FVMF opened yesterday, and the appropriate way to mark that occasion was to gather everyone in one ridiculously beautiful place and see what happened.

From a packed Boiler Room and a very special celebration for Tiptoe to the start of FVMF: you really shouldn't think we're supposed to take it easy this weekend.

A night with Opie. Pills, leashes and paying our respects. We celebrated her anniversary by adding another story to the collection, with photos in case nobody remembers it.

I hadn't been on roller skates for a while, but one night at the Roller Rink brought back a misspent youth of polished floors, first loves and the life I very nearly ended up living.

Sure enough, I was back on a beach, where most clothes disappeared, skin appeared, and I once again forgot to get a picture of myself. Which is becoming an annoying habit, really.

The night started green and skimpy. It somehow ended red, latex, but still skimpy. We were promised sex, sweat and schranz, which really wasn’t false advertising.

They called it Envy, but wanting what other people have has never really been my problem. Still, surrounded by beautiful people, even I found a few things worth looking at twice.

Sometimes all it takes is one text to remind you who you really are. To tell you to stop pretending, put on something skimpy and get drunk at a motel pool. That’s the real me, and I didn’t need much convincing.

I can be a respectable person who drinks smoothies, makes good decisions and occasionally even keeps her clothes on. It’s just that this particular version of me is mostly available on Mondays.

Vault 404 does stuff right and has interesting things happening beyond the dancefloor. So while I came home without the picture I planned on taking, I did get something else.

Summer just doesn't end, so back into the pool we go. Sunvana provided fresh water, Lili the music, Jin disturbingly useful background information, and I some hands-on fact-checking.

A call from my accountant sent me to Sonance over fears of trouble in Tokyo. Turns out the markets are fine. Human morals, however, are another matter.

Too many invitations, too many events and far too many options. A night of decision paralysis takes me from Elephants to the beach at The Drip, before a minor financial crisis hits.

Sometimes I feel people are messing with me. Then again, when your witnesses won't talk, start discussing pizza and your memory can't be trusted, proving anything becomes difficult.

An invitation by someone who understands how these things should be done. Sojourn was calling and it would have been terribly rude to deny them my presence.

A subway station in the middle of Sonance is no reason to stop the party. So we danced on the tracks, boarded the train and ended up in seventh heaven.

Cancelled plans, a different outfit and the irresistible glow of VICE. Some nights aren't the ones you schedule, but they can be great anyway.

Revolutions don't always happen in capitals. Sometimes they happen around a swimming pool, involve far too many wandering hands, and are over before anyone remembers who was supposed to be in charge.

Turns out the strongest mind-altering substance of the evening wasn't a pill. It was behind the DJ booth. where Alicedea and Elay delivered a night that hit considerably harder.

Some clubs have flat dancefloors. At Hi Life gravity is optional, the music isn't and cameras don't enjoy strobe lights as much as people do.