It was all planned out! Weinerfest, we'd dubbed it. Backyard Shenanigans! It was a breakthrough idea! Well, it was for us anyway. Let me give you some background.
You see, my roommate Alexis and I are perhaps the only ones in our group of friends who do not live with our parents. This makes our house the de facto party house. Any big shindig or hullabaloo or even minor get-together that didn't take place at a bar or club or restaurant happened at our house. And it was always a mess. The house, that is. The parties were great but there would either be something in the kitchen like a pile of unwashed dishes or a counter still dusted with flour or sticky from some spillage; that we would hope everyone could just completely ignore, or the kitchen would start off clean and come to be in some disastrous state through the course of the night's events. And do you think anyone showed up to help clean? No.
But its still our place. And we still want to chill out there from time to time with our friends. So, one breezy day we got the bright idea to invite a bunch of people over for drinks, but lock the front door! We took tables and seating from inside and placed them in a convenient, conversation friendly circle. We took baskets and emptied them of their display fruits, and instead filled them with peanuts and cheese puffs. We took the cooler and spread down a bed of ice, and propped the bottles of rums and mixers and beers in it, and another pitcher that held just ice, and we set that in the center of the circle. And it worked. Like a dream. The first few times were all guys, so there were even a few odd instances where I wound up begging them to go inside. Don't piss on my wall just outside my bathroom or bedroom window, please? And for the love of God, don't continue talking to me while you're doing so! I know the conversation might be rich and engaging, but unless we're in some kind of intimate relationship, you should let the conversation pause while you attend to your bodily functions.
And that goes for you too, ladies.
And so, as weekends came and went, the intricacies of the Backyard Shenanigans developed. Until finally, September was upon us. And this time, instead of a completely random gathering, we had a reason. Ninth Night! The eve of the Celebration of the Battle of St. Georges Caye! The eve of Carnival Weekend!
When I came home I set out to sweeping. Then mopping. Then cleaning the sink and toilet in the half bath near the living room. Then changed exterior light bulbs and making sure there was toilet paper in the bathroom. Then I filled a pitcher with ice and let the ice maker take its time in replenishing the fridge door stock. You will notice, I did nothing with the kitchen. That is the beauty of the outdoor party.
Later Alexis brought over the grill. Then the coal. Then a bottle of rum and a pack of 'Sausage on a Stick'. I balked at it and ran out to get spicy itallian which, cut to the right length, made an awfully good foot long. By the time I got back Alexis had the grill lit, the coals getting ready for their night's work. Meanwhile I cleared some stuff out of the yard and chained up the dogs. By the time I was finished putting food down for them our first guest, J, had arrived.
Oh, the simplicity of the Backyard Barbecue. Why didn't I think of this sooner?
I offered J a drink. She only drank beer. I was about to get her one of the Amstels we got specifically for September Celebrations when I realized...she's gonna drink them all. I must hoarde. I must keep my beer supply safe. There are twenty other days in September, and about half of those are days when I can sit back and enjoy a cold one. I had to pace myself.
"I'll take a quick shower." I told her. "And we can go get some."
"Get some?" She asked, and gave me a bit of a smile.
"Yeah, some b--" I started to say and then suddenly realized...this could be a very good night for me.
After my shower we went in J's jeep, stopped at the bank, and then to the only store I knew of that still sold alcohol after nine. I'd only found this place a few months ago and in fact it had only opened a few weeks before that, but in walks J and up goes the proprietors mood! "J!" called the Chinese woman behind the counter, as if Jam was some relative she was glad to see. J also calls her by name, Miss Helen, I believe. Its impressive, not only for the fact that its actually happening (I hadn't started drinking by then) but the fact that she called her Miss Helen. Miss Helen. Not just Helen. And certainly not China or Chiney Gial. There was an affectionate, respectful tone to her voice as she tacked on the that universal Belizean title of elderly respect. I liked that. A lot.
Then she slid a fifty dollar bill across the counter and said 'How many Heineken can that get me?'
We headed back and put another bottle of rum and some soda water in the cooler, along with J's eleven Heineken (just in case you were curious). Coming out of the store I'd seen my friend Keino, who'd just gotten back from studying medicine in Cuba, and basically told him to head over to our house. By then others had arrived too; Leon and his date for the night, Diane. And Leanne and Jorge, one of the cutest couples I know (when they aren't fighting.) And, as they were instructed, each of these people brought a pack of hot dogs, whatever they wanted to see on the grill for that night. And the grill itself was quite loaded. The party was in full swing.
