What the phrase “Hot Mess” Means

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What the phrase “Hot Mess” Means

The term “Hot Mess” is a really interesting term, and one I had really not thought about much before.  But like many terms, once you learn of them, they find a way to come into reality more and more frequently.  Perhaps also it has a little to do with pop culture today and the media exposure celebrities, sports stars, musicians and others are given.

At first blush the term seems pretty trivial, but as you give it more thought, it actually becomes quite complex and interesting.

One of the reasons I say that is the term can have both positive and negative meaning.  It can and often is used sarcastically.  You usually need to know the context with which the term is used to understand the true meaning.

The term originally was used to describe a person, but has evolved to also be used to describe a situation.

Like many terms, it is hard to give a clear cut definition of the term.  With that in mind, we have included some images below that will perhaps help to explain the term to those of you who are unfamiliar with the term or are looking for concrete examples of what we (and others) are talking about when we use the term.

So, with all of this in mind, we turned our attention to the Urban Dictionary to see what they had to say about the term.  We were rewarded handsomely as there was a number of different definitions using the term in context which helps clearly define this amazing term.  Here are some of the better examples:

“When ones thoughts or appearance are in a state of disarray but they maintain an undeniable attractiveness or beauty.”

and another,

“An attractive person, generally female, that repeatedly engages in situations which could negatively impact his or her social, mental, societal, and legal reputation. Examples include, repeated and excessive alcohol and/or drug consumption, a habit of being ejected from drinking establishments, a general disregard for the law concerning public safety, petty theft from convenience stores/supermarkets, and a voice that is about 3 decibels louder than everyone else.
Friend: Wanna hang out with **** tonight?
You: You know, I love her to death but she’s such a hot mess when she drinks

Friend: I just can’t get that chick out of my head. I mean, I know she’s a total hot mess, but I dig it.
You: Beware”

And Another (Which seems to sum it up nicely)

“When someone’s life is a mess but they are still super hot. ”

Another source we turned to was Wiktionary, which you may also want to check out.  And also you can go to Yahoo Answers and see what they have to say.

Although the term is most often used to refer to females, the term can also be applied to males as well.  Here is an example of a male “Hot Mess”:

Hot-Mess

Here is Britny Spears, who a few years ago was the perfect definition of a Hot Mess, and in a negative way.

Some clear signs:  Now, Britney Spears is in my opinion normally a really pretty girl, with a smoking hot body, however, in this picture, she somehow makes herself look very unattractive.  Mismatched clothes, ratty hair, no bra, acting strangely, a true “Hot Mess”.

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A cheers

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Reposted from the original blog – mythotmess.com:

Here I am. Writing. So proud of myself yes…yaaaaasssssss. 11:01pm, not asleep on the couch, like the last three nights assed the fuck out at 7:30 of that bomb kush and days off, and here I am, its fuckin dark outside, I had a hard day beating grown men’s asses, brain awake. And hands typing.

In Europe, the need to write took me, every single day. So every single day it was down to the coffee shop, or corner bar for a morning glass of wine, or an evening espresso, down to write and write and fill the pages of the small leather journal that had been carried around Europe. Every day, even if it was nothing, just blahlalalalababababa ddooooooodeeeeblop, and words with letters that didn’t quite fit, or only fit in other languages, some made up entirely, I would write.
Here is my question….Why was that so easy to do there, but not here?
Is it because writing every day, all day, is what I set out to do?
Or is it because I was lonely and switched people for pages?

These are the two first answers, shining equally over all the piddily other lame excuses for not writing my little heart out the entire time I’ve been home, these ones I can’t pick between. This question needs to be addressed before I ask the main question, which will directly follow this ever so brief discussion.

The first answer: “It is because writing every day, all day, is what I set out to do.”

Leaving from LAX is always fucking hell. And when you are going to be gone for a month, no, even packing for a week sucks balls, but that month of fucking luggage and the ride there, packed car, unsure of what quite to say other than “goodbye” or perhaps “in case I never see you again” but not actually saying your goodbyes, too nervous of its actuality, trips, airplanes trains and automobiles, it was through all this, I started to write, because when I made the plans to go, I wanted to go for a month and do just this, exactly as I did. And it was fantastic. This choice, this answer is the empowering answer.

