Picture this – Alex and I are standing on the edge of a pool of dirty water, and before us are two concrete walls that run parallel vertically through the pool. Armed with nothing but a few wooden boards, a bunch of bad-ass ROTC soldiers and two army-issue helmets, our objective is simple: Get to the opposite end of the man-made pond not only dry, but alive as well.

Oh yeah, the concrete is booby-trapped; if we touch it, we die.

That’s when the real danger strikes; a flash of lighting comes tearing down from the heavens somewhere in the distance and immediately our brief stint as dead weight in the platoon comes to a halt.

Adhering to the safety regulations, the ROTC decided to cancel the water drills on account of the storm rearing its nasty head. Good thing too; I knew my uncoordinated ass was going in when it was time to cross the shaky wooden path we had created.

After our military escorts apologized for the cancellation and kindly gave us Army wristbands that said “Defend Freedom” on them, we headed home, dry, healthy, unwounded and without a WTF for this week.

We left the base and headed home brainstorming a last minute idea. In the end, the Sunday downpour prevented us from being able to do much, so we holed up in my living room, loaded up on cookie dough, hot cocoa, board games and yarn and prepared for a long day indoors; how cute it was.

Baking Cookies:

Dante: All I can say is that Alex is a terrible guest to have over for a rainy day. First, he showed up to our baking date already eating a Rice Krispies treat, then he told me that instead of buying the ingredients for our cookies, he had simply bought the pre-made dough. On top of that, he didn’t take too kindly to my calling him a useless human being for being a lazy baker.

Once in the kitchen, the directions called

for us to roll the dough into 32 little balls. My counter-part, in true male fashion, decided instead of 32 cookies, one giant cookie would be more manageable. So instead of using a rolling pin, he again channeled his inner male and beat the cookie sheet down with his fist; that’s right, he showed it. I’ll stop here, I’m sure you’ve figured out how that turned out: awful.

Alex: Wait, wait, wait. Now, I thought it would be more of a logical point to make a giant cookie because the whole tradition of small, individual-sized confections is stemmed from Betty Crocker propaganda and, by golly, I’m going to change things. Also, it left us with a larger canvas upon which to customize with purple frosting, which, by the way, tastes like drywall. Think of it as putting all your cookies in one jar, so to speak.

Games:

Alex: So, remember when you go back to your elementary school to visit a teacher, and upon entering the building, you’re surprised at how small you were back then? Well, the same goes for childhood board games. I nearly wet myself in excitement when I saw “Candyland” sitting on a shelf at Target for $6.99. I rushed home like a giddy schoolgirl, game under my arm, in massive anticipation of rehashing my past with Princess Frostine. Just when I had thought the outside world could not penetrate my childhood memories, I realized that “Candyland” was quite possibly the most dumbed-down game ever; even a caveman could do it (hey, if you rogue Neanderthals out there are offended, write a letter to the editor). Heartbroken, crestfallen and downright pissed off, I came to the conclusion that I must have had the mental capacity of an amoeba to ever enjoy it. All I can say is – WTF?!

Dante: Is it a safe bet to assume that we’re the only two kids ever to plan on spending the day painfully testing our physical endurance with the nation’s future Army officers and wind up baking cookies and playing Candyland? I imagine so. When Alex said he was going to get a board game for us to play, I didn’t think he’d try to turn it into some nostalgic event and get the world’s dumbest board game: “Candyland.” You want to know why he didn’t remember how lame it was? Last time he played it his memory was not fully developed and he was still sporting OshKosh. Jesus, it was a waste of time.

Crocheting:

Alex: It was a dark, stormy afternoon … I was sitting alone by the candle light, waiting in the cold cottage for my brothers to return from the fields … Yeah, so anyway, I thought, I’m trapped in a house, the whole board game thing failed, as did the dry-wall cookie along with the boot camp deal, so I decided to try and discipline myself in the domestic arts – must have been a bad afternoon. It’s probably a good sign when you can’t make the first knot described in the directions that the rest of the project is pretty much doomed. I eked out a somewhat improvised sash, and after spending 20 minutes pretending to be Braveheart, I lost control and started webbing the house faster than Tobey Maguire could say steroids. But something good did come of it all – a door hanger describing how to give a breast exam was included. Now that I can do.

Dante: No bad afternoon spent with Alex is enough to drive me to crochet. But he did try to give me a breast exam. Apparently he found out how to do it from some card that came with the yarn. I guess one good thing came from it – me.