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.

You will absolutely die if you don't buy this POS before midnight, when it turns into a pumpkin and the price triples! Act now.

I have a secret guilty pleasure- except it isn't really a secret*... and though I probably should, I never really feel guilty about it.

Here it is: I watch QVC.

That's right folks. It is lovely. I totally watch. No matter what those fools are selling. As you all know, I thrive being around people. During the off chance I am alone, I don't like it, so... bam, I turn on the Q and it's like instant company- they talk to me.

Ok, so I watch... why? They are just so damned entertaining. They are so excited about whatever they are selling. And they not only attract dynamic viewers such as myself, but they also attract celebrity's to shill their crap live. Among them: Joan Rivers (such a diva), Elton John (diva), Heidi Klum (diva), and the best of them all, your favorite toothy Mormon and mine: Marie Osmond (thankfully, not a diva; she is perfect).

So as I sit watching Lisa, a perky sass with a few too many face lifts trying to get me to buy something I have no need for, I can't help but think "I can do this" (no, not "I can buy this"- but "I can sell this").

As far as I can tell, this is what it takes to be a host:
1.) You have to be ridiculous- check
2.) You have to be charming- check
3.) You must be able to wear a lot of makeup- right, yes, go on
4.) The more animated, the better- check
5.) You have to talk for like 3 hours about crap you don't give a damn about- have you read my blog?

This gig is so doable for me.


*The real secret is that, turns out, I am not alone. Once last year, 1,246,387 idiots called in ONE DAY to order crap off QVC. That doesn't even take into account their website store, which, yes, live streams their tv online! In Zimbabwe? Yes, you too can watch QVC.

McCain Website Update

Well, my friends, I have either arrived in the blogosphere, or I have hit a new low... not sure which.

This post is about an older post of mine. I posted about the McCain's web page. (Click here to read the original post). Since that blog was published, two major developments have occurred... dun, dun, dun.


1.) While casually googling myself it was revealed that big things are happening. I was listed on a website that tracks notable blog postings about McCain. (Yep, not only am I blogging about blogging, but someone else is blogging about me blogging. And now I am blogging about someone blogging about my blogging.)


Now, there is a strong connection between that little tid-bit of information and this one:


2.) Cindy's recipes- not really hers. Are we shocked? No. Did I call her out on my blog? Yes. Days later did she remove "her recipes"? Yes. Did some intern lift them off the Food Network? Yes.


Now, I am a theorist... and this connection is obvious: Cindy must read my blog. I know what you are thinking "No, Mary, some intern reads your blog"... but no, why would an intern who plagiarized recipes turn herself in? Wouldn't.


Now that we have established that I have Cindy's attention...

{I am now actively choosing to use my knowledge (aka power) for good instead of evil.}

1.) Cindy: I know you are really Amy Pohler from Saturday Night Live. Here are the facts:

2.) Cindy/Amy: Now that I know, and now that you know that I know, you can come back here often for friendly tips and suggestions. Here, I will start it off right now:

3.) You seem to be the type who enjoys the spot-light. You must be getting jealous of all the attention John gets. So, I conducted a poll for YOU not him. The clear winner is Nice N Easy 106- Natural Medium Ash Blonde. Make it happen.

The Village

April 13, 2008

BOILING SPRINGS, Penn.-- Bodies of a local predominate gang, the DBG, were found inside an upscale rental cottage along Yellow Breeches Creek on Sunday evening. Also found in the home was an inexcusable amount of wicker furnishings from the mid-nineties.

(Mary McMullen, the leader of DBG, with the Wicker Palm)

Suspicious behavior had been reported through out the weekend. On Friday evening a passerby noticed that the inhabitants of the house were drinking heavily out of an oversized red chalice. Saturday morning there were unconfirmed reports of crab walking and staged falls into the creek. Followed by phone calls to the local station on Saturday night from neighbors who heard sounds of pirating from off shore.



(Demonstration of odd behavior, ie. the initation Crab Walk being displayed)

(Members Hinkel, Bradshaw, Satterthwaite, and Olave ashore)

An inside source claims the weekend brew-ha-ha was riddled with stock buying, insider trading, fixed mergers and corporation building. Details of ties to European Rail companies are also surfacing. "There was a lot of business being acquired", said the source who wishes to remain anonymous.


(Scott, April, Wayne, Kim, Mandy & Trent playing Acuquire for the Victory Chalice)

Police believe that there may have been a confrontation sometime in the afternoon of Saturday, April 12th between some of the "Dirty Butterflies", or DBG members, and those in the rival gang "Clean Butterflies" (aka CBG). The rumble took place as the two possees crossed paths on the qaint tree lined streets of Carlisle, PA. Home turf for the CBG, most memebers attend the pricy private liberal arts college. DBG had gone inside the local farmers market to buy the most delicious whole chocolate milk, unprocessed of course since the Amish know how to treat their heifers right.

(The Cleanies)

After the public brawl, the DBG retreated and went back to the Boiling Springs where they learned the springs do not in fact boil, but the artisan well spring stays at a constant 52 degrees year round, of clear water literally bubbles like boiling water to the surface (hence the name)-- from caverns that are guessed to be almost 2000 feet below the surface. They then terrorised cute little fuzzy ducklings and big mama jamma geese.

DBG then tagged the bench near "The Bubble" in the middle of town. The brazen move in broad daylight was no surprise to the local law enforcement.

("Dirty Butterfly Gang Wuzz Here" scribed onto the local municipal bench)

Evidence suggest there was even jubilee on the creek after their return from the CBG scuffle. The source said "Oh, yes, they ate sweet berries and drank in the sunshine on the deck of the cottage. They canoed and paddle boated around the creek. Splashing and laughing. Then they leisurely swung on the old oak tree for hours; talking and laughing". Indicating they had no remorse for their tirade throughout the county.





Things weren't as peachy as they thought though. Upon arrival to the cottage there was a heavy thunder & lightening storm that crashed into the secluded home. And the home sits on the sight of an old train depot. Everyone in the village heard the ghost train multiple times Friday night. The local folklore indicates that when you hear the train, you know trouble is near. This time being no exception.

(Creepy scene from backyard of property)


The deceased have not yet been named. Among the surviving are Trent Bowen, Wayne Bradshaw, Mandy Jensen, Scott Inouey, Mary McMullen, Clint Satterthwaite, Kim Summers, April Hinkle and David Olave.