This is the part where I really start to black out. Here are the things I do remember:

1. Screaming my life story to Jen while we danced to Prince.

2. Trying to communicate with a boy whom I later discovered was hearing impaired. Then ...

3. Trying to remember the alphabet and "Jesus Loves Me" in sign language, which only seemed to annoy the hearing impaired boy.

4. Shouting "EEEEEE!" when "Like a Prayer" started. I was so excited, I shoved some guy in the face in my attempt to clear more dancing space for me.

5. Cute boy being kicked off the platform we were dancing on. Apparently, only girls are allowed to shake their booties on that level.

6. Trying to dance like a stripper.

7. Turning down someone for a slow dance.

8. Turning down someone else for a slow dance. Except this guy didn't take no for an answer, and he hoisted me off the platform and onto the floor. I'm still not sure how he did this.

9. Jamie wearing Cute Boy's tie, then me ripping it away from her in order to wrap it around my forehead. This was merely reviving a childhood fantasy to be Olivia Newton John. And the very best thing I remember ...

10. I was wading through the dance floor, aimlessly and completely drunk. Everything was blurry. Suddenly, I look down to see some guy attach himself to one side of my body. This guy was the equivalent of some toy poodle humping my leg. I couldn't shake him. He was at least a foot shorter than me, and he was trying to freak my thigh.

"Hey, do you chat?" said the miniature Anthony Michael Hall.

"Um, yeah. I guess."

"Well, what systems do you use?" he said, starting to do the "uh-uh" dance as he thrusted against my hip.

"I don't know. Jesus ... are you about to come? What the ...?"

"I'm on ICQ," he said, licking his lips. Then he told me his ICQ name, and asked me to chat with him. He struck a pose in his polartech vest.

"Chat with me ..." he said, breathlessly.

"I ... um ... I have to go somewhere else now," I said as I walked away.

OHMYGOD. Where was I when you were being attacked by Sir HumpsAlot? I don't remember that at all. But you did bring back many things I'd forgotten. Well, I'd forgotten almost all that stuff. I forgot emphatically slurring, "No!" over and over during the last-two-songs-frantic-rush-to-hook-up-let's-try-to-get-this-one-to-slow-dance-she-looks-drunk time. Perhaps when you drink gin, you trade psychic powers for memory loss. Damn. I better call Miss Cleo back.

I think Maggie and I held hands while we staggered from the bar to the car. Mollie dropped us off. A short time later, Neighbor Mike pulled up.

This isn't uncommon. He brought his dog in (great, more dogs) and we shot the shit.

The original plan was to swim in the hot tub, but that didn't happen. Thank God. I probably would have drowned.

So instead, because Mike and I are so smart, we decide to trespass across the yard of our uptight and snobby neighbors across the street, and enter the woods behind their house in search of our childhood treehouse.

(First, I try to get Maggie up off the couch and into bed. She just mumbles some gibberish to me, which Mike and I find wildly funny. Finally, I give up, take off her shoes, and get her a blanket.)

I really have to stop trying to get in touch with my inner child after nights of acting like a heathen. It feels so dirty.

Not only that, but we couldn't seem to find the humongous wooden structure, so Mike decides to leave me alone and take his dog. As soon as he walks out of my view, I hear him sort of grunt and sort of moan, and then there's dead silence. I have about 15 minutes of Blar-Witch-like terror where I squat on the ground and debate my options.

Should I follow him? Fuck if I'm going deeper into This Forest Of Youthful Joy and Adult Terror.

Should I head back? Yeah, so the ax-murderer who has obviously slaughtered my childhood friend can hear me, find me, and chop me up into tiny gin-soaked pieces.

Should I just sit there? Well, since my legs are shaking and I'm unable to move, it looks like that's the plan. Great. I'm going to wake up here at 7 a.m. with leaves in my hair and slugs on my shirt and the man who owns this property standing over me brandishing a rake. Man. I embarrass the family EVERY TIME I come back to Ohio.

Fortunatley, Mike re-appeared a few minutes later. He made the groanmoan noise because while he was walking, an errant branch snapped back and hit him in his bizness. I cooed sympathetically and let it go at that. We found the treehouse on the way back to the woods, and climbed up. I realized I was ready to pass out then and there, so it was time to call it a night.

Neighbor Mike walked me home and I fell into bed.

I really wanted to go in the hot tub, but for some reason, I thought the heat might make the gin in my stomach expand. It made me sick and sweaty just to think about it.

I remember piling fistfuls of spinach dip on Wheat thins. A dog came out of nowhere. I started talking like the midget on Twin Peaks. Jamie cackled at me. There was a pillow ... I think I started drooling ... and then there was darkness.

I woke up dehydrated and confused. I smelled bad. My mouth tasted even worse. I could barely move. The room was silent, cold and scary. I watched the clock, "tick - tick -tick" for about 20 minutes while I tried to figure out where I was. Then there was the important decision of to puke or not to puke. I decided not.

I found Jamie and tried to find out what happened to her after I fell asleep. She cleared her throat a little and started to talk, except her voice came out small and raspy. "Um ... I'll tell you about it later."

Then she buried her face in the pillow.

I had less than two hours to find my way to the Associated Press awards.

I was dirty and sickly. I could barely stand. Jamie's little sister was in the bathroom. And I couldn't decide what to wear.

I was freaking out.

I awoke to a wet-haired Maggie rushing around my bed, looking confused. I tried to talk to her, but my voice had disappeared.

I vaguely hoped that it would return before I had to be back on the radio Monday, gave Maggie a smelly hug good-bye, then took the next fast train back to Slumberland.

Mags, how'd the ceremony go?

I don't remember much. Somehow I found my way there -- with few pit stops along the way. Like when I stopped at a convenience store to make sure I was

headed in the correct direction. I tried talking to the workers there for about 10 minutes, and they just didn't understand what I was talking about.

It took me about 10 more minutes to figure out why we weren't communicating well -- turns out they didn't speak English.

I got to the Marriott. I just barely missed walking right into the huge glass door.

Suddenly I found myself face-to-face with very important journalists, and stupid me -- I had managed to lose my ability to string together a sentence.

People kept trying to mingle with me, and I was merely squelching my urge to vomit. I think I somehow got stuck in some conversation about media ethics, and I was just blankly staring at the guy, thinking about the pure gin that was leaking from my pores.

I spotted a pitcher of water at one end of the room, and I made a mad dash for it. That's where I made friends with a very nice photographer from Chillicothe, who was in the very same boat as me. We were both excessively hungover, and yet, we were both salivating over a restaurant ad with a big picture of ribs. "Mmm ... ribs," we said, patting our tummies.

The banquet started, and I had to keep stabbing myself with a fork to stay awake. I was very, very jealous of Jamie, whom I'm positive was still snuggled up in bed. Bitch.

Yeah, you're right. I was. Did you win anything?

I won an honorable mention, a second place, and a first place prize for being the best news writer in the state.

I'm so proud of you, Mags. I wish I could have been there.

Well, you wouldn't have wanted to be there when I had to pull over and vomit in a church. And when I almost sideswiped 3 cars, you wouldn't have wanted to be there. And you should probably be glad you missed my atrotious 30-minute gas-passing marathon in the car.

You may have a point. But I'm still gushingly proud of you. Love you and miss you, Maggie.