Fo Nicks. Fo Nix. Ok. Phoenix. That silent "o" fucks with me when spelling.
Phoenix is the shit. Fo' shizzle. If you like nice weather, irrigated grounds, and golf, Phoenix is for you. If you like water, don't plan on settling in Phoenix.
Luckily, we're passing through. Luckily, I've got some great friends in Phoenix.
It just so happened that Phoenix was going to be Mansfield, MA in the desert while we were there. A whole crew of critters from Mansfield was present.
The list included: Stocks Paradox (flew in for some vacation from his retired life in Rhode Island), Cadoo (pronounced Cad-Dew), Jopapa (pronounced Joe-Pop-ah), Locke, Halearious, and myself, Groundswell.
Locke's girlfriend, Amanda, was also present, but she's not from Mansfield, but we shouldn't hold this against her because she is awesome.
If you're Catholic, or maybe even Christian, you know that Jesus taught that whenever you get together in groups of two or more in the name of God, well then God is present. The same can be said for Mansfieldians. Whenever two or more Mansfieldians get together and alcohol is present, it's going to turn into a shit-show. It's not our fault. It just happens. God may or may not be there. There's no way to know because there is a good chance you can't remember everything. God may have actually bought you the shot that sends you over the edge. God has a sick sense of humor. I'm sure of it. I love him / her for it.
Our second night in Phoenix (our first night since returning from the Grand Canyon) started out bland. We went to a sports bar around the corner. Highlights included 32-oz beers, a ridiculously long shuffleboard, and a blond with fake boobs on a date. Really, the first sign I was getting closer to Los Angeles.
I, being almost 30 and finally trying my best to be mature, drank responsibly. That can not be said for my counterparts. But, as I mentioned, it wasn't their fault. There were seven people from Mansfield there. The fact that I'm writing this right now is a minor miracle.
I, thanks in large part to Halearious, who had noticed that I was milking my beer like an infant and pointed it out to Cadoo who pointed it out to Jopapa, who pointed it out to the bartender, who handed him a shot of Jack, and then he handed me the shot, had a sweet buzz. Kids from Mansfield. Trouble. I don't drink Jack. It's like giving a rat crack. It's not a good idea. I've learned that on several occasions. Okay, many occasions.
But it was a special occasion, Fo Nix, it was handed to me dressed up in the guise of a "birthday shot," and it was just one shot. Saying no was not an option. It went down like liquid razors. My eyes were watering and my mouth was on fire. Oh, Mansfield.
At 11:30PM, with a few drinks down and still seeing single, we were done with the sports bar. The blonde had left and the shuffleboard had lost our interest.
What had grabbed our attention, however, was The Phoenician - a ridiculously nice hotel in Scottsdale with an over priced bar and a great view. It was about to be invaded.
As we ventured on the twenty-minute car ride, Cadoo and I decided it was a good idea to call and see how late the bar was open. We both had memories of it closing early. Turns out it closed at 1AM. Wrong answer.
We show up to the most expensive hotel in Phoenix wearing jeans, t-shirts, boston sports team paraphernalia and nothing to lose.
Even still, we sat outside on the patio on a cloudless night, waiting for one of the three fire pits to open up. Stocks Paradox and Halerious go inside because it's too cold for their womanly parts. The rest of us, Amanda included, man it out.
Jopapa continues to celebrate my b-day and buys me a McClelen 12-year old scotch, gets one for himself and Locke; everybody else is drinking beer. We all make fun of Stocks talking to Halearious about how he has retired and whatnot.
Ten minutes of chit-chat and drinking and someone finally realizes that if we sit at the fire pit with only two people at it we can slowly out last them.
Turns out it didn't take long. I don't think they enjoyed the ribbing of Stocks love of animals and peanut butter as much as the rest of us. Those two were long gone.
That was okay. We had the fire. We had the night. Best of all, we had done this before. Mansfield travels wells.
The drinks flow down well. The conversation moves easy. As you can imagine, in a large group, the conversation bounces around from one large conversation to many small conversations. Topics are too diverse to remember.
Cigars are ordered. I feel important. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Sometimes it's a great fucking idea. The latter was appropriate.
As the night wears on, good ideas wear thin. A nearly full lighter makes it's way into the fire. Five of us bolt. Stocks and Halearious sit waiting. Finally Halearious is convinced to jet. Stocks waits.
Boom.
There is a burst of flames – large enough to catch everyone's attention, but small enough not to burn off Stock's eyebrows. We are so getting kicked out. The people at the fire pit fifty feet down notice and lobby for us to be thrown out. Turns out they were kicked out last night.
We wait. Nothing happens.
Shocking.
Next thing you know an aluminum cigar case makes it into the fire. Good idea number two. Aluminum really doesn't burn in a fire.
