I cant find my therapist so I can pay someone to tell me Im pretty and will get married to a waspy alcoholic with mommy issues

K thanks

Holiday Activities - Ask me about my meth lab

Chainsmoking cigars in the jacuzzi with likeminded 60 year old investment bankers, blow jobs to 18 year olds who have come into their first half mill, making uncomfortable conversation about my lack employment because Im over it, grinding up on black waiters, asking people if they would be interested in smoking me up, masturbating with a tennis racket and putting it on youtube, making comparison excel charts of the divorced women to determine who is hot enough to fuck father and classy enough for step mother material.

The Carribbean Youth- Family Crests, Trust Funds Aplenty- down to get weird in Lily Pulitzer and why I will never be homeless in a 5 star Hotel

Upon my carribbean holiday, sister and I share a room with our British Red head model friend who prides herself on her rampant size zero bod, ability to drink 4 bottles of rosay at lunch, work in finance and make every boy between 5 and 55 fall absolutely smitten. After I tried to kill her and failed as she is immortal I realized that she was the best friend I could ever have even though she doesnt do drugs and is independently wealthy.

She has taken to snoring so incredibly loudly that even in my ambien Veuve clicquot spell replete with european porn and intense masturbation, I cannot fall asleep so I have to take up residency in one of my brother's girlfriends room.

I dont know her that well, but upon our first conversation she told me about her deferral from Yale and her father's immediate phone call on the board to get the deferral into an E.D 2 acceptance which I was more than amused by. I enjoy people that do not play off their family's connections because there is no reason to hide that you could have my ex boyfriend killed in a matter of hours since your uncle is in the mafia. We had a great talk, mostly about sex and how get boys with money and soon drifted off into a non snoreful bliss.

Dearest Brother, thanks again for your fanbase of women. I will never be homeless in a 5 star hotel.

Money Talks..Wealth Whispers

Alas, due to my mixed medications and 7 year old expired accutane, I have commissioned one of my dearest skinniest non white well dressed members of my inner circle to write a post for me about the atrocities outer family gatherings during the holidays - She has decided to accept payment in tuna tartare and blow.

The holidays are always a humbling experience for me and my fellow members of the bourgeoisie because its when you remember that dads cousin may or may not be in jail, that uncle has a fond affinity for toothpics, and that cousin vicky is most definitely hooked on the poor mans heroin aka oxycotin. Being bougie is hard because, well... I wasted my helmut lang and loubs on this dinner, as my extended family is just about as chic as a Discover credit card.

Chronicles of the healing family - Father dances with me to the crack head reggae music

I am in the Caribbean to heal. It has been a stressful quarter, what with not working, using my babysitting money for drugs, and learning new sex moves for my new white film maker boyfriend it is a good as time as any for some R and R (rape and roofies) and who better to indulge in this with me than my very own family poodles,  included.

It occurred to me that I needed to relax when I realized I started snorting my accutane and masturbating with my left hand. It was clear that my priorities and my head was somewhere else and I really needed to relax and spend time with family, my pinot, and brand name xambien.

All I can say is this, while the Carribbean culture values a laid back attitude coupled with a relaxed work environment and solid C minus marijuna, if you combine this with a resort full of old money waspy lily pultizer wearing bankers and housewives, one is sure to find the relaxation needed.

Carribbean Status Im taking 7 year old expired accutane and my skin has never looked better

Its that time of the year again, back in the Carribbean with water ski-ing rum punches and trust fund hook ups a plenty
Here's where most of us can be found
Mother- unclear
Sister- lifting, tanning, deciding between various waspy lovers, having rosay
Brother- relating to the locals, sleeping, suggesting abstract activities, commenting on the questionable behavior of other guests
Father- telling everyone he beat people at tennis 20 years younger than he, laps with his flippers, sit ups on the beach, gossiping at the bar over chamomile tea
me- corrupting the youth, trying to dog cocaine out of the lizards tongues, prank calling housekeeping, trying to get fingerbanged by likeminded rich artsy intellectuals who are looking to get married asap as possible

Facebook photos with poor kids

So many people have photos with poor kids in afric-rwand-somalia countries, I feel as though I should add some to complete my philanthropic socialite status complete.

Dinner with non white CEO

During a particularly painful evening with a  non white CEO family, the father proceeded to tell me that I needed to be married by the time I was 25, and furthermore if it was in women's biological nature to have children, than why on God's green earth would they ever bother to do anything else? I proceeded to tell him that if I was to be married by 25, then it would have to be to someone at least 60 who had children older than myself, and I am always down to be a mother to my contemporary Reagan Cocaine loving generation.
My response to women's sole biological duty to pro create and stay skinny, Women are the smartest most complicated most attractive creatures and it is our duty to not only produce the next wealthy anxiety laden attractive venture capitalists with nannies aplenty, but to also to simultaeously rule the world using the power of our psuedo ivy league education and ability to give great head.

Back in the Caribbean Sea

My Father, clearly very proud of my slutty existence of attempting to be in the creme da la creme social circles of New York have not pleased him, so he has taken it to the extreme, after he tells the guests of the resort that he has lost one and a half pounds and hasnt had a carb since 2007, he proceeds to tell them that I have been laid off cant drive and am still half a virgin.
How many days until I get my Trust Fund?