Second Answer: “Loneliness.”

most artists tend to excel at their art, when they are fucked up, fucked over, tormented, depressed, or just plain lonely. Not to say you ol flamey pie is fucked up fucked over, tormented or even depressed. But there, admittedly, and self punishingly, I was lonely. And I loved it. I danced in the loneliness, wrapping its cold embrace around my northface fleece jacket, puffing my hash filled cigarette smoke into its frosty goodness while scribbling illegible words down on soggy Louvre pond water soaked pages, sipping a fine glass of merlot (with the “t” sound for kicks) from a bottle with a brown bag around it. I like being alone. Its good for thinking, and wandering aimlessly, and discovering. :) And I was never really alone, constantly surrounded by people, passing through my arms and through the streets and fields to the hills, all of them just passing passing passing, living, going going trying goodbye. But I certainly didn’t stick with any one. Is this the cause behind the productivity? Plenty of time to observe and not enough time actually in moving life with the rest of the creatures in motion constantly going doing, always rushing.

Main Question Time

Can there be two answers to one question? How gray is gray, from black to white? like Charcoal? gunmetal? silver? How many answers can be fixed to one question? And how many answers can you make up before insanity hits and brain goes fucking bonkers?

Main Answer Time

I have no fucking clue and refuse to take on the responsibility of accepting a real answer.

Here’s to making noise in the night your neighbors wish they could join.

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The two men that hate me

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Republished from the original “MyHotMess.com”:

“While I am positive that there must be more men on the planet that despise me, I have only met two that have done so out right, and I met them both yesterday. One man for the first time, and the next man, for the last.

Now, every morning I get my little Saucy McKushface in her collar and we head over to Robeks Juice for some morning yumyums, as Robeks is one of the only places in LA serving acai bowls, one of my favorite morning treats. For a long time now, there has been this guy in there named Josh who works at the counter register. He flirts with me, and I flirt back because that is what I like to do, and right before I left for Europe, he finally worked up the courage to ask me out.

Josh: So, I don’t know what you’re doing Saturday but my band is playing at blah blah blah.

Me: Oh Saturday? I’d love to but I am hosting a party. You should come by after your show.

Josh: Oh, probably not…..you know…the whole band thing.

Me: Well bring em, I’ll put you all on the list.

Josh: eh….well, what are you doing the night after?

Me: Leaving for Europe for a month.

Josh: Oh.

Now at no point have I ever told Josh what I do. At no point would there be any reason for him to think I am Penny Flame, unless of course he just recognizes me and I’m a total doof for not thinking people recognize me in clothing. But he doesn’t act like he knows I’m a pornstar, and at no point has he ever said anything which leads me to believe he doesn’t know. This is fine by me. I prefer to travel under the cover of darkness.

Every time I go into Robeks, Josh hooks me up with the acai bowl. I get all the extra trimmings that I love so much (frozen blueberries and extra granola), and every time he only charges me for the smallest size bowl, even though I always get the big one. Its always the little things like this that manage to reveal your hand to your opponent. Josh does not have a good poker face.

I went in there three days ago, and he again asked

Josh: What are you doing Saturday night?

Me: My girlfriend Brynns birthday party. What are you doing?

Josh: Oh, my band, playing again. You know. Maaaan, I just can’t get you out can I?

Me: Out of what?

Josh: Nevermind.

Its good to play dumb when you are breaking someone’s heart in front of their coworkers. Nothing worse than the shit talking that commences as soon as dream girl walks over your heart and out the door with a big ass extra special cheap acai bowl. So I play dumb and he accepts my ignorance and I walk out that door, bowl in hand. It was this final interaction that I make it clear we would not be going on a date. Fuck, I mean, and I hate to say it because it makes me sound like a shallow fucking bitch, but really?

I’m just not going to date the guy from Robek’s. And while his employment at said smoothie shop is a big factor in me not dating him, there are other reasons as well. Here are my reasons for not dating the guy at Robek’s.

1. He works at Robek’s. This should explain itself, from the apron and the visor to the minimum wage paycheck. I need a self made nucca, who is driven and going places.