Soon, we are not the only ones to notice. The manager of the hotel / bar comes to talk to us and tells us that nothing else can be thrown into fire, and if we do throw anything else in we are going to get thrown out. I don't think he's too pleased by Halearious' interjection of "You mean like the aluminum cigar case?" The fire is turned down on us.
Warning shot has been fired.
Mansfield is not scared.
We got Stocks, a Mass Maritime graduate, and you just showed him how to manually change the height of the fire. He is on it. We convince him to turn it back down so we're not kicked out.
Jopapa, after a long night shift at the hospital and working on no sleep is semi-concious next to me.
We're discussing whether or not to sneak into the pool.
Now Jopapa is unconscious to the world, but only sleeping.
The pool debate continues.
Jopapa rises slowly, walks around the bench where we are sitting, and vomits everything he has imbibed.
Perfect timing. The manager is walking by us.
We are so getting kicked out.
Nope. He continues walking.
Keith covers over the vomit with a towel. We are good to go.
Turns out we realize we're not getting kicked out. They think we might be hotel guests.
Cadoo brings out his alter ego, Frank Bishop. Frank Bishop it turns out to stays in room 227.
Invincible.
Luckily, we censor ourselves, and decide it's a good idea to be leaving. Jopapa's girlfriend is on the way to pick him up. Cadoo stopped drinking a long time ago. Amanda is sober as can be.
We bounce back to our respective homes.
The night ends with Stocks holding on to the table as he drinks water. If he closes his eyes, things are going to start spinning. Doesn't sound fun.
"Hey, Cadoo," he asks. "What time is our tee-time tomorrow?"
Cadoo, "It's at 1:52PM."
"Oh, okay. Can you set the alarm for like (beat) noon?" Keith asks.
Cadoo starts laughing. He's got two dogs that wake him up at 7:45AM. Those bastards are always sober. We're sleeping on the floor where they are going to be walking to get outside. "Good luck with that," he says as he walks into his bedroom.
I awake at 8:45AM to the sound of an aspirin container being closed. It's Stocks. He's now drinking water. He still needs a few more hours to get his mandatory nine hours of sleep.
I can't fall back asleep. I rustle around the living room. The morning routine is worked through. Turns out I'll be cursed out later for waking them up. I am clueless as this happens because they lie motionless for the next few hours.
Cadoo was able to maintain the dogs for an hour or two later than usual. He's not moving. They can learn to hold it.
When he does rouse, he's ready to go pick up Jopapa who needs to get his car from the hotel.
Cadoo and I roll over to Jopapa’s house. When we get there Jopapa is still in his pajamas. He's got "one of the top five headaches" of his life. He's happy he's not nauseous. Cadoo informs him of the reason why. He questions why he is such an idiot. We decide it was the not sleeping thing.
On to the hotel.
After we drop him off, we decided that we should bounce to one of my favorite eateries in Phoenix, Le Grande Orange. A sweet spot that doubles as a sort of sandwich shop and sit down restaurant. The food is delicious and healthy, and reasonably priced. The girls behind the counters and the female clientele are surprisingly attractive. Cadoo and I decide we could sit there all day. I make a mental note of this for the next time I'm in Phoenix.
The girl behind the coffee counter is especially attractive. She’s tall, thin, buxom, with reddish hair and great big eyes. The first time we make eye contact she looks down quickly - busy making coffee. I don't move. I keep my eyes just where they were. I think to myself "Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it." Bam. Fractions of a second later. She looks back up. I think it just hit her. I love the double take. For some reason, I knew it was going to happen. I smile.
She asks us if we need anything a minute or so later. We say no, and explain that we're waiting for food. Cadoo and I mumble other things to each other out of her ear shot.
We wait for a few more minutes and then she asks for Cadoo's name and says that she'll go and check on the food for us. I'm pretty sure she's got a crush on me.
I mull over moving to Phoenix. If I did, I'd be at the Grand daily ordering coffee, biding my time, chatting it up, friendly, get to know her, get her phone number, start dating, get married, settle down, have kids, on my death bed reveal to her I don't like coffee and I threw them all out as soon as I walked out of the place. Just an excuse to talk to her. She'd laugh. I'd die. It would be great.
I decide I must be really hungry. I'm going to Los Angeles. Life is there.
Thankfully, my sandwich comes up. I grabbed it and run before I change the course of my destiny.
The sandwich is delicious. The scenery is perfect.
Cadoo and I head back to his house. They've got to golf and we've got to get on the road to Los Angeles.
Good byes are easier. I live closer. We agree to visit or meet in Vegas. Mansfield in Vegas sounds like a great idea.
The Mahoney's in Los Angeles sounds like a more present idea. We're in the car.
-Groundswell
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