But it wasn't enough, was it? So I sent a text to all the folks I knew in town. Male or female, it said the same thing. "Weinerfest at my house! Come on over if you're hungry for some sausage!"
Because who doesn't love getting a suggestive message after nine o'clock?
We drank, we ate, we talked, about nothing in particular. At some point I realized I'd had too much to drink when I stood in the middle of the yard with Leon and Timo arguing the merits of the Barbados economy and workers unions at the top of my lungs. We were the last three there. The party was over and i didn't even realize it. But there existed within me a sense of something incomplete. "Should we head to Cabana?" Leon asked suddenly. The yard had gone silent. Sausages cooled and shriveled and the very last of the coals glowed orange in a bed of ashy white. I nodded once, firmly, and then began putting all our yard paraphernalia back into the house.
Now, I should point out that I'm really rarely this eager to go out, but it was indeed a really nice night. I wasn't fall down drunk. I wasn't thinking of depressing, sober things. I'd been flirting all night with a girl I would slot neatly into the cute category, and in fact, here she was at the Cabana. J found us out of the crowd and immediately started grinding her short, chubby body against mine, in particular her sizable ass. She pumped her arms in the air when they weren't holding on to my belt loops pulling me closer, and flung her red, orange, and yellow dyed hair around. She was on fire! Alive and young and fully aware of it. And it was exciting to be around. Sexy without trying to be alluring. Just like her nose ring. She went to join her friends after that, and one of my friends came over, goading me in her direction. "No." I explained to him "I'm not gonna chase her. I'm just here to have a good time." And I wasn't gonna chase her because I wasn't going to give her the idea that I wanted her. Or more to the point, that I wanted to keep her. I like having her around, that much is obvious. And if something were to happen...well. But I'm single now. I'd rather not get involved with something as fiery and volatile as that just yet.
I was even talking to Merri's dad at one point, and she swooped down as if from the sky, booty shaking and hair throwing and fist pumping. All in good fun, he seemed to take it. He laughed and gave me a slap on the shoulder. "You have a good night." he told me at 2 in the morning.
I didn't intend to meet J at Club Twilight after that. It was, once again, one of those things that just happened. The music was so loud, and the drinks kept coming, and she kept up her manic fun-time dance. She dragged at my shirt collar until my ear came to her lips and shouted what sounded to me like 'My eggs are in my side and it hurts.' Later on, when my ears stopped ringing from being crammed inside the giant speaker box that is Twilight, I realized that what she was saying was probably something like "My ex is here tonight. Lets flirt." There goes another train I missed. No matter. There's always next time.
Somehow I wound up on top of the highest hill in Belmopan with Dianne (Leon's 'date') and Karteek. We watched the sunrise, tried to identify which direction it was coming from through the cloud and fog. Instead we just noticed the gradual brightness. Felt the heat descending on us like smoke from the sky. It really wasn't as romantic as I make it sound. We were still drunk, and kinda tired, and acutely aware that there might very well be a pit of vipers lurking somewhere in this knee high grass.
"You wanna get breakfast?" I asked the others. Dianne looked at me incredulously and asked "Where the hell do you get breakfast at this hour?" Karteek nodded knowingly. He smiled at the thought of hot beans and hotter fried jacks. Eggs. Cheese. Piping hot coffee. No one else around to bother you. "Market." He intoned, and headed off to the cars.
Only, as we descended, Karteek took off like a flash, racing down the hill ahead of us. And by the time we got to the market, he wasn't even there.
"I guess he went home for his own breakfast", Dianne said. We laughed about it, stopped circling and parked, and made our way past the bleary eyed fruit vendors just setting up, ourselves still bright and smiling and slightly tipsy and smelling of club smells. Cigarettes, booze, and sweat. We found one woman who was open. We asked her if she had breakfast. She said it would take a while. I frowned and asked her if she had tacos or burritos. That would take a while too. "Well then we'll wait for the breakfast." Dianne said, taking charge. The little while was hardly a little while at all. It was just enough time to scald my tongue on some coffee and have her laugh at me for it, as well as get to know one another a little better. When you've watched the sunrise with someone and moved on from there to coffee, modesty sort of flies out the window. We asked tough questions, getting right to the meat of things. And the alcohol and lack of sleep tends to make you honest.
Sadly, it tends to make you stupid too. By the time I'd finished breakfast I'd already started yawning every three minutes or so. By the time I dropped Dianne off, my brain had gone sent every part of it that didn't need to drive home into shutdown mode. Which is why I sat there for about five minutes while she asked for my number. And why I didn't think to ask for hers back.
