Friends of the Mog, I apologize for the recent delays in updating the site. However, I started my new job recently (so far so good…) which was sandwiched between two pretty sweet family trips—one to
At any rate, thanks again to Dave and Jamie for keeping the torch lit these past two weeks. Fortunately, there was enough that happened in
-The cast this time included myself, G-Gel Unit, and…our parents. They were actually pretty cool throughout the trip, especially since they were paying for everything.
-My dad pulled out all the stops on this one. After cashing in roughly 678,826,128 ,289,850,999 frequent flier miles, we were able to get upgraded to first class in both directions, which was nice, especially considering all of the free booze we would get over the course of the 8 hour trip.
This point allows me to bring up another travel story. A couple of years ago, Grant were somehow able to finagle an upgrade to first class coming home from LaGuardia. Naturally, we started pounding beers on the 2 hour flight, until we hit the call button and asked for another Heineken, or whatever the fuck we were drinking by that point. The stewardess replied, “I’ll see what we have left in the back.” She came back with an Amstel and a mixed drink, said, “Looks like you boys cleaned us out of beer,” and walked away. Grant and I looked at each other for a second, paused, and almost simultaneously let out an, “Awesome!” Take that, Wade Boggs!
-At any rate, we were determined to break that record this time around. The only problem was, until the very last flight home (more on that later) the stewardesses were…how shall I say…”frigid bitches.” I mean, don’t get me wrong, we still each had about 12 drinks on the way over there, but we weren’t able to come close to the record we had previously set.
-Grant and I passed the time watching the “Best of the Larry Sanders Show” DVDs. Hilarious. I would highly recommend them to fans of the show. It’s easily an “A.” If you haven’t seen the show before, I would rent season 1 before watching the rest of this, but it was really just fantastic.
-I also bought a pair of those noise-canceling headphones ahead of time. What a difference. I could actually hear normally when I got off the plane. Granted, these big fancy jets we were on were much better than the piece-of-shit propeller rust bucket I normally end up taking from
-Upon arriving in
-On the plane to
-We arrived in
-On the way over to the hotel, we bought the following supplies:
-4 shaved ices (delicious)
-2 gallons water
-3 gallons Gatorade
I mean, you can never have too much to drink, right?
-We arrived at the Grand Wailea Hotel early in the afternoon. My God this place was awesome. We were really spoiled this time. There were all kinds of perks that I’ll get to eventually, but just a fantastic place all-around.
-The guy checking us in, Ken, was a very nice guy. He apparently couldn’t find a regular-sized, king bed room for our parents, so he upgraded them to a suite on the “concierge level,” which had further perks. Let me re-emphasize that—HE UPGRADED OUR PARENTS TO A FUCKING SUITE! FOR NOTHING! I mean, if this wasn’t a good omen, I don’t know what else possibly could be, other than maybe naked Jessica Alba and that girl from the Irish Spring commercial lying in my bed when we got to our room. Sadly, that didn’t happen.
-Grant and I spent the rest of the afternoon throwing around a mini football out in the ocean. It’s a simple game, but damned if it isn’t just fun as hell
-Did I mention that this hotel had a happy hour on this “concierge level” from 5-7 with top shelf booze? Now, you may ask, “Oh that’s nice, D.J. What kinds of drink specials did they have at the happy hour?” Here’s where you’re going to hate me. It was all free. All of it. Tanqueray gin and tonics. Jack and cokes. Crown and cokes.
-By dinner time, Grant and I were a bit lit. We had reservations at a restaurant at the resort. Just for the shit of it, Ken gave us a card for a complementary bottle of champagne at dinner. I wish I was making this up, but…well, actually, no I don’t—it was awesome.
-We got to the restaurant and it was fantastic. Dinner was going along very well, when at a break in the conversation, I took a closer look at the guy sitting at the table next to us. He looked oddly familiar for some reason, and he was sitting next to an incredibly hot chick. Then it hit me. Fucking Paul Kariya, the hockey player, was sitting at the table right next to us! Unbelievable! What made it even funnier was the fact that once upon a time, we used to kid young Dave that he bore a striking resemblance to Paul Kariya, a fact that we still periodically remind him of to this day.