Abused by my trainer and my "boyfriend"

As a sadomasochistic vodka soda drinking pseudo party girl I cant decide which abuse I tolerate better, one from my trainer or from my boyfriend, and by boyfriend I mean the boy that texts me at 2 am asking me "Whats up beb?"

Now naturally I strive to have the body of Suri Cruise but I have the stamina of a 350 pound obese man, so when my trainer asked me to a sit up she leaves me no choice but to cry and tell her about the pain and suffering I have endured during my troubled youth on my penthouse in 5th Avenue

My boyfriend, who has never taken me to dinner, never called me first, and expects a blow job after picking up the tab provides me with the delusion that I am in a 21st century abusive relationship.

Which do I prefer? Both leave me feeling weak, depleted, worthless, and cause me to go on a self loathing self deprecating rant to my team and my friends, so for now my answer is unclear.

I cant make anyone angry for Fear they will subpoena my medical records in a court of law criminal justice system

Its numbingly obvious that I have had my fair share of mental instabilities, but that is all part of the wild ride that involves driving in the Benz with me and my latin driver.

It has come to my conclusion however that my secret stays at various mental institutions, places of rest for my questionable consumption of veuve and meth are subject to be subpoena-ed in court if someone decides to sue me and use my multiple personalities and raging manic slutty pill popping b list club hopping indescretions against me, when it is crucial that they stay between you and I and the Enquirer.

Ipso facto I cant steal anyone's ideas. Thank god the sex toys for rape victims and Jeweled Xanax are as authentic-ly yours truly as my love for money and other people's money.

Dahling its Simply my Kryptonite

Evian

CVS adderal shortage
un bedazzled vaginas
CNN
Marijuana dealers

Laundry Machine used for other purposes than sex
Long Island Accents

Legging and Ugg boot combo with a navy long champ swung over a sideswept pony tail shoulder who BBMs loudly chewing sweet mint and buys Camel Lights women who work in low tier fashion merchandising.

Birth Control other than Prayer

Cab Drivers who's credit machine causes near heart attack anxiety

Debit Cards
Bottom Shelf Liquor
Vagner Operas

Men Marry Bitches? What about Bi Polar Prudes with Minor Daddy and alcohol Issues and Sunny Dispositions?

I consider my personality a cross between Kim Richards on the real Housewives of her beverly Hills due to  her love of her family and her mixture of medications and Holden Caulfield, who needs little to no explanation unless you are poor.
So, its established that I am off my rocker, but I am certainly not a bitch as I always ask Maid how her day is.
My question is, I suppose that the way to an alcoholic trust fund baby low tier analyst's gin soaked membrane is by not responding to texts EVER and by talking to them like they are the janitors at Pink Elephant.

That goes against everything I was ever taught, but Im bored of my Van Cleef Vibrator.

Father likes to Mass Email the Family on updates of his mood considering the Obama-nation

Had lunch with the English divorced father and his 2 boys; talked sports/sex/politics--what guys like to discuss; good for my mood considering the markets

Sex or Money?

Money

We all secretly want to get married before each other's sorority sisters

I love my non sorority sisters when I take my mood stabilizers but more often than I care to admit, not so secretly wish that they choke on their vodka sodas, trip over their Alexander Wang asian boots and suffer from terrible internal bleeding and a nasty scar to the face.

Nothing is a funnier blow, other than actual blow than getting married first. It is painfully obvious that men who live in cosmometro cities dont want to get married until they are picking out their graves, as more money more bitches, (which I have as a poster in Arabic signed by Malaki himself)

So, my advice to those who want to get married before their sisters, is to marry someone 50 so you can be that hot 20 something but with an intellectual mind and a career of her own and be a phenom step mother and have someone constantly tell you how good you are in bed. 

Santa Baby, We need to talk

Its fairly predictable what I want for Christmas. I have been celebrating Christmas replete with the Pavoratti Soundtrack since my Brother's Bris, which I demanded I watch and have been a confused Jew ever since.

Santa Baby,  my definition of being an awfully good girl this year, like divorce papers are subject to interpretation how you see fit. Take it or leave it, I may have funded some questionably terrorist groups with money that people give me when I lend them my drugs and I may have gotten finger banged by a few unhappily married guys out of sheer curry osity and boredom, but ipso facto, Ive been good because Ive read to a few poor kids thrice weekly for 25 minutes and give my us weekly's to my maids.

Alas, My christmas list is very simple
1. a black husband
2. a subscription to the economist
3. A bible tutor
4. a date with Wiz Kalifa
5. a less tight vagina
6. better Nail Polish OPI choices
7. skittle flavored ambien
8. More money from open table after making reservations

Im the nicest girl you will meet and always invite you to my table but

I may borrow some pills from your medicine cabinet
read your bbms
drink all your diet coke and eat all your splenda packets
flirt with your boyfriend
quote from Shakespeare
ask you about your trust fund
grind up against you in the club
bleed all over your couch as I am cutting again
have makeup all over my face
blackout
judge you based on what family you come from
never invite you out if you do not send me a written thank you note or contribute to cabs
suggest to skip work and go out
influence you to drink a lot more and cheat on your spouse
But Im really nice, and will tell you you are pretty and will make you be in my profile picture.
You're my new best friend call me every 5 minutes.

