Consider this blog a therapy session you can attend in your underwear.
That's not an invitation for uninvited webcasts, but rather a vow that we'll wake up together each Sunday afternoon willing to numb the scars of the weekend.
Expect the inside dish on seedy socializing, as well as hungover insights on a dating life that has so far been a reaffirmation of the necessity of my inflatable boyfriend. Men break up with me on MySpace. Enough said.
Partying can be tough. Don't even expect me to clarify the blurred distinction between "bed head" and "sex hair."
Still, I can promise you a blog in which readers will get their money's worth. Beginning with this Sunday's post, which incidentally involves a bunch of $1 bills.
So abandon your dignity, ignore the smeared makeup and join me on The Walk of Shame. You'll find your way home in no time.
