As to be expected, there was plenty of laughs, plenty of beer, cards, several vomits, and a few cheese slams, to name a few.
Let's start with this year's roster.
Making up for missing last year, is Dooley.
Also goes by Dool show, and to very few people, Ian. Dooley is our resident mixologist and hails from the rock (chief). When talking to Dooley, if you say anything that has to do with Boston, Nantucket, or any kind of rum, you have to yell "chief" afterwards. Dool show set out to explore New Zealand for a few months, and ended up staying for two years. When he got back, we learned he was now married. Sick wedding Dooley.
Disregard me in the foreground with that stupid long-brimmed hat that Owen finds every time he's there.
Next we have Robert.
Goes by RED, Rdoug, Dougbert. He was the first recipient of this year's cheese slam award. This picture was after he thought he caught the slam for the second night in a row, when really it was just a fake. If it weren't for Rob, Darren would likely be dead by now. Rob once hurled right on the side of Buckingham Palace. It could have been some leftover bitterness from the Revolutionary War, but it was more likely because of the gentleman below.
Cawley.
Goes by Cal. Cal was on the London trip with Robert during a study abroad for school, and after Rob was having the worst hangover of his life at the time (until beach weekend last year), Cawley was asking Rob if he wanted to gnaw on a stick of butter, or take mayonnaise shots with budweiser chasers. This led to the immediate booting on the Queen's primary residence. The double bird in the picture is likely going out to anything related to Pittsburgh or liberalism.
Scott ("Scawt!")
See back right of picture.
Goes by Owens or Y'Owens. His specialty is the cheese slam. If you don't know what that is, you don't want to. If you do know what that is, you probably wish you didn't. Owen desperately needs to get out of New York City. His former specialty is starting trouble, and claims that he didn't do anything to start it, when in actuality, it was probably about 75% him, 25% some guy who said something he immediately regretted. In Chapel Hill on Cal's birthday during school, apparently a car full of guys jumped Owen, kicked him a bunch of times, and stole his prized Mets hat. Owen didn't remember the ordeal until an hour later.
Jack.
Goes by Jack man, Biggs, Big, Large, Large guy, large man, or one of several hundred other names. He spent most of the time snoring next to the table or barking at people several houses down.
Here in spirit:
Corey.
Goes by Blake, Babe #1, Babe #2, Grilled Cheeses, or Babe Will You Make Me a Grilled Cheese. Corey couldn't make it this year because he's West Coasting at Gonzaga and couldn't fork out the cash for a plane ticket.
Darren
Goes by Salty, Salty Donkey, The Gow, or his Saltiness. Couldn't make this year because the man has a tight grip on him, pretty much to the point where breathing is difficult. This weekend was the end of quarter, so Darren was lucky if the man even let him eat lunch. I was half expecting him to show up Friday night at 2AM, like he did last year. His specialty is nearly burning down apartments with chicken nuggets two times in one night, and getting lost in Mexico after a binge, only to turn up two days later with no wallet and no shoes (he did some old world bartering and paid the cabby with his sandals).
The Pat Monster.
I'm shocked that Pat's still alive. Everything that has gone wrong throughout college he equates to bad luck, but upon deeper analysis, it's 100% his fault; he just hasn't accepted that yet. He came back from Thanksgiving one year with a shiner because he got knocked out by Ricco Rodriguez in a Vegas Casino. It's probably a good thing Pat didn't come down, especially if he was driving. While in school, he got pulled for DUI without having a sip of alcohol; in fact, he was the DD that night. I'm not saying he's a bad driver. I'm saying he's a terrible driver.
Since the water was cold and the waves decent, Dooley and I decided to dress up like penguins and go surfing. Dooley has been
pretty much all over the world surfing, and on days like this, when some of the sets were 5-6 feet, he doesn't say anything, bu
t I know he's thinking "man, this is average, I wish it was double overhead."
The weather forecast looked like shit all week coming up to the weekend, especially after Rob jinxed it by sending everyone the link. Turned out that there was nothing to complain about at all. It was supposed to rain one day, and missed us by only a few miles or so, leaving a big gay rainbow over the ocean in front of the house.
And we all know there's only one way to pose in front of a rainbow: Like you've got one on the bumper of your car.
Pretty cool pictures taken by Dooley though. He did some enhancing effect on this one and I can't figure out if it's out of a really good dream or a really bad one.
Already looking forward to next year's trip. In the mean time, Owen has gotten engaged; congrats buddy.
It's been about a year since I started the ole blog and I feel like my reasons for doing so have shifted. At first, I thought it would be a good idea because in general I've got a lot to say about a lot of things. But what I've realized after typing out these posts is that just the act of writing them out has made me realize what great times I'm having. If anything I won't have to look back one day and say "wow I really had it great"--instead, I can appreciate it for all it's worth right now.
