So we found the “Searching for Debra Winger” party at a night club around the corner. When we got there, it was pretty dead, but it quickly filled right up. After a girl in our party bought a €16 drink at the bar, we decided to find our way into the VIP area. Actually she was more motivated by the fact that the only celebrity up there was Melissa Joan Hart from TV’s “Sabrina the Teen Witch”. She had a strange obsession with her, so she and I went for it. She wanted to talk to her and pretend she was a big fan, but she never did. Getting into the VIP area was no problem. I find, if you just behave like you belong somewhere, people will assume you do. We just marched past the velvet rope guy. He seemed like he was about to stop us but kind of chickened out. It took a long time for us to get served, but eventually we went through a couple of bottles of champagne and half a bottle of vodka inherited from a party at the next table who were leaving. Though I was emotionally prepared for a big bar tab, (at least my escape route was planned out) no one tried to charge us for anything.
Rosanna Arquette came through, and then it really got crowded. She did a bit of DJ-ing, but word is she’s not that good at it, as if I could tell. The biggest celebrity who was closest to us was Steven Dorf, but I’m not sure anyone else noticed him. A woman I thought was British turned out to be from Sweden. 
We spoke for a while; I think was a director and an actress. At least that’s what she said. Eventually I even got tattoos onto a couple of the girls in our party using water from the champagne bucket. It was cold, but they all found it refreshing. I wanted to put one on Melissa Joan Hart, but by the time I was drunk enough, she was nowhere to be found.
After they turned up the smoke machine at about 3am I said goodnight and split for the hotel. I’ve so glad I remembered to get my computer from the bag check. €4 well spent. I started out on the long walk up hill to the hotel, all the while sticking out my thumb to passing cars trying to get a lift. Unlike the day before it worked. A guy took me most of the way there. It’s a complicated tangle on one way streets. We even had to refer to the map a few times, but he was cool.
Now it’s Friday, the morning after. I say morning, but as I write this, sitting on my tiny bed in my pyjamas, it’s actually after noon. Suffice to say, I missed le petit dejuner. (AKA: breakfast)