Family Therapy is Whats your fantasy lUDiCrAs

Father and Mother have started enforcing weekly family therapy which is ludicras considering I have my own staff of 6, my hypnotist, my psychic, my psychomarmacologist, my gigalo, my maid and my champagne opener.

They believe that I have issues with authority and are concerned with my deplorable lack of interest in seeking any employment besides selling jewelry made out of medications or sex toys for rape victims, both of which they refuse to fund.

So I gave a whack at family therapy, because after careful research I found that the shrink wrote her thesis on Nazi women and their Elektra complexes and was skinnier than me.

I found it rawther glittertherapeutic as it gave my parents an ample opportunity to hear about my sex life and my daily struggles of being photographed by at least B list photographers and the difficulty I have in seeming intelligent and mysterious at cocktail parties instead of misguided and freakishly overwhelming. Some people love it, others pretend they need to vomit and excuse themselves. 

I look forward to next time Dr. Frau Elektra. 

Harvard Class of 2016 accepts zero students this year

Sadly, the acceptance rate has shot down like fireworks when they are finished, and there will be no matriculation of CEO's offspring, legacy's, 5 star athletes and your arbitrary asia-latino-pacific islander native on a quest to fling their intellectual curiosity on post modern chinese symmetry sauteed in histrionics of suicidal artists around Cambridge.
Best of Luck Next year soon to be slutty elitist wealthy anxiety laden pill popping skinny pseudo intellectual asian tutor carrying Calypso wearing can do know wrong because I am writing a modern take on Great Expectations, called Great Text pectations Freshman.
See you at the St. Regis. One of my Cousin's can get you an authentic ivy degree in exchange for the CEO of J.P Morgan's CumShot, a poster that says Young Money in Arabic, and 3 weeks worth of tuna tartare and lobster salad.

Is it rude if I ask

What specifically you were addicted to when you call yourself a reformed addict
If you tried in vitro before adopting an asian
What your dose of accutane is
If the sex is still good
If you can give me a massage
to lend me your computer technician for the weekend
to be in your wedding
to go down on me if you have braces
If you think Neo Nazi's physical features are attractive
your dad to help me get a reservation
Why your house is in the wrong hamptons
Why you still horsebackride

I dont want to be in a relationship

Relationships are for the weak. I am normally your typical manic social climbing pill popping top shelf liquor drinking H and M for Versace wearing prude slut who just wants to be loved by a boy other than father, but Frankly I don't need your consistency.
 Sure, its nice to get photographed with the same person on each event to show Bill Cunningham you are not a slut, I find that the same boy's emotional problems and need to get laid and curiosity in employment in my father's firm exhausting.

Id rather get laid by a different banker everynight in order to create a spreadsheet of all the banker's penis' which will be contingent upon my decision of which investment facility I will invest my ever dwindling trust fund in.

Socialites Seek Refuge

On a typical saturday where I got my most recent hook up buddy and drug dealer confused in my phone, as when my dealer texted me where are you, I responded with Whatever I dont even care anymore.

My dear ivy league educated highly photographed skinny ethnic member of my inner circle took up residency in my pied a terre after several bouts of domestic issues with her significant banker. Since I am such a good theripast and provide and endless supply of xanax, vogue cigs, confetti, bubbles, and various witch craft spells, she thought my home was the perfect place of refuge from the police, especially since I frequently run from them.

Thank goodness both our dads were in Fraternities with the mafia. Thank goodness she repaid my hospitable services with tickets to Alvin Ailey, Veuve Clicqout, and gorgeous jennifer miller bangled bracelets for the Christmas Big Apple Circus Party Event. Clowns have the best meth.

Karma, I hope no one notices that I stole 50 dollars from the Salvation Army bucket on 5th Avenue outside Bergdorf's since I take good care of my socialites.

How do you know when you qualify for institutionalization?

I could use a few days off of work and am thinking of checking myself into a phenom mental institution, I could use some new friends to play the game of who has more daddy issues and who's private school was more expensive.

I am my own DrugDealer and I asked my asian neighbor to open my wine

In my prime I am taking up dealing drugs and for right now I am my only client.  Roll Deep. Hood Life in Chanel.

I would have thrived at High School in New Jersey and here's why

I love In style and use Clarins products

All thru college I tried to hook up with fraternity presidents and thought I was hot shit when I wore ADEPI letters to the gym


I wear Louboutins and automatically think I should be photographed in the Sunday Styles


I wait outside Goldman Sachs when the market closes and would graciously suck the dicks of any of the low tier analysts
I bbm my friends in my oversized banana republic sweater drinking starbucks nonfat-venti-nowhip-mochalightlattec-aramel-syrup coffee and then go on the elliptical for 30 minutes listening to Jay Z and feel really gangster and in shape and text all my friends about how good I am

I talk about how cool cocaine is

I have long lasting debates about the effects of social media on social skills

I love going to clubs, getting tables, watching boys buy bottles, taking muploads, and dancing with my girls to Katy Perry whilst chainsmoking and then vomiting in the limo and not remembering anything

