Also...

What about this guy??

I've been at my desk for less than an hour. He's commandeered my spot. And his lying in his fave position.

Take a closer look. Tongue hanging out. Sheer bliss.

Much Too Old to Rock'n'Roll

Joel and I had quite the eventful weekend.

Friday night, we were invited to dinner with our very good friends from Lexington, Carrie and Byron, and Carrie's parents. It started out innocent enough. Dinner, a few drinks, and an invitation to visit with other friends at Gambrinuuuuuuuuuus (okay, this is a very upscale bar in Owensboro, which is actually called Gambrinus (gam-BREE-naus), but I once knew someone who pronounced it gam-bree-NEEEEWWWWWWZZZZZ. Most people who've lived in Lexington call it gam-bree-nOOOs. It is, however, Gambrinus). Joel and I decided to go to G's and have ONE drink.

Us with Carrie and Byron at Christmas

Let me rewind. Joel and I agreed to have dinner with our friends, and he arrived home about ten minutes before I did. I walk in. Shopping bags in hand. Admit I have a problem. He picks out his favorite items that I've purchased him (a pair of dressy jeans and a white Paper, Denim, and Cloth shirt). I change into my brand new NY&Co black cigarette pants and black and camel sheer striped top.  Before we walk out the door, Joel jokingly puts a pair of flip flops onto his stocking feet. I laugh. We leave. In the car, I realize it wasn't a joke. He has worn his flip flops and socks to Nikos, a nice restaurant, with our friends. Awesome. I love him, and I accept him for who he is, so I giggle and go on. (Spoiler alert: he wears them for the REST OF THE NIGHT.)

Mismatched, dirty socks, no less

So, back to the subject at hand. A mere 20 minutes into dinner, Joel is pointing out his dinner preference on my menu and spills his (very dark) beer all down his brand new white t-shirt. Good thing it was only $7. We proceed to have dinner, and at one point, giggle over the japanese look Joel is rocking. (To make certain that Joel is not the only silly one in our household, I get all the way to dinner and realize I have left the tags on my new pants and, once in the bathroom, realize everyone in the restaurant is getting the privilege to see not only what size I wear, but also that I paid a mere $12 for the $50 pants. I consider it showing off my bargaining skills.)

So, after dinner, we agree to go to G's and have A drink with our friends Jason, Megan, and a new friend, Matt. One drink turns into two turns into "we should go to the Yellow Rose."

Leaving with a newfound energy, I run into a preg friend of mine and sexually assault her preg belly. (Won't be able to look her in the eye for a while.) Then we head on to Hick Heaven. Now, let me explain the Yellow Rose. This is a bar in Owensboro that is the exact opposite of the very upscale, beautifully decorated, very classy Gambrinus. This bar is downright country. Dark, smokey, serving nothing but hard liquor and cheap beer, this bar is very "friends in low places" style.

When we get there, we discover a sa-weet moped outside and proceed to take turns taking pictures on it. The owner (a tubby fellow in wire-rim glasses, a tie, Duckheads, and a few two many PBRs) comes out to protect his prized possession and instantly falls in love with me. He pays no mind to the fact that I am clearly spoken for. (At one point, Joel and I went to our respective restrooms. I came out before Joel. Mr. Moto spots me, makes a B-line toward me, gets thisclose to me, sees Joel, turns and runs.) (To be fair, despite the Mr. Miyagi look, Joel got hit on WAY more than I did.) We proceeded to line dance, drink a few too many beers, and breathe more smoke than a 15 year old Joe Camel. At one point, I had to ask a man in a cowboy hat to buy a beer for my SO because the sweet little bartenders would not serve anyone with breasts.

Slow dancing at the Yella Rose

Joel tried to stand up on the moped. I screamed.

Maybe I need one just like it. Blue duct tape and all.

After the YR, we went to the farm to show our friends around. While Megan and I had some catch-up time (I worked at KWC with Meg and LOVE her), the boys began to play guitar and sing. I took that as my cue to sing with them and quickly joined. At 1:34am, Joel and I got dropped off at our house, discussed how we can't remember the last time we were up that late, and passed out fell into a deep slumber.

