Don’t drink on an empty stomach…

Oh my god, my heads hurt so bad.

Oh my god, where am I?

I am in my bed.


“What the hell happened last night,” I wondered as I started to sit up and felt as if my head was a pinata getting hit blow by blow.

All the lights were on in my bedroom and there was a bag of empty cheese puffs on the floor.

“I don’t eat that crap,” I whispered as I wiped little corn puffs from the corners of my mouth.  My room looked like a crime scene. Clothes everywhere, food all over the floor, music playing and my god damn Iphone in my water glass.


Oh I know, my arch nemesis, “Tammy” probably came out last night and clearly purchased the fattening cheese balls.

Tammy was and still is my alter ego after I have had more three glasses of alchohol, preferably chardonnay. Anything that happens after that, I no longer am accountable, Tammy is.

Can any of you relate?

I want share something with all of you about my Friday night.  It was the most embarrassing moment I don’t remember. Tammy does, but she won’t share this story with you, so I have too.

What happens when you don’t eat dinner and your have three glasses on wine on an empty stomach?  Imagine a terrible episode of Desperate Housewives and times by 100.

I was out at an event in Soho last weekend and met some friends at the party.  I had a killer day at work and had no time to eat lunch. I figured I would go to the event, have peanuts ( bar peanuts are very filling and great for adding weight quickly to one’s butt) from the bar and have “1″ glass of wine.


Who the hell was I kidding? I would think at at 35 years young, I would know myself by now.  1, 2  and 3 glasses chardonnays later, Tammy was well on her way to becoming the life of the party. Tammy was hungry, not for food, but for a man. Tammy did not care what he looked like, how tall or short he was or if he was even employed.  Tammy was looking for a big DICK.  She had not been laid in three months and clearly decided the hunt was on.

The event was wrapping up and my group was of to a private club in the meat packing district.

12 hours pass…..

And now fast forward to when I woke this morning with cheese puffs in my hair, bed and around my mouth.

Whoa,  I didn’t remember anything except hoping into a Lincoln town car with four people to go to the private club. Shit!

Suddenly my phone rang with an obnoxious ring tone that I attached to my best friend’s number.

“What is it,” I answered in a raspy voice.

“Hi Tammy, oops I mean Samantha,”  my best friend laughed. “Where are you and do you know what the hell happened last night?”

“No,” I cringed. I started to brace myself for what was to come. My best friend had an unusual way of making even the most terribly embarrassing moments funny and I knew she was going to rip on me.

“Do you want me to tell you?”

“Yes, get on with it,” I rolled my eyes and wondered why my mouth was so dry.

“How do your knees feel?”

I looked at them and noticed one knee in particular was a little red.

“Fine, why?”

“Well you never met us at the club after the event!  My friend rode in the Lincoln town car with you. He sat in the front and you were in the back with some guy. The car stopped out front of the club, he got out of the front of the town car and then went back to open your door. Once he took a look at you and the guy, he decided to give you some space,” she squealed from the other end of the phone.

“OK, Enough with the day time TV drama, what happened,” I screamed.

“You decided or Tammy did that best course of action would be to pull down the guys pants and give him a blow job in the back seat of the town car!  You apparently put your hand up when my friend came to the window as if your were helping cars pass through an intersection and he went on his way and met the rest of us in the club.

“FUCK, really? Oh my god, I am so embarrassed. How trashy of me,” I whispered with my mouth squishing the side of my iphone.

I hung up the phone and laid back down. I had a short flash of a zipper and the town car’s carpeted floor.  Ew!

Well, I am just going to blame the bar peanuts, they must have been laced.

As my best friend said, “You just got to own that shit and move on!”

I got ready for work and walked down the stoop from my west village apartment laughing to myself, ” Ah, just another night in NYC.” I wonder what is going to happen when I hop in a cab this morning!”

Tammy, 2012

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