I concede, you stallion.

So.

It's a good thing I don't get hangovers, because Barb woke me up at 9:20 this morning (after I'd gone to bed at 5:30) and told me he needed to go to the hospital. I pulled on pants that were ripped and covered in paint and I called a cab.

Sat around in the emergency waiting room for about 2 and a half hours until Barb decided he felt better and we took off. The general consensus is that it was all the rum.

Sigh.

Party itself was good. People came. Some people, Taylor I'm looking at you, didn't. A bunch of people decided they were staying over, all our couches were full and at least two people spent the night in chairs.

I went to bed alone. No one brought any clean boys with them. They were all sleep deprived and wearing the grime of twenty-four hours. Those drama students, they are a crazy bunch!

I dropped my drink on the floor. Dear People that made fun of me: Not cool. For the record, I spill things ALL the time. Evidence. I am the least coordinated person you'll ever meet and I'm not usually ashamed of it.

A thousand million pictures were taken. Expect a great many of them to make their way onto this blog.

A prelude to the deluge of party pictures. Me and Barb in happier times.