It’s obviously daylight and from the looks of the sun streaming through the cracks in the blinds and the shrieks of a drag queen outside there is a strong possibility it’s past noon. There is a shooting pain between my eyes and my mouth is as dry as the Sahara. I’m sure this is only from the lack of Starbucks coffee and has nothing to do with the four Kettle One dry martinis- at last count- that I consumed last night at the Ice Palace. It’s also possible that I am in my own house in the Pines but I’m not sure I would have ever bought this striped comforter, however, I do have a greater problem than the orange in this comforter or the sharp piercing between my ears, and that is a hairy arm that is draped across my chest. On further inspection this arm belongs to a dark haired guy lying on his side, sound asleep and whose name completely escapes me. Gingerly, because I’m not sure where my head is going with this one, I remove the arm and sit up in bed. The room looks like backstage at a drag show. Jeans are tumbled in a heap on the floor, a sneaker is in the bathroom, a pair of 2Xist briefs are beside the door and a Tshirt is on the nightstand. Last night begins to come back in quick flashes but not in any logical order. A Strawberry Margaritta at Cherry’s, singing Tammy Wynnette with Porshce at the Ice Palace, making out with someone at the beach. As I sip from a half filled water bottle on the night stand I know that it is not always going to be these one night stands with perfect strangers and eventually I’ll end up in the nuptials Style Section of the New York Times with some handsome beau. And who knows, this dark haired stranger curled up at my side just might be the one in that photo- or at least through brunch!