The Snake That Didn’t Get Away. Thanks, buddy!
I should preface this edition of my blog with the following truth: I don’t think I’ve ever obeyed the above rule. I generally base this decision of mine on two theories: Read the rest of this entry
My brother. In Honduras. In the tree-house we called a hostel. Being… My brother.
Special guest edition!
No, I have definitely not run out of disaster tales, however, we will today be taking a break from my own travel wreckage to discuss… My brother’s. Those of you who’ve met the J-balls already know the following fact: my brother is a disaster. Yes, I realize it’s like, super ironic that I’m saying that, given the content of my blog, but like, seriously. A. Fucking. Disaster. Here are some examples of how disastrous my brother is, just generally speaking. Really, I hardly even know what I’m about to say, I’m just culling at random from surficial memories: Read the rest of this entry
It’s 5:30 am, I’ve been asleep for about two hours, and I am completely beyond fucked up. This is unfortunate, ’cause I’m supposed to be driving about 30 unpleasant paleontology students to the field for some fossil prospecting in about 30 minutes. I can’t get a ride to school ’cause my ride is in a worse state than I (it’s true, bless his heart), and I’m thinking I may be too incapacitated to figure out the bus. I know, I’ll bike! About 20 minutes and, say, three whole miles later (so I’m a little wobbly and confuddled, so what…), at least I’m there on time. This is when it dawns on me that I totally can’t drive, the professor I’m slaving for is narcoleptic so there’s no way in fuck I’m riding with him, and it’s shaping up to be about 110 degrees out today. Balls.
Best. Souvenir. Ever??
After about three days meandering around Transylvania, trying to avoid more tacky Dracula-themed tourist shit than any self-respecting tourist should be forced to avoid (although yes, I did indeed purchase the above… but it’s adorable!), it occured to us that our hostel offered something much more amazing sounding. You know how you roll into hostels all over the world, and there’s invariably a notice board with stupid signs for “amazing” deals, used / abused camping gear, and package excursions that surely would show you amazing sights un-dreamed-of by any previous traveler while never EVER ripping you off? And it doesn’t matter if you’re in Abu Dhabi or Paris or Idaho, everything up there always sucks? Well, the Rolling Stone Hostel in Brasov, Romania, is the glaring exception. (This hostel is fabulous, btw, fairlyy adorable, fairly fun, and really fucking cheap. Also it’s purple: http://www.rollingstone.ro/). They offer the regular Dracula Tourism crap, yeah, but they also have an add for their famous Transylvanian Bear-Watching Night, which clearly could not be passed up. And that’s basically how I found myself in a stranger’s car with a couple crazy Romanians and my perfect travelling buddy (I love you, Chris!), drunk on crappy Romanian beer, faced with the choice of getting: a) pepper-sprayed in the face or b) mauled by a Carpathian brown bear. Read the rest of this entry
Ahh, the bucket that started it all...
It occurred to me the other day that a lot of people from a lot of weird countries have been glancing at my little page here, and I thought, so how on earth did some dude from like, Norway (for example) ever manage to find my blog? It’s not like I like, promote it or shit. I then did something remarkably stupid, and had a look at the search engine terms that have thus far led people to my dear Offatthewrongstop. Of course some were clearly my facebook buddies (real or imagined) getting their daily fix of my disastrous misadventures, but a shockingly large percentage (like nearly 80% and, yes, I am a dork) were a little, shall we say, disturbing. Ok, a lot disturbing, hence why I’m sharing them with my (slightly creepy yet) adoring fans. What follows, in no particular order, are some of the interesting things that people are interested in, with which almighty Google thinks I might be able to help.
P.S. Anyone responsible for that which is found below is totally welcome to fess up and explain themselves at any time.
P.P.S. Actually they have been ordered. I found it interesting that nearly everything fit into three broad categories, with a separate listing of people who clearly take me too literally and should learn to spell. And / or drink less. Also I’ve cut out the boring ones 
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Koh Phi Phi
Someone, probably my brother, once asked me, upon my announcing I was going back to Koh Phi Phi (my fav Thai island), “wtf, again??”. Now, he may have had a point, but I don’t care. I love this island. It’s home to many of my favorite memories: a friend getting stitches in an open-air clinic, hours spent laughing at tourists jumping ropes the locals have set on fire with gasoline, a day spent discovering that the island’s actually deserted as soon as you exit the backpacker ghetto… But my favorite adventure would have to be the evening / night / early morning when I decided my body just had to say something in Thai. Anything, really. And so, after numerous, repeated, and increasingly annoying requests, here is the official version of How Nina Acquired Her Infamous Bamboo Tattoo. Read the rest of this entry
My seat on the rail, behind Old Frenchy. And yes, that woman did sleep the entire way there.
I love boat travel, I do. I prefer ferrys usually, but a river trip will suffice. This does not mean that I likewise enjoy having approximately 34 Laotians sitting in my lap, with baggage, for 8 hours straight. Yet such was my predicament a couple months ago, with the additional benefit of a seat concocted from an unecessarily narrow wooden railing. Welcome to Laos… Read the rest of this entry
OMG I'm in a Movie!
It’s 1pm and I’ve been sitting in this stupid courtyard, on this stupid hill, in stupid Turkey for nearly 7 hours now. I’m not the first to be suckered by a Turk, and I surely won’t be the last, but I’ll be damned if I sit here any longer. It’s time for action! I’ve been kidnapped into a Turkish film set, and I’m getting out of here, now!
the spicy little buggers in the wild
It’s a hot summer’s night, somewhere outside Monterrey, Mexico, and I’ve somehow misadvisedly entered myself into a chili-eating contest. Specifically, a Chili Pequin eating contest. Not like, a habañero, or a jalapeño, or anything you know, bland, no, that would not do. Instead I’ve managed to stuff like 47 of the hottest little buggers ever down my throat, and am now being egged on by a pit-crew of geologists (yes, yes, I am indeed debauching myself on a work trip. AGAIN), to which I say “Bring it! I will destroy your chili-eating record!” I know I’ve said this before, but this can’t end well… Read the rest of this entry
The Purported Reason for Disaster #16...
Ahh, it’s that time of year again. Leprechauns, gross green beer, and shepherd’s pie. Lousy limericks and the luck o’ the Irish. Or, as in my case, bar fights, gogo dancers, and accidents in my pants! Yeah, that’s right, it’s almost St. Patty’s Day, so here comes my much-requested Part Two Ending to whatever the fuck happened last year up in Boston Town… Read the rest of this entry
