347

As mentioned in an earlier post, I have signed up to do Feb Fast and give my poor liver a break from my boozing.

So far it has been very successful. 18 days in and I haven't slipped, though there have been a couple of times where I just wanted to sit and have a beer by the river with my mates. But I know all too well that it wouldn't have stopped at just one, and I would have been horribly mad at myself for succumbing to a binge.

I avoided a couple of parties early in the month because I didn't think I had the resolve to control myself. I know myself far too well.

Last night I had a major success... I managed to stay out until 2am with all my friends being very drunk. I met new people, they liked me. I drank nothing but soda and lime all night. I still had fun. In fact I had the most fun I've had in ages.

So in this light, I am now committing myself to doing an entire year alcohol free.

That is 366 days without a drink.

I have been mulling over this idea for a few weeks - three different health professionals have mentioned it to me through my array of usual appointments I have. Its time I started taking these people seriously.

It's not going to be an easy feat - but I keep telling people 2012 is the year I challenge myself. And I can't think of a bigger challenge than this.

18 days down, 347 to go.

You know its true when someone posts it on Facebook...

My boozing is still a big problem that I am having trouble controlling. The most recent escapades started on Australia Day eve and ended on Sunday night.

The problems are being compounded at the moment by the amount of cash I have on hand - my redundancy pay is fast being eaten up by boozy nights out.

It doesn't help that I am in fact a very generous friend. Now that there is spare cash, I am shouting far too many people. I shout them into clubs, I shout them expensive drinks. For some friends I am returning the favour after many years of propping up my beer when we're out. Others are simply taking advantage.

So as an attempt to not only save money, but also get some alcohol free days into my liver, I have signed up for Feb Fast - 29 days of no drinking.

And to show that I am totally serious about this - I have posted my fundraising link onto Facebook.

You know its serious when its on Facebook.

Wish me luck!

Perth Shenanigans...

I went to Perth for a quick holiday a couple of weekends ago. I have a tonne of photos, but I really hate travel photos, so I'll not bore you all with pictures of buildings and shit that I saw (ooooh look... a tree!)

But it was a great 5 day break. Far too much booze, and quite a lot of sun (I have a tan!). Possibly the most exciting part of the trip, I broke my mother fucking sex drought.

That's right... I had to fly to the other side of the fucking country to get some cock. And it was good cock.

Interesting fact - he is actually from Brisbane. So I flew to the other side of the fucking country to get cock that lives only three streets away from me.

Expensive root.

Sad fact - he tells me the next morning that he has to work out a way to tell his boyfriend of 15 years why he didn't come home last night.

Bastard.

And you have a diseased liver?

A bottle of red, some scotch, some shots, and then a drunken tumble and I end up looking like this;Sad thing is, I have absolutely no recollection of how it happened. No one saw me leave the party, and the first thing I remember is sitting in the Valley Mall police beat with an ambulance officer treating my gashed head.

I need some help, or I am going to end up dead.

A plan we can all follow... sort of

So it appears I have a substance abuse problem. No surprise really after some of my posts from last year. The scary thing is since I've fallen ill, things have escalated even further.

So in conjunction with my counselor, I have an alcohol and drug plan...

• Two alcohol free days per week
• Only two "big nights" per week
• On those big nights, one glass of water after every second alcoholic beverage
• No sambucca shots. Ever
• No illicit drugs. Ever

It shouldn't be too hard, but for some reason it's the hardest thing I've ever done. A 4 day bender over new years, a 5 day bender over Australia Day.

It's killing me.

I'm drinking to ease the pain, and its the only thing that's helping right now.

I'm not dead...

So what do you think...is orange my colour?

That's me slightly boozed at White Wolf, a 30+ dance party held last weekend here in Brissie with my mate Andrew in the singlet and a shirtless guy that I had been dating who decided to tell me he just wants to be friends about two minutes after the pic was taken (grrr).

Interesting fact... this pic is currently on the White Wolf homepage... someone must think one of us is pretty!!

Check out the galleries to see what sort of party it really was...

