I've got to do something about the way I look. I mean a girl just can't go to Sing Sing with a green face.

I've learned that when imbibed on mildly cheap champagne and wasabe oysters, you feel it's appropriate to wax poetic with borderline strangers on everything from life to love to sugar daddies who hit on your co-workers. I've also learned that this particular brand of mildly cheap champagne triggers a fantastical phenomenon known as "spill as much of your drink on me as possible." When this apparently failed to stimulate the senses, the masses switched things up by vigorously hugging, shaking or even pinching my ass so that I managed to spill my own drink on myself.

I do so enjoy going home smelling of brothel and wet rag.