I kind of knew that this past weekend would be awesome - friends, booze, a lake - but I didn't realize that it could possibly be this huge. Awesomely, fantastically huge. Perfect company, perfect planning, perfect weather. Dude, there was a reggae band, and they totally said, "Have lots of kids. We'll have a limbo party."

Let's just do this quick-hit style. It's not really possible to put it into words, so we'll run down the highlights:
- I missed the Whippy Dip, sadly. However, I arrived by 11:30, and finished my third beer by 11:42. So much for cutting back.
- With regard to the crowd, it had been 2 months since I'd seen Nemo, 3 months since I'd seen Jenny, 7 months since I'd seen Deedz, 13 months since I'd seen Harper, and 22 months since I'd seen Tina and Karen. It may have been the first time all seven of us were actually in the same location at the same time, though this is unconfirmed.
- A Harper pie is two slices of bread with anything inside. It's stuffed in some sort of sandwich maker and thrown in a fire. It's awesome. My first Harper pie was stolen, and featured pepperoni, pizza sauce, and mozzarella. Totally awesome. (On Saturday, Harper pies were stuffed with apple pie filling. I didn't manage to snag one, though I totally got some s'mores.)
- About 12:30, we called Tina & Jenny to check on arrival status. We called from my phone. Tina picked up, excited. Ben was on the other end. Ben then pulled off a Rd impression for a solid three minutes. He ended the conversation not by saying, "Goodbye," or "Talk to you later," or, "Can't wait to see you!" but, instead, by saying, "Check ya." "Check ya!" They totally bought it, as evidenced by Tina saying to Ben, five minutes later, "It's so good to hear your voice!" (We would later learn that Tina thought "Andrew" sounded "a little off," and communicated this to Jenny shortly after the call.)
- Jenny and Tina moved 4.5 miles in three hours. Jenny committed an unspeakably awesome act during this time.
- When Jenny and Tina arrived (2:30, I seem to recall), we weren't allowed to ride on top of their car to the bonfire. Something about near-death experiences. Sigh.
- All told, we cashed in at about 4. 3:45, maybe. I didn't snore a lick, Deedz would report.

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Interlude
Besides the company and the all-around fantastic-ness, the best part of the weekend was clearly the institution of the "Two put-ups for every putdown" game. I think it's a remnant of Nemo's elementary school summer camp days.

Simple math: Put someone down, and you're required to put them up, twice.

Standard guy-to-guy put-up: "I like your shirt. You're awesome at soccer."
Standard guy-to-girl put-up: "You have a nice personality. You have a nice smile."

Items that came up as put-ups this weekend included sandal quality, ability to throw a Frisbee, waterskiing ability, perhaps, photography skills, sunglasses (proper colored), eyeglasses (yellowed), toenails (hideous, but not as bad as they could be), and ability to make up games.

I also applied it at work today. Perhaps it's a bastardization, and perhaps I shouldn't've done it but, well, it's fun.

During volleyball, for instance: "That bump sucked. I like your necklace. Your haircut looks good."

Quite fun.

The downside is that it probably encourages putdowns. The upside is that the put-ups are really fun.

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- Saturday started with doughnuts. Doughnuts. (French toast, and coffee, and fruit, and bagels, but mostly doughnuts.) Also, confirmation that I didn't snore, which is reassuring.
- The morning cruised. Dock hanging-out. Tubing. Double-no-handedness. Swimsuit analysis. Totally hetero sunscreening.
- Lunch brought us burgers.
- Then, cornhole. Cornhole concluded with an incredible Deedz-Rd victory, including, I seem to remember, a called cornhole shot, and then, most certainly, a spontaneous crabwalk. A crabwalk! T.O. would've been proud, and might just use it as his own. (Deedz and I would close out the best-of-three later that evening, though Carrie and I were clearly the stars of that round.)
- I think we're getting old. Shortly after cornhole, we fell asleep. Or sat there. Or laid there. On the dock. Conked out. Awesomely dead because we'd been active for, what, 45 minutes?
- At one point, I pissed Nemo off. I said I'd rather sit outside on the pontoon than watch the Tigers. It was beautiful outside. And, as I said, rather assholically, "It's a game in the middle of June." Conversation was better because we didn't go inside to watch the Tigers.
- I redeemed myself by playing dock Frisbee.
- The night was truly the EPOTM, which is to say the Engagement Party of the Millennium. The food was boss. (Beef, coconut rice, chicken with some mango, corn with something called vanilla butter. Suffice to say, Ben did not choose the menu.) There were mai-tais, and my borrowed Hawaiian shirt was a subtle hit. Tina absolutely killed at limbo, though Carrie was pretty good. (She later admitted to fantastically playing to the crowd by continuing to hold her beer as the bar got lower and lower. A nice touch.) There was a conga line. It didn't really catch hold. Perhaps too early.
- Didi taught me that "every reggae song sounds the same," which I kind of knew, but it was reassuring to hear someone echo the opinion. The only white dude in the band, also the lead guitarist, was forced to stand at the back of the stage.
- For the first time in all of our lives, the Wildcats were definitely the life of the party.
- We also took an E2 Pyramid photo. I think it was my idea, and I know I was sober when I came up with it, but that doesn't make it make sense.
- I cashed in about 1:45. Others were earlier. A few were later. I think everyone made it to a bed.
- Deedz confirmed that I indeed snored that night. Though, after a stern lecture, and instructions to roll over to my stomach, I responded with, "Oh, okay, cool," and was out. And silent.

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Lesson Learned

When someone asks, "Can this dock handle all of us for this potentially fantastic sunset photograph?" and Harps says, "Nope," it's bet not to arrange said photograph.

This was learned, on two occasions.
1) When the dock collapsed.
2) When, the next morning, we were told, "Hey, the dock's floating in the middle of the lake."

No worries, though, Harps totally (kind of) fixed it. That man's the man.

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Sunday was a hidden gem, though Jenny and Didi weren't there to experience. The Cats made it to Sunday...nobody else did.

What this meant? More dock frisbee. More hangout. Deli sandwiches. Another few runs on the boat. (Including, if I might say, a fantastic tube battle between myself and Harps. It's fitting that it ended 1-1-1, because anything else would've seemed unjust.)

Eventually, a 3:30 departure. A 7:50 arrival home. Perfect.

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For the record, I missed MI-127 Southbound once on the way in, and once on the way out. In the first case, I was avoiding Michigan International Speedway. In the second, I was avoiding a Starbucks billboard. I suck.

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I wish I could've communicated the awesomeness of the weekend properly. Maybe I'll express it better another time. Unlikely though.

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As this is the most finely scheduled summer in the history of my scheduled summers (this is my first, to be certain), I've got a Gurs-trip this weekend. Gurs, yes!