So this is what happened two weeks ago.
Sorry I'm just now getting around to it. Thanksgiving and deadlines and all that cal.
I was at my boyfriend's house. His mom went in the other room and said, "If I don't see it, I'm not responsible."
I took three shots of Jager. To be fair, the last time I got drunk I took nine shots in like 2-3 hours. So I'm a wee bit tipsy after a little bit, but nothing crazy. We eat some food. It tasted marvelous. He washed it down with a second beer, I washed it down with three more shots. He went to the bathroom, and I took three more. Mind you, these are all Jagerbombs, not straight Jager, but they're to the brim and easily 4/5 Jager.
So he comes out of the bathroom and doesn't realize I've taken three more shots. I'm already drunk, y'all. At least, I'm on the edge of buzzed waiting for those last three shots to push me into the sea of drunken stupor. I ask if I can take one more, just one more. He says yes. I take it, then laugh way more loudly than I meant to and said I'd taken three. He just kind of laughed it off and we went and laid down.
I fell on the bed as he finished watching The Walking Dead re-runs then I'm pretty sure I got up and started dancing or, rather, flailing at the end of the bed. Then I fell over onto the bed. I said I had to go to the bathroom and he said he'd walk me there. We get to the door and he kind of pushed me in and is about to close the door when I fall against the closet. He doesn't say anything but comes in, pushes the door closed and then puts me on the toilet. I take care of my business and as I pull my pants back up he just looks at me and says, "shit, you are fucking drunk."
I giggle (shocking, right?) and we walk back to the room. He lays me on the edge of the bed and I hear his mom say, "is everything alright?" He yells, "everything's fine," but not until I fall off the bed and hit my head on the fan. I start crying and yelling, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" But I don't know why I'm sorry....
He just keeps telling me, "It's okay, it's gonna be alright."
His mom comes in and says, "She needs to puke."
So he takes me back to the bathroom to puke. With him standing there, holding my hair back, I puke. He rubs my back and just says, "that's what you needed, baby, you're gonna be alright." And I start crying again and he's like why are you crying and I just said, "You're so cute!" And he just kind of shrugged it off because it doesn't mean as much when a girl with puke on her face and her head in the toilet is telling you that.
So we get up to go back to the bedroom and I say "nope, not finished," and stop at his brother's bathroom so I can puke some more. Apparently I passed out on the toilet for a second because I wake up to Wesley pulling my head off the toilet and his mom wiping down the seat with Windex. He leads me back to bed and lays me down and I can hear his mom saying, "Don't you dare leave her in the middle of the night, Wesley. This isn't good. This is very bad, and she's going to feel it in the morning. How many shots did she take?"
"Ten?? In what amount of time???"
He asks me if I want the fan on.
"Why are you calling me sir?"
And that's all I remember. Most of this I didn't remember when I woke up, but he reminded me about a lot of it. And this is why everyone should get drunk with me because aside from the puke on the side of my face I'm apparently totally fucking dorbz.