Confessions of a Hot Mess

Hey there, world. Long time no word from me, huh? Things have been pretty crazy over the last six months—school, moving back to my country of origin, work, more school—and that’s really gotten in the way of writing about all my hot messiness. Don’t you fret though, just because I haven’t written doesn’t mean I haven’t been having adventures. David Bowie-themed parties replete with glitter and cocaine; impromptu road trips; art gallery openings; wine tastings and coffee cuppings; throwing up all over my boyfriend’s car. Yes, it’s an exciting time to be a hot mess in the world right now, and I’m sure I could enlighten you with details until you wept from the sheer beauty of all these escapades. But that is not what I’m here to do today, friends.

Today on Confessions of a Hot Mess, our Hot Mess is going to actually confess something she wishes to be absolved of. Something really, really horrible. Something that went down in either late July or early August, but the exact date (or week) of which, our heroine can’t quite remember….

Last summer my best friend lived in an old crack house with a bunch of other dudes. It was the perfect beat-up old house to throw parties in, and being irresponsible twenty-somethings, that’s what they did. At one of these parties, in either late July or early August, I got way too drunk. You know, shit happens.

I was sleeping in my friend’s bed, but around 7 I woke up and realized I was way thirsty. I went upstairs to the kitchen to get some water. In the sink were a bunch of clean dishes, and I took a cup from in there, then once I had my water, I sat at the kitchen table and stared at all the random magnets and notes on the fridge.

And then I had to puke.

So I did, in the nearest receptacle of any kind—which happened to be the sink. I puked, and as I puked, I realized that I was puking all over all the clean dishes in the sink. Not wanting to clean them (and being too drunk still to even do that without breaking them, probably), I shambled back downstairs and passed out again, but not before trying to tell my friend that some gross person had puked in his sink.
“Oh gross,” my friend said.
“I think it was Julia,” I said.
“That bitch.” And then we both went back to sleep.

Anyway, that’s my really shocking confession: I, not that bitch Julia, puked in the sink on all the clean dishes. Sorry guys!

(May we just point out for legal reasons that we do not condone drug use of any kind on any level, and that the writings of 'Hot Mess' do not reflect the values of Shiny & New in any way. We do find it very funny though, and completely amazing. - Ed.)

Confessions of a Hot Mess

Continued...

The best was still to come though…as soon as I was significantly wasted, there was a drag review in on of the rooms! I was absolutely entranced by all the dancers in the performance, as they were all the perfect specimens of men. In fact, they all looked like the statues of Roman gods I’d been seeing all week! Only, you know, more covered in glitter, and wearing hot pink harem pants and dancing around without underwear. God it was beautiful. Some had ferocious pink feather masks on, but some had sparkly pink gimp masks on. I want! It was like a Quentin Tarantino film on acid. Gay acid. At this point I was significantly wasted, and dancing around like a madwoman. And yet, somehow, I still managed to notice the 50 euros someone had dropped on the floor. Doing a sexy little shimmy all the way down to the ground, I picked it up, narrowly avoiding having my hand stepped on by other frenzied dancers.

Taking my newfound 50 euros, I went back to the bar. Seriously, what else are you going to do with that much money you just stole off the ground? And who is careless enough to lose money? I’m a drunk-ass mess and I still don’t drop money like that. Oh well. Other people’s monetary loss is my alcoholic gain.

I danced. I almost sat down on a couch but then I noticed some chick eating another chick out on the couch. I danced some more. I accidentally went into the wrong bathroom and saw the weirdest leather bear sex orgy of all time. I danced some more. I went into the right bathroom and a tranny and some dude had crazy sex in the stall right before I used it. I danced some more. I stole three packs of cigarettes. I danced some more. I hit up the bar about a thousand more times and I have absolutely no idea what I ordered or if the bartendress ever took advantage of me. I danced some more. The tranny from the bathroom gave me a few bumps of coke. I danced some more. In one of the rooms, the lights were so fucking insane that they made me feel like I’d taken about three hits of LSD. I danced some more. My comrade dragged me out of there at about 3:30, and used the rest of my found money to buy a gypsy cab to take me home. Or so I hear. Finding 50 euros on the floor and a tranny with good coke is not conducive to remembering anything for the rest of the night.

A few hours later I had to put in a bleary-eyed and hung over appearance at some museums and other things I was supposedly in town for. I keep a little list in my head of all the cool places I’ve thrown up at (I am a hang over puker, unfortunately), and I’m proud to say I have added the Coliseum to this list. I left one of the museums we were seeing and went to a Basquiat exhibit across town. It was splendid. That’s one of the keys to being a hot mess: be crazy, but be cultured too. Take hints from the glorious messes that came before you. Love those who died tragic, young, hot, and messy, but remember to go to museums and the symphony every so often.

