Five years ago, J and I attended a fantastic New Year's Eve party. The drinks were flowing, the props superb (Michael Jackson hats and gloves, anyone?), and the people rockin'. Needless to say, I partied a little too hard and had some trouble getting back to my then-apartment in Baltimore. Luckily, J wasn't quite as drunk and escorted me back to my place. But as soon as I walked through the front door, I collapsed. Literally. I couldn't get off the floor and made quite a spectacle of myself as I tried to take off my boots. Instead of helping me, J proceeded to start cracking up and even managed to whip out the camera to take pictures. Such a considerate man, no? I...