05 November 2005
44. The Non-Hash Wedding
Camp Diva H3 - 19 Novembeer 2004 to 21 Novembeer 2004
So there we were. Sitting on the carpet at the airport gate. Drinking. Yours truly had the foresight to bring along dice and a plastic bottle full of rum, so RB and I grabbed two cokes and started playing Three-Man in true hash fashion. It’s surprising how fast you can get drunk when only two people are playing, especially when you heavy-up on the booze and turn Rum n’ Coke into Rum n’. We were getting sort of loud, but hey, that’s what Delta gets for delaying our flight 40 minutes.
We were flying to Kansas City to witness Insufficient Cums and Hermaphrodick do something really stupid: exchange wedding vows. And as I was told repeatedly over the course of the past month, this was NOT a hash wedding. In other words, I would be using nerd names, I would dress appropriately, and I would NOT, under any circumstances, make people question my sanity. In fact, I was actually threatened with compliance when I volunteered to be the flower girl for the ceremony by wearing a little dress, walking down the aisle on my knees and tossing rose petals in front of the blushing bride.
“No, no, no. Don’t you dare horrify the guests.”
I have an excuse for my difficulty in imagining this as a non-hash event. Every time I’ve seen the happy couple, it’s been at a hash, at a bar, or at a party. To me, Brandi Melissa Robinson of Atlanta, GA was IC, a.k.a. Dahhhling. And Sean Richard Ryan of Augusta, GA was appropriately nicknamed Puppy, sooner or later called that for way he acted around his wife-to-be.
We got to the suburban Doubletree Hotel at midnight. Top floor, please. We found out the hotel bar had just closed, so we jumped in the rocket-ship rental and motored to the nearest sports bar for a pre-lube, greeted by continuous replays of the NBA’s worst-ever brawl. Apparently, Indiana and Detroit fans went to watch some b-ball and a hockey game broke out.
The real fun started early the next morning, when we woke up to go with IC to the Chapel. Wedding Day. November 20, 2004. Thanks to my platonic, loyal, Whipping-Boy-type relationship with the bride, I would be allowed to witness what few males ever get to see: the bride getting ready before the ceremony. IC and her maid of honor Just Sarah got to the hotel around 3 hours before the wedding was supposed to start to pick us up. Apparently, there was a creative way we were all getting back. Yours truly was decked out in a loosely-cut yet heavily starched tan shirt, a deeply and warmly designed silk tie, 100-dollar imported black wool pants and newly polished black leather shoes. My sudden transformation into a partly respectable male put the ladies at ease, as they realized I might be able to contain myself after all.
Things I Learned From Being With The Girls:
--If you’re a bride and you’re going to rent a car for the trip from the hotel to the Chapel, get the biggest freaking S.U.V. you can find. All your stuff will thank you, including your wedding dress.
--The goal for my next life is to become a Berka Boy. If you don’t know what this is, do yourself a favor and find out.
--A Fluffer is more than someone on a porn set. It is also the person who is responsible for constantly adjusting the massive amount of fabric at the bottom of the wedding dress. The fluffer for the ceremony was the maid of honor, and she taught me well. I proved my worth in this category multiple times throughout the rest of the day.
--Fixing your hair is the first thing you need to do on wedding day. Especially if you add a tiny tiara, so you can walk around proudly representing the diva set.
--Subway is acceptable pre-wedding food, especially if you’re wearing a tiara.
--Stick-on bras are a great way to add cleavage.
The ceremony was being held at the Chapel at Fort Leavenworth. We got onto base early enough to check out the famous prison, as well as the former prison building down the street. We exited the massive S.U.V. and were greeted with a serene view of the Missouri River, cutting through the base at the back of the Chapel. Inside the building was also quite impressive, with its clean lines, lots of gold and silver, and plenty of warm wood and stained glass.
