I went over my friend’s house, just needing a night to relax. If you believed that, this is the first post you’ve read, continue reading, and get back to me.
I run into an old friend of mine, Black Seal Rum. For those of you who have yet had the pleasure, it’s essentially Rupplemints on crack. Liquid, 140 proof candy. I’m going to go ahead and file that statement under “B” for blatant foreshadowing.
I approached everyone at the party in turn demanding that they do a shot with me, and if they refused I would put their manhood into question and call them a pussy until they came to their senses. It was not long until the bottle was on “E”. I had two options, call it a night because I should, or disregard any concern for my health and safety. I really don’t need to spell it out for you.
There was still plenty of Natural Lite (watered down horse piss) and Bacardi 151 (The piss of Lucifer from concentrate), and ill be damned before I let this shit go to waste when there are sober kids in other countries. Needless to say I blacked out. Last affable memory I retained was me vomiting in the kitchen sink, at least I think it was the sink.
I woke up in the dining room, next to the fireplace, curled up in a ball, under a table, plastered in vomit. I’m confused to say the least, but still drunk and pass back out.
Now before the day was through I vomited 13 times. I’m talking bellemic girl the day after thanksgiving. I not only smelled like vomit, I looked like I had been relentlessly beaten with a nerf bat for the entire three hours I slept.
Here is the twist, I was with my extended family for pretty much the entire day. That’s aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces. You get the drift… Oh yeah, they’re Mormons.
We all gathered at a place called “photo people”. Took a lovely family portrait to give to my grandmother come Christmas.
Merry Christmas, Grandma. Now you know who drank all the eggnog.
