Dancing shoes were worn out

Blah! Just got 4 hours of sleep... and I can still feel that gurgling in the stomach, that dry smoke taste in my throat. My attention span is all over the place. I'm about to write a sentence when something crap comes on the radio and I have to switch stations. What's my poison? Going to a club and not being in the mood to dance. Drinking too much and getting sick before getting drunk. Downing a Red Bull but feeling lethargic like a cow. Maybe I shouldn't have gone to the gym at lunch time -- that must have taken away the energy I needed for facing the Rubbish Room in Popstarz.

We went in a group of 8, which was grand. Anytime I felt like it, I could run to the next room with one or two people. We tried a bit of everything -- R&B on a sweaty dance floor, Pulp on the indie stage, or crap pop upstairs. But my heart just wasn't into it. You know when you are dancing, swinging a bottle of beer, and you look around at intricate gymnastics being performed by campy boys, and you don't feel that's an inspiration at all? Or a pair of blonde girls begin to hip-clinch beside you to the sound of "Sexy, Everything about you is so Sexy..." but you'd rather not be feeling so sick?

The big amusement of the night was a group of midgets (I'm not kidding) who approached us... one of them, this tiny indian woman, began giving Kevin the most intense looks, trying to approach him... then her friend, a bald midget guy, tried hitting on Kevin aswell... we had to regroup as a battlefront and prevent them from wisking my boyfriend away. Everyone was freeeked out by the midget brigade, but I kind of wanted to talk to them... but there was no conversation possible when they are piping the music at top volume.

We were back home by 2.30AM.

Blah, I still feel like shit. I might have my 4th glass of water.