RB’s job was to transform IC from her regular lovely human self, into an ethereal heavenly goddess. She did an amazing job. As if on cue, as soon as IC’s underthings were situated and RB started working with the makeup, the cameraman arrived and got some nice shots of the backstage goings-on. My job was to take some pictures with a digital camera and, of course, not to cause trouble. Not long after we arrived, IC was ready to go.
Puppy was outside in his Army uniform, complete with sword. No, not his own gigantic personal “sword” he’s rumored to have, but an actual, fairly sharp, highly polished military sword, tucked away in its shining metal condom. It wasn’t long before we were all seated and he made his way up to the front.
I’m not one to be overly emotional, but weddings and porn movies with happy endings get me all misty. And when I saw the bride walk into the Chapel, I had to take some drastic mental measures to keep from shedding a tear. What did I do? I thought back to the weekend IC and Puppy met. October 10, 11 and 12, 2003.
There was sex right away. We had gone to the Florida-Georgia Inter-Course south of Savannah in St. Mary’s, Georgia. Camp was a hotel, and our goal was to stay drunk all weekend. IC and Puppy started talking and the next thing I know… sex. A hasher ran into one of the hotel rooms a bunch of us were hanging out in, and said she just saw them having sex down the hall with the door cracked open. Of course, everyone jumped up to take a look. I stayed back, realizing that watching IC have sex would be like watching my own sister have sex. Whether or not they actually left the door open is a matter of debate. Let’s just put it this way: they consummated their friendship with witnesses present. And there would be plenty more consummating in the months to come. For the rest of the weekend, whenever IC disappeared, Puppy could be seen walking around the hotel grounds trying to find her. I was asked quite a few times, and I was also approached by other hashers, who told me that if I saw IC, I should let Puppy know. One of the best visuals of the weekend came when I was hanging out in a hotel room across the courtyard from the room IC and I were sharing. I looked across to see Puppy at the window, knocking and peering in and knocking some more. About 15 minutes later he was back for some more peering and knocking. At some point she stopped disappearing, and they’ve been pretty much inseparable ever since. Especially when there’s the chance for some lovin’ in an abandoned school bus. Isn’t that right, Misses Cums?
With my emotions under control, I was able to enjoy the rest of the wedding without the fear of bawling. It was at this point I finally understood why this was an event where acceptable hash behavior wasn’t acceptable: This was a true religious event, complete with a man in flowing robes everyone called Father, and void of things normally seen at hash events, like brief nudity, swearing and the guzzling of malty beverages. When the man named Father pronounced them husband and wife, there was much rejoicing.
The rejoicing continued outside the Chapel, when IC’s dad, Just Russ, pulled up in the vehicle that a large group of the wedding guests arrived in: The Love Bus. It was a decorated school bus, and this would be our transportation to the reception at the hotel. The first thing Just Russ did when he parked the bus in front of the Chapel was open the back and pull out a cooler of full of beer. There was also a cooler of champagne. So while the cameraman was doing his job, those interested in imbibing did their deed right in front of the House of God. With discreet plastic cups, of course.
I’ve got to give it up for the group people who rode the bus back to the reception. That was a good time. I was the last one on board, and by chance, got to cause trouble in the back, across the aisle from the bride and groom. You know what they say... The Cool Kids always sit in the back of the bus.
It was about a quarter to five in the afternoon when we got back to the hotel, and it was time to get to work. RB had the idea to decorate IC and Puppy’s room, and I was sober enough and motivated enough to drive around town to find stuff. But I had to get it done quickly before dinner was served. By 6, I was back at the reception hall, where people were already halfway through eating. I came running up to the bar to find it covered. The bartender was standing there and said they closed the bar during dinner because they were serving wine at the table with the meal. The look of horror on my face was obviously enough for her to make an exception. She took a step toward the beer and said, “Um, but I can still get you something if you’d like.” Ah, local brew.
Because of the adrenaline I built up from frantically shopping, I was able to inhale two plates of dinner in about 15 minutes, all the while maintaining the required Wedding Reception Composure. While I was eating, I found out IC had noticed my absence early on, and had been inquiring about my location. Apparently, people were making up some interesting excuses, like “Oh, he was pissy and left for a while” and a classic one from someone who didn’t know that I don’t smoke pot: “Um, he went outside with so-and-so to get high.” Wow.