Daily Dose of Glitter

If you're willing to be friends you should be willing to fuck
If you dont have a table you dont have a trust fund
If you dont drink Johnny Walker Black and reflect on the subtleties of post european apocoliptic mayan prophecies than you didnt go to an Ivy league
At the end of the day, im just thankful my homicidic reflections outweigh the suicidal ones
If your drug dealer accepts american dollars you may as well be born in a trailer

Rules of the party

1. Dont sit with the press
2. Dont ask the photographers who they work for
3. If you break up with your boyfriend the night before your party, claim he has a terrible case of beet food poisoning
4. Talk about your parents charity involvements
5. Smoke vigourously outside on your cell phone to your driver
6. wear stockings and Louboutins
7. Trip people
8. tweet with obnoxious hashtags #dontyouwantyouwantmylife

sorry my problems are interesting

you cant take the heat of my fabulously interesting deliriously crazy family and friends and need to impress photographers?
So here's the story,
 Im awesome, Im always running out of money that gets replenished as fast as my blood to my brain when Im swinging upside down on the swings, and if you cant take the heat of my kitchen that I don't cook in and have cocaine cooking, than you best be on your way and take your low tax bracket with you.

Glitter Therapist Vanity Fair Proust Questionnaire

1. Perfect Happiness
Blowing Coke off of Dom Perignon Bottles on a Yacht while rolling around in hot fudge
2. Greatest Fear
That I wont get a table at Le Bernadin or that I forget my lines in my upcoming soft core erotic french porn tomorrow.

3. Which historical figure do I most identify with?
Eva Braun, because if the sex is good, I do not care your opinion of the Jews.

4. Which Living Person do you most admire?
Casey Anthony

5. What trait do you most deplore in yourself?
My minor schizophrenia and my lack of connections that render me incapable of being part of the mob

6. What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Their inability to admit their chronic racism or alcoholism

7. What is your greatest extravagance?
My 24 diamond carat clit piercing

8. On what occasion do you lie?
When people ask me if I would have sex with family members for money

9. What do you most dislike about your appearance?
That it is obvious I am always on xanax and I have a wide ass crack

10. When were you happiest?
When my shrink told me she was having an abortion because I am her only true child

11. What do you consider your greatest achievement?
My ability to fall in love with anyone who has a house in the hamptons and a pseudo ivy league degree

12. If you died and came back as something what would it be?
A heroin needle for celebs

13. What is your most treasured possession?
My Gun from Morocco and my personalized prescription pad and my driver

14. What do you regard as the lowest depths of misery?
being around people that do not think im funny

15. Who are your hero's?
Suri Cruise, Puccinni, Samuel Huntington, Lauren Conrad, Estee Lauder, Fred Wilson, Jesus,

16. How would you like to die?
Stabbed by a scorned lover bullfighter like in Carmen

17. What is your motto?
Stay Rich. Stay Medicated.

Paris Fashion week is only a month away and here's why I care

Fashion week is for fags unless you are walking the runway or are Galliano or are selling coke to the models.
But I love it because mother is a fashion writer or whatever so she flees the country with her photographer and leaves her sleep meds and birkins behind.
Its no wonder I sleep so well and never lose my wallet during January.
So is it trendy to wear fur vests and ankle boots? O thats right I dont care.
Ill see you at the St Regis passed out with my veuve and xanax in 2007 prada heels and target jeans because I spend my trust fund on booze and the economist and us weekly.

She Relies on Daddy's Money, Gross and Childish? Consider the Alternative

My parent's were all "You should contribute to your rent" and I was all "fuck off"


Lets face (lift) it, Id rawther be on my philipe starke couch with father paying rent till im 45 then be an independent woman on my trashcan. #truthhurts Independence when it means being in a middle class tax bracket sounds as painful as botox sans oxycotin.
Ciao

I use Powerful Aphrodisiacs besides oysters and meth

seductively suggest internships at father's firm

Sex

Is anyone else having a major problem keeping it in?

With a mouthful of xanax and a greenbelt, one can accomplish anything

It was like my dojo once said, to kill the viper you must be a viper, or maybe it was Emily Thorne's dojo- that manic bulimic masochistic miscast blonde on Fox's Revenge

I learned that full relaxation, requires a great dump, people who share similar politics involving killing liberals and translating Dostoy-sexy and exchanging Mandaring business tips, I have a great inner circle. Now all I need is a larger interest rate on my trust fund, a boyfriend with a motorcycle and a country home off the coast of the mediterranean, and a bodyguard that lets me facepaint him with rainbows and butterflies.

The best meal I ever had was at Silver Hill REhab

My harvard graduate law school business school et cetera ad naseum cousin who got better bone structure but a boring personality recently entered rehab for her own version of a mariah carey nervous breakdown coupled with wrists splitting veins, intentional devotion to percocet, and chronic masturbator to the vampire diaries.

Ipso facto, we visited her at Family Day, which nearly caused my own brief check in and the salad tuna nicoise with dressing on the side followed by a brief horseback ride thru the 550 acre property and a caviar clit massage only proved that I should be slitting my wrists more often.

Aside from the finding yourself and inner strength bullshit, Ive never had so much fun with the fam. Not to mention brother and I did kamikaze shots in the bathroom and smoked a fat blunt in the limo home with the bodyguard. 

