The most drunk I have ever been

This is an anecdotal daylog. It is an anecdote about the time I got very, very drunk, and I was reminded of the incident when the Catbox suddenly became littered with beer bottles, upon which DonJaime danced around dressed only in beer bottle labels. Also this daylog will contain some vomiting. So if you don't like that sort of thing, cease and desist. Stop reading. Avert your eyes. Go here. Or look at this. Or, hey, feast your eyes on this beauty. 'mkay?

Two years ago or so my BF, Jens, and I were lounging around at home, feeling slightly bored. It was Saturday evening, but we didn't have the energy to go out, nor did we have the money required to get an acceptable amount of fun out of the going out. So we stayed at home.

Well, boredom breeds brilliance, and soon one of us came up with an excellent idea: we could play Backgammon. And not just Backgammon as we usually play it, but Backgammon as a drinking game. What's not to like about that idea?

We only had a bottle of port (the mere thought of playing a drinking game with Jens's whisky collection was so absurd it never even entered the discussion), and so we set up the board, got out a couple of glasses, and made up some rules. Of course the point was to get to drink as much as possible as fast as possible. We never thought about how relatively strong port is...

"Roll a double, you drink." said Jens. "You get knocked out, you drink. Roll the same twice in a row, you drink. Roll the same as your opponent, you drink."

"Drink when you get back in the game after being knocked out." said I. "Miscount your move, you drink."

I think we made up more "You drink"s, but since we also made them up as the game progressed I am a little hazy on the details. Maybe I should clarify one thing here: I rarely drink much. Once a year I go to the Copenhagen Beer Festival, and I usually end up pretty well done, but apart from that I only enjoy the odd glass of port. So I was completely unprepared for the onslaught of more than half a bottle of port, poured down within the course of, say, 45 minutes.

I did notice, in a sort of far off way, that I seemed to have trouble holding on to the dice, and I was not very good at rolling them on the board. They rolled everywhere, landing in my glass ever so often. And I giggled. My midriff was sore from giggling. There was also the odd way that my arms seemed very long, and my hands at the end of these long arms flapped so inefficiently. Although I did manage to avoid knocking anything over, everything I did took a long long time to do.

I don't think we finished the game. But we did finish the bottle, and we agreed that it was definitely time to walk the dog. We also agreed that even if the dog belongs to Jens, and I only walk it when he's not home, I'd accompany him on this occasion, lest he never found his way back home again. So I carefully navigated through our smallish apartment, and got as far as to the front door when it hit me: what had been poured down was about to re-enter the outside world. For some reason this was extremely funny.

I have never before, nor will I in all probability ever again, cradle the toilet bowl while howling with laughter, getting rid of all the port and various other foodstuffs and whatnot I had consumed during the last couple of hours. Jens went off to walk the dog while I was grinning into the big white telephone, and I remember him saying that if he never made it home again it would be my fault.

A little while later, still giggling, I decided I needed to go to bed. A corner of my mind was completely sober and clear, monitoring how I lifted my feet very high with every step I took, and how the walls seemed to change position every time I moved. It was a little like looking out of a small window into a weird, colourful, and skewed world, with no control whatsoever. It was also hilarious. I had not been this drunk since I was 16 (now 32 years ago), when a couple of friends dared me to drink a very large glass of vodka, whisky, gin, and something more, all mixed together.

I made it to my bed, and I kept one foot on the floor to keep it from spinning out from underneath me. I don't remember Jens getting back with the dog, but they were both there the next morning so I suppose he did. I do remember giggling periodically into my pillow, though.

There is absolutely no moral to this story. I felt fit as a fiddle the next day. No hangover at all. Jens was wasted and blamed me for this, although I don't see how I can be responsible. We have not since played Backgammon the Drinking Game. I don't think we've played Backgammon at all, really. I don't know why. Incidentally I have not been that drunk since either, and I intend to keep it that way.

Thank you for your time.

Where did I go?
Out the door.
Moved, changed jobs, lost my hi-speed internet. Had to attend to my meat life.
Why am I back?
Short answer: I'm not. I just popped in for the sake of nostalgia, for a more innocent time when all my friends were online.

All my friends were online.
I'm still a social isolate. I work in a peculiar area of politics now, raising money for Democrats from individuals who answer their phone. In the last three years I've gone from the voice on the phone, to fetching coffee for the people doing the calling, to assisting a supervisor, to running a team of 100 kids, to, now, coordinating a predictive dialer for a crew ranging from 75 to 138 (and growing) in three locations, putting in 50-60 hour weeks.

It's Real Life.

E2, in order to get out of it what I used to, requires a time commitment that I no longer have. You get what you give.

My child is growing up seeing me 10 minutes a day. My spouse, the fulcrum of my life, gets not much more.
But we live in a house now, not an apartment.

The years I spent online helped me learn to live in the world. For that, I'm always grateful to the community that was, still is here. I just don't have the time anymore. I need every hour for my flowerbeds, for my clunky plumbing, for charts and numbers and plans.

And for my loves. For Noteponymous. For Minieponymous.

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