The next order of business was to give IC her wedding present. I was able to corner her right outside the dining hall near the bar, as she and some fluffers were heading to the bathroom. I had a huge silver bow behind my back that was over 12 inches across. “Daahling,” I said as I walked closer, “it’s now time for your wedding gift. I give it to you along with my warmest congratulations, and with a most sincere wish for your lifelong happiness. Due to the fact that I flew out here for this lovely and memorable event...” I whipped the bow out from behind my back and slapped it on my chest. “...congratuations!” As IC and the fluffers walked away laughing, the bartender looked at me and said, “Wow, you pulled that off well.” Ha. This isn’t the first time I’ve done that.
For the next two hours or so, the decorations and IC and Puppy’s key were making the rounds, as people made their way up to the room to either get a look at the damage, or to help out. The decorations were of the wedding variety, with most of them being shiny or of a respectable color. Luckily, I had purchased just enough to make the room look decorated, but not garish. There was ribbon, thin streamers and wrapping paper to act as wallpaper. To top it off, we took two huge bags of Hershey’s Kisses and placed them candy all over the room. In the coffee mugs, on the phone, on the TV, etc. We even put a couple handfuls inbetween the pillows and pillowcases. It shouldn’t surprise you to learn someone even brought the cameraman up to the room to take pictures. I swear to God, I think he took a picture of every one of those Kisses. As a finishing touch, I taped that big, silver bow right above their bed.
This might be a good time to give a shout-out to the best man and the maid of honor, who did an excellent job giving their speeches. And let’s not forget the cutting of the cake, where we all found out that Puppy could put his sword to good use. The cameraman nearly orgasmed when he saw Puppy bravely slice the first piece of cake with his shimmering piece of steel.
The rest of the night was sort of a blur, and I owe most of it to the fact that I drank the bar out of their stash of local beer. The first dance was a well-kept secret until it was played, and when it started, many of us thought it was going to be a polka. Nope. It was simply the beginning of what would be the Chicken Dance. They get an A for originality for that one.
It was during the dancing that Puppy decided we needed to do a trail while we were in Kansas. We rounded up a couple people, and decided that since RB and IC were together again, we would have this be the first ever running of the Camp Diva Hash House Harriers.
For those of you who don’t know, Camp Diva started a couple years back during a road trip to Charlotte. A few Atlanta harriettes decided it was better to Never Leave Camp, and to get a Whipping Boy to do their bidding. Soon after, yours truly found it was better to give than receive and was given the title. The whole thing was never taken too seriously, but at least in my opinion, it was a constant source of entertainment.
It stands to reason that Divas wouldn’t even leave camp for their own trail, and this one would be no exception. A few other people joined them in their lack of ambition. So the hounds for this little adventure ended up being Puppy and Just Sarah, and thankfully, they took the Beverage of Choice (BEER) with them for circle.
With a 30-second head start, I ran through the hotel, throwing balled-up bar napkins on the floor. I rushed past one reception hall to see people dressed up as chickens and pigs, dancing. Hmmm. It was about this time I heard a semi-not-sober Just Sarah behind me shouting, “Hey, wait up!” When I stopped, she tagged me and said, “Ha Ha, I snared you. I get your pants now, right?” Apparently, there’s a long-standing tradition in some hashes that you get to take the hare’s pants at the On-In if you snare. Truth be told, I’m not too shy about taking my pants off in public if the situation presents itself, but this was not really the time. So all I could think to say was, “Huh?” She continued. And she continued. “I was told I get to take your pants if I snare you. And I snared you. So you have to give me your pants, right?” At this point, we were running through the hotel lobby and out the door. “So when we get back, I get your pants, right?” We decided in advance that we would have a quick circle outside, so the On-In was behind The Love Bus in the hotel parking lot. Puppy joined us while Just Sarah was again questioning the logistics behind the acquisition of my pants.
