Chocolate is the devil's advocate

You know those awkward parties that you go to where everyone knows everyone else and you just kind of tagged along for the heck of it and spend the whole eight hours hanging around the punch bowl, scarfing sushi and cupcakes? Everyone's been to one. This one was my cousin's twenty-first. Okay, so I have an obligation to be there. I was there. Obligation fulfilled. With much damage to me, may I just add. I am owed for this. It's been an Eating Weekend, capital letters. Much much food equals very very bad idea, but when the only other thing you can do to pass the time is swipe shots of forgetfulness from the Alcohol Bowl in tacky plastic cups, marshmallows from the edge of the fruit platter is a step up from munting in the bushes.
It does give one a wonderful opportunity to commune with the intellectual hub of society. After a few drinks (and then a few more), they clear out with a Berocca, and then you've officially made a new friend. People on the whole are much friendlier when they can't see straight enough to tell if you're that girl they pashed last night behind the broom closet or the party girl's kid cousin. XD