remember when it used to be practically impossible to wake up in time for a fast food breakfast? i miss those days. here i am, in all probability still drunk, going on--at most--five hours of sleep after a 24-hour day. why, oh why, must i wake up so early that, while a mcdonalds' #2 and an ice cold coca cola are all that i a desire, i'm stuck waiting for the mcmuffin and hash brown trail to peter out? i mean, what else is there to do on recovery sunday but think about how tired, drunk, sick and hungry you are?
i've been pretty adamant about never going to see paul oakenfold before, but i think i will make an exception for talbott street on the 11th. it's a little bit of a desire to show some support for anyone who tries to bring decent acts here, but, mostly, i just want to dance. maybe this time i'll actually venture off the main dance floor too; i hear the rest of the bar is pretty nice too.
i don't suppose you can even order pizzas this early in the god damned morning either. christ.