Another night, another party and another chance to remind ourselves that we're not nearly as fashionable and glamorous as we like to think we are. Yes, Fashion Week is upon us, which means shapeless pillowcase dresses are the new black and naturally slender is once again the new morbidly obese.

And yesterday, we spent the better part of our evening ogling the reality stars of yesteryear at the Bravo/Entertainment Weekly party for Tim Gunn at the Soho Grand and marveling at the fact that somebody had the lack of foresight to serve miniature Reuben sandwiches at a snotty skinny-person party.

As always the event was, well, eventful.

We saw an incredibly drunk blond woman with loose morals and no brassiere veritably throw herself at a slightly-interested Jeffrey Sebelia (of Project Runway "fame.") We also saw a tired-looking Jane Krakowski ("Ew, she looks busted!" opined a fellow partygoer) a tan-looking Nigel Barker (who might be stalking us) a scruffy-looking Bam Margera whom everybody thought was homeless, and a good looking black guy whom everybody thought was Taye Diggs until someone who wasn't totally racist-slash-shitfaced finally piped up and explained out that it actually wasn't.

We also ogled Sam Talbot (a.k.a. our pretend-boyfriend) from Top Chef, but steered clear of him completely, lest the real-life version ruin our impression of him and hence our pretend-sex life. We marveled at the "surprise" performance from Natasha Bedingfield (that, not surprisingly, everyone already knew about) gaped at Michael Musto's giant owl-rimmed glasses and may or may not have accidentally spilled something on Beth Ostrosky's shoes.

And in the end, despite our fears of not being able to catch a cab, we found a bright yellow chariot waiting expectantly for us right outside. Naturally, the meter was turned off (due to the "strike," of course) but the grumpy-but-obliging driver kindly offered to transport us home for the highly unreasonable—and completely nonnegotiable—fee of $15, an offer we readily accepted.