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The Therapeutic Properties of a Cancun Foam Party
My wife and I just got back from a wonderful vacation in Cancun, Mexico. We stayed in a beautiful hotel, ate fantastic food, and spent a lot of time doing nothing in the pool. It was great for both of us. But, one of the best parts for me: The foam party.
I don’t know how, why, or when, but a few years ago I started a running gag with my wife that I was going to take her to a foam party (where you go to a club, they pour untold amounts of soap suds on you, and you try to dance without slipping and falling on your butt, usually while inebriated). I probably saw one on TV once and it looked like fun — and something I would never get to do.
In high school, I went to 2-3 parties, and never to a Spring Break. In college, more of the same, perhaps one party in four years. I’ve only ever been really drunk a handful of times in my life, and have little tolerance for alcohol. I am a big guy, but 1.5 beers pretty much does me in.
A foam party (fun, carefree, slightly dangerous, stupid) is seemingly everything I’m not. If there are Type A personalities, I am a Type A+. For as long as I can remember, I have been incapable of living in the moment. I am always thinking about the next move. True relaxation and calm have eluded me for years. I am not a risk-taker and always find the sensible way to accomplish things (often a terrible mental burden). A few medicines help. My wife helps even more.
When we booked our trip to Cancun, I found out that Señor Frogs had a foam party every Wednesday night. Against all my better judgment, I decided that I was going to go all in, no reservations. For one night, I was going to allow myself to not be myself.
Wednesday night came in Cancun and I got myself ready. We went to one bar before Señor Frogs, where a few beers and some shots of awful, well brand tequila helped me get to a pretty relaxed state. Then we went over to Señor Frogs and there it was: a gigantic ball hanging over the dance floor, gushing out gallons upon gallons of thick, soapy foam.
I started to second guess the whole thing, especially after the host said everything I’d be wearing would get soaked (I didn’t think about that part). I was worried about my clothes getting drenched, and wondered why I didn’t think to bring a towel (idiot!). I looked at the dance floor and saw mostly people in their teens and 20s, with a handful in their 30s. I would be the oldest guy out there. Did I want to be the creepy old guy? I was pretty buzzed. What if I fell? Do I really want to go to a Mexican doctor? I was being me. Again.
“Sometimes you gotta say, “What the [expletive]!'” – Curtis Armstrong as Miles in Risky Business
I stopped for a minute, said that line in my head, took off my shoes, and walked right under the foam-spewing orb.
IT. WAS. FANTASTIC. In an instant, I had not a care in the world. It’s almost as if the soap falling from overhead washed away all of my anxieties. There were times I couldn’t see a thing. I have no idea how much soap I swallowed. I didn’t care. I got a few curious glances from a couple of the young whippersnappers around me, but it didn’t bother me a bit. I just smiled and kept dancing. And dancing. And dancing. I stayed on that dance floor until I was the only one left. The foam-spewer turned into a soapy water shower, which I stood under, trying to savor every last second of my night.
Letting go feels so great, and is something I know I have to do more often. I imagine some of you do as well. It’s hard to break 43 years of conditioning, but it’s a must. That’s not to say that every reader needs to run down to Cancun and writhe around in foam for hours, but try something, anything, that challenges you. Something that gets you out of your comfort zone. Anything that makes you break your mold, even if you’ll have to put it back together afterwards.
PS:
If you are at all interested, I wrapped a camera in a plastic pouch and took some video of the foam party, which you can see here.
Published in Culture, General
I’m not a spontaneous person either (except with jokes, which cost nothing). Foam parties are new to me, but I have enjoyed being at a club like that which overloads the senses with lights, loud music, and a lot of people. There’s something liberating about it.
That’s why young people love loud music. It’s one thing to enjoy a piece of music. It’s another to lose yourself in it.
Losing yourself in entertainment or festivity is good from time to time. It’s a problem mainly when people make it a lifestyle.
A friend of mine once, while drunk, got an idea to be silly by jumping over a hedge in someone’s back yard. On the other side of the bushes was a 20-foot drop to a ravine. He broke his leg. It was painful and expensive at the time, but it’s a funny story today.
Many bad decisions become funny stories later.
I’m jealous of both the experience and your ability to release the death grip on control required to have it. Thanks for the nudge. Next time I take my wife out on a date I may decide what I’m having after I receive the menu. For me that would be a step in the right direction.
Thanks for the comment, I appreciate it – Cameron
It’s interesting that you describe this sort of experience as the antithesis of what a Type A person would do. Because I strongly correlate the Type A personality with extreme extroverts, I would fully expect the Type As to go out and dance in the foam. Whereas we Type Bs (or in my case somewhere down around L, M, N, O, or P) would never darken the door of Señor Frog’s . . . or if we did, we’d be plastered against the back wall mumbling “please don’t make me go out there . . . please don’t make me go out there . . .” with a panicked look in our eyes.
Have I had it backwards all these years?
I’m now having flashbacks to the time some “friends” took me to the Safe House in Milwaukee without telling me the secret password.
I’m sure they enjoyed my humiliation.
You’re welcome for the nudge. Looking forward to hearing what you do with it. Cameron
Interesting, Drew, maybe I have it backwards. I am Type A in thought, but not in action. Maybe like blood, I am a Type AB. Cameron
At first I read that as they didn’t tell you the safe word. Totally different experience in that situation…
The entire notion of losing myself in an environment sounds absolutely hellish.
Preach it, brother! I too have difficulty letting go and loosening up. I often can’t find joy in the moment, but am always thinking of my next task or chore. (Except when I am playing with my boy. Then I can become a kid again.) I am so used to work, work, work that I don’t know what to do with a good honest day off. I have to do something useful. Load the dishwasher. Do a load of laundry. Pull the trash. I have to keep moving and doing. Otherwise, I feel like I am wasting time. I will take some me time to go to the gym, which I enjoy. But I rarely can just sit and relax. Certainly, no spontaneously. I have to plan my nothingness, after the chores are done. I can’t even sit and watch a favorite TV show if I know there is some meaningless task to do.
The ones you survive do. Either your funny story or someone else’s.
I’m absolutely thrilled for you Cameron Gray. Unfortunately I’m a cross between iWe and Metalheaddoc and so is my husband. We once had a visitor who said ours was the most boring house he’d ever been in. I don’t think we’re boring at all, we’re just allergic to pointless excitements. Oh well.
On the bright side, my anti-social timid personality meant I was always the designated driver. I knew that my friends would get home safely from their debauchery.