Marshmallows Do Not Belong on Spinach Dip

So I'm at a New Year's Eve party given by a college friend. Everyone is having fun, drinking a few beers and eating spinach dip (I would recommend leaving the marshmallows off next time) and waiting for the ball to drop. Suddenly, the party is invaded by a bunch of loud drunks, who announce that it is their intention to lock everyone in while they polish off the rest of the beer. Because I have a baby, I'm allowed to leave, although my baby is not George but a girl named Isabella, who, the closer I get to my car, starts to resemble not so much a baby as a pink toy elephant dressed in a pink-and-white checked jumpsuit. I call 911 to rescue my friends. The address is 133 Red Crest Circle. As I speed away, the girlfriend of one of the party crashers chases me . . .

At Least We'll Know People at Riker's Island

So I'm meeting two college friends in NYC for some shopping. Greta and I walk up to Midtown to meet Jan, who is coaching softball at Riker's Island, and along the way we somehow meet up with Tom Haverford from the TV show Parks and Recreation. He insists on going into some fancy jewelry store and then steals something so that we have to hightail it out of the city and hide out in a garden shed somewhere in the suburbs.