When we stepped off the plane last Thursday night, it was 11pm and it was -1 degrees. The doors on our rental car were frozen shut and oh, the seats were so cold that it hurt to sit on them. I tell you all of this to illustrate just how much I adore the people I was in Green Bay to visit. I knew it was going to be that cold (if not colder!); I knew that I would probably not be warm very often over the next few days but I really didn't care that much becuase all that mattered was that I was going to be surrounded by my Tribe and we were going to sing and dance and drink and hang tightly onto each other for 3 days.
It's like coming home, walking into the lobby at St. Brendan's, sticking my head into the pub to see if anyone if hanging out there, having a beer and smoking and chatting with each other. Settling into the corner table, surrounded by people I don't see enough or call enough or email enough made the -1 instantly worth it.
And then there was Friday with the booyah and the Doctor and the sleigh and the freezing hands that were only warmed by the heat of a giant bonfire. There were ridiculous hats and adorable kitties and a dog who wanted to drink with us. And helping with the raffle, overwhelmed and trying to count faster as people thrust their money at me. We are a generous group, which is not a surprise to me; we ended up donating $410 to help provide fresh foods for a food pantry.
But since we are rock stars when we are together, the night couldn't end there. There was karaoke to be sung and dancing to be done and shots to be drunk, and we did it all. Well, some of us sang; others of us (*ahem* me) pretty much just shouted. And we all dragged ourselves on stage to sing Sweet Caroline in tribute to a fallen soldier, sick at the hotel with a Cold of Doom. Proof we are a tribe: we all did the same choreography with no rehersals.
Saturday started like Friday did: to Starbucks for a triple venti nonfat extra hot sugar-free cinnamon dolce latte, no whip. (I call it my high maintanence survival mechanism.) And then we were off to Winterfest! To see alpacas and ice schulptures and igloos and chili. So much chili, so little time. We judged the chili (and found most of it wanting), and then we stopped to sniff and fondle and gather smelly lotions and bath bombs to play with in the giant bathtubs back at St. Brendan's. For lunch, there was kettle corn, a full to the brim bag that was still warm as we passed it around between us as we headed over to see the wee little baby alpacas.
And then there were steaks and the grilling of them and the distracted eating that led to Drama for me. Luckily, it was a passing drama and by the time we were ensconced at the Bad Bar (oh so very bad bar), things were good to go. A hot bartender gave me a free beer, and when I spilled it, she didn't even smack me...just got me a new one. (So much for not drinking anymore, eh? However, I have discovered why so many weight loss surgery patients become alcoholics...A) it's really cheap and easy to get drunk and B) it goes right through you so no hangover.) I helped Scotty win a bar bet by being very brave (okay, by being very drunk), and I danced and sang and got handsy with all my friends. I am the girl who is a VERY FRIENDLY drunk, and I am glad I have understanding friends.
Sunday was for hamburgers (after MORE COFFEE of course), and for accidentally driving out on Weetabix's thinking road. I already miss the fried cheese curds, but not as much as I was already missing my friends as we sat together one last time before departing on our various pathways. We dropped Shawn and Mike and Dave off at the airport, with lots of hugs and promises to call soon, just like I had said goodbye to Jake and Foo and Eben and Nonk and just like I would say goodbye to Weet and Fredlet and Mary and Joe and Susan later that night.
I'm always glad that I'm exhausted on the way home from these weekends, because if I wasn't, I would be teary and sniffly. At least this way I don't get all emo until a day or two later, which of course means tonight will be a Sad Pants night. Le sigh.
It's like coming home, walking into the lobby at St. Brendan's, sticking my head into the pub to see if anyone if hanging out there, having a beer and smoking and chatting with each other. Settling into the corner table, surrounded by people I don't see enough or call enough or email enough made the -1 instantly worth it.
And then there was Friday with the booyah and the Doctor and the sleigh and the freezing hands that were only warmed by the heat of a giant bonfire. There were ridiculous hats and adorable kitties and a dog who wanted to drink with us. And helping with the raffle, overwhelmed and trying to count faster as people thrust their money at me. We are a generous group, which is not a surprise to me; we ended up donating $410 to help provide fresh foods for a food pantry.
But since we are rock stars when we are together, the night couldn't end there. There was karaoke to be sung and dancing to be done and shots to be drunk, and we did it all. Well, some of us sang; others of us (*ahem* me) pretty much just shouted. And we all dragged ourselves on stage to sing Sweet Caroline in tribute to a fallen soldier, sick at the hotel with a Cold of Doom. Proof we are a tribe: we all did the same choreography with no rehersals.
Saturday started like Friday did: to Starbucks for a triple venti nonfat extra hot sugar-free cinnamon dolce latte, no whip. (I call it my high maintanence survival mechanism.) And then we were off to Winterfest! To see alpacas and ice schulptures and igloos and chili. So much chili, so little time. We judged the chili (and found most of it wanting), and then we stopped to sniff and fondle and gather smelly lotions and bath bombs to play with in the giant bathtubs back at St. Brendan's. For lunch, there was kettle corn, a full to the brim bag that was still warm as we passed it around between us as we headed over to see the wee little baby alpacas.
And then there were steaks and the grilling of them and the distracted eating that led to Drama for me. Luckily, it was a passing drama and by the time we were ensconced at the Bad Bar (oh so very bad bar), things were good to go. A hot bartender gave me a free beer, and when I spilled it, she didn't even smack me...just got me a new one. (So much for not drinking anymore, eh? However, I have discovered why so many weight loss surgery patients become alcoholics...A) it's really cheap and easy to get drunk and B) it goes right through you so no hangover.) I helped Scotty win a bar bet by being very brave (okay, by being very drunk), and I danced and sang and got handsy with all my friends. I am the girl who is a VERY FRIENDLY drunk, and I am glad I have understanding friends.
Sunday was for hamburgers (after MORE COFFEE of course), and for accidentally driving out on Weetabix's thinking road. I already miss the fried cheese curds, but not as much as I was already missing my friends as we sat together one last time before departing on our various pathways. We dropped Shawn and Mike and Dave off at the airport, with lots of hugs and promises to call soon, just like I had said goodbye to Jake and Foo and Eben and Nonk and just like I would say goodbye to Weet and Fredlet and Mary and Joe and Susan later that night.
I'm always glad that I'm exhausted on the way home from these weekends, because if I wasn't, I would be teary and sniffly. At least this way I don't get all emo until a day or two later, which of course means tonight will be a Sad Pants night. Le sigh.