ONLY TO WAKE UP AT 5AM THE NEXT DAY. Feeling ruff. I drove to McDonald's to get us a hangover cure--two Egg McMuffin Meals with Diet Coke, and we go back to sleep. For almost the rest of the day. Saturday night, we had a wedding to go to, so we literally laid in bed trying to feel normal again all day.

Trying to look super fun en route to the wedding

Saturday night, we attended my friends', Reed and Lindsey's, beautiful wedding and attempted to have some fun at their reception through our yawns and inability to drink alcohol without gagging.

Today, I laid in bed willing myself to get up and complete any of my responsibilities. Finally, we got up and cleaned and made some veggie juice to perk ourselves back up. We went to the farm at one point to take a brisk walk but almost died of heat exhaustion. So we came home, and I continued to clean and get ready for a busy week of work. At one point, I looked at Joel and said, "remember when we didn't need two whole days to recover from one night of fun???"

And this was the funniest thing that happened today

And I got hit in the face with dog toenail. I was clipping CD's nails when one hit me in the eye so hard I thought maybe it had blinded me. I'm, however, not writing this blog with one eye so I guess I'm okay, but in my mind, I have a huge swollen black eye. Joel swears he can see nothing wrong with it. We watched Phonebooth, and my blood pressure skyrocketed. Joel made an amazing egg scramble for breakfast, burritos for lunch, and then helped me make fried chickpeas for dinner. Now he's watching a special on Black Sabbath, and I'm entertaining myself with The Farting Preacher and work (yes, that's entertaining). This is the life we were meant to live. Not one that includes mopeds, too many drinks, or bar-hopping. All-in-all, the lesson learned this weekend is that we are MUCH too old to rock'n'roll.

A Love Letter to My Daddy

In honor of my dad's 55th birthday today: a thank you letter.

Dear Daddy--

Thank you for being wrapped around my finger from the very beginning.

Thank you for learning to braid, just so you could braid my hair when I got out of the bath each night.

Thank you for being the first man I ever loved.

Thank you for telling me to listen to my mother.

Thank you for spanking the boys when they were mean to me.

Thank you for letting me lay in your lap when we were watching that horribly scary episode of the Hogan Family with the zombies.

Thank you for letting me sit in your lap long after I was too big to.

Thank you for giving me your pillow when I'd crawl in bed with you and Mom as little girl.

Thank you for giving me that pillow years later. (I still have it, and nothing feels better than sleeping on that pillow.)

Thank you for going swimming with us in the summers.

Thank you for taking us to Vastwood, even though you hated going.

Thank you for teaching me that can't is not in my vocabulary. That has rung through my head many times during successful moments in my life.

Thank you for always having gums when we asked.

Thank you for being the cool dad who 'got it,' when no one else's daddies did.

Thank you for coming home to us each night. I can remember the excitement I felt when I'd see your truck start backing into the driveway.

Thank you for giving me a love of haunted houses, bologna, and cake soup.

Thanks for all those hot ham and cheeses and cinnamon rolls.

Thank you for almost always giving me money to go to dinner with my friends. Sorry for never bringing you the change.

Thank you for that time we were walking through Kroger and your shoes were purposefully untied. I was mortified, and you told me to quit worrying about what other people thought.

Thank you for teaching me to drive.

Thank you for giving me drinks of your coke and bites of your food, even though it made you so mad that I just wouldn't get my own.

Thank you for making me learn every artist to every 70's and 80's song 93.9 played.

Thank you for letting me hide my face in your shoulder during that wax museum tour that was terrifying.

Thank you for buying me that $350 prom dress. It really was beautiful.

Thank you for all the speeding tickets you paid for. Even when you didn't know that's what the money was for.

Thank you for not yelling when you talk. (And yes, I cracked myself up with that one.)

Thank you for not only telling me but always making me feel beautiful.

Thank you for moving me in and out of almost every place I've ever lived.

Thank you for that time you yelled at me to go back to Lexington before dark.

Thank you for that time you drove two and half hours to stand with me while they pulled my car out of a ditch...after dark.

Thank you for telling me to get my ass back to school that night.

