I got kind of drunk on Saturday when James had a bunch of friends over for his 21st birthday. No, not just kind of drunk, because I did a lot of vomiting. It was bad. It wasn't like, the kind of vomiting where you feel so much better afterwards, it was just, like, continual vomiting, until I had nothing left to vomit, and then I just crouched there over the toilet heaving and wheezing with nothing coming out. I think if I'd stood over the toilet long enough, my pancreas might've come up.

I get really silly when I drink. I get these unstoppable urges to tickle others, or pants them. But even when drunk I'm too polite to just go and pants someone without asking their permission first, so you can see how odd this quirk really is. I just go around asking people if they'd mind terribly if I removed their pants. I can't remember if anyone's ever let me do it, which is a shame. On Saturday I whipped out my cell phone drunkenly and insisted that everyone give me their phone numbers so that I could enter them into my phone and "feel popular whenever I look at my call list". I have yet to look at the new numbers on my phone, but I'm guessing they're probably all fake.

I don't remember the turning point on Saturday night when I went from goofy to violently nauseous, but I do remember laying in James' bed puking into a pot that he held, all the while telling me I was a "good, good girl" every time I threw up into it. I also remember asking him to "say something disgusting so I can puke". I think he said something feces-related, and it worked. I don't think I even made it to 10:30 that night. I guess next time I'll wait until at least dusk to start chugging. This weekend we're going up to James' cottage for the long weekend, so I'll have to pace myself.

I don't think I set out to write a whole diary entry about my drunken escapades, but look at that, I just did. You know what else? I think I'm still slightly hung over from Saturday, if that's possible.

I'm going to sleep now.

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