I like to think that Miley Cyrus will be like me in a few years.

(Tales of a Lesbo has shortly been suspended due to our very own Lesbotico actually partaking in a real-life serious degree and not having the time to do such trivial things as ruminate on her lesbotico life. She shall be returning shortly, we hope. In the meantime enjoy the ramblings of our very own amazing Lindsay Lohan. May we just point out for legal reasons that we do not condone drug use of any kind on any level, and that the writings of 'Hot Mess' do not reflect the values of Shiny & New in any way. We do find it very funny though, and completely amazing. - Ed.)

(This column is more fun then dreaming about all-you-can-eat make-your-own nachos buffets. It completely and wholeheartedly reflects the values of Shiny & New in all ways it possibly can. Very funny and completely amazing. - More Important Ed.)

(But yet again let us reiterate that whilst we love our Hot Mess with all our hearts, we cannot, for legal reasons, condone drug use and our glamourizationism of drug use is done entirely ironically. It is not intended to influence any body in any way, shape or form. Have fun responsibly - Most Important Ed. Ever.)

(Looks like no more blow jobs for Most Important Ed Ever. More Important Ed will have to give his affection elsewhere. Namely Ellen DeGeneres' fish pie. - More Important and Fun Ed.)

Confessions of a Hot Mess

I caused a bit of an uproar among the administration of my university last week, thanks to a column I penned that had what was apparently “scandalous” information about rim jobs. The long and the short of it is that I’m now under apparent probation on the paper and everything I write will now be scrutinized and censored within an inch of its life. Really, if I don’t tell the kids about rim jobs, who will? Anyway, since I don’t want to work for a boring, fascist-run publication, I have defected to the shiny side and shall now write many magical and uncensored things here.

All you need to know about me is that I’m a hot mess, and have earned myself the nickname LiLo thanks to my all my messy and hot exploits. Oh, and I own a lot of pink glitter, my favorite shoes are four-inch heels of magenta satin, and my favorite pants are skin-tight fake leather. I have mastered the art of throwing up in public with grace, and there’s a high chance I’ve consumed more drugs in one day than you will in an entire year. Somehow I manage to keep good standing in all my classes.

Some weeks ago, I found myself in Rome for a class on Italian art from the ancients through the moderns. Interesting stuff for sure, but after spending a day inside the Vatican I seriously needed to unwind with some drinks and dancing. The Vatican is a stressful place for me because every time I go I’m convinced the Pope is going to come out and publicly excommunicate me. I’m not even Catholic, but this fear still persists.

So after the Vatican I went back to my hotel for a quick nap, then headed off to the room of a certain fabulous friend of mine who was also on this trip. With him, he had a list of 24 gay clubs in Rome, and from this list we decided upon the night’s “Gorgeous” party at a venue called Alpheus. It took us a very long time to find the venue, my infamous directional skills failing me for once. Find it we did though (after asking approximately ten thousand and three Romans for directions), hidden down a long and poorly-lit street in an area of Rome best described as sketchville. On one side of the street was a huge electrical plant, and on the other side… club heaven.

Five rooms, with different styles of music in each room, lights and color, dancing, and most importantly…drinks. At the first bar I found (a different one in each room!!), I was helped by a beautiful and scantily clad lesbian bartendress who said she liked my dress and gave me more alcohol than I was expecting. That, my friends, is a wonderful thing. For first drinks, my friend had a cosmo and I had a whiskey-cola (that, of course, being my signature drink). It was pointed out that I looked super lesbiany with my combat boots, purple dress, and whiskey-cola, and I did not care because that whiskey-cola had a lot of whiskey.

The club was awesome. There was such a great vibe and everyone was really into dancing. I hung out in the pop room and everyone went crazy whenever Madonna or Kylie came on. I went back to the lezzie bartendress for more alcohol, and thanks to some language barriers (I wasn’t drunk enough yet to be fluent in Italian), I ended up with a giant cup full of only vodka. I’d asked for one shot, but I got about eight. For the price of one! It was, shall I say, splendid.

To be continued...

(Tales of a Lesbo has shortly been suspended due to our very own Lesbotico actually partaking in a real-life serious degree and not having the time to do such trivial things as ruminate on her lesbotico life. She shall be returning shortly, we hope. In the meantime enjoy the ramblings of our very own amazing Lindsay Lohan. May we just point out for legal reasons that we do not condone drug use of any kind on any level, and that the writings of 'Hot Mess' do not reflect the values of Shiny & New in any way. We do find it very funny though, and completely amazing. - Ed.)