Ps - yes, this post was nothing more than me stroking my own ego. But fuck it... I need an ego boost right now.

I may or may not be drunk...

But I think Sesame Street is fucking awesome...

Demons be gone!

An update on my journey to avoid Alcoholics Anonymous... it appears that I do in fact have some will power, and am not on the slippery slope of selling my arse hole to fund my drinking and drug habits.

Last Saturday night I attended a party with friends, and I volunteered to be designated driver. This is something I would never do in the past, as I always get pissed and would leave people in the lurch, but I needed a reason to stay sober. So I rocked up with my six pack of low carb beer and sat and watched everyone else get increasingly intoxicated.

But instead of getting shitty at not being able to join in the festivities, I really was having a good time sitting and chatting to strangers without knocking over glasses, spitting on them and making a general arse of myself.

After a few hours of the owner of the car I was driving wanted to go into the Valley to meet up with friends...but I could totally go home to bed and just return the car in the morning if I wanted.


Fuck that... it was only 11:30, and I didn't want to be at home by myself wishing that I could actually be smashed out of my skull having fun. So I offered to not only drive them in, but also offered to stay and drive them all back home when ever they felt like it was time to stumble home.

My friends were incredulous , but i was true to my word and stayed out with them until 5:00am.

Yes. Eight hours surrounded by drinking and increasingly intoxicated people and I only consumed 6 beers the entire time.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call a successful evening.

But it doesn't stop there... Tuesday night had the potential to be another boozy evening. It was our Ekka Show holiday eve, so it's a notoriously big night as the entire town seems to go out on the turps. But I managed to go out with a big group of people from work, and sip on a few beers and cocktails over the course of the evening.

Unlike some of my work peers who got increasingly drunk in front of their staff, I managed to remain calm, professional and not look like an arse.

Once again... that is a major change for me.

Then there was Thursday night... more potential trash-baggery could have ensured, but I had a great time in a great new club on only four beers.

So I think I have proved to myself I can actually go out with money in my wallet and not have to piss all up the wall on sambucca shots and endless scotch and dry's.

It hasn't all been completely sober sally evening's on the town however. This Friday night's shenanigans definitely saw me go over the limit (but not to extreme proportions). This post is long enough already so lets just say no sambucca was involved (I truly believe it is Satan's sperm and sends me over the edge), but I did end up in the smoking area of The Beat pashing on with a blond welsh woman who had to teach me how to cop a feel of her boobs properly.

Some things will never change.

Gravel rash where?

So.

Have you noticed that I have a list of worries?

Yes?

Good.

My biggest one right now is my inability to control my drinking.

I know some of my more popular posts have been recollections of boozy nights past, but after last weekend, I'm more than a little concerned about it.

Lets summarise the damage of a last weekend's bender in no particular order;

2 - nights of drinking
500 - dollars spent, probably more
1 - Hole in the lounge room wall
3 - ex's attempted to hook back up with on various dancefloors
0 - successful hook up attempts with ex's
1 - Irishman in my bed that wouldn't kiss
5 - smashed glasses in the kitchen sink
1 - arse cheek covered in gravel rash
2 - over worked kidneys
x - number of sambucca shots consumed, where x may equal anything between 1 and infinity.

It was all kind of a blur really. But I do remember both nights getting to the stage where I just went "Fuck it... lets just get trashed".

And I did. With a great deal of success. And that's what really worries me the most. That I had to take it to that next level.

Why wasn't tipsy to medium level drunk enough? I was having a great time both nights, but oblivion was just calling my name.

So two mammoth hangovers, two days in a row, left me pretty much without a good proper sleep in, and a good relaxing day to recover from a fairly hellish week.

And the embarrassment of crashing through the house at 4am with the non-kissing Irish man, breaking all the glasses in the sink and then falling over in the courtyard with my pants around my ankles has led me to the conclusion that enough is enough.

So I've told a few people that I need to cut back, and all are supportive.

"Yes! It'll be great for your health."

"Yes! It'll be great for your budget."

