I guess it just wasn't my night.

Being diabetic and drunk at the same time is sometimes tricky business.

Mixing up one thing for the other can lead you to serious medical problems, or lead you into serious drunkenness.

Knock on wood, only the latter is going on tonight.

A brief recap: it was Mrs. Rugby's birthday (or thereabouts), so I trudged all the way to Claremont - actually near my old house - to drink screwdrivers and party.  Well, apparently I had a little more party in me than the party did, because everyone else crapped out by 1am, while I was still three sheets to it.  The wind, that is.  So I made everyone stay up while I sobered up - no one complained, though I could feel their condemning eyes on me.  Screw you, people!  Ahem, anyway, just drove home and now I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that I was a little too goddamn wasted to a) be driving; b) for any other purpose whatsoever.

Look, I'm getting on in years, and it's less likely that I'm going to find excuses to rock and roll all night and party ev-er-y-day.  So I take them when I can get them.  Few and far between, as it were.  Scarce.  So I take advantage.  What I sometimes don't realize, however, is the extent to which my own capacity for drunken revelry is trumped by others' consistent alcohol intake, leaving them less likely to want to close down every bar in town when I want to.  C'est la vie.  Anyway, this has been a long-winded introduction to my drunken blogging skills.  Frankly, I think I'm damn good at it.  In closing, I wish to present the following sweet-ass picture of his Royal Badness: