A quick recap of last week's looming questions regarding the guys' weekend in Arizona...
1) What is the number of Vodka Red Bulls that can be consumed before the heart explodes: 17 - I don’t think the group drank 17 vodka red bulls combined over the weekend. It was all beer (and a lot of beer pong), with a smattering of whiskey. And few if any shots. I cannot tell you how happy I am to have friends that are past the shot-taking stage of their lives.
2) What is the ratio of beers consumed to golf balls lost: 6:1 - This depends on whom you ask. On Saturday, seven golfers and three designated drinkers consumed roughly 102 drinks over 18 holes, and even then there’s no way we lost 17 golf balls. However, yours truly, um, struggled a bit, and my 12 drinks to four balls lost did not help the cause. Whatever, I put my tee shot to within 4 feet on the 13th hole with a 55-year-old divorcee talking all kinds of smack from her tee-side front porch at the urging of my opponents. And then made the putt, thankyouverymuch. Maybe my finest moment of the weekend…
3) Likelihood of a hurricane: 12% - 72 and sunny the whole time. Just like the aforementioned bachelor party in Myrtle, only the exact opposite.
4) Average age of the women who talk to this group: 41 years old – This was, +/- 6 months, exactly right. As were implied predictions regarding surgical enhancement levels. At dinner Saturday night, we were seated between two tables of eight to nine locals all on the dreaded Girls Night Out and all 35 to 45 years old. We were very popular. Then, in a span of five minutes, a drunk friend of mine popped 2 buttons off of my shirt “for the hell of it” (leaving me looking like an extra from Mamma Mia....yeah, i've seen it), and the long-haired roguish hunk from Lost walked in to the restaurant to have dinner. You could just stick a fork in us right there.
5) Number of times Credit Card Roulette rears its ugly head: 5 times – Never happened. Was only even suggested once, and quickly dismissed. Biggest shock of the trip.
6) Number of times the phrase “I/you/we are too old for this” is uttered Sunday morning: Pass – Honestly, we were all too hung over to speak. It was mostly a series of grunts and nods. But the sentiment was there.
All things considered, it was a fantastic time. It was very cool to have my best friends from college meet my best friends from Dallas and have them all get along like I’d imagined. What’s more, I think it sets the stage for a great wedding weekend in May, complete with plans for a “Playing with the Boys” style volleyball game/montage to impress all the wives. Speaking of, my dad more than held his own, taking home the Pete “Maverick” Mitchell Award for best wingman. And my future brother-in-law was a beast, although he was struck with a curious case of homesickness Saturday night?! Must have been missing his increasingly pregnant better half something fierce! He did, in his defense, put on an epic drinking display on the golf course that day, and he should remember that there’s no shame in not keeping up with a Republican from DC wearing seersucker shorts with lobsters embroidered on them. [ed. note - And *swoon* goes The Hops].
And on that note, I should offer a thank you to the three lovely ladies inhabiting the apartment I returned home to Sunday night for putting up with my incoherence and inability to make myself useful by either properly pouring champagne or bringing the funny. Your patience was much appreciated.
With that, I think I’ll call it a day, and head home to take care of Maggie, who’s at home and apparently battling a terrible case of ranunculus…