Yours truly ran the first ever circle of the Camp Diva Hash House Harriers, and I’d like to proudly say that a good time was had by all. Just Sarah got a down-down for Hare Snare, for being FRB, for being FBI, and for using nerd names in circle. Puppy got a down-down for being DFL, and got a Rule 6 Violation for getting married. I did my down-down for being hare and for being a hare that’s stupid enough to turn around when a hound yells “Stop.” Our final drink of the night was a Down-Down-By-Proxy for the Divas that Never Leave Camp. Songs were of the amazingly quick variety, consisting of those with one or two lines. Some songs we simply cut short. A truncated version of Swing Low ended the festivities.
“May the hash go in peace.”
“May the hash get a piece.”
“Now about those pants...”
When we got back, some of the older folks in the group were going off bed. Others were thinking about moving to the hotel bar. Before I left, I got the reception bartender to make us a monstrous nightcap in a one-liter carafe: One of the strongest Long Island Ice Teas in the history of ever. Vodka, gin, rum, triple sec, a dash of sweet and sour, and a dash of coke. I don’t remember how long everyone was at the bar. All I remember is that everyone was there when RB and I went outside briefly for some air, and were all gone when we went back in. So we sat at the bar and had one last round, and became the Last Two Standing. Can I get a “Yay” from the audience, please.
A lot of us gathered in the morning for a caravan back to IC’s parent’s house, where we were greeted to a huge spread of food. Just Russ gave RB and I first dibs on made-to-order omelets, since we had to catch our flight back to Atlanta. But we weren’t the only ones leaving soon; IC and Puppy were packing for their flight back to Germany. We hung out for an hour, eating and sampling Bloody Marys and eating a little more. As we drove off to the airport, I realized I had just attended the most flawless wedding weekend I have ever experienced, and one of the best events of the year.
So here’s a big thanks to everyone involved who kept us entertained and fed and drunk. And of course, thanks and congrats to IC and Puppy. Good luck guys.
By the way, Just Sarah never got my pants.
Until next time,
On Out
So there we were. Sitting on the carpet at the airport gate. Drinking. Yours truly had the foresight to bring along dice and a plastic bottle full of rum, so RB and I grabbed two cokes and started playing Three-Man in true hash fashion. It’s surprising how fast you can get drunk when only two people are playing, especially when you heavy-up on the booze and turn Rum n’ Coke into Rum n’. We were getting sort of loud, but hey, that’s what Delta gets for delaying our flight 40 minutes.
We were flying to Kansas City to witness Insufficient Cums and Hermaphrodick do something really stupid: exchange wedding vows. And as I was told repeatedly over the course of the past month, this was NOT a hash wedding. In other words, I would be using nerd names, I would dress appropriately, and I would NOT, under any circumstances, make people question my sanity. In fact, I was actually threatened with compliance when I volunteered to be the flower girl for the ceremony by wearing a little dress, walking down the aisle on my knees and tossing rose petals in front of the blushing bride.
“No, no, no. Don’t you dare horrify the guests.”
I have an excuse for my difficulty in imagining this as a non-hash event. Every time I’ve seen the happy couple, it’s been at a hash, at a bar, or at a party. To me, Brandi Melissa Robinson of Atlanta, GA was IC, a.k.a. Dahhhling. And Sean Richard Ryan of Augusta, GA was appropriately nicknamed Puppy, sooner or later called that for way he acted around his wife-to-be.
We got to the suburban Doubletree Hotel at midnight. Top floor, please. We found out the hotel bar had just closed, so we jumped in the rocket-ship rental and motored to the nearest sports bar for a pre-lube, greeted by continuous replays of the NBA’s worst-ever brawl. Apparently, Indiana and Detroit fans went to watch some b-ball and a hockey game broke out.
