I’m writing this in kind of a haze, so please forgive me if I’m a little vague on the details. The reason I’m foggy will become clear in a moment.
We all show up at the appointed location, Buca di Beppo, in the neighborhood of 4pm. Already sitting in the bar – where else would they be? – are the first eight people: Slithy Tove, Danalan, Rene (Mrs. Danalan), stargazer, caircair, Ephraim (mr. caircair), jeyen, and our lovely and talented organizer, Scotticher. katrina and I are numbers 9 and 10, and following us are pluto and JayLa. That makes 12, our total complement for the evening.
We hang out in the bar for a while, waiting till 4:30 to be certain nobody else is coming. We chitchat about this and that – old threads, baseball, and whatnot – while we kill time. Finally, we say that’s it, and ask for a table in the restaurant.
I’ve never been to Beppo, so the little tour thing they do on the way to the table comes as a surprise. The guy introduces himself as the bouncer, pointing out the kitchen, the bread stock, and so on. He also brings our attention to a sign detailing rules of behavior: no throwing stuff, no spilling, no lying, and, interestingly, no “smelling.” (In other words, if we didn’t have the foresight to bathe ahead of time, we’re out of luck.) Anyway, we’re led through a maze of dining rooms (I’m thinking, man, this place is huge) and to our table.
The waitress (Suzie, IIRC) runs through the rules again, and then explains the menu. Big dishes, family style – get one entree for every two or three people, and share. Danalan and I discover we’re both “no red meat, no pork” people, so we feel okay about insisting on cheese, vegetable, seafood, and chicken dishes for at least a couple of the selections. jeyen’s also been here, and has good things to say about the Chicken With Lemon.
Our final menu selection: Start with Bruschetta, Calamari, Garlic Bread, and Beppo’s 1893 Salad, which has cucumbers, feta, pepperoncinis, and all sorts of tasty things. Entrees: Filet Cacciatore, Baked Manicotti, Eggplant Parmiagiana, Linguini Frutti di Mare, two orders of Chicken With Lemon, and a side of Green Beans. Service is quick and efficient; the food is marvelous, particularly the chicken. Those of us who have beer and wine are pleased to find the beverages to be quite large.
At my end of the table are jeyen, katrina, Scotticher, stargazer, and JayLa. The latter two have been off the boards for a while, so we catch up on board events: recent notable bannings (of course), successful romances (congrats to Montfort and Anniz, among others), and so on. Another good conversational topic: Where were you during the earthquake? Now, I’m not privy to the conversations at the other end of the table – pluto, Slithy Tove, Danalan, Rene, Ephraim, and caircair – so if any from that group want to fill in the gaps, please feel free. 
The waitress has warned us to save room for dessert, so we ease off on the pasta and stuff. We get these cool aluminum tins for take-home, and divvy up the leftovers. Then we get our dessert: six Chocolate Profitterol (??? hard to read stargazer’s writing), or as I dub them, “Chocolate Artery Bombs.” Cream-puff type pastry, filled with chocolate cream, topped with chocolate sauce and chopped pistachios. Mmmmmmmm.
The first part of the evening started to wrap up here. The folks at the other end of the table, well-fed and happy, settled up on the bill, bid farewells, and retired for the night. The exception was pluto, who came down and joined those at my end.
This is where things start getting a little hazy.
We got another round of drinks and kept the conversation going. It got frustrating, though, because apparently every single other person in the dining room was having a birthday. So, after the fourth bellowed chorus of “Happy Birthday” (I wish I were making this up), we talked about maybe moving to a different location. Somebody, I don’t remember who, recalled that Jillians, an upscale pool parlor, happened to be at the other end of the block. We all looked at each other, said, “Hey, cool,” grinned, and off we went.
We were just going to go in and drink and talk, but when we got there, jeyen suggested maybe we should actually get a pool table. The group seemed amenable, so we asked, and we got lucky: a table just happened to have come available. Scotti said she wasn’t going to play, it’s been too many years, she’ll just watch. Yeah, wait till we have a couple more drinks, we all said. Much laughter.
We split into three teams: jeyen and stargazer, pluto and katrina, and me and JayLa, with Scotti sitting out. I had my standard pool-playing drink: Stoli, rocks, twist. My lovely wife katrina got a gin and tonic. jeyen and stargazer had beers – a stout and an amber respectively, I think. Scotti had a glass of wine (“I have to drive back to Bellingham”). I don’t remember what pluto had.
stargazer said she’d only played in college, but she turned out to be a shark, and her teammate jeyen was pretty handy with a stick, too, as it turned out. Basically, pluto and katrina battled me and JayLa for second place. All the while, we’re still playing thread catchup for JayLa and stargazer: current Pit arguments, “jarbaby’s garage,” and other funny stuff.
Before we know it, we’re on our third game, and I’m on my fourth drink. I haven’t been keeping track of the others, but it’s clear we’re all getting pretty happy. Scotti keeps saying she has to get back to Bellingham, but she’s planted in her seat. Jillians is pretty rowdy and loud, but we’re definitely competing with the most rambunctious of them.
Then things started getting really weird.
At some point, stargazer came back from the bathroom and said, “Dude, these guys have jello shots.” Oh, man, I haven’t done jello shots since that one night in Cabo San Lucas, where I accidentally felt up my own mother’s ass. (Long story.) Naturally, we have to get a few. We have to talk pluto into it, but he gives in pretty quick. You know us Dopers, always up for a good time.
