The Conclusion to Hoss Weekend

I have to outlast all the other fathers. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s to prove something to my daughter and son who can one day say “My Dad out drank and out partied your dad!” It appears that I may have really low expectations.

But maybe it’s more personal than that. Maybe I want to prove something to myself. Maybe I want to look myself in the mirror on day and remember that today I made a stand and proved that I could hang with guys who are younger than me and who don’t have kids. More possible though is that Hossmom has been gone for a week and a half and my sanity has finally taken the last lifeboat. Whatever the reason, I’m going to put my best foot forward and show them what Hoss is and what it means.

The first annual Hoss weekend was set up over 5 months ago. When we were all single we would do this with the only notice being “Hey, let’s get some beer.” But now a lot of us are married and 3 of us have kids. The others, well, I just hate the others. It’s jealousy but I’m ok with it.

The first rule of Hoss weekend is that you had to grow a mustache. It had to be dirty. It had to be a throw back to 1980’s cocaine habits. I also like to think that it was an omage to our own fathers as well who we all imagined could party like this when they were our age. But then I remind myself that my father had 3 kids at my age, 1 of them in highschool. So maybe the mustache is in honor of stupid decisions which is what exlempiflies Hoss weekend.

I met the guys on Sat for our group photo. Our goal was to look white trash and nothing says white trash better than group photos at you local Walmart. We all came in wearing tacky wide ties, short sleeved collared shirts and the stach. We walked in and it looked like we were there for a copy repair seminar. It was bad but in a great way.

None of us had really tried to grow a mustache before and the results were interesting. And being that we were guys we naturally started competing and then making fun of whoever was in our eye line at the time. I am pretty sure that I looked like Uncle Vernon from the Harry Potter Movies, only if he were bald. We had the one guy that could grow the monster stach and we decided that he was Fisherman Pete down from the docks. Uncle Bricksalesman was straight out of the SNL sketch of “Da Bears” All he needed was a micileanious sausage and a valve replacement to complete the ensemble. We had a Pilipino guy that looked Mexican when he grew his stach. We had Kip the computer salesman, complete with the blue polyester pants. None of it was pretty which meant we had to intentionally try to pick up chicks.

Everyone just walked around us but we took the pictures and t hey are awesome. I will post them when I get them.

Next for Hoss weekend we went to a Hooters type establishment. Lots of chicks, little skirts, big boobs and constant comparing of who had the nicest ass. For the past month I had talked nothing but Jack’s Big Music Show so I was grateful to go into debauchery a little.

I ordered a coke and immediately 5 guys started in on me. I have no idea why guys feel the need to force other guys to drink but we do. And sadly enough, I was ashamed that I hadn’t ordered a beer. I quickly changed my order to the tallest beer they had and considered also ordering straight butane shots to show how manly I was.

All I want to do is outlast the other dads. I know that I can’t hang with a lot of these guys anymore. I’m usually in bed by the time they are just getting warmed up. My world consists of diaper changes and hiding baby vomit stains on the walls. Thiers is one of quarters and reciting the alphabet backwards. But I am more experience so I know that I have to pace myself. I have two beers at lunch but load up on the bread, I’m good to go. I’m not so old that I don’t remember the tricks.

We go back to the house were we drink some more. I also take this opportunity to catch an hour of sleep. In my younger days I would never have done this and would have instead volunteered to do keg stands and hold on to the open ends of a car battery. But god gives you wisdom, use it.

I wake up and the Hippie Brother in Law shoes up completing the 3 fathers triad in the house. All I got to do is outlast the Hippie and Kip and I’m good to go.

We start the shots and I don’t turn them down, even taking the one that everyone thought was “to full”. I’ll show you what to full is, bow down to Uncle Vernon’s mustache!

The night wears on and Hippie Brother in Law is pounding them. He’s not so much drinking as he is just absorbing and I got to admire his recklessness. I remind myself that this is the guy that once through a garbage can at someone driving to fast down his street and his kids were in the yard. Now he is inhaling liquor like a Tijuana hooker. Our conversations have changed dramatically over the years. Once it was college tests and “this chick I knew.” Now it’s about prime real-estate, house sales, and investment banking. I smirk on the inside because not only can I talk about some of this but I can also change a poopie diaper in under 4 seconds. Let’s see them master that while negotiating the price of a home!

The Hippie makes it until 10 and then passes out. One down. My greatness is expanding. I’m still drinking, I’m still standing, I am still Hoss.

Then the drinking games start. Everyone is somewhat shocked that I don’t know how to play and haven’t played anything like this in years. I remind them two things: Fathers of 2 year olds don’t get to play beer pong all that much and when I was in college we just FUCKING DRANK. We didn’t need any stupid games.

Then we discover that I suck at beer pong.

But I’m still drinking. The crowd gets more and more juvenile as the night goes on. There are mother insults being thrown without regard to whose mother is being insulted. Wife’s and girlfriends are demeaned while in the same breath unconditional love is offered. We no longer use the bathroom and just piss in the front yard. Being a guy is AWESOME.

Drinking game two has been going on for about an hour. I find that the drunker I get, the better that I play. Shots are still being passed around and I eye Kip to see how he is doing.

He is hurting, I can feel it. It looks like he’s got a little wobble to his legs. Are his knees buckling?

He excuses himself to go play Guitar Hero because we are all still kids and will revert back to that as soon as the significant other leaves.

I know the game is over. I know that I have won. I get nods of approval from the other guys still up, none of which probably got up before noon. I was up at 6:30 feeding my son when my daughter decided that she wanted to get up to.
Someone goes and checks on Kip and he is down and out. We have moved onto poker but I am throwing my money away without regard to the cards. I go all in at 3:40 in the morning. I’m spent but I hold my head high as I leave the room. I have to pick up my kids the next morning while the rest of these assholes spend the next weekend relaxing. But it’s my victory and I savor it.

I’m 33, bald and I am better than your Dad.

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