June 28th, 2013

Bad things happen when I try to be classy.

That’s right. I tried it. Again. This whole “Be responsible, Olive”, “Get AHOLD of yourself, Olive.” “YOU’RE AN ADULT NOW, Olive” “NUTELLA IS NOT A REAL MEAL (except that it is), OLIVE.” “Go on vacation somewhere other than Panama City and don’t throw glitter and booze in all of your friends faces- Olive!”  – postgrad bullshit.

But alas,in my latest attempts to be a real life adult, I have somehow found myself

1. Lost in a sea of ghostbusters

2. Trapped in an inner city park at 1:30 am

3. Arguing with a transvestite on the shenanigous streets of New Orleans

– And after this past weekend? –

4. Unknowingly canoodling with a 6’7 Australian intruder

Rewind.

 It was her idea.

Leah’s, that is. To invite a pack of sorority chiquitas from the happenin streets of New York Fuckin City and treat us to a miniature get away. To bring us somewhere classy, and somewhere new. Somewhere…where cotton twill pants were grown from trees. Somewhere. Where boat shoes were periodically sprinkled from the sky. SOMEWHERE. Where pink polos for men were deemed incredibly acceptable and not at all suspicious…or the least bit unprefferred. Somwhere called…

The Hamptons.

Thas right

Now you’re probably thinking to yourself. “My God Olive –

And I’M NOT GOING TO SAY NO TO THAT SHIT.

Except that I am.

Because I need to tell you what happened. What happened after the lot of us:

Look at the lot of us.

Boozed our commute there on the train:

Ticket for 3.

Made a fuck ton of fajitas

Ole!

And watched completely incoherent strangers attempt to limbo with someone’s unusually long purse strap at the bar:

Some people get it.

…And some people just don’t…

Wrong.

And what happened after was this:

Highly entertained and a little rum-induced ourselves,

A little…rum induced.

We headed home after a successful evening of frolicking, chugging and dancing in the classy Hampton lands and prepared to lay our city heads to rest at approximately 4:12 a.m.

Until.

Moments after our arrival.

The front door was                           abruptly swung open

 It was Kate and Charlie.

Partly cross-eyed and fully holding a box of complimentary pizza.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

But that’s not all.

Following their arrival, we indeed witnessed a gargantuan stranger trail in >>>> swiftly behind them.

Holding half of the pizza in his ogre-like hands, and unexpectedly screaming with strong Australian accent

“ELLO ALL! WE GOTS PIZZA MATES!!!”

Terrified and nearly losing vision (#tequila) I asked the Australian gentleman in a panic where the hell he was from! To which responded.

“Australia…”

Goodnight, Olive.

Accepting my declining social abilities and…seemingly unphased by the giant intruder in our household, I went the fuck to sleep, taking fellow wasian Lexi with me.

Nothing weird.

And onto an air mattress where we began to drift away s l o w l y to sleeeepppp-

The door swung open.

It was Charlie. Again.

She relayed in a panic that the Shrek-like Australian was indeed, still here!

Check the clock

Sonofabitch.

“Tell him to get the FUCK out” – Leah cooed with grace from the nearest bed in the pitch dark.

 “Right. Got it.” Charlie said exiting the room like the martyr she was

…only to return 17 swift seconds later to join our stake out once again. Where we all fell asleep only slightly paranoid and completely tranquilized by the drink specials from just a few hours before.

The next morning the gang and I arose around 11:08 am. Looking particularly terrible but feeling particular great about the grand evening from the night before. The dancing? The limbo? The fajitas? THE PIZZA?

NICE.

“But wait.” Charlie said, “Does anyone remember that…guy from last night? And how he wouldn’t leave? So annoying. I I told him to go home and to GET OUT because NO ONE wanted him here. I SURE SHOWED HIM.”

Suddenly the bedroom s l o w l y opened again.

It was Lisa.

Lisa Turtle.

Lexi to the left. Lisa turtle to the damn right.

