I just looked in the mirror and noticed that I have grown a stye on my eye. This trip caused me to get a damn stye. I’m 25!!! This shit ain’t right. I don’t know what causes stye’s or how to get rid of them other than doing what my brilliant brain is telling me to do and take nail clippers to the bitch, but I can only imagine it has developed as a grieving mechanism after the death of my blackberry. Anyway, I look like a retard. On to the stories… I found this gem on my computer the morning of my graduationish:
Moooooooommmm??? Can you come to my hotel? I puked on my cap and gown.
Mwhaha… it’s true. Last night as my “official” last night at school, also known as the night before graduation, I went out for one last hoorah with Bri and says he’s straight but acts gay friend Adam. And that’s all I remember. I woke up this morning to Reba on lifetime wearing a yak covered cap and gown, leaving me in this current predicament. I imagine that I was practicing my walk for my big moment, but one can only guess. That’s right, it’s moments before graduation, my cap and gown are covered in bicardi lemon, red bull, and sausage and I’m blogging.
I mean really on what might be the 3nd proudest day of my parent’s life (the first being when my sister was born and they realized they had just birthed a child with a real shot at success, and the 2nd the day I graduated with my bachelors because I didn’t pull any shiesty moves such as this one) they have to deal with this. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Bloggy on Gizzy’s graduation, you must be so proud. Do you have any photos? Ohh look at h… is that? What? She threw up on her cap and gown? Then they have to be like oh yes our 25 year old daughter with no apartment, no job, and no boyfriend we could pawn her off on went out and got gown vomming drunk the night before the big day. I remember that I mentioned I vommed all over my cap and gown but did I also mention that I’m still wasted?
You know you’re an alcoholic when:
-You vom all over your cap and gown
-You make you know you’re an alcoholic when lists
-You wake up not hungover but still drunk
-You find it completely necessary to tell all your blog readers about everything on this list while still intoxicated
-Writing blogs drunk is fun.
Typically I can go back and track my night via texts and my phone log. Oh no, last night took on a life of it’s own and what would normally be a tiny blip on my radar of drunken nights completely fell off the map into some giant black hole to never be found again. I deleted my texts and calls. AWESOME. For all I know I could’ve gotten it on with HOTTIE, or his best friend, or that homeless guy that shakes his subway cup full of pennies on the corner. You never know!!!
Well lastly I’d like to say congratulations to myself and good fucking riddens SUCK University.
Ok, so that was a nice treat from my drunken self. I did find out that I talked to HOTTIE’s bff about how HOTTIE likes me and said EFF snoop-linus. So that’s a good sign and I will get right on it as soon as my stye clears up. Now for what you’ve all been waiting for, the good stuff. The creme de la creme (creme brulee? Yes please.) The cruise that I went on with 10 of my family members here’s the lineup: We have Gizzy, Gizzy’s mom, Gizzy’s mom’s 3 sisters (Aunt D, Aunt V, and Aunt P) and my mom’s brother (Uncle L), Aunt P’s 2 sons (Dumb and Dumber) and Dumb’s wife to be. Uncle L’s wife, Aunt T, and last but not least Aunt V’s youngest daughter who just graduated high school Cousin D.
I didn’t have high expectations for this trip, mainly because my family is really close and talks a lot of shit about each other. Mostly about Cousin M who is Aunt V’s oldest daughter because she is 35 on her 2nd marriage and has 5 kids all from a different baby daddy but she deserves a post to call her own so I’ll save it for a rainy day. But, Cousin Dumber and I do not get along. Like at all. Like I think he sucks the life out of everything he encounters because he is so fucking annoying. Basically, I figured this trip was going to be the opposite of bomb.com.
