Painting My Collar Blue

Over the past few weeks, I've come to the realization that there is no longer any use in denying it: I am just one of the guys. When I think about it, I realize that this has pretty much been the case since I've been at Hopkins, where my close-female-friend count more or less plateaued off at a low 3 after the second day of college. After meeting my new roommate Nina (female friend number 1), I met the girls across the hall from us: Lael (female friend number 2) and Kristen (female friend number 3, later to be replaced by Cathleen Hamel towards the end of sophomore year). And...it's pretty much just been those girls that I see regularly for the past three years.

This point was only emphasized this past weekend when I spent three solid days being Blake's only female recruit helping his mom fix up their old house to be sold. Despite my incessant giggling and the occasional complaint about having to wash my hair with soap instead of shampoo, I think I did a decent job in keeping up with the nonstop poop jokes (courtesy of Big Marco and his junior-year legacy) and wrestling with Chris in the backyard. (Technically he never really pinned me...but I guess he could argue that technically I'm not supposed to bite my opponent.)

But to segue into the weekend, I have to say it totally rocked. Basically Blake drove his recruits (me, Luis, Chris, and Mike Mueller) out to Fredneck where we spent three days taping, painting, tearing down, spackling, sanding (and whatever else) Blake's old house so his mom can get it on the market. I know - working on a house doesn't seem all that great, but when you do it with your friends and all food expenses are taken care of, it definitely starts looking up. Paint fume inhalation was at an all time high, the Big Marco poop jokes never got old, and we ingested a digusting amount of free food, the top prize for which goes to Chris for eating 4 or 5 plates of crab legs at Rick's Chinatown Buffet while the rest of us looked on with a mix of awe and weirded-out-ness. (I think I saw the owner of the restaurant sobbing like a little baby as we were leaving.)

Here is a photo of Blake before spray-painting the bedrooms. The torn Chuck Taylors confirm that yes, it is Blake in that bunny suit:

WHERE IS THE PICTURE?!?!? OKAY PEOPLE, I'M WORKING TO GET THE PIC BACK UP, BUT I'M NOT WORKING VERY HARD.

And in the evenings, we rested our heads at the very ghetto Econolodge, where Chris' sheets had stab-holes in them, Luis was stopped by a cop for being Hispanic, and Blake and I awoke to the sounds of "we have to get away from the cops!" outside our room.

I still can't decide if this is the best part, but walking away three hundred bucks richer definitely was a boost. And just so you all know that despite all the "male-bonding" I'm still a girlie at heart, I came home and promptly spent a small chunk of my paycheck on some new clothes.