25 three times, I am celebrating my quarter life 3 times

Skip all the boring ages, no one likes celebrating something as mentally retarded as turning 17, or 31, or 24. This way every year can be you 7th annual 21 birthday.  No one likes an old hag with a wrinkly vagina and an ever dwindling trust fund with a jaded sense of the complete and utter mindless childlike yet o so magical and vital one night stand.

lets be real one night stands are pathetic post age 17, so lets do as the black kids with bling and buckets of money do, and never get old, always stay fresh, and fuck mad bitches. 

Goals accomplished

For months I have chased down children hoping to light my cigarette for the ultimate artistic expression on my feelings toward the next generation. I love kids. I love slaves. I love Islam. See default.

December Holiday Goals

Procure Valium laxatives
Brush my teeth more than once a month
strike up conversations with strangers via public transportation
drop xanax into peoples cocktail glasses at parties
wear a turban to the airport
stop getting my dad to call my lifestyle extravagant
get selena gomez or margaret thatcher to tweet at me
talk to a dead person
blow a ball boy at wimbledon

I have so much money yet so many problems

My trust fund statistically metaphorically speaking is like that guy's dick that you didnt even realize was in you. If it was just a little bit bigger, you would have achieve maximal orgasmagical private jet body guard necessity status.

Truth or Dare, Im a slut and do a lot of drugs

I love to play truth or dare because I have no qualms about letting people know that I have slept with more than 40 people and consider methanphetamines an essential part of my lifestyle. Consequently subsequence, I enjoy when people confess to me their truths as I purposely choose dare's that they will not due like blow their father's.
Secrets are powerful, bitches. Play this game as a tool for future manipulation blackmail techniques.

This Video Encompasses all that is pure and true

http://vimeo.com/14307779

Things I need to Procure for my New pied a terre

Friends that are boring but Rich, Scorned Lovers, People I invite out because you look good in pictures and can steal your cash when not looking, I am having a party and I need a few things for my new home.

Father's trays from his first marriage
An aquarium
A soap dispenser that spills out blow designed by Philipe Starke
A Blackcard
A coffee table book about Reagan Economics and Rim Jobs
A ceiling mirror
A gun
A caraffe
Room service
a rape kit
a telescope
a picture of me and ghandi
A nazi propaganda artifact
a silver pen from an Ivy League Business school with my name engraved
See you soon

Dont tell anyone -but my step mom is Diane Lane

What it means to be cool in the 1 percent 20 something lazy rich kid adderall addicted housekeeper obsessed res-erection of wall street generation is something I have yet to discover, though that will never stop me. sui generis. 

I look to my other 3rds of my inheritance for spiritual guidance, numbers for maijuana, and text messages that hide my horny animalistic desperation for sex and attention and convey instead, Ive got a million things going on, Ill hang out if I have time.

Sister and Brother,  inherently cool though could not be more different in their coolness.

 Brother, a more contemporary well educated playboy who would soon rather cut off a finger than commit to one woman for the evening, yet has a very soulful disposition as he cried through The Help and studies philosophy 

 and Sister a global economist with impeccable fashion sense and an heir of indifference that strikes the perfect balance between a superiority complex and a genuine curiosity in meeting personalities, not resumes

How do I become a Boss? In the know? the creme de la creme of the elite, famous for drunken blackouts inherent racism, trashy clothing yet very polite composure? 

Both  constantly tell me not to care, not to stalk celebrities, not to tweet about places where you are, and to most certainly not like people for their money or what they could do for you. 

THis is extremely difficult as all I do are stalk celebrities, tweet about where I am, and like most people for their money. Another lesson they have tried to impose is never be impressed. Your step mom is Diane Lane? Cool. Your Dad has 6 private Jets and funds questionable organizations that may or may not be linked to the Bin Laden's? Phenom

The point is make the people work for you, because everyone else is too caught up in giving blow-jobs to these people and I would stand out if my response was.. yes AND?

It seems I have a lot to learn in climbing to the top of the social ladder by being photographed at the right parties and dating a boy who's father is new money and mother is old money so I can avoid the accusation that I am after one or the other.  And until then I will just have to keep listening, and continuing my quest to the top as an international well educated well bred park avenue party girl heiress diseases aside and footnoted substance addictions. 

See you at the St. Regis 

The Mini Bar Drama-Miniature Snacks-Maximum Bill

Throughout my childhood of my diamond encrusted temper tantrum filled under medicated family adventures sans scotch and valium, I have always seeked solace in the multi milly chocolates that 5 star resorts so strategically place. 

I, like many bulimic manic alcoholic bi polar schizophrenic women often forget in my veuve cliquot xanax haze that chocolate is not part of a healthy lifestyle diet filled with cocaine, salad nicoise, smart water, tuna tartare and perrier to achieve eurotrash socialite figure status. 

After a night of Israeli dry humping with unlikeminded rich jappy girls who still make references to camp friends, 

I  came home to my ambassador suite to enjoy the high end snacks, I had seemingly forgot that unlike my dress to the Opening Night of the Opera and my 10th yogalates class,  these chocolates were not free and would show up on the hotel Bill. 