She peeked her meek head inside, crawled into bed >>> with Lexi and I and said

“…So…does anyone want to explain to me why at 4:30 am last night I was spooned by a 6’7 man until 8 a.m….?”

Dead silence

Lisa Turtle went on to explain to us that she was awoken by an abrupt hip thrust from what can only be described as a real life big foot. Breathing heavily in her hair and laughing hysterically at jokes that weren’t being told.

…The fuck.

She rolled to her left and witnessed the Brontosaurus lying directly next to her and abruptly screamed “Who the FUCK are you?!”

To which he replied

“ELLO, MATE”

She screamed again.

He fell asleep.

But not for long.

After a series of shoves, screams and hair whips, the Australian nomad finally exited the room.

…But not the house.

Lisa Turtle heard a shuffling in the kitchen.

More laughter.

He was still alone.

He returned to the bedroom. Tortilla chips clutched in his country-sized hands followed by another unwelcomed thrust consequently putting him back in the spooning position.

Now crunching in her ears.

Laughing once again.

Scared and a little hungry, Lisa Turtle threatened to bring out a weapon! And to please stop eating our food! VIOLENT THINGS ARE ABOUT TO HAPPEN TO YOU.

He fell asleep.

And she drunkenly did too.

And when she woke up the next morning

He was gone.

Startled, confused and mostly hungry, we apologized to Lisa Turtle for the accidental spoon attack and assured her she would never have to see him again.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

That evening the lot of us perfumed our hair, slipped on our dresses and prepped for a night of continued shenanigans

Round 2 fools.

Kicking down the doors of the local hot spot “Ruschmeyers”

Lookin good.

Only to realize that within 18 seconds upon our arrival… 

There he was.

Will Caldwell.

The Australian bear who stood above the rest. A man…recently googled by our gang because he was a rumored to be a kick ass rugby player with mild fame in Australia.

Truth.

A man. Lisa turtle spotted from across the way with the introductory line “Hey. Isn’t that the guy who spooned me with tortilla chips in his mouth last night? “

And indeed it was:

Hey.

We approached him with minimal grace. Told him it was good to see him again. And also that we googled his name per his request earlier that evening and found the following picture:

Explain yourself.

He laughed (this time there was a joke made. And people were around). And had no explanation… but would gladly tell us what in the hell happened after he left out humble abode the evening before.

(Cue Australian accent)

“SO. IM SITTEN THAYER . AN YA FRIEND LISA TURTLE IS RAYL MEAN. LIKE…RAYL MEAN. SO I SAY OKAY, WILL! GETCHA ACT TOGETHA, AND GET OUT! SO…I LAYVE BUT IM REAL DRUNK AND I DON’T KNOW WHERE IN THE ELL I AM. BUT SUDDENLY I SEE A RAYL SMALL BIKE. IT WAS PENK.

SO I STOLE IT! AND STAWTED RIDIN ET ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE BAYCH. AND IM A BIG GUY. AND THIS BIKE WAS RAYL SMALL. LIKE RAYL SMALL. SO ANYWAY I GET TO THE BAYCH. AND I LAYVE THE BIKE. AND I STAWT TO RUN! I DUNNO WHERE I’M GOIN! I JUST FUCKIN RUN! I RUN FOR A BLOODY HOUR! AND FINALLY I STOP. FIND SOCIETY. CATCH A CAB AND GO HOME. AND HERE I AM LADIES!”

Baffled and confused, we gave Will a sympathetic hug for his bizarre and incredibly self-inflicted evening, later losing him in the crowds as we had a plethora of dancing and inebriation to attend to.

But.

On our way home. On the train.

Hamptons: 1                Olive: 0

We dreamt about the classy lives filled with normality and appropriate behavior that would one day be ours…But until then?

Bring on the Australians…and pass the tortilla chips.

Shout to: Leah, Charlie, Casey, Lisa Turtle, Lexi, Kelly, Kate and Harper for contributing to yet another batshit weekend.