Sleep never felt so good. But damn, that was a good night.
You see, my roommate Alexis and I are perhaps the only ones in our group of friends who do not live with our parents. This makes our house the de facto party house. Any big shindig or hullabaloo or even minor get-together that didn't take place at a bar or club or restaurant happened at our house. And it was always a mess. The house, that is. The parties were great but there would either be something in the kitchen like a pile of unwashed dishes or a counter still dusted with flour or sticky from some spillage; that we would hope everyone could just completely ignore, or the kitchen would start off clean and come to be in some disastrous state through the course of the night's events. And do you think anyone showed up to help clean? No.
But its still our place. And we still want to chill out there from time to time with our friends. So, one breezy day we got the bright idea to invite a bunch of people over for drinks, but lock the front door! We took tables and seating from inside and placed them in a convenient, conversation friendly circle. We took baskets and emptied them of their display fruits, and instead filled them with peanuts and cheese puffs. We took the cooler and spread down a bed of ice, and propped the bottles of rums and mixers and beers in it, and another pitcher that held just ice, and we set that in the center of the circle. And it worked. Like a dream. The first few times were all guys, so there were even a few odd instances where I wound up begging them to go inside. Don't piss on my wall just outside my bathroom or bedroom window, please? And for the love of God, don't continue talking to me while you're doing so! I know the conversation might be rich and engaging, but unless we're in some kind of intimate relationship, you should let the conversation pause while you attend to your bodily functions.
And that goes for you too, ladies.
And so, as weekends came and went, the intricacies of the Backyard Shenanigans developed. Until finally, September was upon us. And this time, instead of a completely random gathering, we had a reason. Ninth Night! The eve of the Celebration of the Battle of St. Georges Caye! The eve of Carnival Weekend!
When I came home I set out to sweeping. Then mopping. Then cleaning the sink and toilet in the half bath near the living room. Then changed exterior light bulbs and making sure there was toilet paper in the bathroom. Then I filled a pitcher with ice and let the ice maker take its time in replenishing the fridge door stock. You will notice, I did nothing with the kitchen. That is the beauty of the outdoor party.
Later Alexis brought over the grill. Then the coal. Then a bottle of rum and a pack of 'Sausage on a Stick'. I balked at it and ran out to get spicy itallian which, cut to the right length, made an awfully good foot long. By the time I got back Alexis had the grill lit, the coals getting ready for their night's work. Meanwhile I cleared some stuff out of the yard and chained up the dogs. By the time I was finished putting food down for them our first guest, J, had arrived.
Oh, the simplicity of the Backyard Barbecue. Why didn't I think of this sooner?
I offered J a drink. She only drank beer. I was about to get her one of the Amstels we got specifically for September Celebrations when I realized...she's gonna drink them all. I must hoarde. I must keep my beer supply safe. There are twenty other days in September, and about half of those are days when I can sit back and enjoy a cold one. I had to pace myself.
"I'll take a quick shower." I told her. "And we can go get some."
"Get some?" She asked, and gave me a bit of a smile.
"Yeah, some b--" I started to say and then suddenly realized...this could be a very good night for me.
After my shower we went in J's jeep, stopped at the bank, and then to the only store I knew of that still sold alcohol after nine. I'd only found this place a few months ago and in fact it had only opened a few weeks before that, but in walks J and up goes the proprietors mood! "J!" called the Chinese woman behind the counter, as if Jam was some relative she was glad to see. J also calls her by name, Miss Helen, I believe. Its impressive, not only for the fact that its actually happening (I hadn't started drinking by then) but the fact that she called her Miss Helen. Miss Helen. Not just Helen. And certainly not China or Chiney Gial. There was an affectionate, respectful tone to her voice as she tacked on the that universal Belizean title of elderly respect. I liked that. A lot.
Then she slid a fifty dollar bill across the counter and said 'How many Heineken can that get me?'
We headed back and put another bottle of rum and some soda water in the cooler, along with J's eleven Heineken (just in case you were curious). Coming out of the store I'd seen my friend Keino, who'd just gotten back from studying medicine in Cuba, and basically told him to head over to our house. By then others had arrived too; Leon and his date for the night, Diane. And Leanne and Jorge, one of the cutest couples I know (when they aren't fighting.) And, as they were instructed, each of these people brought a pack of hot dogs, whatever they wanted to see on the grill for that night. And the grill itself was quite loaded. The party was in full swing.
But it wasn't enough, was it? So I sent a text to all the folks I knew in town. Male or female, it said the same thing. "Weinerfest at my house! Come on over if you're hungry for some sausage!"
