what happens in mexico...

...stays in Mexico. Screw that.

Apparently that rule is now ubiquitous: Just insert name of destination as applicable. I kinda don’t get it, that rule. I know why it exists, but even if nobody says anything, the participants still know, don’t they? Unless there was an actual blackout involved – a relatively rare phenomena – most of the claimed amnesia is voluntary. Denial by any other name and all that…

Anyway, that rule’s bullshit if you have a writer in the party. Everyone knows that, right? I hope everyone knows that. If they don’t, it’ll be okay because nobody that was there reads my blog anyway, and I had the only laptop.

We were, apparently, testing the “bad things come in three’s” rule of the universe last week. The rule held, and the rest of the week was utterly amazing or we’d have been in serious shit, because all three occurred in one day, on our first full day there.

First, the arrival festivities went full late on Friday night, starting with ridicu-cheap beer on the bus from the airport. The hard partiers had their full drink on before we even arrived at the resort 90-minutes later. By 2:00am, when the die-hards – including my middle brother, Troy, who became the first casualty – were leaving the on-site club, sound judgment and a basic understanding of physics had become entirely optional.

The story I got from a couple witnesses went something like this:

“So, Troy got on the shuttle in front of us, looked around as the shuttle started up, said something about somebody not being there – but without consonants – and then, as the shuttle reached top speed, jumped off.” The result was reportedly something akin to an ostrich diving into a full on cheese grater. Troy said he was going for a tuck and roll as he was falling. Instead he used his knee and elbows as brakes. When he stumbled into the room a little while later, kindly dropped off by one of the hotel staff, he was still lacking the power of consonants and had a really nice, deep abrasion on his knee that he bumped several times while trying to find his bed.

I made sure he wasn’t going to die, then put my earbuds in and turned up the tunes.

Even with the iPod, I have to say, nothing tests brotherly love like drunk snoring. Just for the record.

Silly me, I assumed that the general state of annihilation would result in a late start on Saturday for all those who made it to the end of the evening. I clearly underestimated the level of partying expertise assembled at this shindig, because the breakfast table was full. By lunch, we were all at the pool (the one with the swim-up bar, of course).

Bad thing number two happened when one of the lovely ladies stubbed her toe on the stump of a dead tree and kinda ripped most of the end of it off. There was blood and swearing, but she came back a little while later with a nice big bandage. We drew a happy face on it and had to carry her to the pool’s island so she could lounge. 

No pics of that one. Sorry. I'll make it up to you. Right. Now.

Bad thing number three is funny now, but could have been far, far worse. The resort has activities staff to keep us happy and, well, active. Around 5:00 or so, they decided that it was time for a belly flop competition. Five different guys, mostly in profound states of drunk-assedness, volunteered to compete. Number one was a guy with us: Koji. Koji moved a couple tables so he could get a massive run at the pool.

I know, you think you see it coming, but you don’t.

His first effort was a perfect, epic bellyflop, including about ten-feet of air. It was awesome. Then the other guys went. In my biased opinion, none of their flops matched Koji’s, but this was a crowd-judged event and one of the other guys had more friends there. Koji was relegated to second place. Koji is a bit competitive, so naturally he prepped up for a second attempt.

There was a run again, and then an attempted back flip, the idea being a reverse flop, a gainer. He made it about two thirds of the way through the flip and entered the pool.

I should clarify that this pool is three feet deep. It begs the question as to why they would ask drunk people to do silly jumps into it, and add the pressure of competition, but it is what it is. Koji’s trajectory took him straight to the bottom of the pool, top first. He was also in the layback position, arms at his sides, so the first thing that found the bottom of the pool was, naturally, his head.

Like I said, it could have been much, much worse. Instead of the worst case, Koji bounced up, hands in the air, screaming his barbaric yawp of victory. He might have noticed something wrong when there was no cheering to meet him. I think everyone watching was doing the McAuley Kaulkin, hands to face, mouth wide open. While Koji had fortuitously escaped a broken neck or fractured skull, he had managed to rip open a six-inch split that was bleeding the way only head wounds can bleed, and offering a fairly good view of a portion of his skull.

I know. Crazy.

There was a scream or two, and frantic calls for a medic, and a really expensive ambulance ride, and nineteen stitches, but we were all just happy that he could laugh about it when he got back.. Koji was happy that his alcohol imbibation proscription would be over before the next hockey game.

So yeah, bad things, in three’s, really glad that held true. There was plenty of drama as it was. And, you know, a wedding to take care of…

More on that next time. J