Thank you for that summer where it felt like just you and me against the world. No matter how bad things were, we could look forward to our dinners together and late night movies we'd watch on my laptop since we didn't yet have a DVD player.

Thank you for being silly and making me laugh.

Thank you for reading me "Twas the night before Christmas" every Christmas eve for 29 years.

Thank you for not smacking me when I correct your grammar or your mispronounciation of words likes chimney (chimley), Pittsburg (Picksburg), hogwash (hock wash), bathing suit (babin'  suit), and wash rag (warsh rag).

Thank you for forgiving me.

Thank you for accepting my forgiveness.

Thank you for the daddy you are to Robert, Ryan, and river. They have no idea how blessed they are to have your guidance.

Thank you for calling us at 3am on Christmas morning the way your dad did to you.

Thank you for making it hard for every man I've ever dated to live up to the example you've set.

Thank you for always being you, even when it pisses everybody off.

Thank you for responding "Otay" to my texts. That makes me smile every time.

Thank you for yelling at me to call you instead of text. Sometimes it is better just to hear each other's voice.

Thank you for having reasons that are valid to you.

Thank you for being a really great gift-giver.

Thank you for not being too proud.

Thank you for someday walking me down the aisle.

Thank you for the amazing Pappaw you'll be to my kids someday.

Thank you for someday telling my grown children to listen to their mother.

Thank you for always being there when I have needed you.

Thank you for giving me not two, but five brothers. Some day when I need someone, and you can't be there, one of them will be.

Thank you for being endlessly supportive of me.

Thank you for showing me what unconditional love is.

Thank you for being the absolute best daddy a little girl could ever ask for.

I love you,

Your Forever Daddy's Girl

Oh no, Ozone.

This is how I feel all the time, Earth.

Lately I've been feeling a bit out of sorts at random times, and I haven't been the only one. I feel like every single one of my friends have mentioned just feeling a bit "off." Yesterday, in a meeting full of business professionals, we asked ourselves aloud several times if there was an impending full moon, because we simply felt a bit out of it.

My salon expert and very good friend, Leslie, has offered up the best solution I've heard for all of us feeling a bit like we're losing it: The Ozone.

That is not me, hard at work.

Now, we all know that our selfish earthly habits are causing the globe to go a little bonkers. Without getting too much into my politics here, I'm going to make a sweeping statement that we're all well aware that global warming is inevitably happening. (Except for Joel's OSO--that's other significant other, because I'm starting to hate the term bff--AJ, who says--and I quote--"I mean, what do you want me to do about it anyway?") (To get off topic again, Joel has one OSO, AJ, but I have a whole entourage of OSOs! You'll hear about them here often, and one day, I'll write a blog dedicated to each one.) Wait, where were we? Oh yeah, the ozone. So, it's Leslie's theory that the ozone melting away and soaking us with harmful sun rays is causing us to all have little glitches in our internal wiring. I thought this was a genius discovery and have set out to prove this theory.

Warning: what you are about to read is not at all highly scientific and has not at all been tested and proven by me, who is, in no way, shape, or form, a professional scientist. 


So here is what I have determined to be the side effects of said ozone deterioration:

--Jumbling and mumbling of words. Over the past few months, I have tried to eek out very intelligent phrases that have ended up sounding like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. Today, I tried to say contribution four times without success.

--General clumsiness. I have always had a bit of clumsiness, but lately I'm noticing it in everyone around me. My very pulled together friend, Jo, almost bumped into a huge rack of clothes today for no good reason. Wednesday, I dropped the bat phone no less than three times, and the last time, dropped everything else in my hands trying to pick it up.

--Impaired motor skills. Not only has it been taking me far too long to type texts because I simply can't make my fingers work properly, but I also fight--on a daily basis--with getting the pictures I attach to my blog to go where I want them to. (Hear that, Blogger? It's too hard to move those bastards around!)

--Lack of focus. Lately, I've watched my beautifully planned out, productive days crumble into impromptu shopping sprees (which may or may not have happened again today).

