At Soho House, Apartment Parties, and The Green Room people I’ve known for a long time didn’t recognize me at all. “Your coloring is different.” They had to look at me three times to understand it was really me dressed as a Freudian Slip. I’d like to say it was more than just the costume that was different on Saturday night… say that I was different when I overreacted to a confusing situation. But I’m always doing that when I’m drunk. What’s wrong with me? Where’s Freud when you need him?

I wigged out Saturday night, and I wigged out. So kill me. So I wigged, chicked, and girled out, acted irrational, and, gasp, dare I say it, overreacted. I need to find a way to stop doing this. At least I did it in a wig, with blue eyes… see I wasn’t quite myself… no one really is beneath a disguise. It enables you to play a different part. From now on, I’m staying clear of wigs… until I’m in another relationship and I simply have to dress up as the other woman… ’cause that’s just fun.
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