Father, a diet Nazi most literally and figure-a tively who hasnt had a carb since 2004 and keeps a checklist of all of his employees he has beaten at tennis on his palm pilot proceeded to scream at me in front of the concierge and all those around him about my utter misinterpretation and misunderstanding that all foods besides scotch and dover sole no butter are no permitted to be consumed under no circumstances, let alone coming from the mini bar due to the ridiculously stock market inflated prices. 

Still Drunk from the night before and smelling of pre war pre cum since I hooked up with a solider, I naturally did what I do best and make a huge scene that would ultimately end in blood and foam at the mouth. I cried my eyes out that I was a terrible failure not only as a daughter but as a person and we would immediately have to book a joint session and double my xanax klonopin prescription to work out our serious issues. 

There is no greater boyfriend than father and we havent had a fight since the time I accidentally burned his italian tutor with my cigarette and it made me more manically depressed than usual that he was painfully dissapointed in my mini bar adventures. 

He later resolved the issue by booking sister and I a nice spa weekend in Santa Fe along with a class on how to knock yourself out in a drunken drugged out stupor before opening the mini bar. More money More problems? Hardly, the dramatic performance was great for my acting repertoire and nothing gets Father in the mood to spend money like making me feel sad. Ill see you in the steam room.

Stay skinny bitches.

xoxox

Arbitrarily Jewish- Is wearing Chanel Anti semitic?

The first thing Father, a self hating Jew told me when we got off my first class delta flight that served heinous snacks hashstag douchebag problems, was that Coco Chanel,  was a rampant raging anti semitic homophobe. It is a shame she is dead as I assume they would have been great friends, and I suppose I would not have had to pay full price if they banged.

Alas, I am here in Israel, frequently bursting into Arab prayer of Allah Akbar for the sheer pleasure of making others uncomfortable and to showcase my national New York City socialite terrorist network.  f In my Israeli Homeland visiting sister, my hotter, smarter, richer because she doesn't spend her money on drugs, less pretentious but better at social climbing and seemingly unfazed by celebrities and boys with titanium cards best friend.



Homeland sparks question about home, where you are from and what it means to be at home. I have noted before that I am jewish by persuasion and not by mentality as I enjoy matriculating in country clubs with waspy trust fund alcoholics who use the word chink.
So is this home? I am proud to be a Jew, proud to be in yet another one percent category, but Ill take my Jewish heritage minus the cheapness the crassness, the jappy dispositions, the long island accents, the quest to find a nice jewish boy, and the notion that Palestine does not deserve land.

 Lets Be real, Palestinian's are Arab, Arabs's have oil, oil makes electricity which makes my  blackberry work so ipso facto Palestine is the reason I can BBM.
The first time I came here, I was flying to Nantucket but mistakenly got on the wrong flight when I was 7 and decided to stay the week.  The 2nd time I went on Birthright to meet likeminded young pre pre med jewish members of the pseudo Ivy League network to begin my powerful social climb disguised by my feigned curiosity in the Dome of the Rock.

Purposely Pretentious

There are many an activity I do simply for being able to say that I do them. It is sort of like having a job, the social abnormality of choosing to take a period of rest time sounds like a euphemism for rehab sauteed in a mental breakdown, which it essentially is. I am living in my own Girl Interrupted movie sans the Vietnam war and Angelina Jolie but I have a maid that gives me baths and take part in dance classes where I pretend I am a tree to deal with my manic shizophrenia and my penchant for hiding chickens under my bed.
My tasks are showering, drinking coffee, doing pilates, fixing my Loubitons and refilling my prescriptions and truth be told right now thats all I can handle. Essentially what I am asking for is a prize for never having been arrested, pregnant, in rehab, or caught shoplifting cheating or selling drugs..in the post 911 world.
1. I drink fine red wine at every meal
2. I go to the opera thrice seasonally and memorize the composers and lyrics
3. I go to Harlem to do charity in My Benz
4. I only eat at Cippriannis, Le Bernadin, the 4 seasons, La Grenouille, Daniel, and Yura
5. I ask questions to tour guides in museums
6. I quote from Proust and Chekov and the old testament frequently
7. In my spare time I write toasts for parties and weddings so at the spur of the moment I can say "just the right thing"
8. I pretend I know your boss from Childhood when you tell me you are a low tier analyst at J.P Morgan
9. I have ethnic friends and take pictures with them on facebook to prove my rampant unracism
10. I pretend I know the bouncer when I walk into the club and ask how the children are and kiss them twice
11. I end every text in french with bisous bisous
12. I only speak to my dad in Italian
13. If a shop wont let my standard poodles in then I immediately take my business elsewhere and sell stocks
14. If you try to fuck me before paying for dinner and or a weekend in Paris-I assume you were raised in a trailer with bad lighting and no cable.
15. I only watch films with subtitles and purposely have never scene films that define our generation
16. I use French 75 cocktails as lube
17. I use the phrases personal investments and brokers and it started in the roots of christianity in bar conversation

The food at Google is not that Good and other confessions of young entrepreneurs from the techosphere

I have recently reconnected with a new member of my inner circle. A skinny jewish genius blonde who rubs elbows with Arab investors and likeminded NASA engineers. She let me in on the secrets on the ins and outs of other options for other social climbing socialites like yours truly to do other things besides do cocaine, get pedicures, sharpen knives and memorize passages from the Quaran and Ann Coulter books while simultaneously trying to hack into the Alquaeda server.

