Someone slipped me a mickey last night. There's no other way of explaining how lousy I felt this morning. Went to the Sand Bar last night with Crystal, a small, divey (real divey, not boho divey) salty bar near the beach. It's the kind of place where everyone knows each other and buys each other drinks, even if you don't really know them, and next thing you know people who you've only met for a couple of minutes are buying you shots.

Anyways, stumbled home by 12, passed out during SNL and next thing I know, I'm waking up at like 4 in the morning, heart racing and with that "maybe puking wouldn't be such a bad idea" feeling. Not only that, I was in the middle of some super weird, psycho dream where I dreamt that I woke up from my drunken hangover only to discover that not only was not in my apartment, but I had no idea where I was. And everything was all glowy and surreal. It was like suddenly finding yourself in a David Lynch flick, except without a dancing dwarf and, unfortunately, no lesbian sex. I hate to say it too, but I was only a little disapointed when I woke up for real and found myself in my dumpy, tiny, should probably clean up, studio apartment.