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Labor Day BBQ And Red Poop

Monday, September 5th, 2005

Quote of the Day: “DON’T LOOK BACK, THEY MIGHT BE GAINING ON YOU.”

- Unknown

What’s Labor Day without a BBQ? Well, like just about every other Labor Day I’ve had except this one.

Since our Lejeune plans fell through, Carrie and I decided to host a get-together (what we used to call a “party” when we were all young and stuff) for our friends.

The invitees were Sir Phil and his clan, Kiljoy and her brood, and the Sbragias. Only the Sbragias couldn’t make it and it was their loss.

When I brought up the idea of a BBQ, Carrie worried that, like all the other bright ideas I have about inviting people over, the lion’s share of the work would be left to her. So I decided to ease her concern and actually, you know, volunteer to help out. And this time I actually meant it.

I washed the dog.

I washed myself (in that order).

I ran to the store to get 32 lbs of ice and a 12-pack of Coors Light.

I straightened my work area.

Oh, and I mowed the lawn yesterday so all tolled, I had succeeded in accomplishing a whole … 4% of the work.

And whewwwww, was I bushed!!!

So here’s the recap: the ladies drank sangria like it was crack. Carrie tipped her glass more times than I could count. Robin (Ms. Sir Phil) seemed to have a hole at the bottom of her wine glass. And Killjoy, don’t even get me started.

The men were more controlled.

Except me and Sir Phil.

I had 24 Coors on ice in anticipation for the beerfest but I was the only one who was drinking them. I think I knocked over about a six-pack. (And if you knew me, you would understand that was “lampshade-on-the-head” levels.) Sir Phil opted for the Jim Beam that I keep SPECIFICALLY for when he comes over. I don’t drink it but there is always a bottle under the sink for him.

I don’t remember how much was left when he got here today but by the time he left, we were in need of another bottle. It was definitely a “take me drunk, I’m home” situation in the making. But he took charge of the BBQ duties so we kept filling his glass.

We all had a blast, ate Bubba Burgers, and dry heaved at the sight/smell of the salmon Killjoy insisted on bringing. Sangria must kill the taste buds or something because it was the chicks who attacked the salmon as heartily as the sangria.

I ate the Burger-De-La-Bubba, drank my Coors Light, and stayed away from the horridness that was Killjoy’s potato salad which Carrie kept trying to force upon me. Now, it may have been the best potato salad that God has ever allowed on this big blue marble but the simple fact is that I don’t like potato salad.

Yes, it’s as simple as that!!!

But I will give her kudos on the banana split cheesecake. MMMMMM, cheesecake. And I’m sure it was the beer talking when I kept telling everyone that her red velvet cake would make their stool red, but I have to admit it was tasty (the cake, not the… never mind).

“It’ll make your poop red!” was my battle cry to the horror of my lovely wife.

What?!!!

The other “Jason’s had too Many Coors” moment was when I took a Costco-size bag of assorted bubble gum and offered some to Claire. Then I proceeded to dump the entire bag on her lap. And ran out of the room. Laughing.

Before I got out, she gave me this look.

But I contend that since each piece was individually wrapped, there was no harm and in fact, the experience of being covered in bubble gum was a memorable moment for her.

The BBQ lasted until about 6:00 which made it a 4 hour event. In turn, this meant that everyone had a pretty good time or they would have left earlier. The weather was nice, the food was good, the drinks flowed, and everyone had a good time with good conversation.

Maybe jumping on the trampoline with the kids wasn’t the best idea though. I’ll have to evaluate that next time I gorge myself with burgers, chips, beer, sangria, banana split cheesecake, and cake that makes my poop red.

Free Advice for Today: “The next time you are standing next to a police officer, firefighter, or paramedic, tell them that you appreciate what they do for the community.”

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

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