Two rounds of shots later, our pool playing skills are close to being shot. We aren’t even really keeping score any more, just taking random pokes and knocking the billiards around the table, laughing our asses off. Even Scotti’s up with a cue. We were making up some kind of group game – seven-person Calvinball on a pool table, I guess – shooting simultaneously. We’re all pretty tanked by this point; I’m amazed at how well JayLa holds her liquor.
We’re still doing thread recap, and somewhere in here the one comes up about what you’d do if you have a 30x30 room you could do anything with. We all talk about how many books we all have, how the room would be a great library – nice to have so many readers among the SDMB membership. Then somebody, maybe stargazer (correct me if I’m wrong), remembers my own idea to do a screening room for movies. (Yeah, I wish.) Then jeyen says, yeah, but how about that guy who wanted to put together a sex room? Everybody laughs, and then they notice katrina and me looking at each other with funny expressions. What? they say. Uh, well… No way! they say, you have a sex room? We’re kind of embarrassed, but yeah, we’ve got some stuff in our basement, toys and harnesses and stuff. Harnesses! No way! Yeah, and a linoleum floor for easy cleanup. That sends everybody into hysterics.
Five minutes later, we get kicked out of Jillians. jeyen is leaning unsteadily over the table with her stick, taking a shot, except she catches underneath it and launches the ball in a beautiful arc off the table. (Lucky not to rip the felt.) It goes straight at pluto, who, amazingly, by pure reflex that would make a ninja envious, whacks it with the butt of his pool cue like Edgar Martinez at the plate. The ball rips across the club where it knocks over several drinks in the middle of another group. We all dissolve into laughter, and Jillians personnel show up shortly thereafter: “We’d like you to leave now.”
They are three men who are very large and hairy. We don’t argue.
On the sidewalk, I remembered this one place in Ballard, and we argued about who was most okay to drive. Scotti kept saying, “I have to get back to Bellingham,” so she got nominated. We all piled into her car, four people in the back seat, two in the front passenger seat, windows rolled down with legs hanging out. We got to the other side of the Ballard Bridge, and then somebody, I don’t remember who (anyone want to fess up?) had to stop to, uh, be unwell.
We zipped off and wound up at the terminal, since Scotti didn’t know the area and nobody was sober enough to offer directions. Me, I was distracted in the back seat, pressed up against the goddess-like jeyen on my left with the equally goddess-like stargazer stretched out across our laps.
Anyway, we got to the terminal and piled out of the car. By now it’s like 10:00; everything there is closed. We go on out to the docks, and to our great amusement, we can’t remember who was feeling ill, because apparently it’s passed. We’re all walking up the pier, between all the boats: Ssshhh! giggle giggle. Shhh!
Somehow, we all ended up on this one boat. It was really big, and looked unoccupied, so, what the hell, we went exploring. It was really cool, a luxury yacht, with wood paneling and stuff. There was this platform on the side; JayLa asked if anybody wanted to go swimming, but we said, nah, too cold.
Then jeyen and my lovely wife katrina burst out laughing. So you guys really have a sex room? Yeah, and I couldn’t believe what I was saying, you want to see it? Hey, but Scotti, don’t you have to get back to Bellingham? It’s way too late now, she says, I’ll stay down here. We’ve got a spare room, I say, if you want.
So we head on up to our house. Y’all gotta be quiet, I said as we pull into our driveway. Giggle giggle. We walk around in back of the house and down the stairs. Sshhh, sssshhh, don’t wake up the neighbors. More giggling. I unlock the door and turn on the light, and go on inside. I really can’t believe we’re doing this. Nobody knows we have this area.
Holy crap, says everybody. Look at all this stuff. You weren’t kidding. Looks like a bondage rack on the wall. Plus a linoleum floor and everything. And is that what I think it is? Yep, sez katrina. Me: It’s a Vietnamese fuckswing. “Anyone watch Dennis Miller on Friday night?” Everybody: laughing. jeyen: how does it work? Me: pretty much the way it looks.
I point at the fridge in the corner. Anybody want another beer? Yeah, okay. JayLa opens it up; whoa, what’s with all the whipped cream? Oh yeah, I forgot, the fridge has soda and beer and vodka and stuff, but there’s like two dozen cans of whipped cream. More giggles all around. Not just for spreading, I say, and proceed to demonstrate the finer points of huffing.
Within minutes, we’re all flying.
Propriety dictates that I end my narrative here. All I’ll say is this: jeyen is a modern Athena, stargazer is Aphrodite incarnate, JayLa seems to have so many hands I can only compare her to a sexual goddess of India, pluto is Bacchus reborn, and Scotti’s reputation for beauty of soul must be, shall we say, expanded to encompass a new expertise. My wife, in taking command of the situation, is nobody if not Hera herself. I don’t claim that makes me Zeus – I’m just happy to be here. (Besides, if I were Zeus, that would mean jeyen sprang from my forehead, and we’re talking a different “fore” and “head” here, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.)
As I write this, everybody’s downstairs. They were asleep when I woke up and had to pee, but right now I can hear laughing, plus the squeaking and creaking of the swing. And, oh crap, I’m looking out the back window, and I see at least one person in the back yard, and based on the bouncy pink bits, I’m pretty sure they’re naked. Yeah, I’d say that’s my cue to finish writing.
I don’t know about you, but I think this Dopefest could be termed a success.