"Yes! It'll be great for your reputation to not look like a drunken sloppy whore every time you go out."

But tonight a couple of those supportive people seem to have forgotten about being supportive.

"So you're coming out tomorrow then?" asks one. When I say no, probably gonna go to the parents for a visit, I get laughed at.

"I'm sure I'll see you on the dance at midnight out of your skull!" Chortle, chortle, snigger.

Fuck you. You have no faith in me at all? Thanks.

And then another tonight sends me a text saying "Come get trashed with me!" with my reply being "I'm cutting back, remember?"

The response? "Oh. Fuck that".

Once again. Thanks.

I know I've said it before, told people that I have to cut back, and will try and adhere to a low booze weekend. And have miserably failed. On more than one occasion.

I need to not get trashed this weekend. I need to display some self control. Just to prove to myself that I can actually do it.

But what if I can't?

Bullet points mean never having to construct full sentences

My weekend in bullet points;

• Work drinks Friday night - boozey but not trashed
• Nado's is outrageously expensive - $17 for a burger combo is a rip off no matter how boozey you are
• Home in bed by 11:30pm. Sleeping the sleep of the drunk and horny.
• Saturday shopping excursion - new work shoes, new dressy pink shirt to wear out, new undies
• Early Saturday night drinking with strangers at Fat Louies - met one of my readers and his partner. $3 basic spirits, bad karaoke, lots of fun. Nice guys all round.
• Dinner at Kalibar on the Valley mall - Three cheese pizza, and a cocktail called "The Bad Boy" - just an alcoholic Cherry Ripe. Very yummy.
• Off to the Beat. Already very drunk. Proceed to get drunker.
• Off to the Wickham. Very very drunk by this stage, proceed to get even drunker. Make out with hot guy I used to work with.
• Off to the Monestary. Get bored, go back to the Wickham.
• Pash on with hot work guy again.
• Pash on with tall guy called Guy.
• Pash on with hot work guy.
• Pashing on with both guys until I just got over it and decided to leave.
• Decided that I needed to walk home at 4:00am with no jumper.
• Got to Bowen Hills station and got the first train.
• Slept through my stop.
• Found a great bakery on my trek home that had the best sausage rolls and chicken pie ever.
• Walked in the door at 6:30am.
• Slept until 3:00pm.

I am still feeling the effects today. Want to curl up under my desk, but it ain't gonna happen.

What a revolting development...

It's Saturday afternoon, I'm sprawled out on the man-couch, relaxing and recovering from a hang over. And while I did get drunk, it was a very different night from my usual debauchery-filled booze fests.

I didn't get absolutely trashed on sambucca shots.

I didn't mix my drinks so much I vomit.

I didn't spill booze all over my new white leather shoes.

I didn't smoke a single cigarette.

I didn't send multiple texts to random past hook ups.

I didn't step onto a dance floor.

I didn't pash on with a single bloke.

I didn't stay out till the break of dawn.

Are you as shocked as me?

I was actually home on the couch by 12:30am. I spent very little money, and I can remember every single part of the night.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Things I have learnt in the past seven days...

This is probably gonna fall into the category of "Too much info thanks Benji"... but suck it up.

• Waiting a week to go and see someone about why you can't piss properly is not smart.
• Drinking 15 or so beers in a session, knowing that you can't piss properly, is down right stupid.
• Waking up after 15 beers and not being able to piss at all is scary.
  
• Hospital gowns do provide a modicum of modesty, and cover your arse just fine.
  
• A female doctor doing a prostate exam is not in the slightest bit erotic
  
• Catheter insertion is not fun.
• Catheter removal is less fun.
• Taking a piss after the catheter has been removed is fucking horrible. I actually screamed.
  
• Going back to the hospital two days later and going through the whole thing again because you woke up this morning not being able to piss is a fucking nightmare.
  

So yes, I am currently at home, with a fucking catheter inserted in my bladder because I'm having some issues going pee pee. It looks like an infected prostate has caused the issues, but they are concerned about me not passing urine for almost a day, and may have over stretched my bladder.

