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Should Auld Aquaintance be Forgot, You Should Drink Less
Written on 2002-01-01, at 9:36 p.m.
dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

3 Handfuls Stale Chex Mix

2 Aspirin

John Live*

This is my "post New Year morning look."

And by morning, of course I mean 8:15 p.m.

*Not at all live

This is the space where I would tell you all about my New Years Eve.

But I don't recall a whole lot of it, so, let's try to piece the night together, shall we?

At about 7:30 p.m., I arrived at my friend Bob's house for our traditional New Years Eve pre-party.

You know, little finger foods, toast points (a la me), and Cristal champagne.

All your basic gay staples.

After photos and an intensely heated debate as to who would have to drive to the club, we all loaded into Bob's car for the last night of gaity of 2001.

Shortly after, we had arrived a the Parliament House, and were ready to get our proverbial "groove" on.

I began drinking as soon as I stepped in the door, knowing that as long as I stuck to Smirnoff Ice, I'd be fine the whole night through, because in the words of my best friend Dan...

"Yeah, John can drink beer till the cows come home, but he can't hold an ounce of liquor."

Which is entirely true, I can drink beer and things like Smirnoff Ice for hours, and be fine, but get any hard liquor in me, and I'm a retching mess.

That, by the way, was foreshadowing.

We began by doing a little dancing, a little more drinking, and before we knew it, it was nearly 11:30.

So at that time, we piled out onto the patio to wait for midnight, and the ubiquitous drag show which was to follow.

Wanting to start the new year off with an empty bladder, I excused myself to use the restroom.

As I walk in the door, I'm greeted with the always unsettling vision of middle aged men loitering about, which I'm fairly used to by now.

However, as I approached the urinal, and, well, there's no way to put this tactfully, "got it out"...

The lights went out in Georgia.


So, there I am, in a pitch black restroom full of boozed up gay men, and my flaccid penis hanging out like bait.

Oh, and I was drunk too...which didn't help.

So, I slowly and carefully zipped up, shouted "NOBODY FUCKING TOUCH ME", and sauntered out of the room.

Back on the patio, it was nearly midnight, and as seems to be a tradition with us, my best friend Dan and I were separated with less than two minutes till the big event.

And, as tradition again dictates, he showed up with about thirty seconds to spare.

The ball dropped, the show began, and something deep inside was telling me that I wasn't yet drunk enough.

It's that little voice which makes you do things like cheat on your taxes, rent Steven Segal movies, and drink liquor when you very much know you shouldn't.

Getting a stronger drink proved not to be a problem, as when I was waiting at the bar, a man and his friends who were seated struck up a conversation with me.

MAN: Hi.

ME: Hi.

MAN: Where'd you get that sweater, I really like it.

ME: Oh, from Gap. I work there.

MAN: That's great...hey, can we see your stomach?

ME: Hey, sure.

At this point, I lift up my sweater, and they proceed to all "cop a feel."

MAN: Wow, that's really nice, can I buy you a drink?

ME: Sure, I'll have a shot.

He orders something, which I drink.

MAN: So what's your name?

ME: Bill. I have to pee, I'll be right back.

After which I never returned.

The first shot knocked me on my ass, which was obvious not two minutes later when I returned to my friends at the stage.

Upon returning, I, who am usually aversive and distant when it comes to drag queens, was jumping up and down, summoning dollar bills for them from my pockets like an incredibly gay ATM.

Everything is fairly fuzzy after that, I recall having at least two more shots, Vodka, I believe, and at some point the sweater came off, and I was shirtless for the latter part of the evening, which brings me to another of Dan's musings on me:

"You know I'm drunk when I smile a lot, you know John's drunk when he gets naked."

Which...isn't entirely true...you know I'm drunk off liquor when I get naked, it should read.

The night was winding down, we said fairwell to the club, and dragged our sweaty bodies back out into the cold night to once more pile far too many people into one car, and drive home.

On the way back, I was going in and out of conciousness, forcing myself to focus, as the world suddenly became all "spinny."

Fortunately, Bob wasn't drunk, and is a good driver, so it wasn't a bad ride home.

However, once we arrived back at the apartment, I was feeling at the peak of nausea, but I fought it, and was determined to stay poised and in control.

So once we got up the stairs, I glided into the room like Liza Minnelli, and proceeded to vomit violently into the kitchen sink with all the grace and dignity of Audrey Hepburn.

Wait...switch those two around.

In my defense though, I don't seem to recall anyone noticing what I was doing, or perhaps they were just attempting to look the other way.

Not too long after that incident, I passed out on the couch.

Now, people are unclear as to the difference between passing out, and simply falling asleep drunk.

So, I'll clear it up...

If you wake up with your shoes still on, and tied...you've passed out.

I woke up this morning to the Tournament of Roses parade, watched for a little while, then got up, came home, and this time simply fell asleep on my bed, waking up about an hour ago.

So all in all, it was an interesting evening, and to sound cliché, it doesn't really feel like it's actually 2002.

And as for resolutions?

We'll save those for when my mind is a bit clearer.

Be well...


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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