This may not be the first post I write while still wearing most of last night's make-up. But waking up next to a red wig and vague memories of cavorting with a showman, a sexy skeleton, and a dominatrix are definitely up there as pretty unique.
Was I really strapped to a bar and spanked till it stung? Did I flog a beautiful, bare ass as if I was born to the task? Did I (dear God!) walk around Chelsea dressed in transparent red lace and black Gucci heels? Did the showman swear he'd marry my daughter? And did I honestly have a deep and meaningful with Drag Bo Peep, as she walked me up five flights of stairs home?
"Can you ever find love in New York City?" she asked sadly, clutching her "sheep" in one arm and my Amazon package in another.
I'm really not sure, I answered her. But I have some pretty freaky, fabulous friends.
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