Now, before I start with Sunday morning, I have to share a story that I forgot to tell. That Friday night, when Blocker was text messaging sweet nothings to random honeys and waxing poetic on blow and burritos, he took time out to propose to Stormy. Twice. And demanded that she call Rich the devil to tell him. So on Saturday afternoon after I talked to Stormy and she relayed that she was not accosted in the middle of the night by the evil twosome of Blocker and Shane, I called Blocker to inquire if he’d had a burrito that night. He called me later in the afternoon sounding like hell, complaining, “No, I didn’t get a fucking burrito!�

I asked him if he ever tracked down Stormy.

“No, goddamit,� he muttered.

“Well, you proposed to her,� I said.

He paused. “I did?�

“Yup.�

I could hear the gears in his head turning – he honestly didn’t remember. “I seriously proposed to her?� he asked again.

“Yes. In fact, you proposed twice.�

“Jesus, I don’t remember that,� he said. We bid each other goodbye and vowed to party like it was 1999 later. But for now, Blocker needed rest.

Three seconds after I hung up with him, my phone rang again. I looked at the call display. Blocker.

“Didn’t I just get off the phone with you?� I asked.

“Yeah,� he said. “Hey, tell me something.�

“What’s that?�

“Uh. Did she say yes?�

Priceless. I love Blocker. Good thing I adopted him.

Anyway. Sunday morning I awake to the sound of my own snoring. That’s glamour, folks. I have ho make-up running down my face and Campbell still has traces of his pimp goatee on his mug, which entertains us momentarily until we realize we have to be packed and ready to leave the room in roughly an hour. So we call room service, shower, and scramble to cram everything in our suitcases. Thankfully we have most of the day to wander around Chicago until the limo picks us up to go to the airport. So once we stash our luggage and whatnot with the concierge, I call Nina and Stormy to see what they’re doing. Shane and Bobby had already left to go home, so we were down to the four of us on the trip to New York until we met up with everyone there. Nina and Stormy wanted to go eat, would we like to join them? Surely. The two of them came downstairs moments after I got off the phone with each of them and we walked to a nearby restaurant.

And then, the stories began.

“So what time did you get home this morning?� I asked Stormy after we ordered.

Nina laughed as Stormy rolled her eyes. I raised an eyebrow.

“Seven this morning,� she finally admitted.

“What?!� I asked. “How in the hell were you up that late? Were you at the club until then?�

“No,� she started, then sighed. “See, we were at the club until about three, and you know how we got the money for the store signing and the Pimp n’ Ho thing in an envelope? Well I realized when I got back to my room that I didn’t have mine with me – Bob had it. So I go down to their room, and Bob answers the door… um…�

“Naked with a raging hard-on?� I offer.

She nods. “That’s the one.�

“Shane told me he used to answer the door like that all the time when they had swing parties,� I said. “But continue.�

“So right, he answers the door in that state, and then there’s Shane, sitting on a chair naked, smoking a cigarette, and she says, ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’�

Everyone started laughing. “That’s so cliché,� I said bemusedly.

“I know,� Stormy said, laughing along with us. “It’s so going to appear in one of my movies. So anyway, we wound up talking for a while, and then I went back up to my room.�

“Uh huh. How long is ‘a while’?�

Stormy smiled mischievously. “I don’t know.�

I smiled. I knew better than to ask more questions. She changed the subject to that of her ex husband, Pat Myne, who is a performer turned director in the industry. Apparently Pat had been texting her sweet nothings all weekend, saying things about how he missed her boobs and whatnot. Somehow, we got on the subject of how he throws massive, theatrical, diva-like fits that make Diana Ross look like an amateur.

“Give me an example,� I asked.

“Well, one time we were at the airport and something went wrong – I can’t remember what it was,� she said. “But he pitched his keys down the terminal, kicked our suitcases, threw himself on the floor and started screaming. I remember he was yelling, ‘Why does God hate me!?!’�

None of us could believe a grown man would act this way. Nina was incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding,� she said.

Stormy shook her head. “He used to flip out on set all the time and the crew would call me to get me to come down there to calm him down. I remember he had this thing about throwing his shoe at people. So if a girl wasn’t paying attention to him or something, he’d take off his shoe and chuck it at her. I had one of the camera men tell me he remembers this one time he was shooting, and out of nowhere this little white Adidas came flying into the shot.

“So anyway, one afternoon I get a call from his PA and he says, ‘Stormy, can you come down to set? Pat is going ballistic, he’s missing a shoe, and the girl is hiding under the bed.’�

Yeesh. I change the subject.