-We didn’t want to bother Kariya while he was eating, but a slew of questions came to mind. How did he book this vacation? He had just been eliminated from the NHL Playoffs (yes, they still have playoffs. They even give the winner a big shiny silver bowl and everything). Did he just decide, “I’m going to
-We could never get adjusted to the time changes properly. Grant and I were passed out by like 10 pm every night. Not the worst thing in the world, but not the best, either.
-Grant and I got up early the next day—at like 8 am—and went to work out. While I was doing cardio work, Grant claimed that he saw Kariya doling some “crazy spider-looking shit with weights” in the weight room, with his hot chick nearby. I guess whatever he needs to do to stay in shape.
-This place also had some badass waterslides and stuff, including the only “water elevator” in the world. This thing was basically a buoy that they pumped water under to raise people up like 2 stories. It was a group elevator, and there was a waterfall falling onto one side of the buoy. Oh yeah, and the buoy was constantly rotating. Of course, we were in there with some couples, and when it was one girl’s turn to go under the waterfall, she lost her bikini top. Uh, yeah sweetheart, don’t flatter yourself. Grant and I are used to this kind of thing—girls throwing themselves at us by “conveniently” losing their tops. Right Org? Reeves? Berg? You guys know how we tore up Tangerine in Vegas, right? Right? Guys?
-Day 3 was incredibly relaxing. Egged on by Hannigan’s advice in the last edition of TravelMog, my dad, Grant and I decided to get a massage. This was no ordinary massage, though. It began with an hour of “hydrotherapy” where they had a bunch of different soaking pools, showers, and Jacuzzis to sit in, just for an hour, to prep for your massage. Of course, it was a bathing suit optional room, of course we saw Paul Kariya in there, and of course, he chose the “optional.” For whoever is thinking “so, how is it?” right now, you are either a woman or not straight. Not that there’s anything wrong with that…
-When the lady checked us in, she asked us if we wanted a male or female masseuse. Needless to say, we chose female. After the hydrotherapy, they take you to this waiting porch area that has all kinds of golf magazines and stuff. There happened to be a fairly portly lady out there waiting for a massage, as well. When I saw her masseuse come out, I was impressed. The masseuse was fucking gorgeous. “Maybe this is going to be all right…” I thought to myself.
-Of course, my masseuse came out, and, though not the worst-looking lady in the world, she was old enough so that I can refer to her as “lady” without feeling bad. She regaled me with her exploits of being a cocktail waitress in Vegas some 15 years ago while rubbing me down. Good stuff…
-Hannigan’s right—that massage was awesome. Grant and I didn’t want to do anything for the rest of the day after that except get lit up on the beer we bought and go to happy hour. Just fantastic.
-The next day, we left for
-The next day’s highlight was a surfing lesson that Grant and I got from a couple of gen-u-ine surf bums. They were good teachers, and I caught the first wave that I tried. It was pretty awesome stuff. One of the instructors was also the consummate stoner. He would begin every wave by saying, “You ready brother? This is a big fucking wave, bra!” and end every ride by yelling out, “Awesome ride, bra. You fucking nailed that one!” I wonder if there’s some correlation between how big of a stoner a guy is and his innate surfing ability. Like when looking for a surf instructor, you should just look for the biggest stoner out there. These are the things that you think about in
-At the end of the lesson, we wanted to tip the guys, so we asked them if we could just charge it to the room. The big stoner said, “Yeah, well, I don’t know about that, bra, you know, with the government, maaaaan, and the taxes and stuff, I just don’t know…” and faded off. Yeah, we know all right. Grant and I tipped them in cash, and then proceeded to make jokes filling in the part where the instructor faded off for the rest of the trip. “You know, maaaan, I’ve got this guy, maaaan, who sells me this stuff, maaaan, and you know, maaaan, he doesn’t exactly take credit cards, maaaan.” It was high (pardon the pun) comedy.
-The next day, Grant and I felt like we had been beaten up. We dragged ourselves out by the pool for a couple of hours, but I just really felt shitty the whole day. Surfing is hard work, bra. We both passed out at around 9 that night.
-The day after that, we had an early flight, which, due to the time difference, got us into
-We got home at around 11:30 and I passed out soon thereafter. Another successful trip. Thanks mom and dad!
That’s about it. Questions? Comments? Jealous rants? E-mail the Blogmogger team at Blogmogger@yahoo.com.
Until next time…