Continuation

okay, so where did we leave off with the Friday night saga?
The walk home I guess?
Barefoot.
I don't remember so much about the walk home and I definitely don't remember what happened between the time I walked in the door and 9am except for the vomitting.
Yeah, it got ugly.
I'd left my phone at home so I wouldn't drunk dial anyone. I'm fucking 30 and I can't seem to help this. Leaving the phone was a strategic, self-control move. Apparently, when I got home, the first person I called was Bank of America. I somehow managed to cancel my debit card (which I still haven't gotten and they said it would take 3-5 business days). I am sure whoever took my call laughed their ass off after they got off the phone with me. Maybe they laughed their ass off during the call. I wouldn't know. I can't remember shit. Then apparently papa R called me to see that I got home okay. Don't remember that conversation. Then I called Chad. Apparently we spoke for a couple of minutes. Don't remember that either.
When I get drunk, I go home and get into the bathtub. Usually its because I've vomitted on myself and need to clean up, but sometimes I do it because I like the warmth and when I'm drunk I get very cold. I think thats accurate. Ask me when I'm hammered, I may give you a better reason.
So either I got home and talked to all these people then got sick, got into the bathtub, got out, went to bed, vomitted on myself again, and slept the rest of the night/day in the bathtub OR i got home, talked to all these people, got into the bathtub, got out, got sick on myself in bed and then got into the bathtub...either way, i was throwing up a lot and sleeping in the bathtub.
I was useless all day Saturday, vomitting into the night, but by Sunday I somehow managed to man up and go to Target for new sheets since I'd vomitted all over my existing ones.
So the lesson here is know your limits, don't walk home barefoot and contain all vomitting to the toilet.
Ew.