--Fatigue. Despite how much I've been sleeping lately, I still refuse to get out of bed in the morning, stay up past 9:30, and wake in the night to pee. I am groggy and grumpy, and have bags under my eyes that like look like I'm packing for a month-long European vacation.

Yup, that's about how my texts look.

--Fogginess. My friend, Sharla, whilst on the phone with me, was dumbfounded as to the whereabouts of her phone. I find it hard to process simple directions lately and spent about 15 minutes driving around in circles today looking for my destination. My coworkers had a meeting time and place for a tour we took recently. The time and date: July 11 @ 10am. Two of the ladies thought the tour was on July 10 @ 11 and one (I won't name names) thought it was July 11 @ 11.

--Forgetfulness. I have also become really good at showing up to present to 60 students with not a single publication in my hand, or my car, or anywhere to be found. I have to look at my calendar five or six times to remember what I'm doing tomorrow. And despite the fact that Joel reminded me about 100 times, I STILL forgot to get the tire in the Camry patched. (Luckily, he took it to get fixed bright and early this morning.)

--Disappearances. A few weeks ago, I washed a swim suit at Kevin's house. I left it there and picked it up later. I know--for a fact--I put it into my purse that day. It is now nowhere to be found. I had $80 of Express cash recently that I purposefully ripped of the receipt and stuffed into my purse for a later shopping trip. When I attempted to retrieve it, it had vanished into thin air.

--Strange stuff. Although the swim suit in my purse is no where to be found, there is--and has been for about four weeks--a pair of underwear randomly in there. Don't worry, they're clean.

There they are. Undies, in my purse.

Clearly, this ozone thing is nothing to laugh about. Freaky sh*t's happening, and the only thing that can explain it is the melting of the ozone. The only good thing is that when I mumble, stumble, slip and fall, get distracted, fall asleep, forget things, lose things, and/or find myself writing a blog while eating quinoa with not one but two forks in it, I can say with certainty, "It's not me, it's the ozone."

Random Rumblings...

So rather than giving you the play by play of my day (unless you're feeling as if you need a nap and can't fall asleep), I thought I'd just tell you about some things that I find funny, sweet, or that just piss me off.

--On the houseboat trip, the absolute peak of everyone's laughter came from a lone self-inflating whoopie cushion. Apparently, Scott had gotten this for Rachel as a gift--which I find, in and of itself, hilarious--and they'd brought it with them for entertainment. I have never seen grown men and women laugh so hard at fake farts in my life. If you're feeling blue, get yourself a whoopie cushion, shove it in your pocket, and push it on every time you sit down next to someone.

--The first night on the houseboat trip, I fell into a much-needed deep, amazing sleep. Entering into the best part of the night--REM sleep--I began to dream that I was walking through the woods. (In the dream, I was walking through the woods at the farm, but that's not at all what our woods look like.) Suddenly, I heard the distinct sound of someone peeing. When I rounded the corner to see who, in fact, was peeing in our woods, it was none other than Chester Cheetah. You know, the big orange, cartoon cat from the Cheetos commercial. I'm not sure I've ever had a more badass dream. I told everyone as soon as we all got up, and for the rest of the trip, we said, "It ain't easy peein' cheesy," as many times as possible.

It ain't easy peein' cheesy, baby!

--I am reading the book by Jenny Lawson--The Bloggess--Let's Pretend This Never Happened. It is just as hilarious as her blog. And it makes me think that one day, there may be some girl out there who wants to read the silly sh*t I have to say. In book form, every night, right before she dreams about Chester Cheetah.





--I got some pretty badass bruises on the trip. I can't account for any of them.

It's not loose, it's trapped inside my eyeball.

--My freaking eye hurts again. If you haven't yet heard, my doctors thought I had an eye amoeba about a month ago, and I had to undergo this extremely painful biopsy of the fungus on my cornea to ensure that a tiny bastard wasn't feasting on my vision three times a day. It wasn't an amoeba but it was a severe infection caused by the combination of contacts and rosacea. Going sans contacts for what felt like 17 years and putting antibiotic and anti-rosacea drops in hourly every day for 106 years, I thought I'd kicked it. Today, I have leaked all over my face, had to come home and take my contacts out, and wondered if maybe a shard of glass blew into my eye during the rain storm. I have one thing to say about all of this: DAMMIT.