So this fucking piss tube gets to stay shoved up my urethra and stick uncomfortably into my bladder for the next couple of days until I go back to out patients and they check to see if I can actually control my urine flow. And a lovely little bag gets to stay strapped to my leg and catch all of piss that come out. How fucking sexy does that sound?

I'm too young for this sort of shit to be going on.

Where's wally?

Or more to the point... where's the shamelessly drunk trashbag who spent all evening last Sunday night consuming vodka redbull, black sambucca shots and fire engines with a death wish, all the while drunkenly texting the nice guy in a vain attempt to get him to fluffy so he make out with him, before ditching his friends to go home, but ended up trashed on the dance floor making out with randoms until 5:00am?

Can you find him? Oh and maybe my dignity too...

My liver is about to file for divorce...

You know you've had a big weekend when;

• You wake up Saturday morning to discover you have sambucca smeared all over your fingers and a big smudge around your lips.
• You recall making out with your ex's twin, wondering if he's just as well hung as his brother.
• You ditch your current housemate on Friday night, and your former housemate on Saturday night in favour of more random pashing on the dance floor.
• Your breakfast venue of choice for both Saturday and Sunday morning's was the Macca's on the valley mall... and the same staff member served you both times.
• You discover the white $100 t-shirt a friend lent you to wear on Saturday night is now covered in purple sambucca stains.
• You meet a friend for lunch in the Valley on Sunday, but you haven't even been home yet so you're still wearing last nights sambucca stained t-shirt looking trashed as you wander around the mall (and yet you still fit in)
• Your friends post pictures of you on Facebook that you don't even remember posing for.
• You wake up on Sunday morning with your jeans wrapped around your head, facing the wrong way on the bed, and it's not your bed, and you have no idea where you are, and there's a naked man in there with you, and he's actually quite hot.

It was no good for the budget, but fuck, I had fun both nights.

You dropped the soap...

I've been known to enjoy a drink or two. I've long been a fan of a 15-year-old single malt scotch, sipped carefully over ice on the deck while chatting to dad, while savouring the subtle flavours.

Civilized. Calm. Mature.

I've also been know to drink massive amounts of alcohol in a single sitting. Two weeks pay gone on happy hour at the Shamrock Hotel in Toowoomba? Sure. Vomiting out of a moving car as it travels through the intersection of Margaret and Ruthven streets in the old T-Bar? Yeah... did that too.

Civilized? Fuck no. Calm? Absolutely not. Mature? Oh, in-deedy no.

Sadly, most of my worst boozing happened while living in Toowoomba, and there is one night in particular that will go down as the absolute lowest point in my life....

It was my work Christmas party when I was gainfully employed by the Toowoomba City Council at the Aquatic and Fitness Centre about ten or eleven years ago. Way too many a scotch and dry, followed by gin and orange, followed by black Sambucca shots were imbibed by young and innocent Benji. Many hugs were given, and many declarations of undying mateship and love were proclaimed around the group.

All stock standard for my work colleagues at the time.

As with most of my drinking sessions, I only left when the cash in my wallet got dangerously low, and stumbled out the door in search of a hot dog and taxi ride home.

The hot dog was found easily enough (and came with bacon and cheese), and eaten as I stumbled down the street looking some way of getting home. Unfortunately I tripped on an imaginary rock, twisted my ankle and tumbled over into the gutter.

Classy as, especially when I stood up and realised I'd torn the knee of my trousers (I never used to wear jeans out in those days) and now had blood pouring down my leg. But the number of Sambucca shots I'd had stopped the pain from the ankle and my leg from dampening my mood. However, the combination of Sambucca shots and the bacon and cheese hot dog was not sitting too well in my belly, and the need to vomit became overwhelming.

So I now hobbled as quick as I could into the the gardens of a nearby church, bent over and let fly with the contents of my stomach. It was one of those monster chunders too. You know, the one that you will think will never stop coming.

