Friday night was wino night with the girls at my friend's house.
Her hubby was out of the state for a teaching conference or something, so we had a group of us, all with a bottle of wine (or 2) in tow.
For some reason - I was ready to drink, drinkk, drank.
After skipping lunch, I had a couple pieces of pizza and a beer.
Then the wine shenanigans began.
I was putting glasses of wine back like no one's business.
Like I'm actually serious, I was drinking like 2 glasses to everyone's maybe 1.
Along came midnight, and my realization that I better get the fuck OUT.
So without saying a word, I disappeared upstairs to the spare bedroom and promptly passed out with my feet on the floor.
As it goes - 45 minutes later two of my friends realized I had never returned. So they ran upstairs to retrieve me.
They bounced me around the bed, tossed me around a bit, attempted to stand me up, before I removed my footwear and slipped under the covers after telling them to fuck off.
They returned to the party.
Apparently (I say apparently because I have no fucking idea what actually happened, HELLO BLACK OUT CITY), but apparently I booted in bed.
I awoke, realized what happened and removed myself from the bed.
Rather than head to the bathroom, I headed to her master bedroom.
I must have gotten all a-fluster after booting some more on her floor (which I cleaned in my drunken stupour thank you very much) - because I booted some more but attempted to hide it.
After this all occured, I took my slightly puke covered self and got under the covers in her bed.
Uhhhh, classy, I know.
Eventually my friend came upstairs - found the puke in the spare room - rounded up all the blankets and sheets and threw them in the wash.
She then returned to her bedroom, aka my new location.
Where is the puke Twiggs?
I didn't fucking puke shut up.
It smells like vomit in here, you puked in the other room, and I need to know where it is.
Shut up, I didn't puke. I cleaned it up in the bathroom.
You are the only one up here, you did puke, now tell me where it is.
Then she opened her window curtain.
DO YOU SEE THIS?
I drunkenly sit myself up to take a peek.
I didn't do it.
DO YOU SEE THIS?
Ummm, is that puke on the window?
YES, IT IS PUKE. ARE YOU FUCKING MIA HAMM AIMING FOR THE UPPER 90?!
Yes, friends, not only did I puke at the window - I puked in the upper left hand corner of the window. I then promptly shut the curtains, hiding the disaster.
I finagled myself out of the bed and proceeded to drunkenly clean the window with toliet paper.
Pretty sure it was unsuccessful.
I then changed out of my attire, threw on some sweet plaid jammies, and walked back down to the still going on party.
I announced that I arose from the dead - threw my hands in the air - and then walked back to bed.
I called my sister and relived the experience with her.
She hysterically laughed.
I did not. I was mortified.
I then fell asleep with my dog and my friend's dog on the bed.
I woke up, bought everyone brekky (the humiliation I felt and puke still in my hair was free).
I eventually dragged my sorry ass home after repeatedly apologizing to my friend.
Several hours later she sent me a text - I think you need to purchase us some nice candles.
Which I did and dropped them off that day.
Honestly, I have not ever gotten to that point of drunken vomiting. NEVER.
Apparently I do not know how to gauge my wine tolerance.
Seriously, please remember that only 2 weekends ago I was ripping shots of vodka, whiskey, having mixed vodka drinks, and beers.
But wine. Nooooooo.
Perhaps I needed this slap in the face.
With the slap, I officially concluded that I will never again drink wine like water.
In fact, I will likely not drink wine for a very long time.
Barefoot Moscato, you've officially been ruined.
Damn it.
