But then, neither is picking up some guy in a bar and bringing him home. Home, yes, home. Thank God I made it home. But, wait, who is he and where’s he going? Shit, I don’t remember his name, his face or what the hell happened to me. The door slammed. “Oh my God, why was that so loud?” I really don’t remember him. I wish I had awakened before him so I’d at least know what he looked like. I don’t think I can show my face in public again. “It’s the last time I ever go out,” I proclaimed loudly as if speaking the words gave them more power. Power to stop me from turning into a New Orleans party girl like Mandy.

It was morning, though you’d never know it by the way my head felt. I’m really not sure what happened last night—or why, for that matter. As the room started spinning, I looked all around for blood or condom wrappers. Oh shit! I reached for my lower parts and it didn’t feel like anyone had visited. That’s weird. Did Mr. X spend the night? I was confused. I really didn’t know what happened. What I did know was that this morning I pledged that I’ll never do whatever it was I did last night again. Even though I said this in earnest, I knew better. Because the truth was, I’d made that promise to myself a bunch of times before. Who was that guy anyway? I vaguely remembered meeting lots of cute guys last night. Most of them talked to my boobs and not to me. Was he one of them, one of those John Does with an interchangeable face? I couldn’t tell much from what I glimpsed this morning—the blurry back of his head. I just wished this room would stop spinning. I needed aspirin and coffee.

As I slowly kicked off the half mangled bed covers, I looked around the room desperately searching for — no hoping for — a bottle of aspirin. Maybe if I could just have a coffee and an aspirin, things would be okay. Ahhh, there they were; thank goodness. Right there on the nightstand. What a gift.