#LINVASION - Day 2

Continued from #LINVASION- Day 1...    

      The note was a nice touch. Among other helpful instructions, it told me to call Z as soon as I woke up. I did, and she informed me that her and Beast were downstairs and that I should join them. After changing into a new bathing suit, jean shorts, and a tank top, I walked down to the well furnished basement. Then, we all sat and reminisced about the previous night while we waited for Matt for wake up so we could go out to breakfast. While reliving last's night former glory/filling me in on what I had missed, Z somehow convinced me to try to change my flight so that I could stay another day. (Okay, so it didn't take much convincing...but still.) I had to be back at work by four p.m. on Sunday, which unfortunately limited my flight selection. Furthermore, I couldn't get a refund if I cancelled my flight. After half an hour of online searching and comparing, Delta Airlines had bested me. Of course, this just gave us greater incentive to make my last day in Wisconsin legen (wait for it) dary.
      By eleven a.m., Matt had emerged from his bedroom. Slowly but surely, we all gathered up the courage to begin physical preparations to be seen in public. We left the lake house by eleven-thirty and arrived at the "ghetto but really delicious" pancake house by noon. Once our food was placed on the table and the waitress' hands were safely back at her sides, I ate EVERYTHING. I had ordered a spinach omelet with a side of chocolate chip pancakes, and Z and I had decided to split an order of breakfast potatoes. I didn't actually eat ALL of this, but I definitely ate way more than a little girl like myself should. (The peanut butter sandwiches from last night had lacked staying power, and we had basically skipped breakfast so I can't really be held responsible for my actions.) 
      Then, Z and I accompanied Matt and Beast on their expedition to a giant hardware store. They were buying PVC pipes to make a wake board rack and quizzing the two writers about what PVC stood for. (It's Poly...something...Chloride. I can't remember.) While they focused on their project, we dreamt and discussed all the amenities of our future apartment. I learned that Z doesn't like shower curtains, and she learned that I don't like glass shower doors. So I guess we'll just have to compromise on a clawfoot tub. 
      After our return from the land of PVC and plenty, the boys got down to work and we got down to float. Around three, Z's dad, known as Doc, arrived and asked us if we wanted to go tubing. I thought that this meant lounging in an inner tube attached to the Kuester family boat. (Oh, you poor, innocent child.) Instead, I got the work out of my life. These tubes were actually large floating circles to which I held on for dear life. I want to say that I was able to withstand twenty minutes of tubing before my first fall, but I have never trusted my sense of time. For all I know, it might have only been thirty seconds. The final tally of my falls were six, while Z had only been thrown once. I'm just going to chalk it all up to experience and the "lime infused water" Doc had made and served us while we were tubing. (A side note: The right side of my chest is still sore from this endeavor.) 
       When we arrived back at the dock, the rest of the Kuester clan and friends were waiting for us. This included Z's mom, Cam, who greeted me with the most lovely of hugs. Do you know how good it feels to be immediately accepted by your best friend's mother? It felt like a unicorn shitting sparkly butterflies (made of actual butter) right onto your clear, poreless face. It felt great. Then, everyone piled into the boat, and I witnessed another wake boarding/ water skiing session. It was less professional than the first one, but way more entertaining since I actually knew these aquatic athletes. Doc went first with his water skis. From watching him, I learned that you are, indeed, supposed to lose one water ski shortly after beginning your run. I thought he had done it on accident the first time, but apparently, that is just what you do. Next up was Z on her wake board, for whom I cheered like a crazy stage mom. (Incidentally, this is an accurate way to describe our relationship. Okay, it isn't, except when my little girl tries her hand at cooking. Like she did here. Shameless plug #2.) Matt rounded off the Kuester trio of water acrobats, and he wasn't half bad. 
      All the while, Z and I had one of our most beautiful and deep talks about something so important and integral to both of us-- writing. We discussed our hopes and our insecurities in relation to our craft, each encouraging the other that her future was nothing but bright. I think that what characterized this talk (and what characterizes our friendship) was that there was no competitiveness between us. We both acknowledged our own talents and shortcomings, and we both were (are) focused on simply trying to become the best writer each of us could be. We're different people, different writers, and we respect and encourage each other for that. What I'm trying to say is: it was a good talk. 
      By the time we got back to the lakehouse, it was about seven p.m. More of Matt's friends had arrived, and an interesting night was beginning to take shape. Z and I attempted to help Cam make dinner, but almost immediately, we became distracted by our own little worlds. We succeeded in slicing hamburger buns, but not much else. I was consumed by a recent cellular incident, and Z was consumed in helping me navigate through it. (Oh, the trials and tribulations of our young, female lives.) I will say, however, that the text which drew my attention away from the kitchen was an...interesting one. 
