You can't make this stuff up...

*** DISCLAIMER *** Lots of friends new and old are reading the blog these days since I have made it public and linking through Facebook. I'm not proud of the happenings outlined below, but they are real events that happened to me, so I'm leaving it posed unedited. I hope you guys don't think any less of me. Also, you don't have to lock up your clocks when I come to visit...

Now, on to the post...

The other night I joked about getting some liquor and whooping it up. Of course, Shelly wasn't worried. Getting liquored up isn't something I do. There is a little background on why that is the case.

I guess the number one reason is my upbringing. I grew up in a Christian home, Southern Baptist to be exact. Drinking was something that wasn't done. Of course, my generation has slightly different beliefs than past generations. Many of us do have the occasional "beverage", but I've never viewed it as the center of an event or anything that was really important.

Well, at one point around 1997 and 1998, I was just starting my career, was unattached, and hung out with the guys probably more than I should have. My "moment of truth" came one night in the fall of 1997. This is a story that only a few of those closest to me have ever heard. Heck, I finally told Shelly about it only in the last few months.

I was living in Lake Charles, LA. The most prominent feature, besides the petrochemical plants is the lake. The lake (and all of the riverboat casinos on it) are just next to Interstate 10 as it runs through town. One of my friends in those days had a boat. One night, this friend invited a few of us out onto his boat to hang out for the evening. Of course, some liquor was involved. Now, because we were responsible adults (sort of), the guy driving the boat was the "designated driver", and was responsible for getting us home safely in case anyone had too much to drink. Well, I started the night with a cheap bottle of bourbon and a bottle of diet coke. By the end of the night, the liquor was gone, and so was I.

I remember at one point standing on the back of this guys boat in the middle of the lake, happily whizzing in the water, while waving at the casino boat as it sailed by. When it was time to head home, thankfully this guy wouldn't let me drive home. I wanted him to take me home, but I lived across town and he preferred to just have me crash at his house. That's where the story turns interesting.

Those with weak constitutions or no sense of humor can stop reading here. Continue at your own risk...

I remember pretty clearly heading to his house, and I remember going to bed in his guest room. From that point, there is a pretty big question mark. I woke up a couple of hours later. I was SICK. BAD. From both ends. Thankfully I had found the toilet and the trash can, and I was sitting on the correct one. I have no idea how I ended up in the bathroom, I certainly don't remember that part, but thank the Lord I made it in there in time.

After a little while, I was much better. I cleaned myself up and headed back to bed. That's when I saw it. On the floor, next to the wall, near the foot of the bed. It was a clock. The kind of clock that hangs on the wall. The kind with a round face about 10 inches across, with a glass cover over the face. On the face of the clock... was a pile of CRAP. Ok, here's where it hits me. There was evidently a block of time unaccounted for, as I went to sleep in the bed and woke up on the john. What the hell happened, and why is there a pile of crap on the face of this clock?

Keep in mind, it's still the middle of the night, and I'm not really sober. I'm at that point where you are trying to rationalize things and can make up a good argument for almost any scenario. Here's what makes this so funny. I'm looking at this thing, and I'm thinking I'm stuck. Did I do that, or was it there already. Yep, I was still pretty far gone. I actually debated what to do. Do I clean it up, or do I leave it there - because it might be supposed to be there. Of course, only a drunk person would actually try to rationalize that someone might actually have a pile of crap on the face of a clock laying on the floor of their guestroom. That's as good an argument as any about what happens when you drink too much.

Well, I'm happy to say, I cleaned it up. Hindsight tells me I made the right decision. Either that, or I completely messed up a science experiment of some sort... Not exactly a high point, but definitely a learning experience.

That, my friends was the last time I ever had more than 2 drinks at any occasion.

Well, there it is, my most embarrassing moment, and no one was really around to see it.

I should point out that I reserve the right to delete this post if I lose my nerve in leaving it up...