It’s an all-girls fishing team. Settle down.
Not a casual we-go-fishing-sometimes sitch. A fo’real surf fishing team called The Looney Tunas. 6 women. Big trucks. Fishing rods. Callsigns. Yes callsigns. I give you… Hook, Teeny Baby aka Squish, Goose, Magic Mica, Ninny (not present for this round of madness) and yours truly, Killa B. We fish 3-6 tournaments a year depending on who’s in/out. We drink, we talk trash and we can outfish the men on a good day. They never see us coming. Too bad for them we don’t care…mmmkkkay.
Once a year we take the circus to Ocracoke. Caged animals included.
If you don’t know Ocracoke, you need to stop whatever dumb shit you are doing, get in yer car and go. Oh but don’t forget to take the ferry or you may need a new car. It’s a tiny island off the NC coast. Quaint cottages. Silver Lake. Ocean on one side. Pirate history everywhere. The sweetest people with their own little island brogue. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to give up your whole life and move there immediately. Until you realize they actually have winter and everything is closed. Lonely party of 5. Back to fantasy life…To get there takes about 3 hours from the Outer Banks followed by a 70 minute (yes 70 minutes- I know this bcs I sat through it…twice) car ferry from Hatteras. By the time we hit that ferry parking lot we need a drink. Obviously. No drinks allowed on the ferry…dumb rule. So we make a quick stop at one of the “grab and go” shops for a beer…which is best enjoyed in the parking lot so we can carry on our nonsense until they let us board. Normal behavior.
First stop? Golf cart rental of course. Nonnegotiable. Aint nobody driving Miss Daisies around Ocracoke. Nobody. My husband says I go to Ocracoke just to drive the golf cart. He is not wrong. The part where I’m supposed to be sober…debatable.
Oh Hell…
This year Ninny couldn’t make it so we were 5 deep. 5 of us…which is equivalent to 30 normal women over 50 who weren’t blessed with our DNA. 5 might actually be safer for Ocracoke and everyone this side of anywhere we are. We rent a house with 3 beds and sleep 2 to a bed like we are 12 years old. We take the sleeping arrangements as seriously as the fishing. Normally Squish and I shack up. I had a cold so Squish bunked with Hook. I slept alone and cranked the sleep app…haaaay! Nobody needs Killa B snoring and running a sleep app at full volume when she’s sick. You’re welcome bitches.
Night 1 is always a shit show. We drink and carry on like we haven’t been out of captivity in years. Which means day 2 we are rolling onto the golf cart looking like a before photo in need of fat girl sustenance. Why? Just why? We always say we are going to slow our roll…right before we start rolling. Le sigh.
Hangover cure: Lunch at Dajio for a Pain Killer…IYKYK. Then over to Zilly’s for drinks on the porch where we discovered the most fabulous gay wedding party had taken over. We wanted IN on that action. We were plotting and planning a full-on Wedding Crashers strategy to no avail. How is it that 5 women who love to fish, drive big trucks and have callsigns, could not crack a gay wedding on a tiny island? Can’t be sure. Off our game? Hungover? Yes and Yes. The crowd was FANTASTIC and we got robbed.
Next up…Smacks…aka Smacknally’s for burgers and beer because always. Shopping on the cart through all the little stores because obviously. Saturday…there was an island wide yard sale complete with an actual map. Not that we could read it. We hit every single stop like it was our J.O.B. I was at the wheel whilst Squish and Magic Mica navigated. I’ll let you guess how that worked out. 5 hookas on a 4-seater golf cart (bcs we are cheap) leaves little room for…well anything. Rando sign of the cross.
I bought a painting for $5. Mica said she could have painted it for $3. She could not. Squish bought a plant and a bag. Hook bought a jumpsuit and Goose watched us rack up all the shit no one wanted and we couldn’t live without!
Mica’s birthday. Oh yeh that. Our reason for the season…
Mica added another year to her portfolio and we celebrated like the unhinged badasses we are. One nice dinner at The Back Porch where we attempted adulting. Attempted. We made the mistake of allowing Mica to “tatt” us up with her personalized birthday tattoos. I may have ordered them. Temporary Insanity. The directions said, “Lasts about 2 days.” Tell me why she’s still staring back at me in the mirror. I knew better. Goose spent the next morning scrubbing Mica’s face off her arm like she was attacking a casserole dish with a Brillo pad. Bye Mica Bye. Of course Mica made her famous espresso martinis which I call chocolate milk. They “live” in a jug. Her strawberry mojitos are killa and responsible for several incidents that are not shareable. Mmmmkkkay.
In the spirit of…well spirits… Mica might have gotten a little loose and decided to use Goose’s toothbrush. Mix up…allegedly. Goose…not amused. Us…oh yeh.
I can’t make this shit up. Hook- always ready for anything with her mad dance moves and keen ability to keep us reigned in tight. Tricia taking care of everyone like a fairy godmother in a fishing hat. Goose surviving Mica with grace and dignity. And Mica…for whom I am still actively developing my full affection, just kidding, mostly…holding court with her chocolate milk martinis and her birthday face painted on all of us. My contribution…pasta salad. That’s all I got. Top it off with MOB level money exchanges and we are one crime short of house arrest!
Forever 21 bad ass bitches in our 50’s. What chu got?
Never fear…2027 “The Sequel” is around the corner….perhaps we can learn to twerk by then ladies?
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