2. He has roommates. He’s mentioned them, and I am not into that.

3. He is my height. Fucking shallow bitch.

4. I have a hard time respecting people that hook me up because I am a pretty bitch. If you know me, and we are friends, fine, but just random good looking strangers? Come on dude, paying $5.95 for a bowl instead of $6.95 is not a big deal, and it isn’t going to impress me.

5. He works at Robek’s.

So yesterday, I dropped by the old juice fest to grab a….peanut butter chocolate protein shake. I kind of overdid it on the acai bowl thing and needed a little change of pace, so this is the perfectly opposite thing for me devour. Anyway, I’m walking through the parking lot and I see Josh at the counter register, two walls of the shop are glass windows so you can see everything, and he makes a hand gesture to his coworker, Capt. Save a Bro, who is mixing fruit and juicy goodness in multiple blenders, and they switch positions so Josh is now mixing fruit and juicy goodness and Capt. Save a Bro is at the register, patiently waiting for me to tie up the Saucinator and come place my order.

He makes polite conversation, we flirt like I used to flirt with Josh, before he got all lovey and serious, and thought that register flirtation was anything more than shootin the shit. Capt. Save a Bro laughs when I respond to his “Hows your day” required question with

Me: I have no complaints. But its early, and I could be a raging bitch by 3pm. I will tell you when I have more day accomplished.

The ironic thing is that Josh choose to take the even lesser position grinding my protein shake, rather than talk to me, and face my sweetly ignorant rejection. There is a hierarchy in every business and man, cash register is almost like manager. I mean, they let you touch the fucking money for Christ sake. The only thing you touch as grinder is fruit and fucking peanut butter. Josh sealed his doom by trying to be cool, talking loudly to Capt. Save a Bro over the whhhhrrrrriiiilllllllllllllllllll of my blended concotion, yelling about how if he could sue Robek’s for like a mil.4 he’d quit and just fucking chill.

Josh (yelling): Yeah man, I’d say fuck it and man I’d even hire you to just come chill with me, we’d say fuck this place and be out.

Capt.(normal voice, trying to interact with another customer): Yeah man. That would be tight. What can I get for you sir?

Sealed his fucking deal. First of all, if you came up on that much money, you sure as shit better not hire Capt. Save a Bro to just hang out with you. Fucking moronic statement of the day. Maybe he could hire the Capt. to follow him around and fix the messes he makes, but if you quit your job and pay someone to kick it you are a fool and will broke with the quickness, 1.4 isn’t gonna last that long.

Second of all, what the fuck is wrong with you wanting to sue the pants of my favorite smoothie place, just so you can be a lazy fuck and not work? I outta punch you in the face for taking advantage of the system like that. Ugly American.

So I got my chocolate peanut butter delight and left, Saucysasspants in tow.

We are walking back to my house when Saucy, sweet little dogface that she is, decides to take a fat deuce on this guys lawn, and the guy happens to be pulling into his driveway as she is squatting on the little strip of grass across the sidewalk in front of his home. And because I decided to change it up that day and get a smoothie instead of a bowl, my treat is in a cup, and not a bowl, with a bag. I have no bag to clean up shit.

The guy gets out of his car.

Me: Hey dude, do you have a bag? My dog just took a dump and I want to clean it off your lawn.

Him: No. YOU don’t have a bag? Why don’t you have a bag?

Me: Because she already shit two times this morning and I changed from a bowl to a cup.

Him: ugh….(walks away disgusted)

I begin to walk away and he turns and yells.

Him: So you’re just going to walk away?

Me: No, I’m going to walk back to my house, get a fucking bag, and come back and clean it up.

Him: uuuugggghhhhhhh (walks into house totally disgusted)

As I near my own home, I replay our conversation in my head, thinking of all the right things to say moments too late, I should have told him he was a jerk, and he has to have a fucking bag everybody has a fucking plastic bag in his/her home, just walk your lazy ass inside and get it for me and no, I’m going to clean it up with my hands and then rub it all over his front fucking door, and I decide this guy was such an asshole that fuck him, Saucy can shit all over his fucking lawn for all I care, all I wanted was a bag, and this jerk has to make me feel like a bad dog owner for not getting an acai bowl. I outta punch him in the face too.

