DCL Treated Me Well

I scooped up 16 of my friends for a weekender at the lake house on Deep Creek Lake, MD.

As if the house wasn't enough (private lake access, pool table, hot tub, Swedish sauna, boat dock, etc) I was able to share the good times with a great group. We laughed, we cried, and we laughed so hard we cried.

The best way to tackle sharing this weekend with those who couldn't be with us is through picture narratives... this will allow you to get a glimpse of what was. Though, of course, some things you will never get and somethings are just the kind of things I don't post on the world wide web. Enjoy:



Here is the entire group. Peter: Where is your shirt?

"Kytanic 08": Some might tell a different story, but I am here to set the record straight: The only reason Quinn and I are alive today is due to my extensive water safety training & kayak skills. Basically, Wayne & Adri are puppy killers. Quinn & I are survivors.

When living on a dead-end road in the middle of freaking no where, it is important to save the Mormons. This gem of a sign was a gift... no, a blessing... we were tired, we were hungry, we were somewhat "lost" but then we see this. Much laughter and jubilee followed. I was saved. Turns out the Church is still true.

The lake freezes in the winter... it thaws in the spring. Let the record show, I was swimming in it May 23rd. Why? Because I do whatever the hell I want.

Ambercrombie called, they needed a new cover for the catalog. We agreed.

The Six Sinners didn't make it to church- but we did make it to the Super Walmart (which could have had its own zipcode) and we were able to buy the appropriate materials for a 100 foot long slip n slide for our hill.

Private docks are good for the same thing as private hele-pads: personal door to door service. Thanks to some well connected people, I was picked up at the dock on a speed boat and then taken out for an afternoon of lovely boating. As a side note, all the haters who showed up at the lake house were flown down to duck beach for the weekend.

When I grow up I would like to have ATVs, hot chocolate machines, tree houses, zip lines, and a lovely family to spend time with me at my lake house that sleeps 30 in beds.

Chemical Warfare

So there I was in my kitchen tonight... I had just arrived home from watching Iron Man to find my kitchen hosting a smaller, more powerful smell then normal.

I began sniffing around in hopes of discovering the offender; to no avail. But, I had things to do, I couldn't be bothered with this pesky possibly-growth-stunting-chemical invasion of my house... I went downstairs into my room to work on high importance level project. I still noticed the smell, but didn't think much of it; I was busy.

Moments later my roommate came downstairs. She was concerned. The smell was apparently getting stronger upstairs... she was right. It was outright loud.

Like a true hero, I put my project on hold and I began a full fledged investigation upstairs.

Here were my findings:

Yesterday there was a minor ant invasion. We had sprayed. Could this smell be lingering ant spray? Seems unlikely, but as a true detective would, I took into account exterior factors: the oven was on; heat thus exacerbating the odor of the once stale ant spray. Furthermore, the spray had sat all day; thus could have germinated. Must just be the ant spray.

Returning to my room, I discover my room may actually be the vector. Eeek. Surveying my room, I decide to throw out my trash. I walk out to our shared garage space to the trash bin and discover this scene before my eyes:

Next door neighbor refinishing the garage floor at midnight. Nice. Buckets of lacquer and paint. He casually comments, "I bought the quick-dry stuff, the smell should be gone in about 5 hours." Translation: "This large bucket of poly-blah-blah has extra smelling chemicals in it and by morning you should be completely high. Hope your dreams trip you out tonight. Sleep well sucka".

Sweet dreams!

Come What May

Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Macbeth, 1. 3

Dora The Expose

So there we were... in the valley of West Virginia and we end up at a local soccer match at the local graveyard. (Yes, it happened that said game was taking place on the excess land of the cemetery). As we approached the game, we noticed a little girl flying a kite. "Hey, that looks fun", I say, "and I have a kite!" (Yes, I happen to drive around with an X-kite in my trunk).

The wind was wild & wonderful; perfect. Little Maria (approx. 3 years old) was about 50 yards away, flying her Dora the Explorer kite like it was no ones business.

We attempt to get mine into flight. Fail.

We look over and Maria & Dora... they are flying strong and Maria is using only one hand. That's right: one handed! So, I start to run. A rare sight. I meant business, I wasn't about to allow Maria to school me on the field/graveyard... running... fail.

I turn kite control over to Diana. She uses a rare wrist rotary method with a twist... fail.

We glance over again. Maria is now eating a popsicle with one hand, flying the kite with the other! Who does she think she is? At this point, our kite flying became a team sport.

Me, Mandy, Diana and Wayne all attempt flight. Fail.

After we give up completely and begin disassembling my kite we look over at Maria one last time. She is now laying down in the lush grass, sucking on her Popsicle and still flying her damn Dora kite. Eww.

Please watch the aftermath video below to get a clear idea of the passions little Maria stirred with in us all.

So after the exhausting failures on the field, there was only one thing left to do: gamble away our sorrows at the horse track. Click here to go to Mandy's blog and read all about how we made ourselves feel better by way of gluttony, greed, power, fame, and such. No, really, that is why we were in West VA in the first place.