Anatomy of a Wild Weekend

[WARNING: Long post ahead. Plan accordingly: go to the bathroom, refill your drink, get your affairs in order, sign your will, etc.]

Wild may be too strong a word for the weekend I just had. Perhaps "weird" is more fitting, though there were some seemingly wild parts to it.

Liquor In the Front, Poker In the Rear
Way back in December, when I loaded up on Meetup.com groups, one of them was "Just The Guys Social (and Foosball, Darts, Poker, Etc.)." And it's simply that; guys getting together to be free to be guys, to drink, eat junk food, and fart and belch at their leisure, and be appreciated for it.

For the first month or so after I signed up, the organizer didn't do anything, but then suddenly there was a party scheduled. He wrote of the Texas Hold 'Em poker tournament planned for the party, and I wasn't interested in that, so I didn't RSVP. Another one went by in February, and I passed on it, too.

Then, this past Friday I took the day off after my five day stay in Atlanta and, for some strange reason, the "Just The Guys Social" scheduled for later that evening appealed to me. I RSVPed and mentioned in the message that I wasn't a poker player, but if the others were willing and patient enough to let me learn as I went, then I'd give it a shot.

I arrived a little late, about 40 minutes past the party kick-off time, but the Texas Hold 'Em tournament had not started yet. A couple of the guys seized the opportunity to give me a few lessons in Texas Hold 'Em, and I was on my wobbly way. There was a $20 buy-in to get something like $3,000 worth of chips. Each player played until he was out of chips, at which point he was allowed to re-buy only twice more, and each re-buy was worth less value in chips. Then the top three players would split the pot, with 50% of the pot going to the winner, and then the 2nd and 3rd place players split the remainder 60-40.

I'll spare my reader the rules of Texas Hold 'Em poker simply because I still don't know them! Suffice it to say that we all got some good laughs at my ignorance as I attempted to fold when everyone else had "checked" their bet, choosing not to bet but staying in the deal to see what the next drawn card might present them with (I didn't have to fold yet). Then there was the time I watched the community draw pile grow with diamonds to match the 9 of diamonds I had in my hand. Excited that I had a flush, I stayed in the deal, "seeing" other guys' raises, but never raising the stakes myself. After the fifth card was drawn, I was still in, and it was time to show cards. One other guy had a flush hand. A couple other guys had straights, but of varying suits. I laid my cards down and the whole table erupted in loud groans and laughter. Without my even noticing it, my 9 of diamonds completed a straight flush that had been laid out on the table. One of the guys told me I should have been raising the bets like crazy, as I would have raked in the chips!

After a couple hours into it, I was getting bored and wanted to leave the table, but I kept winning small pots, prolonging my play! Soon players started going broke, and, next thing I knew, there were only four players left out of the original fifteen…and I was one of them!

I had played very conservatively, but had won enough hands that I hung in there. But as I looked at my three opponents' chips, they were all richer than I by several thousand "dollars," so I knew that, unless I came up with four aces, I would go broke very soon… and I did… go broke. Other guys high-fived me for being a beginner who hung in to finish in fourth place.

I stayed to watch the end of the tournament, where the party's host kept trying to expedite the end of play by going all-in with his huge fortune in chips, only to win the "blind" pot when his only opponent folded without betting. This happened about four times! But, finally play ended, and the host finished in 2nd place.

I arrived home around 1:00am, groaning because I had a workout in the morning with George at 8:00.


Karaoke On the Set of Desperate Housewives
Saturday night saw the March gathering for the Chicago Karaoke Underground Party. I did my usual, driving about halfway to the city and parking my car at a CTA parking facility, and then taking public transportation the rest of the way to the hostess's loft apartment on the northwest side of Chicago. There was a good assortment of new faces there, along with several whom I have become familiar with over the past two parties.