But I won’t. Instead, I will take my dog to his house and let her shit every single morning. And I will wait for the next confrontation and I will have all the right things to say. I will also have to find a new smoothie place. Fucking Robek’s.”

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Penny on D

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This is a reprint from the original “myhotmess.com”:

Now, the last post I had written was incredibly shallow. Admittedly. That is why I put shallow bitch in it repeatedly. I received many emails in response to this post, more than I’ve ever received for any post, and it strikes me as almost funny, because somehow my statements finally caused some sort of upturn, some reaction on the part of my readers, and I like this. Your comments are the only proof that anybody reads my stuff. So thank you for reading. Now, onto defense.
Yes. It is shallow of me not to want to date the guy from Robek’s. While I only post five reasons why I do not wish to go on a date with him, there obviously are more, reasons that I just didn’t care to share. I suppose I should have if this were to be a fair post, but in my attempt to be funny and silly, I side-stepped one of the biggest problems and reasons why I do not wish to date this man.
Number one: He works at Robek’s.
Comment from BlueMuffin:”All that was needed was a polite decline to the offer and maybe even the self awareness that it’s a compliment to be.”
I suppose I had not made it clear that EVERY TIME I go into my smoothie place, he asks me out. EVERY TIME. I have been attending acai bowl happiness fest now on a daily basis since May. He is there 3 out of 4 times I go, and 3 out of 4 times, he hits on me, and asks me out, albeit subtle and around the bushish. I’ve politely declined his offer. I’ve told him I’d love to hang out, but between my travels and my work I just don’t see it happening. Over and over I’ve told him no. And this last time, I declined as politely as the first, although this time I played dumb blond when he asked if he will ever get me out. If I say I don’t want to go on a date with you, and you keep asking me, it isn’t going to make me go on a date. Yes, it is shallow of me to not want to date the guy from Robek’s, but I actually might have gone and checked out his band if he hadn’t kept asking me out every time we met. If he had just dropped the proposals, and gone with “want to come see me band” he would have gotten a yes out of me. But that still doesn’t mean that I would have gone on a date with him. We could have been homies, but I don’t date, and I don’t like the prospect of being on a date, and it doesn’t matter if you are a lawyer, and senator, or a fucking smoothie maker, if you ask me on a date, I will say no. I don’t like that terminology and I don’t like what it implies.
You wanna hang out?
You wanna grab a drink?
You wanna smoke a bowl?
These are all excellent approaches. Whispering “do you want to go on a date sometime” while I hand you my $6 makes my stomach turn. And not because who is receiving the six dollars, but because of what was said during the transaction, and the way it was said.
In addition, I should not have to keep saying no to a guy just because I want an acai bowl. There is no other place by me that makes them, and for fucks sake, if I say no, well than isn’t that kind of mental rape if you keep asking me? over and over and over? If i worked at Robeks too, I would sue him for sexual harassment. Instead, I take my acai bowl and prepare my “No” for when I return tomorrow. Yeah, it’s shallow that I won’t date the guy from Robek’s, but to be honest with you, I’ve dated guys that worked at Big-O tires, and pizza joints, and I’ve dated drug dealers and guys that had no job. So the job aside, yes, I’ve grown shallow in my old age deciding that I really don’t care to date someone who can’t bring something equal to the table, but I have a feeling that most professors aren’t going to date high school grads and feel intellectually stimulated. I have a feeling that most billionaires aren’t going to date someone using food stamps, love aside, our culture and economy is such that love just doesn’t cut it anymore. You have to prove yourself to the other person. Even when you’ve proved you are worthy of dating/loving/liking/fucking, that billionaire will still make you sign a prenup. Period.
again, from BlueMuff (sorry to use all your comments, it was just an excellent and honest post, and I appreciate you coming at me like this….)
The guy didn’t seem to do anything that deserved a public flogging, but the public nature of it is far less concerning than what it reflects about a person’s character to mock someone like that.