The real fun started early the next morning, when we woke up to go with IC to the Chapel. Wedding Day. November 20, 2004. Thanks to my platonic, loyal, Whipping-Boy-type relationship with the bride, I would be allowed to witness what few males ever get to see: the bride getting ready before the ceremony. IC and her maid of honor Just Sarah got to the hotel around 3 hours before the wedding was supposed to start to pick us up. Apparently, there was a creative way we were all getting back. Yours truly was decked out in a loosely-cut yet heavily starched tan shirt, a deeply and warmly designed silk tie, 100-dollar imported black wool pants and newly polished black leather shoes. My sudden transformation into a partly respectable male put the ladies at ease, as they realized I might be able to contain myself after all.
Things I Learned From Being With The Girls:
--If you’re a bride and you’re going to rent a car for the trip from the hotel to the Chapel, get the biggest freaking S.U.V. you can find. All your stuff will thank you, including your wedding dress.
--The goal for my next life is to become a Berka Boy. If you don’t know what this is, do yourself a favor and find out.
--A Fluffer is more than someone on a porn set. It is also the person who is responsible for constantly adjusting the massive amount of fabric at the bottom of the wedding dress. The fluffer for the ceremony was the maid of honor, and she taught me well. I proved my worth in this category multiple times throughout the rest of the day.
--Fixing your hair is the first thing you need to do on wedding day. Especially if you add a tiny tiara, so you can walk around proudly representing the diva set.
--Subway is acceptable pre-wedding food, especially if you’re wearing a tiara.
--Stick-on bras are a great way to add cleavage.
The ceremony was being held at the Chapel at Fort Leavenworth. We got onto base early enough to check out the famous prison, as well as the former prison building down the street. We exited the massive S.U.V. and were greeted with a serene view of the Missouri River, cutting through the base at the back of the Chapel. Inside the building was also quite impressive, with its clean lines, lots of gold and silver, and plenty of warm wood and stained glass.
RB’s job was to transform IC from her regular lovely human self, into an ethereal heavenly goddess. She did an amazing job. As if on cue, as soon as IC’s underthings were situated and RB started working with the makeup, the cameraman arrived and got some nice shots of the backstage goings-on. My job was to take some pictures with a digital camera and, of course, not to cause trouble. Not long after we arrived, IC was ready to go.
Puppy was outside in his Army uniform, complete with sword. No, not his own gigantic personal “sword” he’s rumored to have, but an actual, fairly sharp, highly polished military sword, tucked away in its shining metal condom. It wasn’t long before we were all seated and he made his way up to the front.
I’m not one to be overly emotional, but weddings and porn movies with happy endings get me all misty. And when I saw the bride walk into the Chapel, I had to take some drastic mental measures to keep from shedding a tear. What did I do? I thought back to the weekend IC and Puppy met. October 10, 11 and 12, 2003.
There was sex right away. We had gone to the Florida-Georgia Inter-Course south of Savannah in St. Mary’s, Georgia. Camp was a hotel, and our goal was to stay drunk all weekend. IC and Puppy started talking and the next thing I know… sex. A hasher ran into one of the hotel rooms a bunch of us were hanging out in, and said she just saw them having sex down the hall with the door cracked open. Of course, everyone jumped up to take a look. I stayed back, realizing that watching IC have sex would be like watching my own sister have sex. Whether or not they actually left the door open is a matter of debate. Let’s just put it this way: they consummated their friendship with witnesses present. And there would be plenty more consummating in the months to come. For the rest of the weekend, whenever IC disappeared, Puppy could be seen walking around the hotel grounds trying to find her. I was asked quite a few times, and I was also approached by other hashers, who told me that if I saw IC, I should let Puppy know. One of the best visuals of the weekend came when I was hanging out in a hotel room across the courtyard from the room IC and I were sharing. I looked across to see Puppy at the window, knocking and peering in and knocking some more. About 15 minutes later he was back for some more peering and knocking. At some point she stopped disappearing, and they’ve been pretty much inseparable ever since. Especially when there’s the chance for some lovin’ in an abandoned school bus. Isn’t that right, Misses Cums?