Early on, two of the familiar faces made a semi-private announcement to the hostess, ML, that there would soon be an official engagement announcement. The guy in this couple apparently has really bad eyesight, because I saw him reading phone texts, and he held the phone right at the tip of his nose to read it. Let's call him Eagle Eye. For later. His lady is not what I would consider attractive in that she's quite fat, but insists on wearing her jeans about four sizes too small for her waist, and letting the blubber spill over the waistband while wearing a top short enough for all to see that spillover. We'll call her Muffin Top, for later.

Another familiar face there I had first seen at last month's party. She's somewhat attractive, though very tiny and very thin. She has a perpetually either frightened or overwhelmingly uncertain look in her eyes. She also has an annoying tic in which, as she speaks, she turns her head slightly in darts left and right, tilting and straightening, and she strikes me as just plain odd. She doesn't like me. We'll call her Ms. Flinch. For later.

And then there's Butch. It's not his real name, but our name for him for later. He was a new face to me, but he had been to several C-KUPs last year, so I was a new face to him as well. He didn't strike me as a particularly attractive guy, but some of the women in attendance thought otherwise. More on that later.

Things got rolling with the usual kick-off song by the hostess, ML. Next up was another new face, a woman who pretty much set the bar for the evening by blowing us all away with her voice. Fantastic.

The party progressed as parties do, with people drinking and enjoying themselves, getting louder and looser. I had a couple of cans of Miller High Life beer, which I later followed with a shot of Jim Beam. And that was it. I stuck to water and coffee for the rest of the evening. Not the case for Muffin Top, however.

ML likes to celebrate birthdays every month by seating the birthday people at the edge of the "stage" and facing it. She then calls everybody else up to crowd around the two mics and sing to the karaoke version of "Birthday" by the Beatles. March happens to be the month of Muffin Top's as well as Butch's birthdays, and by the time of the birthday song, about halfway through the evening, Muffin Top was feeling no pain…and no shame, for that matter. She was hanging all over Butch and squeezing one of his thighs during the song and, as someone went to take a picture of the birthday kids, Muffin Top got on her knees and pantomimed a very keen interest in performing fellatio on Butch! Everybody had a good laugh at that. At least I think everyone did. I don't recall seeing Eagle Eye at that moment.

Intermittently, Butch was chatting up Ms. Flinch. He seemed to be interested in her, and she seemed definitely interested in him. She sat with him on the couch, she got up to dance when he did. Did I mention Ms. Flinch is tiny? I would guess her weight at around 90 pounds. Did I mention also that Ms. Flinch had a drink in her hand all evening. Well…the first part of the evening, anyway.

So, the party was in full swing by 11:30 or midnight or so. Muffin Top was having a great time. She was up in front of the "stage" during someone else's song dancing with Butch like there was no tomorrow, hooting and hollering, and hanging on him like a lamppost in a windstorm. I glanced over to Eagle Eye, who was not dancing, and who did not appear very happy.

I saw Ms. Flinch standing unsteadily by the food table. I walked over and asked if she was okay. She nodded in her flinchy way. I asked her what she was drinking.

"Whyrhuzhn."

"What?"

"WHYRHUZHHN!"

"Oh. White Russian. I used to drin—"

She walked away. She reeeeally doesn't like me, that kid.

I looked over at the dancers again just as the song was finishing. Butch headed for the couch and Muffin Top walked behind him with her hand on his back. Then she slid her hand down his back and onto his left butt cheek and she SQUEEZED it! TWICE!

Eagle Eye stood silently with his arms folded.

A few minutes later Muffin Top must have looked over at her betrothed and noticed that he was glaring at her. She walked over and, though I couldn't hear what they were saying, their body language shouted. Muffin Top reached to put her hands on Eagle Eye's upper arms, but he backed away. She then tried to put her arms over the back of his neck, and Eagle Eye reached up and pushed her arms away. At that point this casual observer was becoming a voyeur, so I shifted my gaze away from them…and found Ms. Flinch.

