A constant presence at her own party, Oceana is all tarted up as usual. She's got on her fiercest leather minidress, hair so big it's got its own atmosphere, and purple glitter lipstick the house down. She can be found in one of many places--the dance floor being her favorite, because who doesn't like being in the middle of a bunch of sweaty, grinding bodies?--the kitchen, slugging back vodka and talking shit about her colleagues, the living room, lounging on a pristine white sofa and trying to get in some dude's pants.

Okay, let's be real, she's almost always trying to get in some dude's pants. Only halfheartedly, because Holly's got her ass on lock, but old habits die hard. She's excited, though--she's really needed this. She needs to just let loose, forget about all the mounting anxieties that have been rising like bile in her throat these past few months. She's fine, they're all going to be fine. In the words of an immortal genius pop star--just dance. It's gonna okay.