I think I must have been onto hurl number 5 or 6 when I noticed a set of legs behind me. I turned around mid-spew and worked out the legs belonged to an old fat police officer. Unfortunately as I turned to face him, the vomit was still flowing out of my mouth and I managed to get my quite a lot of it on his shoes.

"Sir, are you OK?" Mr Policeman asked me. My reply was to fall down and spew some more, but thankfully that seemed to be the last of the vomit.

"Sir, why are you in these gardens?" he now asked. My head started reeling with the realisation that I could possibly be in the shit because of what I just did.

"I really needed to be sick and I didn't want to do it on the street," is what I tried to say as I stood back up, but I'm sure it came out as "I dsagrasd chunder dfbfbwerbewfbr fucken argfdgvbd meh" and then fell over again.

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to come with us." Oh fuck.

I did the only thing I could - just resigned myself to the fact that I was gonna spend the night in lock up. I didn't put up a fight. I didn't plead or whine or bitch or moan to them. I didn't get violent and aggressive. I just let them put me in the back of the cop car and take me away to the Toowoomba watch house.

I was processed with polite efficiency. They took all my details on a triplicate sheet of paper. I would get a copy for my records the next morning I was told. I was asked to remove everything from my pockets, my belt and my shoelaces. The next sound send a chill up my spine.

The snap of a rubber glove.

Any remaining colour must have drained from my face, and the guy with the gloves said "No, we're not doing a strip search, I just need to check all your pockets to make sure you don't have a weapon"

Whew.

My pockets were duly checked, my property was bagged and tagged and I was handed a blanket as I was herded down a corridor into a massive holding cell. Thankfully it was deserted. No one else but me, so I grabbed all the mattresses and tried to go to sleep in the corner.

After what felt like 10 minutes I was prodded with a steel capped boot. It was a different officer telling it me it was six in the morning and I had to leave. I had managed to sober up significantly and was now able to string full sentences together. "Ummm... will I have to go to court over this?"

"No. You could have been charged for what you did to his shoes, but it meant too much paper work," the guy at the desk told me as I put my shoe laces back on.

"How big is the fine?"

"You've been charged with being drunk in a public place, so there is no fine. You are very lucky."

I just nodded, put my belt on as quick as possible and got out of there ASAP to get to work by 7:30.

Like I said, lowest point in my life.

Celebrity spotting 101...

I scored a free ticket to Brisbane's Good Food and Wine Festival on Saturday. It was a great way to meet a guy I've been chatting to online for the first time (I thought I could lose him in the crowd if things went pear-shaped). But my word, if you ever want to get drunk on the cheap I'd recommend you go to one of these things.

First off it was Finlandia Vodka - I had five little shot glasses of different infused vodkas mixed into lovely summery cocktails. This stand's customer base was trashed trophy wives and the gays. But the lovely lass told us we were welcome to come back later for more

Next we got accosted by a nice lady holding a tray full of Stone's Alcoholic Ginger Beer - I'll have three of those.

Then there was wine, wine and more wines - Red wines, white wines, dessert wines, Rose's, sparkling's, every possible blend and variety you could ever want to try. I stopped after two glasses because wine just makes me giggly and horny.

I had a taste of some pomegranate liqueur next - it smelt like cranberry juice. Nice and sweet and summery but tasted like sweaty arse crack. It was fucking horrible. I had to go find the Stone's lady to wash the taste out of my mouth.

We left the boozy section to go find some food to absorb some of the grog we'd had and we found the cheeses. I was in absolute heaven. Mersey Valley and Tasmanian Heritage got attacked several times and it was the best cheese I'd ever had (especially the double cream Brie). There was also some heavy sampling of the duck and chicken stand, and some more of those cheeses too.

After that we went back down to grog town and had some more samples. And a few more, and a few more. And a few more.

But the highlight of my day was when I saw my hetero crush - Patience from the Grates! She looked absolutely ravishing in a nice summery dress . She was carefully checking out the Veggie Chip stand when we walked past her. I was so excited, but I decided to play it cool, and just gave her a quick smile and kept going. I so desperatley wanted to go up and say hello and tell her that I'd go straight for her, but that might just freak her out a bit. I was considerably drunk by this stage too.