--Did that last paragraph sound like it was written by Kevin Clark?

--I haven't been on Pinterest for a while lately, because I'm cheating on it with blogger. But I got on there for a little bit last night. Why is it that some of the crap on their makes me think I'm a big, fat, lazy slob? If I wanted to look at pictures of girls' huge boobs and tiny bellies, while feeling demeaned and degraded, I'd watch porn. I don't need it on Pinterest. People want to put pictures of impossibly attainable body types with captions that say things like, "Your brain shrinks with every pound of belly fat you gain," right next to the pictures of the amazing seven layer chocolate ice cream mocha lard cake with sprinkles on top. I'm all about being fit and healthy, but we simply don't need ANOTHER thing to make us feel bad about ourselves. So, stop the insanity, Pinterest.

This is the ONLY way I burn calories. And I'd still probably eat it. In your face, photoshopped pinterest models.

On a better note, these boys are my favorite two boys in the whole world.

 This guy is pretty dang high up there too.

I think that I'm as obsessed with my sweet doggie as most people are with their kids. He makes me smile, makes me shake my head, and makes want to tell the world how sweet and cuddly he is.

MY spot that he sometimes confuses as his own.

See the sheer joy on his face at the theft of my pillow??

And now he's giving me the cold shoulder because I made him move to the bottom of the bed.

And, now, I'm going to go eat Mexican food with the ladies and probably think up 100 more things that I should have written about. Good day, sir.

A Hairy Debate

If you have known me for any significant amount of time, you have likely known me as a brunette, blonde, and all shades in between. You have probably also heard me sing the praises of my salon expert, Leslie (at Essentials--message me for her digits). (I decided that she'll be called a salon expert, because I hate the term hairdresser and calling her my stylist makes me sound like I think I'm famous. Side note: I actually do think I'm famous.)

So I always have this internal debate going on about what color my hair should be. And by internal, I mean that I make everyone listen to me weigh the pros and cons of each color, and then I poll the audience about their color of preference. What I've discovered is that if someone met me or spent a significant amount of time with me while I had brown hair, they prefer brown hair. If they met or hung out with me a lot when I was blonde, they prefer me blonde. Both my parents prefer me to be blonde. That's because I was blonde growing up, I suspect. I go back and forth on my preference. I will look at pictures of myself when I had brown hair and think, "damn, I look good." Then I will see a picture of myself with dark hair, and I'll be all, "what the hell was I thinking?" And the same happens with my blonde pics. So, here, let's go through the evolution of Casi's hair...

It took me about three years to grow even a single hair, so it's good that I'm adventurous.

Big, bad, and blonde as a little lady

College--mostly natural

Highlighted with a badass 'stache

Short, sassy, and boob-a-licious

Dyed to match the moooostache

Shortish and ba-londe. Maybe my fave.

Kinda short, kinda long, kinda straight, kinda curly, kinda blonde, kinda red. Really confusing.

Back in blonde

First attempt at going dark

Actual, official dark hair

Wait, what???

Au naturale

But getting light...

And lighter...

And lighter...

And ka-bam! Blondie McBlonde. (I also love this color.)

 Which brings us to yesterday when I had a hair appointment with my resident expert, Leslie. Leading up to the appointment, I was doing my usual back-and-forth panic-mode/stare at old pictures of me/ask everyone I know what I should do. There was part of me that considered going back to my natural color but keeping some highlights (when I went natural about 18 months ago, I found...gray! And not just one, it was a freaking party of them. And they don't play well with others. My grays are wily!), but I hadn't mentioned this to anyone. Cut to Leslie...

Let me explain why Leslie is so great. When I lived in Lexington, I had the same hair lady for 8 years. She knew my hair and did a good job. (She was known to talk a little too much and get my locks a little too short. I'm going to search for a picture of this, because, frankly, it's hilarious.)

This is the terrible, awful, no good, very bad 'do my lady in Lex did. And this is after about three weeks after it grew out some. OUCH.