She is starting a real live business and is already inundated with lawsuits, potential investors, and arbitrary trips to space. She essentially is fabulous rich and pretty but also smart and sexual and has other things to talk about besides Urban Outfitters, Birthright, shots, and drunken and makeouts.

A rare occasion in generation Rich kid lazy #letmetweetaboutnothingalldaylong.

 I tried to make a business of sex toys for rape victims but found I was much better at making necklaces out of my anti depressants and  indulging in my drivers crush on me.


Being on her side will be a phenom addition to my social climbing excursions as she is on the brink of coming of a multi billy enterprise created by HERSELF. RAW. THUG LIFE. RICH. HOT POWERFUL. I DIE. She socializes with the family of Mark Zuckerberg, girls that punch themselves in the face to get laid and then go to L.A to learn kickboxing from the same guys that taught the C.I.A to kickbox, and genius M.I.T potential business partners.
My inner circle has been added some new freshly added tech blood with big words and C.E.O jargon.

Happy Thanksgiving! Im thankful my boyfriend doesnt know I check his email

It isnt normal for me to be a giver, in any matter place form, season or sexual act unless I am promised Jennifer Miller Jewls and a facebook relationship. 

Ipso facto, a rare ocurence has struck deep inside me that renders me necessary to address the following of what I am happy for in my life.

My psychopharmacologist gives me whatever I want

I live in my uncles building which means I never have to pay rent and he also touched me as a child which I havent told anyone and will refuse to as long as our agreement stands forth

It is very likely we will have a GOP candidate

It is one year closer to my parents death and thus one year closer to attaining the assets to which I deserve

I only punched 29 people in the face at the club and was merely charged with light drug possession and sentenced to community service to which my hours filled helping poor kids read when Im bored and have something else to talk about

I applied for dual citizenship in Morocco and Italy

My sex tape was only leaked to St. Tropez and Monaco

Arbitrary Analysis

I love upper middle class parties, because they still have money, but aren't obnoxious about it.

Hey Its ok to

1. be unable to differentiate your holes

2. spend 700 dollars paraphernalia for your puppies or dolphins

3. memorize an excerpt from Foreign Affairs and frequently recite it at various cocktail parties to establish your asian tutored multi milly education

4. never acknowledge your waiter

5. masturbate to your boyfriend's stock portfolio

6. post pictures of yourself with celebrities and cite them as your friends and get personally offended when they cant come to your birthday party

7.  have every meal at Cippriani's and expense it to your "interior design venture capitalist establishment"

8. Have your holiday party on Venus

9. Hope that your friends tragically get hit by a car if they get engaged

10. put crystal meth in your ex boyfriends travel bag right before he goes through security.

11. List your friends by description that is most easily recognizable my gay friend, my crippled friend, my poor friend, my asian friend, my adopted friend, my charity friend et cetera ad naseum

Real Talk November

1. I tweet about travels to let people know I have a unique complex understanding of cultures and interest in the world around me and that I have money
2. If you are not a private school top shelf liquor drinking louboutin wearing adderall junkie sauteed in daddy issues, low self esteem with vulgar humor and obsession with my mother than I am unclear why we are friends
3. Ive watched my own conception
4. I have never been grocery shopping, do not know how to work a dishwasher a microwave an oven a freezer or lightbulbs and am very untrusting of puerto ricans
5. I always have diet coke, crushed up xanax, my gun, nipple clams, lube, and glitter spray in my target for chanel purse
6. My personal dream is to live life to the song "So Rich So pretty" by M Avalon by quote being a girl with caked up makeup smoking cigarettes to pass the time waking up to a bottle of wine on the nightstand bites and scratches the blinds

My seduction techniques besides roofies

I would like to think of myself of a well thoroughbred park avenue heiress who woos men with my sensual disposition and knowledge of fine french bordeaux's and opera. It turns out the only man I would seduce is father and my seduction techniques are perhaps slightly for the born in Eisenhower generation, which in fact is not a bad thing. My brother recently informed me that I probably would have thrived at Short Hills high school where Juicy Couture and blacking out were abundant and acceptable.

Father is a great boyfriend who takes me to the theatre and is treated like the Mafia at le Bernadin, but I suppose its time I spend time with men my own age who appreciate my inability to not put out, penchant for ponies, tuna tartare and klonopin and my gin soaked heart.
I asked my nanny how she seduced her husband and she told me through mutual interests and love and respect. All I heard was blah blah blah hemustbereallygoodinbedbecausehehasnomoney.

Alas, here is what I have come up with to seduce low tier analysts lawyers studio execs, this does not apply to artists, writers, or anybody of a creative field that will not give us social climbing socialite Reagan worshipping manic alcoholics the lifestyle to which we are accostomed

1. casually leave Chekov and Gogol Books lying around
2. do not underestimate the power of after an intense discussion of possibilities of the 2nd state solution of peace in the middle east  and then put all of his balls in your mouth
3. suggest possibilities of employment at Father's firm
4. offer of prescription drugs
5. talk about bank accounts
6. talk about Ronnie and Nancy's marriage
7. watch  Y tu Mama Tambien, Unfaithful, or Cruel Intentions

Be weary of bitches who claim they model, its most likely for Nordstroms Preteen section

When I was 6, my trainer was married to a model, but by model I mean someone took pictures of her hands...and her vagina, something that I discovered through my PI.
She used to take me rollerblading, and let me excuse this sad excuse for travel as it was the 90s and everyone was on an erratic combination of oxy and quaaludes so they thought shoes with wheels was the best thing since lube.
In any case, they later divorced and she took the dogs.

