhere. I really hope they never find the video of that because I have not seen it (or remember it for that fact), but apparently I have never appeared more retarded. Hey, when in Bali, do dumb stuff.

On the flight back, everyone had a smooth trip except for Ben who was cut-up from a motorcycle spill, bruised up from a massage parlor debacle and burned up from the sun. The plane ride home was full in the front and empty in the back. All of us went to the back to lounge and spread out, but beat up Ben did not recognize this fact. Instead he remained up front squished in the middle of two oversized people. Later, as we went through customs, Ben was walking awkwardly because he forgot to wear a belt. The customs people thought that Ben was hiding something in his bum and pulled him aside to interrogate him. Luckily for Ben, he avoided a cavity search, but I was worried for him because the customs person had recently put on latex gloves and looked ready to spelunk Ben’s rectum. When they released Ben, they seemed to be thinking, “Some guys just can’t handle Bali.” Well, that may be true, but I do not believe you are supposed to handle Bali. It is a magical place where if you come back unscathed, then you did not truly enjoy it.

Special thanks to Jenny for visiting us and being our professional photographer during the trip. Also, Happy Easter to everyone and I hoped every celebrated Christ’s resurrection better than that fanatical church group who staged a mock crucifixion outside a mall. Way to honor Christ by scaring the piss out of little kids! Finally, quick shout out to Big Green Lax for being bigger than the Big Red over the weekend at Gillette Stadium with a big win. Happy Birthday to the Lang twins, Erica and Roy. Roy, make sure you party with your pants on, Mama Lang is very concerned. For those at Trinity, Get Me Housing!