The first night of the trip we all stayed at Aunt P’s house because she lives the closest to the port. Night #1 Cousin Dumber annoys me by telling me that I have OCD because I was filing my nails. I begin by politely saying, “No, I do not have OCD I am filing my nails so that I can paint them. Sorry I am not an animal and don’t chew them off.” He retorts with, “Giz, it’s cool. I have OCD too. I count things.” Great for you but I don’t have it. Fucking douche. Whatever. I let it go, but didn’t finish filing my nails because I didn’t want to hear all the douchebag comments he was going to make about my “OCD” and being addicted to filing my nails. Ridiculous. The next morning while waiting for the car service I tried to finish filing my nails, where I got the OCD comment, AGAIN. “See! I told you. OCD with filing your nails.” Well it was day 2 and I fucking snapped. I threw my nail file at his faggot ass head and screamed “NO I FUCKING DON’T!!!!! JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE AN OCD FREAK DOESN’T MEAN EVERYONE IS! I JUST WANT MY NAILS TO LOOK NICE SO I CAN MEET A FUCKING BOY! SORRY I’M NOT A FUCKING VAGABOND, DOUCHEBAG!” I really set the tone of the trip with this one. I don’t think anyone said a word to each other until we got in line to board the boat. OCD? No. Anger management issues? Yes.
From here on out I don’t remember pertinent details because I tried to be drunk any time that I was awake and most of the time that I was asleep. But I do know our first stop was Coco Cay Bahamas and my drinking got the best of me, as did a barracuda.
Here I am walking down the beach of this little island in the caribbean when I see something in the clear blue water. What is it you ask? It’s none other than a pack of sting rays. Conveniently my mother had my camera so I grabbed the next best thing, my cell phone. Fire my trusty blackberry up as I’m wading out to the little sandbar when I see this lunging it’s slimy little body at me:
WTF you cracked out fish. Seems harmless enough right? I’m standing there thinking, “Seriously? WTF man. This fish is on crack why is it running into my leg.” I guess he didn’t like me all up in his hood because next I saw him back up and come at me like this:
So. Not. Cool. Thank the lord jesus there was a wall of rocks that I nearly committed suicide on when I threw my own body on top of them to get away from the fugly little creature. But, to deter him from eating me the only thing I could do was bash him in the face with my blackberry. R.I.P. Whilst my blackberry lays it’s final days in the deepest deep of the Atlantic ocean I can only find myself able to smile at the memories we shared together for the 2 week span that I had him. Berry, you will be deeply missed. Now I have to use my piece of shit HTC hero again and I want to kill myself.
So I’m sitting on this pile of rocks thinking great where is my Wilson volleyball when I need him, I have found a new place to call home. After about a good 45 minutes of my blood trickling into the water someone finally figured I might need help. Some old man kayaked out to my rock pile and offered me a ride back to shore. He didn’t believe my barracuda story and wrote me off as some drunk girl who cut herself on some coral and thought sting rays were sharks. No old man, you’re wrong. So wrong.
So I got ashore and had a hot lifeguard bandage me up. Unfortunately he was 17 and the sight of my cut up legs was the most repulsing thing he had ever seen. To which he then informed me, “You know we have swimming areas roped off for a reason. It’s so people don’t have to worry about sharks and barracudas.” Yeah no shit dumbass. I like to live on the edge, mmmkay?
The next day when our port of call was Nassau, Bahamas I decided to take a day off from the beach and try my hand at bartering at the straw market. I thought I did a decent job, got a louis vuitton duffel bag for $50 and a Jimmy Choo bag for $40. And got my mom a deal on a Jimmy for $45. Remember this for later.
Whilst my barracuda injuries were still fresh and I was 3 margarita yards from senor frogs deep (that’s 9 feet of booze and a 115 pound girl. I looooove vacation.) I thought it would be a great idea to book an excursion for my mom and I. Who do I hit up? None other than the best of the best…. Stuart Cove. Personal Submarine. OH. MAAA. GAWWD.
Coolest thing I have ever done. I’ll put some pictures of what I saw (A SHARK!!) up as soon as my lazy ass goes and gets them developed.
I’m going to have to make this a 2 parter. Mama needs her sleep. Toots!