The Birthday

Prelude

The Woodlands, TX. Mid-November, 1992. It was a Friday. The reason I remember this is because it was the celebration of my 30th birthday. It was also the last time I puked (a.k.a. the Technicolor Yawn). Yes my friends, whether you care to know or not, I have been on a “no-vom” run for the last 27 years. Most people celebrate their accomplishments in their careers, families, athletics or academics. I celebrate the number of days since I last threw up. Below is the unbelievable story behind the origin of this celebration. But if you know me, you know it’s completely believable. And as always, it’s 100% guaranteed to be true.

The Deception

“The one charm about marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.“ – Oscar Wilde

My loving wife Celina wanted to throw me a surprise birthday party. She had planned it on the Friday before Thanksgiving week as many people would be heading out of town to visit family for the holiday on Saturday or Sunday. She also wanted full attendance as it was my milestone “30th”. Given it was on a Friday night, there were two critical things she needed to accomplish to pull it off. First, she needed enough time to allow guests to get home from work, have their baby-sitters arrive and then get to our house. Second, she needed a diversion to keep me from coming home from work early. Being the sneaky-minded girl she is, she enlisted my boss Frank to “take me out for a couple of drinks for my birthday” and not to bring me home before 8:00pm. And that he did. We went to a popular rooftop Mexican restaurant in Houston that was famous for their signature “Perfect Margaritas”. The “Perfect” carried a two-drink limit. I believe the recipe was a mixture of ice, tequila, triple sec, lime juice, LSD and crack cocaine (salt rim of glass to taste). I enjoyed all four of mine. Needless to say that by the time we headed to the party, I was hammered out of my skull. But that was OK…I had no plans for the evening.

Surprise!!!!

“Life is full of surprises. Some good, some not so good.” – Pablo Escobar

As we pulled into the driveway, I invited Frank inside for one last drink. He agreed. When I opened the door I was greeted with an eardrum-busting, pants-crapping “SURRRRPRISE!” (I did not bust my eardrums.). It seemed like there were a thousand people in my home, basically because I was seeing three of everybody by then. I was totally blown away. Everyone was there and I was overwhelmed with appreciation. I navigated my way through the sea of people shaking hands, getting hugs, and kissing great friends and neighbors. I felt truly blessed. There were tons of appetizers, desserts and liquor. When I finally made it into the kitchen there was a tequila shot waiting for me. Yay! Then some jello shots. Yay! Then more margaritas! We partied for what seemed like hours! It was actually only thirty minutes into the beginning of the party when I excused myself briefly “to go check on something upstairs.” That was the beginning of a chain of events I set into motion that would make my birthday memorable for the rest of my life.

Crash & Burn

“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain as does failing to hear and see it.” – Michelangelo

As I scaled Mt. Kilimanjaro (a.k.a. our staircase), I crawled on my hands and knees struggling with all my might to reach the summit. The “altitude” was making me dizzy, nauseous and clouding my judgement. I kept hearing people ask me “Are you O.K?”, but that could have just been the voices in my head. As I reached the peak, I took a deep breath and turned left into our bedroom. I decided to make camp here. As I attempted to establish my base camp, I instead fell forward onto the bed while projectile vomiting all over the new comforter Celina had just bought. As I lay there contemplating my next move, I decided that while very damp, sticky and smelling like chips-and-salsa, this would be a good place to get some sleep until morning. As I surrendered to the elements, I fell fast asleep. Then I woke to the rescue sirens.