Then I moved to Owensboro and began the great hair expert hunt. I went to several different people, paid ridiculous amounts of money, and never seemed to be satisfied. Until I met Leslie. She knew exactly what I meant when I explained what I wanted, she was just as adventurous as me in the hair color department, and she is cute and hilarious and I found in her a lifelong hair expert.

So I showed up yesterday to see her, not having a clue what to tell her to do, and she immediately said, "I have some ideas." Because she's never led me astray, I fully trust her with my head, and gave her free reign to play around. As she was blow-drying my hair, I realized...she had gone VERY VERY close to my natural color with a few blonde highlights left. It's as if this girl can read my mind. She also did this amazing Schwarzkopf treatment that turns my shredded wheat into silken strands. I'm not even kidding; this girl works wonders. Here was the end result.

The new color

From each angle

Up close and personal. So pretty.

So, I'm back to close to natural with a hint of red and blonde. Amazing.

Also, I got to spend some time with Destiny yesterday and our obsession with each other continued. I got her husband's phone number, so that there is never a moment in my life that I can't get in touch with Dee. When we got home from dinner, giddy and ridiculous, Patrick asked what was up with our weird bromance. Coincidently, we dubbed it a LOmance. Get it? What's even more lomantic than that? Destiny's blogging again!!

Amendment: Upon reviewing this blog, I'm realizing one might also consider it, the evolution of Casi's phatness. Wowza.

Home Sweet Boat

Joel and I didn't take a single picture so here is a stranger on the boat.
Hopefully, someone will post pics and then I'll post them for you.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, we're back from the houseboat trip, and I finally have the energy to write about it. Technically I'm also procrastinating unpacking, doing laundry, and cleaning the house. Joel has already left to work at the farm this morning and when he asked what I was doing today, and I shrugged, frankly, I think he judged me. But we had a big long weekend, and I need time to recuperate.

So the trip was amazing from start to finish. I say that, but you have to keep in mind that we had to pull the jet ski to the lake. The only vehicle we have with a trailer hitch happens to be the only vehicle we have without air conditioning. We'd gone over this in our heads for weeks and determined that it was going to be at least $500 to fix the truck's AC OR $500 to put a trailer hitch on my Escape (which we plan to sell if anyone would act the least bit interested in it). So we rationalized that it "wouldn't be that bad."

Our version of AC

And at first it wasn't. I mean, we were hot, but we'd stocked the cooler with cold water and stripped down to what we deemed to still be legal while inside your own motor vehicle. Most of the drive down was just fine, but closer to the end of it, we were starting to get a little grumpy (and, for me, dizzy and disoriented but I was trying to be a trouper). Add to this the fact that we didn't pack the GPS and were relying on our phones for directions (to which I'd simply typed 'Dale Hollow Lake' not realizing it's like as big as country, and that there are tons of marinas on the lake). About an hour into the trip, we lost cell phone service altogether. So not only could we not rely on our maps app, but also, we couldn't call anyone to get the address to the marina. Luckily, Joel is a really good guesser and got us there just fine. But two hot, grumpy, heat exhausted adults trying to figure out directions not knowing an address or anything can be quite comical (or also considered a miracle that someone didn't get punched).

Once we got there, the fun began and didn't stop until we got BACK into our hot ass truck to go home. To spare you a million inside jokes that you won't think are funny and a blog that is 64 pages, I'll highlight the trip by saying there are so many things I did on this trip that I'd never done before. Here goes:

--Been on a houseboat. I mean, I've walked onto one, but never spent four days on one.

--Been on Dale Hollow Lake. Absolutely breathtakingly beautiful.

--Driven a jet ski by myself. I've taken rides while someone else has driven plenty of times, but always been too scared to try it on my own. Joel took me out once and showed me the ropes and then I got to do it by myself. Awesome.

--Kayaked by myself. Again, I've kayaked in pairs but never handled one on my own. When I saw that we had two one-person kayaks, I resigned myself to just not getting on them the whole trip. Joel talked me into it, and I'm ready to go cross-country in a kayak! Not really, but I'm so super comfortable on them on now.