Because who doesn't love getting a suggestive message after nine o'clock?
We drank, we ate, we talked, about nothing in particular. At some point I realized I'd had too much to drink when I stood in the middle of the yard with Leon and Timo arguing the merits of the Barbados economy and workers unions at the top of my lungs. We were the last three there. The party was over and i didn't even realize it. But there existed within me a sense of something incomplete. "Should we head to Cabana?" Leon asked suddenly. The yard had gone silent. Sausages cooled and shriveled and the very last of the coals glowed orange in a bed of ashy white. I nodded once, firmly, and then began putting all our yard paraphernalia back into the house.
Now, I should point out that I'm really rarely this eager to go out, but it was indeed a really nice night. I wasn't fall down drunk. I wasn't thinking of depressing, sober things. I'd been flirting all night with a girl I would slot neatly into the cute category, and in fact, here she was at the Cabana. J found us out of the crowd and immediately started grinding her short, chubby body against mine, in particular her sizable ass. She pumped her arms in the air when they weren't holding on to my belt loops pulling me closer, and flung her red, orange, and yellow dyed hair around. She was on fire! Alive and young and fully aware of it. And it was exciting to be around. Sexy without trying to be alluring. Just like her nose ring. She went to join her friends after that, and one of my friends came over, goading me in her direction. "No." I explained to him "I'm not gonna chase her. I'm just here to have a good time." And I wasn't gonna chase her because I wasn't going to give her the idea that I wanted her. Or more to the point, that I wanted to keep her. I like having her around, that much is obvious. And if something were to happen...well. But I'm single now. I'd rather not get involved with something as fiery and volatile as that just yet.
I was even talking to Merri's dad at one point, and she swooped down as if from the sky, booty shaking and hair throwing and fist pumping. All in good fun, he seemed to take it. He laughed and gave me a slap on the shoulder. "You have a good night." he told me at 2 in the morning.
I didn't intend to meet J at Club Twilight after that. It was, once again, one of those things that just happened. The music was so loud, and the drinks kept coming, and she kept up her manic fun-time dance. She dragged at my shirt collar until my ear came to her lips and shouted what sounded to me like 'My eggs are in my side and it hurts.' Later on, when my ears stopped ringing from being crammed inside the giant speaker box that is Twilight, I realized that what she was saying was probably something like "My ex is here tonight. Lets flirt." There goes another train I missed. No matter. There's always next time.
Somehow I wound up on top of the highest hill in Belmopan with Dianne (Leon's 'date') and Karteek. We watched the sunrise, tried to identify which direction it was coming from through the cloud and fog. Instead we just noticed the gradual brightness. Felt the heat descending on us like smoke from the sky. It really wasn't as romantic as I make it sound. We were still drunk, and kinda tired, and acutely aware that there might very well be a pit of vipers lurking somewhere in this knee high grass.
"You wanna get breakfast?" I asked the others. Dianne looked at me incredulously and asked "Where the hell do you get breakfast at this hour?" Karteek nodded knowingly. He smiled at the thought of hot beans and hotter fried jacks. Eggs. Cheese. Piping hot coffee. No one else around to bother you. "Market." He intoned, and headed off to the cars.
Only, as we descended, Karteek took off like a flash, racing down the hill ahead of us. And by the time we got to the market, he wasn't even there.
"I guess he went home for his own breakfast", Dianne said. We laughed about it, stopped circling and parked, and made our way past the bleary eyed fruit vendors just setting up, ourselves still bright and smiling and slightly tipsy and smelling of club smells. Cigarettes, booze, and sweat. We found one woman who was open. We asked her if she had breakfast. She said it would take a while. I frowned and asked her if she had tacos or burritos. That would take a while too. "Well then we'll wait for the breakfast." Dianne said, taking charge. The little while was hardly a little while at all. It was just enough time to scald my tongue on some coffee and have her laugh at me for it, as well as get to know one another a little better. When you've watched the sunrise with someone and moved on from there to coffee, modesty sort of flies out the window. We asked tough questions, getting right to the meat of things. And the alcohol and lack of sleep tends to make you honest.
Sadly, it tends to make you stupid too. By the time I'd finished breakfast I'd already started yawning every three minutes or so. By the time I dropped Dianne off, my brain had gone sent every part of it that didn't need to drive home into shutdown mode. Which is why I sat there for about five minutes while she asked for my number. And why I didn't think to ask for hers back.
Sleep never felt so good. But damn, that was a good night.
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