Crazy fun weekend from which I am still recovering — aren't those the best kind? But the rhetorical question of the day is when, when, when will I learn that hard alcohol and wine just don't mix well in my system? Two degrees, six years of higher learning and yet I still can't seem to grasp this fact.

Saturday we hosted a baby shower for my BF, so the party started early and continued well into the night. During the evening, me and a longtime childhood friend crazy ass Nicole, who was staying with me, hungout with two of our guy friends at the Mandarin. One (or possibly four) too many cocktails later, we all end up passing out back at my place. The guys wake up in the middle of the night and drive back north to make a flight the next day. I go back to bed. Nicole is, as far as I know, sleeping it off on the sleep sofa. Except. Except, when I exit my bedroom around 10 a.m. and head out into the living room, Nicole has vanished and her bag is gone. I cannot process. I call her cell phone. No answer. My first thought is that for some reason she left with our friends, which makes no sense, but is the most logical explanation anyway. I call Dana's cell phone bewildered.

"Um, question — where the hell is Nicole? She's, like, gone."

Dana starts cracking up at my confusion, but by now I'm completely mystified. Well, as it turns out, it's no laughing matter. She woke up shortly after the boys left and had a stomach attack, called our family friend after being unable to wake my inebriated tuchas, and was rushed to the hospital at 4:30 a.m. By the time I woke up, they were in and out of the hospital and brunching in South Beach. Never, ever a shortage of drama with me and my friends. Especially with this particular group. Nicole is fine and on the mend, but let me tell you that for a few waking moments yesterday I couldn't decipher what exactly had happened to my missing houseguest.