Fever

My cab driver last night was from Sudan. He told me about the Burj Al Arab hotel, which is rated 8 fucking stars and has a massive aquarium restaurant that you travel to in a fake submarine like you're going underwater. I looked it up just now and it's in Dubai and I can't go there and fuck on the beach but how much would I love to go there and take 2-hour baths? Very much.

My Goodness. Could I possibly ever experience everything that I want?

The cabbie asked me if I was good at saving money. I laughed. He said that was okay though, that I should just live it up. He assured me, everything's going to be alright.

I worked last night, and it was pretty awesome. All of these sexy people showed up, and I was dressed like Dorothy Dandridge. I got randomly cheek kissed more than I have a right to and by the end of the night, seriously, I just wanted a culmination to all of the teasing.

Counting money gets me all worked up.



The fever broke eventually, and I passed out fully clothed in my little black riding hood, fishnets and ruby slippers. This morning I woke up with the biggest hangover in recent memory. I drank water until my hands ached from holding the cold glass and passed back out. I had an epic post-fever dream.

My apartment was my apartment now except there was an extra room in it. These dudes were painting it without my permission but when I checked it out I loved what they had done. I started entertaining solely in that room, which featured a massive stuffed gorilla (the plushy kind, not the dead animal kind) that hung out on this awesome chaise lounge big enough for 3 people and fantastic lighting settings. A bunch of colors linked to a dial on the wall that played on the new artwork my uninvited friends had created plus shadows from the sunlight dancing outside.

During my hostessing I had to run a bunch of errands. There happened to be this really awesome store nearby that sold all kinds of prepared food plus toys PLUS clothes PLUS fantastic pastries. I went there many times with my male escort, and I have no idea who he was except that he insisted on answering my door for me and almost turned away this one dude who'd come by just to share champagne with us.

I corrected my bodyguard and let homeboy in.

The end.



And this afternoon I have post-party loathing from drinking too much, I need to solve that with Mexican food and a trip to the fabric store, stat.

Happy Saturday. Believe your eyes AND your dreams.