With my emotions under control, I was able to enjoy the rest of the wedding without the fear of bawling. It was at this point I finally understood why this was an event where acceptable hash behavior wasn’t acceptable: This was a true religious event, complete with a man in flowing robes everyone called Father, and void of things normally seen at hash events, like brief nudity, swearing and the guzzling of malty beverages. When the man named Father pronounced them husband and wife, there was much rejoicing.
The rejoicing continued outside the Chapel, when IC’s dad, Just Russ, pulled up in the vehicle that a large group of the wedding guests arrived in: The Love Bus. It was a decorated school bus, and this would be our transportation to the reception at the hotel. The first thing Just Russ did when he parked the bus in front of the Chapel was open the back and pull out a cooler of full of beer. There was also a cooler of champagne. So while the cameraman was doing his job, those interested in imbibing did their deed right in front of the House of God. With discreet plastic cups, of course.
I’ve got to give it up for the group people who rode the bus back to the reception. That was a good time. I was the last one on board, and by chance, got to cause trouble in the back, across the aisle from the bride and groom. You know what they say... The Cool Kids always sit in the back of the bus.
It was about a quarter to five in the afternoon when we got back to the hotel, and it was time to get to work. RB had the idea to decorate IC and Puppy’s room, and I was sober enough and motivated enough to drive around town to find stuff. But I had to get it done quickly before dinner was served. By 6, I was back at the reception hall, where people were already halfway through eating. I came running up to the bar to find it covered. The bartender was standing there and said they closed the bar during dinner because they were serving wine at the table with the meal. The look of horror on my face was obviously enough for her to make an exception. She took a step toward the beer and said, “Um, but I can still get you something if you’d like.” Ah, local brew.
Because of the adrenaline I built up from frantically shopping, I was able to inhale two plates of dinner in about 15 minutes, all the while maintaining the required Wedding Reception Composure. While I was eating, I found out IC had noticed my absence early on, and had been inquiring about my location. Apparently, people were making up some interesting excuses, like “Oh, he was pissy and left for a while” and a classic one from someone who didn’t know that I don’t smoke pot: “Um, he went outside with so-and-so to get high.” Wow.
The next order of business was to give IC her wedding present. I was able to corner her right outside the dining hall near the bar, as she and some fluffers were heading to the bathroom. I had a huge silver bow behind my back that was over 12 inches across. “Daahling,” I said as I walked closer, “it’s now time for your wedding gift. I give it to you along with my warmest congratulations, and with a most sincere wish for your lifelong happiness. Due to the fact that I flew out here for this lovely and memorable event...” I whipped the bow out from behind my back and slapped it on my chest. “...congratuations!” As IC and the fluffers walked away laughing, the bartender looked at me and said, “Wow, you pulled that off well.” Ha. This isn’t the first time I’ve done that.
For the next two hours or so, the decorations and IC and Puppy’s key were making the rounds, as people made their way up to the room to either get a look at the damage, or to help out. The decorations were of the wedding variety, with most of them being shiny or of a respectable color. Luckily, I had purchased just enough to make the room look decorated, but not garish. There was ribbon, thin streamers and wrapping paper to act as wallpaper. To top it off, we took two huge bags of Hershey’s Kisses and placed them candy all over the room. In the coffee mugs, on the phone, on the TV, etc. We even put a couple handfuls inbetween the pillows and pillowcases. It shouldn’t surprise you to learn someone even brought the cameraman up to the room to take pictures. I swear to God, I think he took a picture of every one of those Kisses. As a finishing touch, I taped that big, silver bow right above their bed.
This might be a good time to give a shout-out to the best man and the maid of honor, who did an excellent job giving their speeches. And let’s not forget the cutting of the cake, where we all found out that Puppy could put his sword to good use. The cameraman nearly orgasmed when he saw Puppy bravely slice the first piece of cake with his shimmering piece of steel.
The rest of the night was sort of a blur, and I owe most of it to the fact that I drank the bar out of their stash of local beer. The first dance was a well-kept secret until it was played, and when it started, many of us thought it was going to be a polka. Nope. It was simply the beginning of what would be the Chicken Dance. They get an A for originality for that one.