The Discovery

OK, they weren’t rescue sirens. It was Celina screaming at me and man was she pissed! “What the hell is wrong with you?!” “You disappeared and everyone is asking about you!” “Oh My God! Did you throw up on our new comforter?!” “You ruined the entire party!” Being the smooth operator that I am, I answered “Can I have a kiss?” Surprisingly, I didn’t get one. Celina stormed out and I fell back into a foggy dream state. I’m not sure how much time passed, but I woke up and realized that I was lying in a smelly pool of death. Was I roofied? Who could have done this to me, especially on my birthday?” I could hear the party was still in full swing so I got up, took off my clothes and laid down in the shower. The feel of hot water raining down on me was the only party I needed. As I lay there enjoying my spa night, Celina came to check on me and entered the bathroom with fire shooting from her eyes and nostrils and said “Your going to drown in there!” “I’m fline! Go brack to yur lil’ party!” The next time she came to check on me, I had pulled the shower curtain rod from the wall and was covered in a plastic body bag from head to toe with the water still streaming down on me. She was furious with me and said “See! I told you! You could have drowned!” I replied “Ha! But you were wrong! I could have suffocated!” Given the current shower situation awarded little privacy, I moved my naked self to the kids bathroom and resumed my spa night in the other shower. Again, I fell into a sleepy haze.

The Search

“Searching is half the fun: life is much more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt as opposed to a surprise party.” – Jimmy Buffet

I’m not sure how much time passed, but I woke up to freezing cold water raining down upon me. Apparently water heaters have limited capacity. Shivering, I shut off the water, gained my senses and listened. No noise…no more party. I wrapped a towel around my wet, chiseled frame and went downstairs. Everyone was gone. Food was put away, dishes were done, presents sat unopened on our dining room table. I then began my search for Celina whom I had disappointed so badly that evening. I called her name. No answer. Checked our bedroom. Not there. Checked the living room. Not sleeping on the couch. Checked the back deck. No one. Now most men would panic in these types of situations, but not me. I was cool as a cucumber. After carefully considering the evidence, there was only one conclusion. That bitch had gone out partying with everyone after my party and left me home to drown! At 1:30am, I walked out of my front door and began my door-to-door search of the neighbors homes for my wife wearing nothing but a wet towel. In the cool November evening, the moisture from the shower glistened in the moonlight off of my rock-hard pecs and washboard abs. I went house-to-house, standing in gardens, peeking in windows, looking for the party that contained my wife. The fact I wasn’t shot and killed was a blessing from God. The police reports the next day would be largely dismissed as no one in law enforcement would believe their was a ghostly-white, wet, incredibly built, towel-bearing Peeping Tom lurking in the Woodlands.

She’s Alive!

“Joy in looking and comprehending is nature’s most beautiful gift.” – Albert Einstein

I returned home cold, worried and angry as to the whereabouts of my wife. I decided to complete a canvas of every room in our home. Finally, I came upon Celina curled up in our daughter’s day bed. I was elated that she was safe. As I looked at her curled up in the fetal position, I began processing (in my brilliant mind) what brought her to this point. “Oh my God. Look at her. She got so drunk she doesn’t even know what room she’s in!” “She fell asleep in our daughter’s day bed.” It was then I removed my towel, climbed in the bed next to her cold, wet, naked and with the sweet-sour fragrance of Acqua Di Vomite’ cologne. She shrieked at me to leave her alone. “Oh…playing hard to get, are we?” I pulled her towards me under protest, put my mouth next next to her ear and whispered “You were so drunk you fell asleep in the wrong bed.” She then proceeded to deliver a Bruce Lee quality elbow to my ribs and screamed at me “I’m in this bed because you puked in ours you idiot!!!” Oh. Then the entirety of the night came flashing back to me. I watched the evening play before my eyes like a bad dream. What had I done? Oh, I had screwed up. I was in deep shit. And I would pay.

The Aftermath

Saturday morning was not a happy one. Once our kids had returned from their sleepovers, in lieu of going out to get donuts, Celina left to go shoe and clothes shopping with her friends. It cost way more than my party. Part One of my penance imposed by St. Celina the Punitive was that I had to watch our kids all day with a hangover the size of Montana. It was as if each child had their own personal cowbell that they could ring in my skull whenever they chose. Part Two was that I was required to personally call everyone who attended the party and apologize for my behavior. It was incredibly embarrassing and an important life lesson learned. As I lay there licking my wounds most of the day, I pondered what additional lessons were learned as the result of the previous evening. The following is what I deduced:

1. Tequila is the devil.
2. Vomiting sucks.
3. Husbands should be forgiven on their birthdays.
4. Never use tension shower rods.
5. I look great wet in the moonlight.
6. Never have parties on Fridays.