Cabin Weekend Extravaganza

Since Valentine's Day is meant to be spent with the one you love, and I prefer to do things in excess... I chose to spend it with the ONES I love. Or at least a few of them... orrrr the craziest of them. Yeah that's it. For not just only V-day, but V-weekend. Oooh, sounds dirty. I like it.

And, not that I need an excuse, but this made for a really good excuse to party my face off.

So Laura and I started scouring the interwebs looking for cabins in the mountains a few weeks into the New Year. Because mountains are pretty. Then we realized that we don't really live near mountains. Then we realized we don't really give a shit what's near the cabin, we just want to be in one together. Then we realized that we kinda lied about not caring what was near the cabin, because there was now one crucial factor that NEEDED to be part of Cabin Weekend Extravaganza. It needed more than just a cabin. It needed to be a cabin with a mother.effing hot tub.

For a moment's time, we considered the sketchy rental home with a trampoline, but when it came down to it, a hot tub was necessary. Perhaps another holiday will be spent on a trampoline...

So we found a skeezy cabin on a dirty lake in the middle of South Carolina. With a frickin hot tub. Fist pump.

And then Joe & Laura, Brudder Michael, and Dave and me piled into our cars and met in the middle of SC in our little lake cabin with the hot tub.

Laura and I busted into a spontaneous dance party within 7 minutes of being in the cabin together. After we filled up our red Solo cups with wine... and ice, of course. Classy, right?

What's so awesome, is that when we all get together, it's like we never missed a beat. We just pick up right where we left off... which was obviously in a dirty college apartment.

After a few hours of stuffing our faces, sloshing our drinks, and hugging all over each other, the 4 of them suddenly decided I needed to leave. Whaaat?! They were all like, "Nicole. Go downstairs to the Time Out Room*. Now." I didn't understand. But apparently they had conjured up some kind of fantastic surprise and therefore I needed to get my wine-loving ass downstairs. Hmph.

So they banished me. To the Time Out Room. All alone. For like 20 minutes! But they at least gave me part of my surprise to entertain myself with while hanging out in aforementioned creepy room of doom - they gave me a WAND! A Pretty Princess fairy wand. That lit up! Like a freaking rave, nonetheless. So I just swirled that around while I sat on the bed. Then I got bored and stood in the creepy step-dad corner for a bit, which gave me the heebie-jeebies, so I sat back down on the futon-bed and took a picture of my face and twirled my wand some more until Laura came to get me.

With a blindfold!

Ugh. Blindfolds.

So! She pushed me up the stairs, and took the blindfold off... momentarily. I opened my eyes to see a bunch of cute (read: PINK) cupcakes sitting on the counter, surrounded by 4 of my most favorite people in the world; so obviously they were like the best cupcakes ever.

Then they turned me around. To see the surprise. THE SURPRISE. Do you know what the surprise was?! A PINATA! My very own first pinata ever! 27 years old and never had a pinata! Let alone a frackin' surprise pinata! In the shape of a CROWN! That was pink and purple and said PRINCESS! Oh dear lord, do I have some amazing friends or what?!

So remember how I mentioned that they only momentarily allowed me to take off the blindfold? Yeah. That's why. So, back on the blindfold went. Husband spun me around and handed me a pool stick. Does anyone else see the potential for disaster here? Already clumsy girl, now tipsy and blindfolded, has been given a stick to swing into mid-air in hopes of beating the shit out of a cardboard crown hanging from the ceiling in a rented cabin on a dirty lake in the middle of South Cack. ::Shaking head::

I swung the shit outta that stick, too, let me tell ya. But I kept stabbing myself in the boob somehow. Meh? After a while of watching me fail miserably at knocking crap out of the pinata, they had mercy on me and let me take off the blindfold. I beat the hell out of that thing! And finally, all the goodies came flying out.

And can I please take this moment to say that Joe and Laura should be in charge of stuffing every pinata in the universe, because I'm pretty sure they put the best shit ever into mine. Oh? You want to know what they put in my pinata o' happy? Well okay, since you asked nicely:
1. Pixie Stix
2. 1 giant Slim Jim (that contorted into a ready-to-wear headband shape)
3. Ring Pops
4. Hershey Kisses
5. Glow Sticks
6. Monster Truck Stickers!!
7. Mini Bottles
8. 1 Cadburry Egg (that no one got to enjoy because Husband flushed it down the toilet!?!)
9. Pirate Eye Patches

Awesome. I dumped it all into my lap and played with it. Like a 5 year old.

Then it was hot tub time. And you know the one thing you need to make your hot tub time complete? Pasta Salad. And actually what I mean by that is that pasta salad is the one thing in the world you definitely do not need in a hot tub. Because when you try to eat it, or you know, feed it to Laura with a tiny plastic fork and a pirate eye patch over your eye and a plastic solo cup of wine hanging out of your mouth, there's like a 100% chance that you will dump that shit all in your hot tub on the back porch of your rented lake house on the dirty lake. Trust me.

So after our skin got pruney and we ran out of drinks, and dumped half the water out of the hot tub from sloshing around like idiots, we got out. And put on our Snuggies. And slept in our little creepy beds. And washed, rinsed and repeat the next day. (Well, that's not entirely true... we weren't exactly the cleanest of humans that weekend... but we at least did the "repeat" phase, sans pinata. And pasta salad.)

And really, there's only one way to sum up the entire Cabin Weekend Extravaganza. And it can't be done with words. Oh no. It can only be done with a picture. One perfect picture of debauchery, as perfectly displayed by Laura:

And that, my friends, is how you do a Cabin Weekend Extravaganza.

*Time Out Room: Creepy small "bedroom" at bottom of stairs with a futon and wood-paneled walls. Only one small window very close to the ceiling to ensure no escape possible. Also equipped with strange cubby area, likely used by a step-father to watch a small child sleep.

Mr. Whistle

You ever find yourself wanting to stick pencils in your ears because you have some horrific song stuck in your head with no idea how it actually got there in the first place?

Yeah me too.

And we're talking really bad songs here people. Like "Tik Tok" by Ke$ha. Fucking Ke$ha...Or Jingle Bells. Or anything by Sheryl Crow. Or that wretched old folky "Someone's in the kitchen with Dina" number. Oh how I want to strangle Dina and whoever the hell is in the kitchen with her...

And the song always ends up in your head at like 9:oo AM on a damn Monday. A rainy Monday. While you have killer period cramps and a zit.

And you know why that song ends up in your brain?! Because my Husband whistles it to you! In his sneaky little Husband ways! He'll be in the shower and I'm trying to cover that aforementioned zit and shovel Midol and he's fucking shimmying around in the shower whistling. And I know he's shimmying because we have a glass door on that shower... And it's mindless for him. He doesn't even realize he's doing it. Hell, sometimes he'll ask me how some song got stuck in HIS head!

One night I just couldn't get "Someone's in the (fucking) kitchen with Dina" out of my head.

And I was all like "Ohhhmah gahhhh HUSBAND! I need to strangle you!!"
And he's all like "Why?"
And I'm all like "Because you made "Someone's in the kitchen with Dina" get stuck in my motherfreakin' braaain."

And do you know what he said?!

"I don't know that song."

What?! What the SHIT? Are you talking about?!

Apparently the man is so oblivious to his own whistling that he can pick songs that he doesn't even know.

Needless to say, I belted out the best, and by best I mean worst, rendition of "Dina" that I could in an effort to successfully secure the horrid tune into his brain also.

The verdict? No more Dina.