If I Don’t Throw Up, This’ll Be A Lot Of Fun

I’ll be honest, the boat makes me nervous.  I’m talking rumbly in my tumbly, I-feel-like-I’m-going-to-have-diarrhea, nervous.

I know that probably sounds weird…why in the heck would a boat make me nervous?  Let me tell you:

1. The trailer is scary.  It’s long, and it’s unpredictable, and there are other people driving around you.  They are basically moving targets.  Or sometimes they’re parked targets.  In that case you just leave a sad note telling them how sorry you are that you just hit them.  And then you tell them that you’re cute and very fragile.  And that you hope they’re not big, and/or Russian, and/or taking anger management classes.
2. The trailer never (and I mean never) wants to go into the water the right way the first time.  So you look like a completely incompetent female in a big car trying to back a trailer into the water.  Pull forward, back it up.  Nope, that’s not right.  Pull forward, back it up.  Oh, that’s worse than the first time.  Pull forward, back it up again.  Why are those men laughing at me?  I’m telling you, it’s a lot harder than it looks.
3. Docking a jet boat is annoyingly difficult.  Without a rudder to guide it, the boat just kind of spins around when it’s not in gear, like a jet ski.  So I’m normally spinning around in the middle of the water, laughing nervously, when I’m supposed to be pulling into the dock. 
4. Getting out of the boat onto the dock is also a precarious situation.  Somehow you have to get from a moving boat to the dock without allowing the boat to hit the dock.  The nerves almost can’t take this one.  This is an example of one of my boat expulsions: 

Ok, ok.  I can do this.  Here comes the dock.  I can do this.  Nice and slow.
The boat eases to the dock.
I brace myself, carefully measuring the distance between bow and dock.
Yes, this will be easy.  I feel nervous and sick, but I can do this.
I bend into a tiger-like crouch (translation: I bend my knee a little), and lift one foot.
My arms go up and I leap into the air like a crane.
My swim cover-up bells airily around my legs, and I can feel my graceful decent to the dock.
I’m going to make it!  No problem!
My right foot lands securely on the wet dock, but wait…
I let out a surprised Ohhf! as my foot slides out from underneath me.
I feel my right thigh hit the dock.
I’m still moving.
Sliding.
My eyes are popping out of my head, and my hands are clawing the dock.
But I slide off the dock and plop into the cold water anyway.
Gasping and spluttering, I resurface, and doggy-paddle my way back to the dock.
As I drag myself out of the water I see the duck poop smear down the front of my white swim cover-up.

True story.  If I hadn’t been Ohhf-ing, and gasping and clawing, I may have gone unnoticed.  But nope, every one of the people at the dock and the no-wake zone seemed to be staring/laughing hysterically at my soaking wet, duck poop smeared self.   I know, I’d be laughing too.

I’m assuming that someday I’m going to get the hang of this boating thing.  But for now I’m just nervous.

Killing For the Crown

I know, OK?  It’s been a while.  You don’t have to tell me.  Or e-mail me.  Or corner me in my driveway.  I’m fully aware that I am a slacker; a big, lame, lazy loser.  I know. 

I got nothin’.  No excuse other than the lice took me hostage for a month.  You can’t imagine the pain and torture that’s been inflicted.  My fingernails are finally growing back and my nervous system is recovering from the Chinese water torture.  I’m damaged goods, but I’m back.

So, a few fun things did happen after the lice went their way.  Our girls’ night this month was an absolute RIOT. 

Have you ever done a murder mystery?  If not, I highly recommend.  Especially if you’re just with the girls.  That way you don’t have to be embarrassed that you look like a drag queen, when you’re supposed to look like a beauty queen.  Not that I looked like a drag queen in my costume…

OK, I looked like a drag queen. 

“Howdy y’all!  I’m Miss Lizzie Louisiana!  I’m about to open me a can of whoops-a-daisy on all y’all prissy pageant queens!”

Our hostess and judge, Miss America 1994. 

Miss New York was the daughter of a mob boss.  She and her arch-nemesis, Miss New Jersey, were throwing evil glares at each other all night.  No one wanted to get in that line of fire.

Miss New Jersey was sweatin’ me all night, y’all.  Doesn’t she look threatening?

Gasp!  Someone killed Miss Texas!  Who could it have been?

She looks guilty, don’t you think?

It really could have been anyone.  All of these girls look sketchy…especially the goodie-two-shoes on the right.

After Miss Texas kicked the bucket (and dinner was over), people started bustin’ out their moves.

This is what happens when you get a couple of Diet Cokes in these people.  You never know what’s going to happen next.

Miss Texas’ father, “Daddy Big Bucks” (who was actually a girl!), says,  “How dare you off my little girl?  I’m watchin’ you dirty dawgs.  

Look at Jersey spreading rumors about New York!  Watch your back Jersey, I wouldn’t put it past New York…

OK, so who did it?

Tally your votes!

Anna Alabama won best dressed.

Yay, good for you!  You so deserve it!  Uch, look at her Miss New York – can you believe she won?

No way!  Miss Wisconsin did it??  I never would have guessed!  My vote was for Kentucky.  Hmmm, now that you mention it, she was kinda quiet all night!

 It just goes to show, you can’t trust a girl who wears a plastic crown. *sniff* 

Hey girls, stop misbehaving and smile for the camera!