The day begins with a walk of shame, Hudson style

I wake up the next morning after that NYC drunkfest, and for just a minute, I am not sure where I am. You know that feeling, that feeling you get when you've stayed over somewhere, and you forget for a minute where you are. It is almost like we have amnesia for the first 10 seconds of waking up - its a lovely brief moment of time if you're having a particularly bad week because you have no recollection of anything except being alive for 10 seconds, no thoughts of bad jobs, bad boyfriends, regrets, sadness, loss, death - there's also no thoughts of the night before, and as you become aware of your surrroundings in the garish light of day, utter confusion sets in.

What THE FUCK am I doing in this loft bed near the ceiling? OMG.

My phone rings. Its fun girl, being the "mom" of the trip, making sure I am alive and okay and not laying in a gutter somewhere in the meat packing district. Yeah, I'm cool, coming back to the hotel now.

Not before we hit one last time. I mean, I'm still up in that loft, might as well get one last fling in.

I put on my dress. And I head for the bathroom.

WOW do I look bad. I'm not just saying this. I looked bad. My hair, because the loft was hot, had gotten all sweaty and almost afro-like. No make-up. Puffy eyes. I looked like I had been doing exactly what I had been doing, which is being somewhat of a drunk and a slut (even if it was for one evening.)

My friend gives me some cheap sunglasses, kisses me goodbye, and hails me a cab. I head uptown to the Hudson.

The walk of shame.

It is 10:30 am, and all the good people in the city - mostly tourists- are up and about with their starbucks and their muffins and their cameras. There's me, in my party dress, itty bitty purse, bright red patent leather heels, getting out of a cab at the Hudson. I know this goes on a lot there, and I wasn't the only one that morning returning to that hotel in such a manner, but it still feels weird when its you.

Up the yellow escalator. A woman and her 10 year old daughter to my right. I imagine I can hear her saying, "Don't ever be THAT girl..."

Lobby, very dark. I can barely see, but don't remove my sunglasses. At all. Not in the elevator bank (even darker than the lobby) and not in the elevator. I get to the room and knock.

"We don't accept your kind here..." says fun girl.