Drink Drank Drunk

wine and cheese wine for dinner

We drank our coffee, we drunk our coffee.  We did not get drunk on coffee, and that is why, although it is acceptable to ask who drunk all the coffee, we don’t because of the association of the word ‘drunk’ with intoxication.  It just sounds better to say ‘drank’.

I would also like to say think, thank, thunk.  Because English.  It thunks.

Thanks to Electronic Bag Lady and her bag of bits, I now know the meaning of this excellent word:  QUAFFTIDE  Go there for the definition of the word, and stay for many good reads.  I think you will thank me later.

Now if you had asked me yesterday if I was done with homework for the rest of my life,  I would have told you yes.  But then EBL also said this.

Your homework is to tell me your terms for quafftiding like it’s 2015, and ideally also to relate an anecdote about such a party. It may involve Pan-Galactic Gargleblasters if you wish, and be purely hypothetical. No photocopiers should be harmed in the production of your story.

Although it wasn’t written in that exact annoying colour or font, still I have decided to take it seriously.  Never having outgrown my nerdy tendency to complete all homework assignments ever given to me,  I will now ramble off all the phrases I know or have used personally to describe what happens to you when you participate to an unhealthy degree in quafftidling events.

 sloshed, buzzed, wasted, shit faced,

three sheets to the wind, tipsy, pickled, pissed,

trashed, hooped, under the influence, plastered,

hammered, blind drunk,

on a bender, ripped,

looped

blotto

smashed,

wiggy,

stoned,

loaded, half cut,

out of your tree, and totally wrecked.

There are probably more I’ve forgotten (and most of these are no doubt no longer popular in 2015)  but that’s all I’ve got, likely because of what all that booze supposedly does to your brain cells.  Contrary to what you might have been lead to believe (because I often talk about wine and like to put words into wine glass shapes) I don’t drink much at all anymore.  My doctor asked me how much alcohol I consume on a daily or weekly basis, and I said  “Just the occasional bottle of wine.  Shit!  I mean GLASS.  Glass of wine.  Gawd.”

I drink more when I’m on a holiday or with people of like mind who are also drinking of course.  And I certainly did my share of partying in high school and university,  and socially whenever we could get away with it while our kids were young, until we decided we should set a better example for them.

I remember how impressed W’s university friends were on a couple of occasions when I was able to keep up with them consuming draft beer.  Some guys are just so easily dazzled.  I don’t remember ever seeing any Pan-Galactic Gargleblasters though.  When I’ve had enough to drink and can no longer feel my feet, I say goodnight and go to bed.  So it’s entirely possible I passed out before they joined the party.

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Will I Ever Go Back to School?

I’m looking at retirement. With great longing. It could happen in three years or less. Perhaps tomorrow or the end of this month, or this afternoon if the mood suddenly hits me. As soon as my work becomes too tedious to bear (and it’s hanging on the edge some days) I’m done.

So I cannot picture myself ever going back to school, at least not to any kind of formal in-classroom situation with text books and exams and assignment deadlines. Courses and classes for things here and there, doing oddball things that I love to do, with no great expectations – that’s about as serious as I’m likely to get in the education area at this point in my life.

I went back to school when I was 50, more in the pursuit of a bigger pay cheque than for any love of learning. It was difficult but the rewards were good. I feel no strong need or urge to repeat the process. But I’m kind of living proof that it’s never too late to go after the things you want.

Now I just want a homework free life, no research required. Nothing to memorize, nothing to prove.

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