Pontooning, Wearing Protective Clothing & Eating until you BURST

Last weekend was spent on “Crimson Boulders Lake” in Central Cheeseland. Participants included hostesses Master Reiki and Blue eyes, the wife, Ms. UConn and Ms. Tennessee, the Golfing Texans, the Kayaking Minnesotans, Team Bee Cee Dee Zee (aka BCDZ), and the ever-delightful Queen of the Snort and Jimmy Buffet Jr. So much fun was had that it is impossible to capture it in one measly blog entry, so here are just the highlights….

The weekend started with Team BCDZ displaying the most creative Pontoon-inspired Port-o-potty I have ever seen (trust me, having a port-o-potty on a pontoon is much easier than hanging your parts in the water trying to pee):

I am not a pontoon pee-er, but if I were, I would have been proud to pee in this contraption. (I do not pee in lakes, either, but I cannot say the same for my cohorts. They are lake-peeing professionals.)

When not on the pontoon or in the water, we were busy putting ourselves into food comas, consuming copious amounts of food. Hunger was not a prerequisite to eating food. In fact, I was never once hungry during the tenure of the three-day event yet I kept shoveling food into my pie hole. I think these women must have starved in a previous life because they put on spreads to feed entire nations of starving children:

Thankfully, all this food just made us more buoyant in the water. (This is a photo of breakfast. A SMALL breakfast.)

During our time together at the “compound,” no one managed to get a third-degree sunburn despite the blistering sun. No one managed to fall out of a kayak or off a moving jet ski (although the wife did manage to fall off a parked jet ski—how, I don’t know but she was good to go). No one went hungry. Only two people got their cramp-riddled periods and only one person was seriously bruised on the buttocks via tubing:

No, I am NOT going to tell you which tuber this is.

No one fell into the fire, although I did manage to cover myself with black tar-goop-spooge crap while at the fire pit pointing out the Big Dipper:

(This is my artistic rendition of the Big Dipper BEFORE I poured black tar all over my face and clothing. It doesn’t look like the shape of the Big Dipper but it does look starry, don’t you think? It’s actually the sun reflecting on the water. I was an art major. See? It paid off.) After this event, I was banned from poking the campfire, which left me sullen but safer.

And, thankfully no one managed to fill their vagina or rectum with “forceful water entry” despite riding the jet ski without protective clothing (can you believe this is actually posted on a jet ski?):

(The actual warning label says: “Wear protective clothing…normal swimwear does not adequately protect against forceful water entry into rectum or vagina.” What the hell are these people doing if they are getting water shot up their parts? Obviously, someone sued the jet ski people if they have to put such a stupid warning on the water craft.)

We got to see what we are almost sure was “Air Force One” fly over the lake as we pontooned our way to glory (or maybe it was Dick Cheney on Air Force 2, flying to Wyoming to shoot someone—er, I mean go hunting); it was quite the site to see a 747 escorted by four fighter jets.

The thing we did the most during the weekend was laugh (well, maybe we ate more than we laughed, but it was close). According to the wife and Blue Eyes, the Fun Factor was off the scale. There is no better (or cheaper) therapy than to laugh and snort. I could write about the weekend for days but I’m too full of food and poop to write more than I can currently pound out on the keyboard. Suffice it to say a great time was had by all. I am appreciative both of the wonderful people in attendance and the generosity of the hostesses. The wife and I are lucky indeed to know such fabulous, caring, funny people (even if they do make too much food).

Both Blue Eyes and yours truly managed to get stung by killer wasps on Sunday. Blue Eyes was attacked as we were leaving, so that really sucked because she got no sympathy from the crowds (everyone had already left by the time she got stung). Neither of us know where those damn things came from….but, they got us in the foot/ankle area, so we are guessing they were hovering low to the ground (unlike Air Force One).

The weekend ended too quickly, as most fun things do. We’ll just have to focus on losing weight for next year, so we can eat disgusting amounts of food when we return….