Death by fake vampire fangs

Carmen found me this afternoon looking like I’d been hit by a truck driven by the Grim Reaper himself. Last night’s Halloween party at Phi Chi was… intense. I’m talking three-hour line for the bathroom, someone’s little brother throwing up in a pumpkin, and me losing one of my vampire fangs somewhere on the dance floor around 1am.

Death by fake vampire fangs

The worst part? I spent forty-five minutes crawling around that disgusting frat house floor looking for a two-dollar plastic fang while Carmen held my purse and tried not to laugh. Found it stuck to someone’s shoe. Gross doesn’t even begin to cover it.

At least someone finds this funny

Carmen’s been playing nurse all afternoon, bringing me water and pretzels while I dramatically recount every mortifying detail. She keeps reminding me that I volunteered to be designated driver next time, which honestly sounds amazing right now. Give me a Diet Coke and responsibility over whatever that punch was supposed to be.

Note to self: vampire costumes are only sexy in movies. In real life, you just end up with fake blood stains on your favorite white tank top and a lisp that makes ordering pizza impossible.