On Friday, Anne came to pick me up to begin the long, laborious drive to Long Beach, Washington, which was made longer and more laborious due to the fact that we were not inclined to speed at all past Olympia, given that nearly every single person attending this beach weekend has been ticketed either going to or coming from it at last once over the years. We worked as a team–every time Anne started speeding, I would make siren noises and she’d slow down and curse the day I was born. Along the way, we noticed: *Just outside Olympia, there are signs welcoming you to this ‘All America City’. Really, guys? All America? Are you sure you weren’t going for the more popular ‘All-American’? *There is a crappy little town called Willapa that bills itself as the best place to raise a family, but it doesn’t appear that anyone actually lives there. Instead, it is populated by a bunch of creepy metal people and animals. *Lists should have three things. When we arrived, after driving past the address three or four times per tradition and scraping Anne’s undercarriage on some sharp rocks, we claimed the queen bed downstairs and introductions were made all around. Almost immediately, we started swapping stories and laughing our fool heads off. Someone started with getting into a car accident due to some racy shenanigans completely bra and pantiless (due to aforementioned shenanigans). This was immediately countered with a story of someone’s sister getting it in her head to surprise her boyfriend completely naked under a trenchcoat–and getting t-boned on the way there and nearly dying of embarrassment when the paramedics insisted on examining her. We heard stories about bad weddings, hilariously awful wedding videos, and grown burly men taking their cats for daily strolls in a teeny-tiny kitty carriage. And we hadn’t even begun drinking yet! While Emily slaved over a hot stove, I decided it was time to take the terrifying doll I’d discovered in my room and give it a new home–on Emily’s bed.   Mischief managed, I snuck back downstairs and proceeded to enjoy some wine with dinner. A lot of wine. A LOT of wine. Emily discovered the doll and immediately blamed someone else. I struggled to keep a straight face; I didn’t want to sleep on the lawn. She then flung a box at us and said, “I need to go pick up Rachel. One of you assholes open this.” Her husband sent her flowers and cookies. With a note so sweet we all started to gag a little, disguising the fact that we’re all jealous harpies. This jealous harpy found another place for the doll. Afterward, we decided to go out and explore the beach for a while. Rindy found a swell jacket in one of the closets at the house, and we all agree that it’s excellent camouflage for the wearer–you could wear this in a crowd or in the wilderness, and it’s like you just disappear. Where did she go?

This beach was like a crab crime scene. There were scattered shells and legs everywhere. They crunch in an immensely satisfying way–even moreso if you make Jackie Chan kungfu screams before stomping on them! We discovered an awesome circle on the sand from someone’s truck, and Anne and I took it upon ourselves to have a sumo wrestling match.     This is what victory looks like. And immediately after victory comes taunting. After wandering the beach some more, crunching crab shells, writing messages of love in the sand and beating/poking things with sticks, we went back inside to socialize in earnest, drinking, watching horrendous TV, and Emily had her revenge on me by telling me she’d brought home delicious fudge–which turned out to be a giant rubber bug in a piece of tupperware she’d named ‘Fudge’. In a war that escalates this way, there are no winners.

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The Bestest Beach Weekend for the Bestest Boy