Barely conscious, Ms. Flinch was apparently in the throes of a bout of vomiting. She lay back against the backrest of the couch, and then she pitched forward with her head between her knees. She repeated the action a couple times until she remained over her knees. I got up to look for a bucket. By the time I returned, she had already deposited some of the evening's consumption onto the floor…and her boots.

Her friend, Useless, was concerned for Ms. Flinch. "We have to get her to the bathroom."

I agreed. I grabbed one of Ms. Flinch — it occurs to me that now I should refer to her as Ms. Floppy — I grabbed one of her arms and told Useless to help me. I got Ms. Flinch up onto her feet and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her feet were there, but her legs weren't moving, and so Useless and I sort of dragged her toward the bathroom.

As we crossed the threshold into the hallway, Ms. Flinch passed out. If she was floppy to that point, she was totally limp after. Even though she weighs about 90 pounds, she almost took me down! Useless was…well, useless, and I was carrying Ms. Flinch on my own. Useless opened the door to the bathroom, where I tried to maneuver Ms. Flinch over the toilet, but managed to clonk her head on the rim of the bowl not once, but twice. We got her face over the bowl, but the only thing that went into the toilet was Ms. Flinch's hair. I held her up while Useless tied Ms. Flinch's hair up into a bun on the back of her head.

It was pointless. I couldn't hold her at the toilet and wait just in case she puked again. I couldn't let her go because she would either fall over or go face-first into the toilet and drown. So I told Useless that we were bringing her back into the party, and to lay her out on the couch.

I told Useless to open doors for me, and I would carry Ms. Flinch. In trying to maneuver her unconscious body, I had to grab her high on the back of her thigh, near her rear end. It was soaked. She had totally let go, and everything came out of her. She was a disgusting mess. While carrying Ms. Flinch back to the couch, I had a brief argument with Useless.

"Make sure you lay her face up," she said, "or she could die."

"NO!" I practically shouted. "You lay her face down or on her side." Imagined images of the death of John Bonham, the drummer of the rock supergroup Led Zeppelin, played through my head.

"But…"

"If she's face up and she vomits again, she could suffocate. You lay her face DOWN!" I thought to mention John Bonham, but it occurred to me that Useless is about 24 years old. She wouldn't know John Bonham from Dick Cavett.

Once I got Ms. Flinch on the couch in the correct position, Useless freaked out. Ms. Flinch was supposed to go home with her to spend the night, but now Useless didn't want her there because she can't have her throwing up in her apartment, and she couldn't possibly get her on the bus in this condition…. she thought it best that Ms. Flinch go home where she lives with her mother…in the north suburbs. About 25 miles away.

I told her that Ms. Flinch isn't going anywhere any time soon. Useless seemed to be of the impression that ML, the hostess, wouldn't allow Ms. Flinch to sleep it off here in her loft, so we had to get her home. She didn't think Mrs. Flinch could come for her daughter at that late hour.

So I did a quick poll of those standing around us. "Did any of you drive here tonight?"

Nobody. Those who had driven had left already.

"If her mother can't come for her, then I'll drive her home," I said. It would mean getting on the train, riding about 30 minutes or more to where my car was parked, and then another 30 minutes or so driving back, but I was concerned for Ms. Flinch's safety and her health, and no one else seemed capable of thinking about either. Was I the only one sober?!

Ms. Flinch was starting to come around, and someone suggested that she get some water into her system. Useless ran and returned with a cup of water from which Ms. Flinch sipped. And it came back up almost instantly. Though her stomach continued to erupt, she remained conscious.

While Useless tried calling Mrs. Flinch now that her daughter was conscious, I went back to the bathroom to wash what was most likely remnants of Ms. Flinch's pee, poop and puke off of my hands. As I returned Eagle Eye was in the hallway in his coat and heading back into the party, and yelling at Muffin Top, also in her coat, to stay in the hallway.

"But…"

"Just STAY THERE!"

I simply said, "Excuse me," as I slid past them.

