The Hump Party

I'll be home for Christmas. Alright, maybe that was irrelevant, seeing as how I was never scheduled to be away for Christmas. Anyway, I'll be home in less than a month. The summer is slipping by. To acknowledge the passage of time and to congratulate ourselves for making it this far through the season, the company threw an "Over the Hump" Party. You see, we're celebrating the downhill side of our season. We're more than halfway, hence "OVER the Hump." Want to hear a funny? You know, one of those crazy Heli-Mush mistakes? THIS we've learned: be sure to always use the FULL name in reference to the party. The people at Wal-Mart are not sure what to think when you boast that your drinks, chips, etc are for a "Hump Party." When phrased in that way, no one really shared our excitement....
The night itself was much fun. We went to the beach and cooked steak, potatoes, and corn on the grill. Management cooked AND paid for everything; it was the least I could do to make an appearance. The night was full of hacky sack, swinging, bonfires, and poem recitation. There was also a small child frolicking about wearing a bat suit. No, not a Batman suit, an actual BAT suit. Brown, furry and with "translucent" armpit/side-of-body skin. Honestly? It was adorable.
We snapped a managerial photo...in which our manager tried to discretely place bags of charcole, in hopes of a prodeal (aka discount). The next picture was of the staff; I gathered all the bottles of Alaskan Amber I could find. Hey, it's expensive and greatly appreciated in the outdoor community.
During the hacky sack festivities, a fucking weirdo on a trick bike started talking to us. His name? Travis Shanker. And don't worry, I'm not shitting you. C'mon, even I'm not creative enough to dream up a name so humiliating. He taught us the fine art of hacky sack, trick bike riding, and dealing with an energy drink company as a sponsor. What an enlightening young man. Oh wait...he simply became even more of a fucking wierdo after sharing said information. I'm sure you're dying to know the biggest lie he told us all night, eh? I'll simply quote him and you can judge his "type" for yourself. Ready? "Oh yeah? Well uhh yeah, I mean, my buddy knocked up Sarah Palin's daughter. Know who that is, don't ya?" I digress.
Even later yet (after Shanker stopped thrilling us with his stories), we made a fire and got a little crazy. Okay, fine...by "crazy," I mean that we started reciting poetry. Steven went first with his creepy Hamlet blah, blah. And then I followed with the Cremation of Sam McGee, naturally.
In the car on the way home, we listened to Cake. Add them to the list of Acceptable Glacier Music. I will allow it.
By the time the night was over, we were all happy mushers, completely humped out. (Awkward end note? It'll do.)