Post title stolen from my Labor Day party Facebook event of the same name. You can’t expect me to be original twice in the same month. Hoo do you think I am?
Hey homies. I’m officially the worst blogger of all time, because I’ve had so many fun things to write about and literally endless free time to write about them, but I haven’t. But I’m not a blogger, so that’s fine.
The thing is, I have this other little writing project that I’ve been a-workin’ on. (Similar to the railroad, all the live long day). My side bitch, if you will. Well, said ‘side bitch’ has turned into a ‘number one shawty’ and has kind of taken over. I won’t apologize for that. Also, if you’re curious about this other project / want a laugh / are bored AF and need something to read besides Yelp reviews for brunch places (…how I spent my afternoon), hit me up.
MOVING ON. Labor Day weekend is a made up holiday that exists for three reasons:
1) Providing an excuse to drink heavily for four full days and feel like less of a delinquent than you typically would
2) As a sort of “Black Monday” for Costco, meaning the day that they turn a profit on their investment in 320-packs of frozen hamburgers when dads everywhere fire up the grill, tie on an apron to protect their beer guts from grease, and serve said burgers to fratty sons in “Suns Out Guns Out” muscle tanks because #protein
3) ~time off work to spend with our loved ones~ (please punch me)
We kicked our celebrations off on Thursday, in preparation for a Friday and Monday off work. I worked from home, which meant that I could simultaneously work on my projects and bake snacks for our pregame. Those snacks in this case being Kit-Kat cookies. Side note: people often write me fan emails and ask if I do anything besides bake and drink wine. Short answer: no. Long answer: No I do not except sometimes I have coffee too.
Apparently I miscalculated my time, though, because by the time I was done with work (oh right, I do have a job) and the cookies, I had to rush out the door to a happy hour date. I frantically texted Megan and Lexi letting them know that I had failed my job as Social Chair and begging them to make the 0.05 mile walk to ABC. They obliged because they’re angels. By the time I was back from my date, tequila had magically appeared! Excellent! Shots!
We lazed around and sipped our favorite death punch (no sticky notes this time because we’re evil mwahaha) and waited for our friends to arrive / wondered if we had any friends at all. Lexi’s friend from UNC was the first to arrive, and he brought some friends. Imagine our surprise when two average looking guys walked into our apartment followed by THREE CHANNING TATUM IMPERSONATORS. Yeah, I’ll get off the couch for that.*
*They were going into the military and leaving for basic training in a week, as I have come to expect from half the guys I’ve dated. Why?!
Once the hotties arrived, people started showing up in droves. We started a game of stack cup, but were out of beer, so Megan poured rum directly into the cups and made the death cup a double shot of tequila. This was clearly a wonderful idea. From this point, my memory gets hazy – I know that I made terrible decisions and ruined my relationship with the guy I was seeing**, but I put on quite the show on the dance floor at Mad Rose, and that has to count for something! Right?!
**Long story for a different time
Yikes. Waking up Friday felt like:
Yep, that about sums it up. Apparently, past me wanted to punish future me for all of the wrongs I committed Thursday night. I continued said punishment at the gym, where I sweat out every ounce of vodka/rum/god knows what was in my body. I left feeling like a new woman, with a squat PR to prove it. Fuck yeah!
I burst through the door to our apartment singing like a Disney Princess in a forest. “Whooooo wants to go kayaking?!” I chirped as birds flitted around my wrists. My roommates joined in the excited chirping, and we all piled in my car to drive out to my grandparents’ lake house in Reston.
Issue: three girls, two kayaks. Other issue: one of the kayaks was terminally waterlogged and even with our best efforts, it and the seventeen snapping turtles it housed floated miserably under the surface of the lake. Luckily, we are all consultants, so we devised the following plan of attack:
- Take the boat over to a neighbor’s house who my grandma insisted “was on vacation, and would never find out” if we stole her kayak
- Steal her kayak
- Take kayak back to my grandparents’ house, drop off boat, Megan and Lexi paddle while I swim beside them
- Steal paddle board from a different neighbor’s house who my grandma insisted “was hospitalized, and didn’t need to know”
- Paddle around the lake like the kleptomaniac hoodlums we are!
This idea was wonderful, until it started to downpour torrentially, and the lightning began. We were all holding metal poles in the water. This was bad news. We paddled our little hearts out to get back to the house, docked everything, and ran inside to dry off while my grandmother shared her entire romantic history with us. She insisted that the best pickup line to get a guy was to catcall “look at the legs on that rabbit!”
We accepted my grandma’s parting gifts of three Activia yogurts (mmm, probiotics!), a few pears, and brownies. God, I love that woman. We headed home, showered the lake muck out of every crevice of our bodies (ew I hate myself for typing that), and went to Trader Joe’s to buy every cheese, cracker, and wine ever created for ~*GiRL’z NiT3*~ (ew again). Lexi and I threw together a baked brie, and we assembled quite the spread on our kitchen table. What guy problems? I didn’t have any problems anymore!
We turned on Goodwill Hunting and called it a night. Party animals, amirite?
“Damn it feels good to not be hungover” – recovering alcoholics everywhere, and us on Saturday morning. It was a good thing, too, because we had mountains to hike!
Megan and Lexi had invited their whole start class to hike the Billy Goat Trail in Great Falls with us, but only one (Mandy, the best!) made it. Everyone else’s loss, because we had a blast and may have set a new record for number of selfies taken on a 5-hour hike! We decided to reward ourselves for our strenuous efforts with Indian food, which is literally always a good idea… except maybe not then, because Lexi and I were going to my parents’ house for dinner, and little did we know that they had a BIG spread for us. And a pumpkin pie?! A little unseasonal, Mom…
We ate as much as we needed to so as to be polite, then excused ourselves because I had a date, and KEVIN WAS VISITING! Yes, Kevin of Peru fame who once brushed his teeth with Doritos. YAY!!! This provided even more incentive to get away from the very awkward Tinder boy I was drinking wine with. Omg guys, so so awkward.
Whenever Kevin visits, we all die. I will let the following photos speak for themselves:
We did not move our bodies
Are you fucking serious right now? Is it still the weekend? Like, the same weekend??? No way. Am I being Punk’d? Where’s Ashton?
I mean, not that I’m complaining – especially since I had the chance to catch up with my Biggie over brunch at Whitlow’s! He told me all about how he’s brewing pumpkin beer and he’ll bring me some when it’s ready. I’m literally only typing that as a reminder to myself to hound him for beer at some point in the near future. Hi, Sid!
After that, my roommates and I decided that there was really no better, adult choice to make than to go to the giant ball pit at the National Building Museum! We almost died, like, 4 times. At first I thought that would be a pretty embarrassing fate, but then I thought about how funny my obituary would be:
“Here lies Jesse, ratchet mess and Tinder dater extraordinaire***. She died doing what she loved most – playing with balls”
***I literally had a date right after the ball pit, too. I don’t have a problem, I swear.
And that’s all, folks! You can breathe now. Maybe stretch, or take a lap, because that was a whole lot to read. But hurry back, because the fun doesn’t stop there… the next day was my birthday!!