The Top Five Things
Aug 22, 2006
One of the things I treasure most about my life in this city is the great friends that
I have made over the years. We all seem to share a passion for twisted humor, a love of life,
and an appreciation for each other's quirks and unique qualities. Not only do they
know how to have a good time, they are the kind of people that will
pitch in and help when anyone needs it. Literally "give the shirt off your back" kind of people.
They helped me move 8 cubic yards of dirt in the pouring rain, have held the most wonderful birthday
parties for me (and others in the group), and remind me when necessary, just how very human I am.
We do most of our social activities as a group. For any given activity there could be as few as 3 or 4 or as many as 24 or more that come out to functions from camping to parties to movies to just sitting at the pub having a beer.
Every year we try to do at least one weekend in the summer up at a "camp" by a lake that has cottages and tenting space and a lovely firepit on the beach.
The Camp weekend invariably involves plenty of alcohol, camp fires, too much food, and lots of people.
Drinking games are played. There is swimming and canoeing and the occasional (usually unsuccessful) attempt to throw someone into the lake. Music is played (sometimes too loudly, based on the complaints of other campers/cottagers).
It's always a challenge to find a weekend that most or all of us can attend that doesn't coincide with the time that the whiney complaining people (who go to bed at 8pm) are also at the camp.
Stories are told about past camping weekends.
Several of those Stories are about me and my, *ahem*, exploits. My friends delight in retelling them with great relish and embellishments. In fact, the stories seem to get more outrageous with each retelling.
I seem to have a reputation regarding the campfire just because I had a couple of close calls with it over the years.
Sure, I almost fell into it one year - right after being warned and me insisting I WASN'T going to fall into the fire.
I did the pratfall for effect. Really. At least, that's MY side of the story, and I'm sticking to it.
One year we played a drinking game called Pig. It involves cards,
passing to the left and touching your nose when you get 4 of a kind.
When ONE person touches their nose, everyone else follows suit, with the
last person to touch their nose having to take a shot. (Think of the
game of "spoons" but without the clawing injuries that result from THAT
nasty game.) Seems I'm not so good at either game. I blame genetics. I'm
horribly uncoordinated. The alcohol had nothing to do with it.
I kept losing rounds, which didn't help to improve my coordination. By late in the game It
seems I missed my nose entirely when I tried to touch it. I was hoping
no one saw. But Mike (his real name, because he's EEEVIL) did. He reminds
me of that moment. OFTEN. And in front of other people whenever
possible. The game started at 2 in the afternoon with occasional breaks
for food and bodily waste removal, and went on until about 2am (as much
as I can recall). As stories will, this one morphed though the retellings to the point where I supposedly
had consumed an entire liquor store worth of alcohol. Yes, I needed a little help back to the cabin and some very kind (and not evil) individuals supported
me on the long walk back to the cottage, but I wasn't THAT bad. I wasn't sick at all the next day
though I did have some momentary panic when I awoke and couldn't remember who got my sleeping bag out of the car, undressed me (I was stark naked)
and put me to bed. Apparently *I* was the one who put me to bed. My memory returned with sufficient quantities of caffeine in the morning.
Needless to say, I no longer play drinking games.
Another story involves my supposed admission that I *might* have been a cougar at
some point because I had a boyfriend who was closer to my son's age than
my age. 13 years younger hardly constitutes a cougar. Besides, he contacted ME first, and
he did have size 14 feet. What's a girl to do?
And last year, there was the batteries. And the fire. Again. Sure I'd had a BIT to drink, but that had nothing to do with it.
I TOLD you I'm uncoordinated. (Sorry kids, you inherited your klutziness from me, but you got height and your good looks from my side of the family too, so it ain't all bad).
By the time the story was told and retold, it had morphed to something where I had recklessly THROWN batteries into the fire,
and had attempted to dive in after them and had to be forcibly restrained. It's simply not the case.
I was trying to turn a flashlight on. You know the kind - the one that
you have to twist the base to turn it on and off? Well I twisted a bit
TOO much and they SPRUNG out and into the fire's edge. People had a FIT
that I tried to fish them out with my hands. Hey, it JUST happened, they
weren't hot YET, and I wanted to get them out before the inevitable
explosion.
Fear not, no one was harmed in the making of this story. Not even my pride, much as they admonished me and insisted on fishing the batteries out with a stick.
Geeze. The sissies. On my next birthday, just to ensure that there was no repeat offense, I was given a flashlight that is powered by kinetic energy - you have to shake it to make it work.
No need for batteries that might get tossed into the fire, apparently. My friends are so thoughtful.
Anyway, getting back to THIS year's gathering. The principal organizer's birthday falls on the first weekend of our cottage/camp fun (this year we booked for two weekends and the intervening week).
For the organizer, we want to give him the best birthday present possible - we want him to
RELAX and enjoy himself that evening instead of him instead of his usual
fussing, fixing, cooking and organizing. Don't get me wrong, we HUGELY appreciate all his hard efforts, but just this once, we want him to sit back and
enjoy instead of worrying about everything and everyone else.
This resulted in a rather entertaining email exchange that went like this;
From: P.
Why don't we just get aggressive and tell [the organizer] he is bloody well not allowed to do any work on Saturday.
That includes not being allowed to prepare/bring any food for the day,
Would that be cruel?
From: Natalie
I think if we ban him from cooking for the *entire* day he might explode.
But I think it is acceptable to assume that from 4pm on he is to RELAX,
drink, put his feet up, and not cook, clean or otherwise WORRY. :-) Does
someone have a set of hand-cuffs? We could cuff him to a lawn chair. :-)
Oh, and we need MARSHMALLOWS. Someone needs to remember marshmallows. :-) I have the roasting sticks!
And baileys. We need Bailey's. :-)
Now I KNEW that line about the handcuffs was a gift. I even hesitated for a whole 10 seconds before putting it in, but I figured, what the hell, I'd LOB a beauty of a straight line over the wall into crowd and see if anyone would pick it up.
Mike didn't let me down. Within 5 minutes, the group received the following reply:
From Mike:
let me understand this... Natalie is asking if someone ELSE has handcuffs?!?!?!
That's in my top 5 things I thought I would never hear from Natalie. My top 5 list is:
- Does anyone have an extra copy of the old testament? I forgot mine at late night mass yesterday and I can't sleep without it.
- I'm out of [wine | gin | vodka]
- Does anyone have a set of hand-cuffs?
- When I grow up I want to be a cheer-leader.
- I have a new web site called www.BeMyFriend.CareBears.com.
And just to remind me that that I have an issue with the fire...
From P.:
Clearly she meant, does anyone have a SPARE set of handcuffs.
You don't want to bring velvet lined cuffs to a cottage. They would get all "sooty" from the bonfire.
Yep. God love 'em. Those are my friends. They think they know me so
well. But they are wrong about one thing: I'd never have velvet-lined cuffs.
They're fur-lined. This is, after all, Canada, and it gets cold at night, eh?
heartlessly,
-Natalie
