One should always be careful when mixing business with pleasure -- or so I've been told. After one experience in this setting, however, I'm glad to deem this philosophy untrue -- at least under certain circumstances.

A couple weeks ago I headed to a party sure to be ingrained in my memory for quite some time -- a graffiti party. And not any ordinary graffiti party, but one with all of my fellow co-workers ... and bosses.

I was a bit apprehensive at first to wear a throwaway T-shirt fearing that no one would wear one to a party full of co-workers. I've never been so wrong in my life.

I arrived a little late with some friends and, lo-and-behold, walked into one of the most uniformly inebriated parties I've ever seen.

And it only got better from there.

The house abounded with black lights and white T-shirted partiers, beer in one hand, marker in the other. Within minutes, friends -- and co-workers -- were upon me to inscribe the night's memories in an all-too-literal way. After making up for lost time on the two kegs, I soon joined in the literary fervor.

What I first thought to be a cheap excuse to touch other people (well, it still was for some) turned into one of the best nights I've had at college yet. Here, there are no fears of making an ass of yourself in front of your co-workers, especially when every one of them is as gone as you are.

The atmosphere was light because everyone already knew one another and there was no need to yell the typical get-to-know-one-another line "So, what's your major!?" over the music. What's more is that the goal for conversations was not to find a sleeping buddy for the night but just to see one another in a more relaxed setting. And although I didn't get to see my bosses as slaughtered as I had hoped, there's nothing quite like talking drunk-speak with one about why the band Damone sucks as much as it does.

After a couple intoxicated walks around the block, incriminating photographs and some more delightful non-Natty Ice beer, I headed home, looking forward to the interesting "water cooler" conversation that would ensue the next day at work.

One of the best parts of the night? Actually, it was the morning after when, after your hangover has subsided, you take a look at your now multi-colored shirt to see what others burned into it forever. While I would like to compliment the author of "foreplay is my forté," I am still trying to remember who scribbled "I lack in the sack." If this was you, please e-mail me, I have to prove you wrong.