It's my party, I'll wear shoes if I want to.

"I'm out of the cellar with a blade and some cheddar..." - If You Fear Dying, One Day As a Lion

Most of my friends know by now that I woke up on Saturday morning with an ink stamp on my wrist. It reads either “J. TAO” or OAT. J (upside down). My hair and makeup were still fully intact, left shoe missing, sprawled flat on my back in bed. Worst part is that I don’t remember getting it/how or even why. Someone invaded my personal space in order to stamp me and I don’t recall what the hell for. I hung out in LBC most of the night and I recall drinking large blue drinks resembling Windex, then trolling the streets feverishly for tacos (?) with my high heels dangling by my fingertips. Hooters had stopped serving food by this time. I was dodging LBPD steaming by on shiny Segways. My toes were absolutely killing me. I passed a stranger lady in the crosswalk and she muttered under her breath to me, “put your shoes back on.”

Why I suddenly became enraged…. um, half an hour later, I don’t know. I argued aloud to no one in particular at IHOP while scarfing down my New York Cheesecake Pancake Combo. “What right did she have to tell ME to put MY shoes back on???”

Mmm, those pancakes were yummy. Hashbrowns at IHOP are deceiving. They only cook them on one side. Ever notice that? The underbelly was raw with ice chips. Nothing that a lighter and a little Tapatio couldn’t solve.

I have weird photos on my digital camera including one of those, “HI MY NAME IS…” sticker name tags with, “YEAH, I KNOW” written on the blank name part in thick, black Sharpie pen stuck on my boob. I think Gay Sean did that. Thanks a heap Gay Sean.

My ass does not hurt so I’ve ruled out alien probing. If you identify the above pictured logo or name stamp, please contact me.