--Drank Fireball. In fact, I'd never heard of it. But it tastes like liquid red hot. It's delicious and makes me feel super fun. (Warning: it burns going in and burns coming out.) And on that note:

--Gone #2 on a houseboat. Yeah, yeah, I know it's too much information but it's also quite the experienced. It can be likened to using a food processor for the first time. We all enjoyed it so much that we tried to do it as often as possible. Some people upwards of 5-7 times a day. That also could have been the gratuitous amount of food and alcohol we were consuming.

--Jumped off the top of the houseboat (SORRY, MOM). This probably was one of the highlights of the trip. The boys were all jumping off the top, and I jokingly said I would. I knew I had a huge fear of heights and could never actually make it happen. I had planned on just getting up there and being silly. So I'm standing on the top of this thing, and the boys are below cheering me on. I decide maybe I'll go ahead and do it, but then I can't get off the top. I keep running to the edge and freezing. So Joel came up top, grabbed my hand, and we jumped together. I think maybe I flailed my feet around like a rag doll, and may or may not have ripped one of my boobs off when I hit the water, but it was exhilarating. I also blew about a gallon of water out of my nose in front of everyone when I came up. (Pretty.) Then I decided to do it again and chickened out again, so Joel grabbed me, and we jumped together again. Had I tried it a third time, I probably could have done it on my own.

Other people jumping off of a houseboat

--Slid off the water slide of a house boat. Again, when I saw this thing, I thought, "no way in hell am I going down that." But after I had plummeted off the top of the boat and not died, I realized the slide couldn't be nearly as bad. That was super fun because it pushed you into the water with a little bounce and speed. The boys were going down backwards and head-first, so I didn't want to steal their thunder and just kept going down on my butt. It was a blast.

--Sang in front of people. If you know me, you know I have a terrible singing voice and that I absolutely refuse to sing in front of people. But if you give me enough alcohol and put me in a setting where there are constant songs being played, it turns out, I'll sing for you. For me, this was so much fun, because although I'm horrible, I do love to sing. For other people, it was probably just horrible. But no one was rushed to the ER with busted ear drums and at least I couldn't see the cringing on people's faces. And once I got started, I demanded Joel play songs until his fingers (almost) bled. Sorry, babe.

--Walked a tight rope. There was a rope that was tied from the tree on the bank to the back of the boat. Granted, this "tight rope" was in water, so it was exponentially easier to walk on than a real tight rope, but we all became obsessed with walking and sitting on it, and I begged the whole time for someone to reenact the scene from Dirty Dancing with me. (Joel finally agreed but said he wanted to do it on land...um, no.)

What I kept imaging whilst on the tight rope

--Taken a lake bath. The first day, Joel taught me the beauty of bathing in nature. (We had our suits on, I can't add "skinny dipped" to this list, unfortunately.) It was so nice to take baths in the lake, so we did both Friday and Saturday. I did on Sunday too, but Joel convinced me to come in and try out the shower on the boat, so we proceeded to shower in the world's smallest stand-up shower.)

--Not shaved my legs for four straight days. This is something I am a nazi about. I have to shave my legs every single day. Even when I'm sick, I'll eek my way to the tub and shave up. But bathing in the lake and the tiniest shower in the world meant that the legs were the sacrifice. I was so preoccupied with how miserable it felt that I shouted out a disclaimer any time anyone got even remotely close to me. However, I was mesmerized by how awful it felt and made Joel feel it every few hours. On the ride home, I was almost delirious thinking about the sweet glory of shaving my legs the minute we walked in the door.


Clearly, this was a trip of firsts, and we had an absolute blast. I met lots of really amazing people that I hope will become good friends. I can't wait to take another houseboat trip and was even trying to pull for one in August. I think maybe everyone else is willing to wait a bit longer (was it my singing?). The good news is that I didn't get sunburnt, I didn't throw up (someone did, but I'll never tell who!), and didn't get motion sickness until we headed back to land the last day. That was just a little bit of a sicky stomach and subsided after I had some delicious catfish at the marina close to ours. The trip was everything I'd hoped it would be and more, and if we could have stayed another four days, I would have agreed in a split second (that is, if I could have figured out a way to shave my legs).