Pray for survival! Gird your pretty loins! OMGEEZY IT'S TIME FOR THE RED DRESS PARTY. I suggest you take the rest of the week off. Go ahead! Freshen up a bit, get your dress (and your poor liver) ready, shed those extra winter pounds. Personally, my dress is DONE (thank you, Pakio Galore!), and I've had my finger down my throat for a week. Kidding! Kidding. (BULIMIA IS NO JOKE. It's a solid weight-loss strategy.) You're going, of course (you must!), but please to remember: You have to wear a red dress. HAVE TO! That's the big rule—in fact, the ONLY rule, as far as I can tell: Drink your weight in gin, swing from the chandeliers, holler, twerk, freak out, twerk the freak out, bump uglies, WHAT-THE-FUCK-EVS, but you HAVE to do it in a red dress, and they're thuper-duper strict about it, so please don't show up in a green pantsuit or something, because you'll look quite foolish crying on the corner in the rain.