Mrs. Flinch did agree to come get her daughter, and she eventually showed up. There was some circus surrounding getting Ms. Flinch into her coat and keeping her on her feet. I ran to get some paper towels to wipe away the vomit that was clinging to her face, but when I returned she was on her knees before a sizeable puddle of new vomit, just a few feet from the door.

I worked on getting her scarf from around her neck, as it was disgusting, while someone else managed to clean up the floor before we got Ms. Flinch on her feet again. I convinced her to hold onto my arm as we entered the elevator and rode down, and I walked her out into the heavy downpour and to her mother's waiting car with Useless in tow.

No sooner had the outer security door closed and locked behind us than Ms. Flinch asked, "Where's my hat?"

We walked to Mrs. Flinch's car and got Ms. Flinch situated. Mrs. Flinch offered Useless a ride home, which she reluctantly accepted. I asked Mrs. Flinch if she wanted to wait while I ran back up to ML's apartment to get Ms. Flinch's hat. She was agreeable to that, so I ran back to the door and rang the bell. And I waited. And waited.

And waited.

I rang the bell again. Nothing. The party was still going on upstairs, and no one could hear the doorbell.

I turned to walk back to the car to see if Useless could get Ms. Flinch's hat in the next day or so, but when I was barely ten steps from the car, Mrs. Flinch pulled away and disappeared into the rain-soaked night.

ML's building is perched right on top of a subway station, so I wasn't in the rain too long before I headed down the stairs to the lonely train platform.

I looked at my watch. 3:16am.

Around 3:35 a train finally pulled into the stop and I got on the front car. The doors remained open longer than usual, and I noticed some canisters containing liquid occupying some of the seats nearest the conductor's cabin. A sign read, "These canisters contain chemicals used to remove ice from the third rail." Despite the hour, the train car was pretty full. I found a place to stand near the rear of the car and waited for the doors to close. Suddenly I heard the sound of liquid hitting the floor. I looked around to find the source, and soon enough I saw the puddle of vomit on the floor between a man's feet and beneath his bowed head where he was seated near the entry doors. The "Doors Closing" warning had not yet sounded, so I gambled at leaving that car and heading for the second car behind it. Another guy had the same idea at the same time, and I accidentally cut him off as I dashed for the exit.

The train ride seemed slower than normal, yet it didn't seem as though the CTA employees were spending extra time de-icing the third rail, either. Thanks to the extra helpings of coffee at the party, the extra time spent getting Ms. Flinch down to her mother's car, and to the longer than usual wait for a train, by the time I got off at the stop where my car was parked, I was approaching bladder distress. As my trip home was practically all expressway from there, I knew that there is an oasis not quite half-way where I could stop before I had my own disgusting accident.

The rain had turned to heavy, wet snow and, the farther northwest I drove, the thicker and heavier the snow had become. No snowplows had been down that stretch of I-90, so the going was treacherous at times. In the roughly 15 mile stretch of highway I had to travel on to get home, I must have seen at least 5 cars that had spun out and gone off the road. CRIPES, people! Did we not just come out of one of the snowiest winters in this city's history? Did you forget — already — how to drive in this stuff? IDIOTS!

As I approached my exit I felt my stomach growling insistently. My intent had been to drive straight home and go straight to bed, but I realized that if I tried that, my complaining stomach would likely keep me awake. So, right off the entrance ramp and at the end of the road I where I live is an International House of Pancakes where I stopped and had a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon and hash browns, with yet another cup of coffee. The snow stopped some time during my meal, and when I went out to my car the eastern sky was clearing, and the breaking clouds were beginning to tint toward purple. I drove the last two minutes to my apartment and headed inside. As I closed the door and locked it behind me I looked at my watch: 5:22am.

What a fupped duck night!

I checked e-mail, updated my Facebook status, got undressed and was in bed by 6:00. I slept until 12:30 Sunday afternoon. And I think I'm still paying for the weekend on Tuesday.

I wonder how Ms. Flinch feels. Or Eagle Eye.



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