You know those exceptional events that are so memorable, and so fun, in which you’re constantly surrounded by such uncommonly good and motley company that the best is brought out of everyone at once, and there’s a crazy synergy that makes everything simultaneously easy and constantly surprising, because things just happen, and keep happening? And recapping all of it the next day is almost as fun, especially when you and your crew somehow manage to then top the previous day’s shenanigans with even more memorable ones? Well, that was our weekend.

I don’t know, you guys. The best single adjective I can come up with is “rare.” And not, like, E-bola in the western hemisphere rare; like, angel-sightings rare.

The fun thing about these recaps is that I know that our gushiness isn’t due to the painting of distant memories in the rosy haze of nostalgia, because it was so recent, and we all seemed to appreciate it when we were in the moment.

There’s no possible way I can manage to mention everybody who was there without making this sound like a tedious Oscar speech, so is it okay if I just say that we are all completely bloody adorable, and congratulate those who came out despite not knowing anyone and being scared rather shitless? And, is it okay if I don’t do a play-by-play of the full weekend? Because I’m not so good with linear time.

Good, then. Onwards!

First, thanks so much to Weetabix for organizing the hell out of last weekend. We’re talking customized brochures, a full but flexible itinerary, rides to and from the airport for people who needed it; she thought of everything. If 26 guests showed up in my city expecting to frolic and be entertained, I’d be like, “Hey, guys. I have, um, a futon. And here’s a subway map. See you at dinner!”

Sweet, sweet Weet, in what made itself apparent to be True Wisconsin Style, took care of her wayward travelers with grace and whimsy. That’s a gift. A rare one, even. Like, if Weetabix was a lame old sitcom, our weekend would have been akin to the very special episode in which everyone goes on vacation, gets kidnapped by pirates or whatever, and finds buried treasure, and then goes to a luau. Except that we replaced the luau with a snowy sleigh-ride, the pirates with friendly locals just dying to overfeed us, and the treasure with all the free booze we poured down our gullets.

Did we have fun?

Pshhh. Does Chauffi shit in the woods?
(By the way, I’m a little disappointed in you guys that no one else has yet made that lame joke.)

Something I have to say, I could not have been happier with my roommate situation. We weren’t cliquey, but right from the beginning, we cracked each other up and looked out for each other. In our hotel room was Jen, who I get more excited about knowing every time I hang out with her, Kari, who I swear would turn into a Pixie Stick if she were any sweeter, and Jessi, who is just as cool as anyone who reads her diary wants to think she is, calls people “Pumpkin,” and makes everyone feel like millions of dollars. I’m so glad it worked out the way it did.

Moving on.

- A tip: when in Green Bay, Wisconsin, do not walk in to a local greasy spoon, point to one of the many displayed photos of Vince Lombardi, and ask, “Who’s that guy?” I mean, I have since learned who he was, vaguely, but I can’t guarantee you that the next time I see his photo, I won’t confuse him with another old, funny looking white guy with glasses. Like, maybe Henry Kissinger.
- The sleigh ride was on Friday, and it could not have been lovelier. Snowing lightly, and not terribly cold, especially because of the schnapp or twelve that we passed around and around and around.

I sat on the very edge of the sleigh, and would have fallen off if Mr. Science-Girl (Science-Girl’s husband, duh,) hadn’t grabbed me when the sleigh first started up. I was too busy grasping on to my bottle of Jack Daniels’ to bother myself with something as silly as inertia.

We stopped in the woods, at which point the dashing Petrouchka lowered his California knee to the Wisconsin snow, whipped out a ring, and proposed to the oh-so-pretty, pink-and-white Minarae, and got completely shot down.

HA! Kidding. Can you imagine?

No, she totally accepted, and there was much rejoicing. I, of course, managed to miss the proposal because I was petting the horses, and comparing the length of their snouts to that of my femur. Typical.

Our driver, the Stetson Man, proclaimed us to be the sexiest group he’d ever driven. And oh, how right he was.

- Post-sleigh ride, we had a huge Wisconsin feast, which, like Sweet Caroline, was So Good, So Good, So Good. Then we went to karaoke, where we rocked. I developed a big crush on everybody, especially Jessi and Jen, after their rendition of “If I Had a Million Dollars.”

Dudes, maybe it was all the pre-dinner Old Fashioneds and alternating slugs of Dr. McGillicutty and whiskey, but I was completely shitanky on Friday night. Went to bed, didn’t get up on Saturday until 2 PM.

I cannot continue to be as tediously detailed as all this. I’m really sorry. Anyway …

- The main activity, that around which our Green Bay trip was focused, was a full night out at Weet’s favorite haunt, the Bad Bar. The bartenders were sweet and fun and very accommodating, the bar was completely without pretense, and it was a long, raucous, and unbelievably fun night.

- We walked in the door, and were immediately handed several bottles of unnaturally bright-colored wine, which we downed in short order. Then, a number of us ladies went to the photo booth, where we took pictures of our boobs to trade in for free drinks. Before long, we were trading those things like Garbage Pail Kid stickers, and I didn’t have to pay for a single drink all night.

- HEY! For those of you who live in Green Bay and frequent the Bad Bar … You know the framed pictures all over the walls? I pasted one of my photo booth boob stickers over Kevin Bacon’s lips towards the back, and, in what I thought was a stroke of juxtapositional brilliance, stuck another over Kenicke’s pecs on the “Grease Lightning” photo on the wall by the door. FYI.

- We danced all night, which I, for one, rarely do, and for good reason: I’m a horrid dancer. Cutiepie Science-Girl, however, owned the dance floor, as did the ever-sexy Mare. But, Mare owns any space she’s in even if she’s standing still, so it’s really not fair to compare her to mere mortals.

- I seem to recall Chauffi grabbing my ass and quoting Helen Redding during some point of the evening. I swear it made sense at the time.

- Of all the night’s tit-flashing, ass-grabbing antics, I think the only thing that makes me redden is the fact that we all group-hugged and swayed in time to “Come Sail Away” by the Styx, right after belting out something by Air Supply. Oh, lord. I lost a little bit of my soul.

- We closed the bar and went home, after the bartender raised a toast in our honor.

Food and goodbyes. Straining the heart both literally (with cholesterol), and figuratively (with a buttload of schmoop).

Like Jen’s mom, my mom didn't really understand why I made a trip to hang out with a bunch of people I’d never met before. She can understand the appeal of adventure, but also wondered what we could have had in common that would bring us all together. (Other than the cult rituals, that is.)

If I were to be flip about it, I’d probably say that what online journallers usually have in common is blatant narcissism, celebrated neuroses, a delusional confidence in his/her wit, and usually a love of booze.

But that’s just a wiseass answer. What we actually share, is that we’re all storytellers. A storyteller doesn’t have to be literary, or well educated, or have lived a dramatic and fascinating life. To me, storytellers are people who consume the reality presented to them, and reinterpret it to make it something of their own. When that’s done, they share it. It takes no specific talent, just compassion, curiosity, and a sense of humor. It takes a person who is just as willing to listen as to share.

What’s not to love about that?

I miss you already, my “imaginary” friends. Thanks for the great, rare weekend.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Arm-in-Arm Down Burgundy - 09.05.05

Motivated! - 08.25.05

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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