      After we decided to give up on our pursuits to be the Next Food Network Star, we joined Matt, Beast, and all their twenty-something friends and girlfriends in the basement. Everyone was sitting around drinking "root beer," and somehow Z's lake house guide wormed its way into the conversation. Everyone, knowing that they had been mentioned in the guide, was curious about its exact contents. Z and I refused to give away its secrets, mostly because we were both pretty badly implicated in the guide ourselves. (When we know so much about each other, it's hard not to.) Z also happened to mention the existence of her "Brothers" powerpoint. This was a powerpoint sent to me and other prospective lake house guests briefly explaining each of Z's "brothers," including but not limited to her actual biological brother, Matt. Once this entered the conversation, all the brothers demanded that they be shown this mysterious powerpoint. Z promised to do a viewing session later when she would be more "agreeable," but this showing never (thank goodness) actually happened. 
     Not wanting to waste the lovely Wisconsin evening, there was a mass exodus to the Kuester's deck. The equipment for a game of "Bags" was already set up and waiting to be utilized. Z had explained "Bags" to me in her lake house guide, and I was very excited to get a chance to actually play it. Z and I played on the same team against Beast and one of Matt's other friends. The game consisted of one player from each team throwing beanbags onto a wooden platform with a whole in the middle. A person scored one point for each bag that landed on the platform and three for any that went into the hole. If the opposing team also landed on the platform or in the hole, the points cancelled out. The throwing continued until one team reached twenty-one points. It was a long and hard game, but Z and I emerged victorious. 
      By this time, dinner was ready. We all took a brief sojourn inside to grab the delicacies of Cam and Doc, and although I can't speak for anyone else, I certainly was not disappointed by the quality or the selection. The vegetarian was fully satisfied. 
     After dinner, we all went back outside to play some more games. This time, we started off with "Smack Cup," which is one of the funnest games I have ever played. About thirty cups were pushed together in the center of a big table, each one filled with a small amount of "root beer." The goal of this game was similar to "Nickels" but with ping pong balls instead of nickels and cups instead of "film canisters." This game was very similar to "Slap Cup," but again, playing that would have been an inappropriate and unworthy use of our underaged time. Z and I both ended up drinking the most amount of "root beer" because we each got caught between people who were in the zone, passing the cup back and forth. (I don't even want to think about the calories we each consumed in those few minutes.) Eventually though, we each were able to get our ping pong ball in the cup, and resurfaced. Once this game was over, Z and I both decided to sit out the next round because we know who we are and who we don't want to be. Later, Z and I joined in on a couple more games and had a jolly good time.
        I have no idea what time the suggestion to go out to the boat came up. In retrospect, I'm guessing about three a.m. None of us had our phones on us for fear of them falling into the lake, so time had progressed strangely the entire day. At any rate, those of us who were still awake (which did include me this time!) clamored onto the boat. We sailed to the sandbar, and I got to experience it for the first time. Unlike the rocks and pebbles that lined the bottom of most of the lake, the sandbar's floor was soft and white. The water was waist-high and warm. It was a truly lovely place. However, we only stayed for half an hour because it was four a.m. by this time, and people were dropping like flies. On the ride back, Beast took over stirring for Matt, and he came back and sat with me. We had a nice chat about Chinese hookers and cultural constructions of reality. (This is what I do to people. I don't mean to do it, but it happens.) It was a good talk. 
      By the time we got back from the sandbar, it was five a.m. No one knew how it had gotten so late, but here was the sun. I was so exhausted by this point that I just decided to crash in Matt's room... because it was closest to the basement. The poor guy, having to share his room with a young woman. I really put (him) out. 
      The next four hours passed quickly, filled with a deep but too short sleep. Z and I both had to wake up at nine a.m. so that we would have enough time to get me to the airport by eleven. Luckily, the majority of my stuff was in Z's room so it was a quick round up. We drank some pomegranate juice to revive us in our sleep deprived states, and then we were off.
     The next hour and a half was one of my favorites. Just me and my best friend sitting together, reminiscing about last night. If only her car had been the Emerson College dining hall, it would have been just like old times. We had a great time, until we inevitably reached the airport. I didn't want to return to my pseudo real life in If You Lived Here You'd Probably Kill Yourself, Pennsylvania. However, I had already paid for my ticket, and my parents would have thought I was the victim of the Wisconsin version of Taken had I done anything but say goodbye to my best friend, close the car door, and walk through the revolving doors.
     My only solace was that this wasn't "goodbye," this was "see you later." In fact, this was "see you in three weeks." I've been waiting for our second reunion ever since, and if it's anything like the first, I know that I won't do it any justice when I write about it.