Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
NaDruBloDa!
You’ve suffered through NaNoWriMo. You’ve dodged PETA’s hurled bricks on the way to CERN. You’ve written encouraging letters to NASA while worrying about the global implications of a weakened NATO.
Ack. I’ve had too much gin and can’t think of enough fun acronyms. Which brings me to the subject of today’s post:
NaDruBloDa!
It’s a contest. To play, you have to blog drunk on December 29, 2006. Any drunken rant will do, but I’m going to chuck all pretense of objectivity and hand the prize to the entry which makes me laugh or cry the most. That’s right, folks, you can go either way on this one, depending upon whether you’re a maudlin or happy drunk.
Prizes. So far, only one, but I may add others.
I’ll post reminders as December 29 approaches.
That’s it. That’s all I have, folks. Drunken blogging. But in the spirit of same, I’ll offer you a few drunken stories:
The first time I got shitfaced drunk, I was with a bunch of other drunk teenagers, and undoubtedly I was driven home by a drunk teenager. I had forgotten my house key, and when I knocked on the door (at about 2 AM), I said to my dad, “Fuller brush!” Amazingly, he didn’t punish me.
The second time I got shitfaced drunk, I was in the dorms drinking shots of Riesling and College Ave. brand vodka. Not a good combo. I became so weepy everyone left the room, leaving me to myself. I think my Floppy nickname entered into the dorm vernacular soon afterwards. My hangover was of epic proportions, such that I cannot, to this day, stomach even the smell of Riesling.
The last time I got shitfaced drunk was in med school, when I had the epiphanal thought, Why am I doing this? I had no answer. Hence my two-drink limit to this day.
D.
Me Darlin’ Douglas, in th’spirit o’bloggish fair-play I must tell ye that I merely be th’gin that th’tonic o’National Drunk Blogging Day floats smoothly in. It actually be th’idea o’ Rootietoot an’ Northern_Girl. I am be a mere rum-drinkin’ lesbian Pirate Queen quaffin’ in their wake.
Dammit! I don’t drink!
Poo, another contest I’m ineligible for!
Well I drink! If you’ll make it InterNaDruBloDa, I’m in.
And by the way, I’m a happy drunk. Also, with a couple glasses of wine I sing like an angel. (I should have been Irish.) Some day, let’s do an InterNaDruSiDa.
if it was legal, or if i wasnt gonna be home that day, maybe i could do it. but, sadly, no. in two years i’ll do it though! and gladly!
Sadly, I too am constitutionally unable to participate. Unlike shaina, however, it is my own constitution, not that of my country, which denies me. Long before I could drink enough to blog entertainingly, I would be returning said drinks to the great circle of life. Violently. In technicolor.
If it were NaPuBloDa, I’d be in.
It takes entirely too much alcohol nowadays for me to get drunk. I’m actually wondering if something about dialysis increase my tolerance for alcohol. But anyhow, I will probably blog on that day, even if I am not drunk.
Thanks for the link, Cap’n.
Tam, you write fiction. I’m sure you’re up to the task.
Mo, InterDruBloDa it is! Say that three times real fast.
The rest of you get to pretend, too. It’ll add to the challenge.
I might go buy a small bottle of vodka or something else rather flavorless to take part.
I’ll be a cheap drunk because a) I weigh about 40kg which is about 90 pounds, I think and b) I’ve not drunk alcohol before. Well, beyond sips of red wine anyway.
Will see what I can do. Can’t make any promises, but we’ll see. 😀
Yeesh. I hate being old. Too many considerations to keep track of — such as, what day of the week is that? Are there already plans in place? Can I get away from the Offspring/Parental Units? Blah, blah, blah…
Some days I miss being a young and foolish teenager…of course, now I’m just old and foolish… 😀
Meanwhile, MY offspring is dying to see me drunk. I have no intention of exceeding my two drink limit, though.
First time I got shit-faced, I had to be carried out of the bar and driven home. The second and third times, I worshipped at the porcelain throne half the night, absolutely sure it was where they would find my body the next morning (Head-shaking). I learned my limit, too. Unfortunately, my limit keeps getting smaller and smaller. I had one Marg with dinner the other night, and it put me out like a light. I was in bed at nine o’clock.
Two drink limit. I’m in. Doug. Have you seen me after two drinks? It’s not pretty. But I’m a cheap date, anyway.