Need 911 After 944

Three hours sleep. Queasy stomach. Major "headache".

All of the above are repercussions of an absolutely awesome Monday night out at 944 Magazine's "Don't Tell My Booker" party for L.A. Fashion Week, where Paul Oakenfold brought down the house with his music set. Girls in bodypaint, Cirque de Soleil-ish acrobat performers, Marie-Antoinette inspired costumes, vodka red bulls, cage dancers in barely-there thongs and guys in angel wings. Hedonism is good, but oh so sinful!

Outfit last night? My cutesy plaid pinafore worn as a mini-dress with my new favorite black opaque tights, purple suede cork-heeled pumps, wide black belt and bright yellow Noelle clutch.

After three or so hours of straight boogying on the Vanguard dance floor with beautiful Angelenos (many, many beautiful male Angelenos), my feet were ready to call it quits. But the pain was made all the better by the super swag bag -- Dermalogica products, a wicked army cap, CDs (loving the Goldfrapp album!), gift certificates and a rockin' denim tote to haul it away in.

944 Magazine, thank you for a great La-La Land night out!

PS. Check out the pics on the magazine website: www.944.com

I'm Lovin' it: Meeting the one and only Ron Jeremy while driving out of last night's venue. Not only did he call me and my friend adorable (ewwww though!), his contact info is gracing my new Thievery Corporation CD in permanent marker and his digits are in my phone. Nice. Oh yeah -- RJ's as hairy, tubby and short as he looks on The Surreal Life.

I'm Over it: The entire day. Please get me into bed. With a big glass of water.

Track of the Day: Can't listen to music today, my head is pounding.

* Photo property of imdb.com