“So who’s on y’alls no list?�

“TT Boy,� Nina says without hesitation. “He’s just too rough, and not in that good way.�

“I don’t like guys that feel the need to be prettier than me,� Stormy said.

“Kurt Lockwood?� I asked.

She nodded. “One time he was on one of Pat’s sets and insisted on having pretty girls taken of him out by the pool.�

(For those of you not in the know, pretty girls are the shots you see on the back of a porno DVD that show the girl doing her poses and whatnot before she gets down to the nitty gritty.)

“Who else?� I asked.

“I don’t like guys who do so many drugs that I can taste it if they come on me,� Stormy continued.

“You can taste it through their semen?�

“Oh yeah. Like, I remember once this guy came on my face and my lips went numb because he was using so much coke,� she said.

I couldn’t resist. “Who was that?�

“Mark Davis,� both she and Nina chorused.

We wrapped up breakfast shortly afterward and took a walk by the water, looped up through Michigan Ave and back to the hotel, just in time to meet with the limo. A shot of our ride:

And all of our luggage, which was so numerous that we couldn’t fit it all in the trunk:

Once we got inside, we all pretty much passed out until we got to the airport, at which time we mustered up enough energy to drag ourselves out of the limo and onto the airplane. We landed at LaGuardia a short time later and collected our luggage, and attempted to figure out how we could swing a cab situation considering we were all going to different points in the city. In the end, Nina went for the cab line – during which some guy stopped me and said, “Is that who I think it is?� I didn’t bother with the smarty pants answer and just said yes, it indeed was, to which he jumped with glee and clapped his hands – and Stormy, Campbell and I got roped into paying a flat rate to a dude with an Escalade that drove us all to our respective hotels. Stormy was taken to hers first, as it was in Times Square, and then Campbell and I were taken to ours.

Now, a word about our hotel. I’m not a diva – not like Pat Myne, anyway. I don’t expect to have a hotel where they drop rose petals at my feet so my shoes don’t have to touch marble or any of that high-fallutin’ hullabaloo. I’m pretty much good with having four walls, a bed, a television, and safety. I’m sure some of those things were offered at this hotel, however, I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.

So picture it: we’re at 25th and Broadway, which, as I understand it, is the Flatiron district. I'ts around 9:30pm. There’s no streetlights. Across the street is a semi-demolished building crawling with homeless people. Speaking of homeless people, Campbell and I step over two of them en route to check in. A group of rather gangsterish looking peeps walk by and eye us. We get to the front desk and both shoot each other a look when we discover the counter is encased in bullet-proof glass. At this point I think we’d both silently decided there was no point in continuing on, but at the same time, we wanted to know exactly how bad it was gonna get. So I walk up to the attendant.

“Hi, checking in? Carly Milne?�

He starts looking up the reservation as two large Russian gentlemen go wandering by wearing chains around their necks. Not chains as in necklaces – chains as in chains.

“And we’d like a king size bed if you have it, but a queen will be cool if not.�

He looks up. “We only have double beds.�

I looked at Campbell, who is 6’4, and laugh. Heartily. We promptly made arrangements for another hotel. After ironing out where we could go, we walked to the corner to flag a cab. I was surprised that we passed the 40/40, which is Jay Z’s high-end sports club. Seemed like an odd area to have it in, but I guess that explained why it was empty.

Anyway. We move, we get a king bed, we eat, and we stay up until 3am watching Intervention on A&E for some inexplicable reason.

The next morning we grab some breakfast and start about our day, which begins at Grand Central Station…

…then winds up at the Playgirl offices where me, Stormy and Joy King do a podcast with Jamye, who – aside from looking utterly fabulous – interviews us about the book, our thoughts on porn, and other various sexually-related topics. We chatted for about a half-hour before taking off to go wander around Rockefeller Center for a little while, in search of some shopping, then taking a pit stop at Au Bon Pain for a snack before heading up to Sirius Radio to do the Derek & Romaine Show.

The show was a ton of fun. Romaine flirted with all the girls, as usual, we took over the show for an hour, and there was a zillion of us there: Laura Leu, Sheila Rae, Stormy, Joy, Nina, Joanna Angel, Hester Nash… I’m quite sure Romaine was in heaven. Some shots from the interview…

Derek gets saucy, while Stormy catches some sleep from Sunday and Sheila waits in the background next to a headless Campbell:

Joanna looking cutesey:

Romaine behind the computer:

At 9, we were done. And seeing as the night after was going to be the reading, I wanted to be sure to get a good night’s sleep so I’d be fresh for that, and the handful of radio we’d be doing that day. Campbell and I went home, turned on the TV, I laid down on the bed, and that was the last thing I remember…