You are right. He didn’t deserve a public flogging. I do that for http://www.MeninPain.com and I get paid for it, and the person usually likes the pain. In the case of the Robek’s guy, I am politely turning him down repeatedly over the whirrrrrrrllll of blenders and ice machines, and music and people yelling. There was no silence in the crowd as I shattered this guys heart for the umpteenth time. There was noise and me playing dumb. I’m not cruel, just admittedly shallow at times, and I’ll never yell “I’m not gonna fucking date you dude, get a clue” even though this is what I felt like screaming. Yes, I can be shallow. But I will be the first to admit it. Which is why I did so here, in a public place, to receive MY public flogging. Which I currently am.
From Jarrod’s comment: ” It doesn’t make sense for a wealthy and hot woman to date a minimum wage guy who has less ambtion than she does.”
Mr. Robek’s is at least my age, has never once mentioned school, which would give him a way out, proving his ambition, and lives with other people. And this is what I thought was most shallow of me, although its been pointed out that many other statements I made were equally shallow, because like Bluemuffin said, although it was in reference to a different shallow statement, in this economy and in times when people are lonely and having bombs dropped on their houses, some people need a motherfucking roommate. In fact, some of my little porno girlfriends have roommates, either because they are nervous to sleep alone, or because they have animals they cannot care for solo, or just in attempt to save money. Whatever your reason is for having a roommate? I don’t care. I don’t.
I will never have a roommate again, until I either marry, or find the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t like living with people, as I am an incredibly private person, and when I wake up at your house, I don’t want to have to put clothes on to wander into the kitchen for a glass of water. I don’t want to hear your roommate bashing his girlfriend, just as your roommate doesn’t want to hear my passionate cries. I shared a room my entire childhood and into my adolescent years, and when I went to SDSU, I shared a room there too. Now that I am an adult, I have the right to wish to live by myself and date a guy who feels the same. Because if we differ in opinions of roommates, it will not end there. If I can’t go home to your house and feel comfortable, we can’t date. That is the honest to god truth, and I’m not sorry for saying it.
I went out to dinner with a good friend of mine, Brando, and he read the post, and felt the same as BlueMuffin, and a couple other people who left me comments. He said, as we ripped into our spicy Kung Pao chicken,
“Flame, you can’t write that kind of shit, what if some of your fans work at Robek’s and read that you won’t date them because they work at Robek’s?”
Me: “So what, after all this time, I should lie to them? I’ve been open and honest in my career thus forth and I don’t plan on changing it now that I have something to say that will be regarded as shallow and uncaring.”
Brando: “Alright…..but I think its shallow of you too babe. Why don’t you just go on a date with the guy from Robek’s?”
Me: “BECAUSE I DON’T FUCKING WANT TO!!! HOW MANY WAYS DO I HAVE TO SAY NO TO THIS GUY BEFORE HE GETS IT AND JUST LETS ME ORDER MY FUCKING ACAI BOWL?”
Brando: “alriiiiiight” I should not be on here defending myself, and I’m not really. I’m clarifying my shallow statements. I am being honest and trying to explain that while I took the easy way out and said that its just because he works at Robek’s, there is a laundry list of things that keep me from saying yes, and that list is a lot more complicated that “he works at Robek’s” expresses. So there it is. My defense while playing offense while calmly watching from the sidelines. Every single person on this earth has created a standard that they must live up to, and you let that go, you have nothing. If I let mr. Robek’s wear me down with his advances and say yes just because he won’t quit asking, I have NO standards, and should be shot. If I tell him NO, over and over, and then write about it, and about how things might be different if he had a Benz (which I never said) or a fat house in the hills (which I also never said), then I am a shallow bitch and must be shot.
However, all the post said is that I’m not dating him cuz he works at Robeks and has roommates. Mr. Robek’s was cruel in asking me over and over again, because at no point in my day do I want to go get a fucking smoothie and wreck someone’s heart. I usually save that for dinner.
And on a side note, yes, every comment about me handling that dog shit situation was true. I did wrong, and approached it wrong, and will be the first to admit it. Which is why I wrote about it here. In the last post. But everyone does something wrong once or twice in life, and at the end of the day…..
Not everybody is willing to admit it to the entire world.

 

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