TRIFECTA FREE ZONE

We're having a party this Sunday to celebrate the first weekend of football. Just a few years back, I never watched football. But after winning a fantasy football league at my old job while not even knowing the difference between a running back and wide receiver, I began to love the game. It's amazing what money will do. If I got paid to square dance, I'd probably do-si-do.

Now I can't wait for football season, because it means lazy Sundays at my house drinking mimosas with my husband and yelling at the television -- all while wearing my Sunday attire of a stained and worn T-shirt with no pants, of course.

This Sunday I've decided to forgo tradition and wear pants, since we will have some friends coming over for a BBQ and to watch a few games (we have both TiVO and NFL SUNDAY TICKET, so we're the most popular people on our block.)

It has been awhile since we have had a party, and I'm reminded about some hum-dingers I've thrown in the past. Looking back on these, I'm wondering if I should have an ambulance stationed near my house this time, or perhaps have people sign a release before they enter.

I used to throw "tequila parties" every year at a friend's house which had both a pool and a hot tub. We would have shots of tequila, margaritas, Mexican food, and then, once liquored up, would blindfold ourselves and wack at a pinata with a bat. The pinata would be filled with little plastic bottles of alcohol and condoms. Because you can really never be too drunk, or too careful.

One year, a guest who didn't know his tequila limit vomited in the hot tub, creating a soup type substance. Later in the evening, another drunk guest dove into the yet-to-be-cleaned hot tub head first. When we told him what was floating around him, he preceded to levitate out of the tub, screaming and looking like he may vomit himself.

Another year, and another tequila party, I had my brother's band play in the family room. The bass player also had a little too much tequila, and when the band was making its way back to my house for the night, he tried to get out of the truck while it was moving. Then, in my living room, he threw up on the carpet, at which time my brother began yelling at him. He left the house saying how he was leaving the band ... only in his drunken stupor it sounded more like "I'm heaving the sand."

The next day, when the bass player hadn't returned, my brother and I called the jail and the hospital checking for him - which is always a sign of a good party. We stopped worrying when some friends of mine who were driving out of town saw him hitchhiking on the side of the road, vomit stains down the front of him, with a Big Gulp in his hand. They didn't stop to pick him up, and I can't really blame them. We learned later he had spent the night in an open display model at a manufactured home park. He bolted when the hapless sales manager was showing the home, which will never smell the same again.

Then there was my husband's 40th birthday party, which also included tequila and 17 cases of beer I legally stole from our local store (a story I will have to tell at another time) One of my husband's coworkers disappeared into our spare bedroom early that night, so I went to make sure he was OK. The smell that wafted from the room was so foul, so rancid, so absolutely RANK, I slammed the door shut and told my husband that since it was HIS friend, he'd have to go check on him, because like HELL was I going near him. My husband opened the door, turned a putrid shade of green, and slammed it shut again. "He's snoring, so he hasn't choked on his own vomit," was all he said, which loosely translated means: "He was alive when we checked on him. Our work here is done."

We later learned that this guest had done what is called a "trifecta" which involves puking on yourself, shitting yourself and pissing yourself. When he got up several hours later, he wandered into the hallway, a horrid mess, asking what had happened to him. I told him he should check himself into a clinic IMMEDIATELY. I then wept uncontrollably because I thought for sure we would have to sell the house. How could we ever USE that room again? How long would it take for a Hazmat team to determine it would be safe?

I'm hoping that this weekend will include a tamer, if not more iron-stomached crowd. After all, we are all older and wiser now. Throwing up just doesn't have the appeal it did in our youth.

Just in case though, I'm laying some plastic down, and putting the Hazmet team on speed dial.

Comments

[Helena]

Oh. My. God.

That is a story that should be told around a campfire, with a flashlight under your chin.

Imagining cleaning up that mess is way scarier than the dude with the hook hand.

[AJ]

Agreed. Human fluids trumps prosthetics every time.

CB, maybe the pinata should alos contain diapers for your less continent guests?

/helpful