It was during the dancing that Puppy decided we needed to do a trail while we were in Kansas. We rounded up a couple people, and decided that since RB and IC were together again, we would have this be the first ever running of the Camp Diva Hash House Harriers.
For those of you who don’t know, Camp Diva started a couple years back during a road trip to Charlotte. A few Atlanta harriettes decided it was better to Never Leave Camp, and to get a Whipping Boy to do their bidding. Soon after, yours truly found it was better to give than receive and was given the title. The whole thing was never taken too seriously, but at least in my opinion, it was a constant source of entertainment.
It stands to reason that Divas wouldn’t even leave camp for their own trail, and this one would be no exception. A few other people joined them in their lack of ambition. So the hounds for this little adventure ended up being Puppy and Just Sarah, and thankfully, they took the Beverage of Choice (BEER) with them for circle.
With a 30-second head start, I ran through the hotel, throwing balled-up bar napkins on the floor. I rushed past one reception hall to see people dressed up as chickens and pigs, dancing. Hmmm. It was about this time I heard a semi-not-sober Just Sarah behind me shouting, “Hey, wait up!” When I stopped, she tagged me and said, “Ha Ha, I snared you. I get your pants now, right?” Apparently, there’s a long-standing tradition in some hashes that you get to take the hare’s pants at the On-In if you snare. Truth be told, I’m not too shy about taking my pants off in public if the situation presents itself, but this was not really the time. So all I could think to say was, “Huh?” She continued. And she continued. “I was told I get to take your pants if I snare you. And I snared you. So you have to give me your pants, right?” At this point, we were running through the hotel lobby and out the door. “So when we get back, I get your pants, right?” We decided in advance that we would have a quick circle outside, so the On-In was behind The Love Bus in the hotel parking lot. Puppy joined us while Just Sarah was again questioning the logistics behind the acquisition of my pants.
Yours truly ran the first ever circle of the Camp Diva Hash House Harriers, and I’d like to proudly say that a good time was had by all. Just Sarah got a down-down for Hare Snare, for being FRB, for being FBI, and for using nerd names in circle. Puppy got a down-down for being DFL, and got a Rule 6 Violation for getting married. I did my down-down for being hare and for being a hare that’s stupid enough to turn around when a hound yells “Stop.” Our final drink of the night was a Down-Down-By-Proxy for the Divas that Never Leave Camp. Songs were of the amazingly quick variety, consisting of those with one or two lines. Some songs we simply cut short. A truncated version of Swing Low ended the festivities.
“May the hash go in peace.”
“May the hash get a piece.”
“Now about those pants...”
When we got back, some of the older folks in the group were going off bed. Others were thinking about moving to the hotel bar. Before I left, I got the reception bartender to make us a monstrous nightcap in a one-liter carafe: One of the strongest Long Island Ice Teas in the history of ever. Vodka, gin, rum, triple sec, a dash of sweet and sour, and a dash of coke. I don’t remember how long everyone was at the bar. All I remember is that everyone was there when RB and I went outside briefly for some air, and were all gone when we went back in. So we sat at the bar and had one last round, and became the Last Two Standing. Can I get a “Yay” from the audience, please.
A lot of us gathered in the morning for a caravan back to IC’s parent’s house, where we were greeted to a huge spread of food. Just Russ gave RB and I first dibs on made-to-order omelets, since we had to catch our flight back to Atlanta. But we weren’t the only ones leaving soon; IC and Puppy were packing for their flight back to Germany. We hung out for an hour, eating and sampling Bloody Marys and eating a little more. As we drove off to the airport, I realized I had just attended the most flawless wedding weekend I have ever experienced, and one of the best events of the year.
So here’s a big thanks to everyone involved who kept us entertained and fed and drunk. And of course, thanks and congrats to IC and Puppy. Good luck guys.
By the way, Just Sarah never got my pants.
Until next time,
On Out
# posted by L&F @ 6:20 PM 
