Ever have those days where you wake up with a splitting headache, a growling stomach and pray that since there's no man or woman beside you; you can pretend that blow job with a random stranger never happened? Many call that the result of an all too eventful Saturday night in NYC or the less romantic, but more probable, result of a lack of self esteem. But don't fret too much, it's rather common to experience waking up, 'Hungry, Hungover and a Whore.' I experience it so much it's practically my life story, rolled together in three words that combined, create an amusing alliteration. I'm not always hungry, hungover and a whore. But I'm always one of the three, and well...of course there's Saturday's when I become a triple threat of hot mess. I don't like to think of my easy antics as a bad thing, or a result of sexual repression from being fat and epileptic in high school. Rather, I prefer to think of it as liberating, discovering myself; much like Julia Roberts did in "Eat, Pray, Love" only more realistic. I get down to the nitty gritty of things, there's no romanticized ethnic cuisines, enlightened discoveries, wealthy men who look like they belong in cologne ads; instead there's the honest truth. Fried foods at 2 in the morning, house tequila shots and short lived adventures with unemployed twenty-something men. Hopefully you can enjoy my stories and possibly relate, or at least find humor and amusement in my adventures as a hot-mess.
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