The Washington Post

So in light of Walk of Shames, I share my most memorable and what could probably be the most infamous I will ever have.

It all began for a colleagues birthday party, all of us came out glammed out. Me in a strapless mini dress. It was January. Not quite practical, but all I cared about was looking cute not what the temperature outside was. Of course this happened to be held at a popular bar with us having an open bar tab. Right away you know that equals bad news bears. Vodka. Vodka. Vodka!! And without the fist pumping... Shots! Shots! Shots!

It was a grand time had by all and then I spotted him. Of course, I thought he was gorgeous and my friend being so kind and dear went over to him and Lord only knows what she said, but let's skip to making out at the bar. (Sidenote: I hate when people make out at the bar. I find it trashy. Yet every now and again, we all fall victim to it) So here I have friends hanging out with me at the bar and I decide to leave with Mr. Washington Post (so-called because of his shirt)

I received a lovely voicemail as I galavanted off with Mr. WP from my abandoned friend, which I still have on my phone and listen to every now and again for shits and giggles. "I hate you so much. I hate you. I'm jealous but I hate you"

The jist of the night was pretty much over when I called him by the wrong name. Please, if you are going home with someone have a friend verify the name. So let's fast forward to the morning when I had to be at work at 10am. Of course I wasn't cute. Bed head and no make up with me to refresh. He was nice enough to drive me in. And while I did get his number I failed to get in touch with him due to ultimate humilation of forgetting his name. How do you apologize for that? Hmm, on second thought I think I did text him apologizing for that minor factor.

So while work sucked that day, a friend of mine had had a bad day and wanted to meet up for drinks. And since I wasn't going to run home and change since she was having drinks in the same building that I worked, I changed back into last night's dress. Nothing is sadder looking than last nights dress 18 hours later.

So lessons learned. Remember the name of the boy you make out with at the bar. And go home and change before you put any more liquor in your system.