Yesterday we had our office holiday luncheon in the suburbs. Expecting the worst, Jerry, Stevie, and I began drinking red wine immediately upon our arrival at 12:01 pm and stopped only to eat, smoke, and visit the bathroom. By mealtime we were amusing ourselves and our fun lovin’ co-workers with a little game. You may have played it before – basically you take the name of your first pet, the name of the first street you lived on, put them together, and voila! You now have a porn star name.

Here is a sampling of the results:

Jerry is Trevor Jackson.
Stevie is Niki Grove.
Charlene is Snippy Woodcrest.
Tamara is Tootsie Shore.
I am Stockings Rochelle.

It should be noted that I was the only person at the table whose first pet was a hamster and not a dog, although later in the night we met up with my friend John, whose porn star name is Benjamin Princeton, in honor of his very first guinea pig.

The office party degenerated as the day wore on. Around 4 pm Jen called from LA to tell us she’d just learned that the guy she went on a date with last week was married. By 5 pm those of us left standing after the lunch found our way to Lace, a strip club located off a busy highway. Stevie was surprisingly skilled at the bill-between-the-breasts method of tipping. By 7 pm, Stevie, Jerry and I were in a Queens bodega buying Smirnoff Ice for the cab ride to Manhattan. By 11 pm Stevie was asking if he could sleep at my straight friend John’s house (John declined.) This morning I received word that my ex, who I had put in touch with a friend in Chicago last night, invited her back to his hotel at the evening's end. He has a girlfriend.

Moral of the story is – once you give yourself a porn star name, you (and those around you) better be ready to live up to it. I think we were off to a smashing start last night. Play the game, but be prepared for the consequences.