Epic. Fail.

So, last night I attended an amazing party. It was a classy, formal business dinner for *name of prestigious student newspaper redacted*, at which the new directorate was announced and several awards were given (*avoiding self call, shut it, it's my blog*). Oh, and alcohol was consumed.

Naturally, my parents call me in the middle of this. I spoke to The Father, not The Mother, small favors. Sadly, my tolerance is still very low, and the giggly levels are really unacceptably high. Slightly busted.

The cover story for today:
Oh yes, we had a lovely sit-down dinner, and everyone had a glass of champagne to toast the new directorate.

What I seem to recall transpired:

Open bar. I grossly overpour a rum and coke.

Due to a miscommunication / diabolical plot, there is...no food. Lovely. Wheeeeeeee!

There is actually champagne. Lots and lots of champagne. It's like bubbly juice that sprays everywhere.

There is an after party. There is another open bar.

Did you know that peach schnapps mixed with tonic water tastes exactly like orange soda?

I mix another to confirm that it actually does taste like orange soda. It still does.

There is a Harry Potter party next-door.

They have "Butterbeer." I don't know what the hell it was, but it tasted like liquid candy. All of it. Also, I got sorted into Slytherin. Bastards.

We go back to the afterparty. There is something involving pineapple juice.

There are drunken editors who are interested in "cuddling." With everyone.

There are drunken freshmen who are attempting to hook up with the editors. Both parties involved are straight females. There is running away. There is intense laughter.

There is me in 3.5 inch high heels. There is ankle pain.

There is grilled cheese.

There is sleep. There is 8 gallons of water and asprin. There is more sleep.

And then there are blog posts that ensure no one will ever hire me. Woooo!