She wasn't the only celeb though - Ainsley Harriot could be heard from miles away, but I could never lay an eye on him. And I also saw Andrew Mirosh - a Brissie TV chef with really ugly dreadlocks. He'd make me turn straight too, but for all the wrong reasons.

All in all, it was a very enjoyable afternoon. I think there shall be a second date.

Have you done something different with your hair?

I went out and got extremely hammered on Friday to get over the stresses of last week. Not a very healthy way to get over someone I'm first to admit, but it was a fun night. We started with with after work drinks at The Fox in South Brissie, and ended wandering down the Valley Mall at 6am looking for a cab home.

The majority of the evening was spent (as usual) at The Beat - a lot of people went all out and got dressed up for Halloween. Lots of fake blood and scary contacts for effect. My effort? I ironed a shirt and found matching socks. I put all my energy into to drinking as much scotch as possible during happy hour.

As drunk as I was, I didn't want fall into old habits and act like a total slut on the dance floor. So I was being restrained and not latching onto anyone that happened to touch me. But when I saw a guy I used to work with in the call centre who I always thought was hot, I thought I'd give it a shot. I always knew he was gay, but seeing as I was still firmly in the closet and 30 kilo's heavier back then, I never acted on any urges.

So with a bit of alcohol fueled courage I approached him on the dance floor and said "Hey - you're Mat that used work at TAFE right?"

I got a very non-friendly response "And you are?"

"It's Ben. I was your team leader."

"Oh. You had more hair back then."

Yeah, the only thing that's changed is my hair.

Thanks a lot cunt.

99 bottles of beer on the wall...

I am terribly hungover. Wednesday night trivia turned into a beer fest.

I may still be drunk as I'm having trouble stringing sentences together, and people are looking at me funny.

I forgot to wash work clothes before I went out, so I had to resort to wearing my very short legged grey pants that don't even come down past my ankles. I feel ridiculous in them.

And to top it off I'm sitting with the sales team today listening to them cackle and talk general sales bullshit.

Someone just suggested I have a redbull with a berrocca in it... the very thought of it makes me want to vomit.

What's your hang over cure?

The camera phone never lies

So my last post was obviously written in a very drunk state. But how drunk? Let's take a look at the photographic evidence, shall we?

People's Exhibit A - Eight dollar Cascade Light's at the Arena - the cheapest drink available, and served warm. We did two rounds. I'm pretty sure I drank most of Kat's, and then took off because the support act was pretty horrible.

People's Exhibit B - Now at The Beat (after two rounds at the Wickham). A round of Tooheys New new before happy hour started. Then it was rum for Kat, and scotch for Benji. That was the strongest scotch I'd ever had. It pays to be nice to the bar staff.

People's Exhibit C - We'd gone back to the venue, but the band was still 45 mins away, so we went to the Elephant and Wheelbarrow, where pints were purchased. Not sure what variety of beer it was, but it was cheap and came in big glass.

People's Exhibit D - Ha ha ha, lets get a pic of me pretending to drink both pints at once. Unfunny posed pic.

People's Exhibit E - Benji sculling Kat's pint because she's soft and the band was about to come on.

There are also several shots of Kat looking rather trashed, and lots and lots of blurry shots of the band, people's heads and the floor.

The other incriminating evidence is all the drunken texts to Greg... but that's another story altogether.

Purple washing machine's got me

Been to see The Grates tonight. They were fan-fucking-tastic. So many great songs, so great to sing along to.

Ears are ringing very very badly.

I am rather drunk. Need to shut my right eye to focus on anything. Makes playing guitar hero rather difficult.

Missing Greg. Want him here right now. He just makes me so happy.

Not sure how it happened, but Kat and I ended up in a peep show booth together in the valley. That's the last time I ever want to see vadge again. Thank Christ it wasn't Kat's vadge. I would have vomited.

Double quarter pounder with bacon is a yummy post concert burger.

Word to your mother. Sorry Cunt.