Ok, so it’s Monday and time for the weekend wrapup. We’ll do this one quickly.

Friday was ‘move yet another person day’. Ever seen a child with a Etch-a-Sketch? This was the approximate route I took to get to Amanda’s place. Then some loading of heavy stuff, some strapping and the Caravan of Love was off. People always like to say they sat at ‘the longest light ever’. But soon I will take a day off from work and prove that turning left from High House onto Davis really is the longest light ever. Dammit.

Get to dropoff house. Other people finally show. Hmm, how clever. Unload stuff, break cup (sorry), almost breakdown from lack of food. The natives are restless and starving. Solution? Go to a stranger’s house and beg for food. Fair enough. So now we’re at some guys named Jeff’s house. All 300 of us. Before we’ve even finished introductions I actually have my whole face planted in the chip bowl. I only came up for air once and didn’t even bother with water.

But we’re supposed to be doing the cookout thing so now I’m going to be patient and wait. I would’ve done a helluva lot of waiting to because Jeff was out of gas. Damn. But Amanda was on top of things and ordered pizzas. 35 min wait. If my feet weren’t aching like hell already that poor bastard of a delivery boy wouldn’t have stood a chance against my jaws of death at this point. I don’t so much remember the pizza itself as much as learning that if you swallow a slice whole the crust gets stuck sideways like that.

Now calmer and feeling better, it’s time to mingle. I should’ve stayed with the food hoarding because the next thing I know I’m talking to a babe and thinking, "Octi-poop?" Clearly delirious this woman has preceded to tell us a fond childhood memory. One of two second grade girls looking in the bowl of someone’s "offering" that looked like an octipuss. Thus, octi-poop. Good thing she was a looker.

Clearly it was time for me to go shopping. I needed to go get stuff for the next day’s volleyball tournament. Turns out now I’m taking Ms Poop home as well. Interesting ride to say the least. We get to Target and she’s cursing near (or was it at?) small children and something about hot nipples. I don’t know, I’m in the hair dryer section looking for ice packs (because I’m stupid, that’s why). She gets some anti-itch ointment, I pick up some drinks and we’re out.

Now she’s saying I can’t use that crème later that night (in a very particular place known to most guys as ‘Exit-only’) and now I’m scared. Then something about strip clubs, "we seem to be lost" and a college night classic, "Jailhouse Rock" (except that last word wasn’t "Rock"). Now I’m dropping her off, almost killing Benji and yelling at a man for not having a collar and tags on his dog. Which is all good, because now I have to drive all the way back across America to get to my office, where I left my medication.

It’s late, my foot hurts from driving so much and I don’t even recall where I’m supposed to be anymore. All I know is I need to ice my feet and get some sleep for the next day. I do that and now it’s Saturday.

Otherwise known as "Burn In Hell Day". Damn it was hot. So why not play some two-man volleyball all day and see if you can’t pass out? Sure. Did I play good? No. But that’s mostly because I couldn’t see. Because there was so much sweat in my eyes. And now *my* nipples are hot. Along with everything else. Ugh. I had to shag balls all day because everyone else was frankly too wussy to do it. Never seen such lazy athletes. I played worse this time than last but ended up getting more points. Odd. But again I failed to get out of pool play. Ugh.

But Sheri managed to win the division itself. Of course this time she wasn’t playing with me, so what does that tell you? Damn I suck. But I had a great time again and met some more cool people, so it was definitely worth it, even with the heat.