Some guy left me in the middle of sex, how was your weekend?

On my quest to becoming a rock star and living the dream, I left my clients apartment whose children I babysit for, and by babysit I mean let them watch porn while I go through their parents things.

After I had made my drug money, my dealer dropped me at one of my likeminded skinny semi rich brunette who told me she was hosting a party for bankers who were not white. Since I am feeling bi racial these days I naturally agreed and casually brought over a bottle of cristal just to let her guests know that I was probably the most fun yet psychotic guests with good breeding. 

Her good looking friend was not exactly my type while he was a white jewish alcoholic bro with a 6 pack and a penchant for slutty long island girls, like yours truly he was not exactly country club waspy trust fund material.

Ipso facto whilst I had not shaved, after a few casual touches and bump and grinds to 90's beats from our generation we went back to my flat because I am british. He was impressed with my doorman and my 4s and as we finger banged he answered his phone to a cockblock who could not get home and bounced. 

I get it, bro's before ho's. But I thought that the rule was moot when dealing with being inside one. Apparently not, but I have to respect his values for loyalties of his good friends even if he left me high and dry, literally. 

Karma's a bigger bitch than my own mother

So I really cant with self checkout, it leaves otherwise stoned yet mildly good natured high school drop outs and without a job and thus without someone to look at and say at least im not the checkout girl at Fairway.
Doesnt exactly have the same ring when one says it to a machine.
Ipso facto the self checkout was obviously broken so I stole my vegan brown rice sushi because no one assumes that A chanel bag wearing eyeglass hiding trust fund spoiled prude with an aggressive gait that is mistaken for masculinity is shoplifiting.
Neverthefuckingless, I wander into my marble safe to take out my 5 50's for the night for rolling and taxi cab purposes and they are gone.  Alas Someone stole them. Now I naturally let Time warner matriculate in and out of my apartment along with several other members of my inner circle who need my bed for sex furing work hours while I am getting my nails done. It is possible that in my xanax and veuve haze I dropped my cash since wallets are vulgar and I hold cash in my hand always waiting to tip someone.
But I will never steal sushi again. Karma is a huge cunt and I now have to resort to going over my amex limit and sell this month's klonopin prescription at Mich U to get cash,
See you at the St. Regis. Ill be needing a drink, and I promise Ill be nice, I could use some good karma.

Sushi Trust Funds and the Elliptical: Welcome to the 1% of 20 somethings in a Cosmopolitan city

As I walked out of my pied a terre in leggings, ugg boots, chanel purse, nonfatventinowhip and 30 mgs of Adderal off to my non real job in Fashion PR at a low tier fashion house that I pretend is actually a legitimate institution and walk around like im the fucking karl lyod blanklagerfeld of Manhattan, I realized that I hadnt stolen the silver trays from My father's first marriage like I was supposed to that afternoon.

I went for a tuna roll and a veuve with some girlfriends whom I secretly hoped would get mercury poisoning as they had new boyfriends at prestigious hollywood studios or had lost 15 from stealing her grandmother's chemo drugs. I realized that most of my circle was a group of women trying to make it to the creme de la creme of society without actually admitting it which on one hand was hilarious as they were certainly not fooling me, and another a realization that I have a lot of serious competition, which should be obvious considering my dealer is always late.

occupy you are an idiot

I am for ever thankful that the occupy movement is soon on its way as I have never been so personally disturbed and offended. I am wildly against free speech that is not of christian doctrine involving guns and cocaine. I owe every aspect of my wildly unstructured ludicras lifestyle to wall street so the fact that their service to my well being is even being questioned is enough to make me go on a wild xanax binge. Even my maid, over tea and scrabble, agreed that the movement was a hippie liberal outcry for attention and photos on page 6. Job well done
My dear brother also informed me, that a contemporary millionare just dont care communist classmate was extremely supportive of the movement so much that he wanted to travel all the way to New York City to join his brothers in ZUchinni park. He made it to Newark.
Off with you protestors. Make me a rye turkey salad with dressing on the side and a side of cous cous and diet coke and perrier mixed together not touching and go back to work.

Too Close for Comfort Driver

The truth about myself is I am kind to those from all walks of life as long as it is clear that I am better and of higher stature. The staff are my best friends because they always are nice to me and are always free to listen to my problems about the time I dropped coke at CVS on video or the time when I was so unshaven I had to use the Ritz' desk scissors to trim my vagina.

I often cite the staff as quite close dear friends of whom have their own table at my various birthday parties. I often treat my spanish driver who is young hip fresh and hood as my personal therapist, but on this one occasion he took it too far and turned the tables where he confided in me, he seemed to have misunderstood that our friendship is onesided. He asked for legal advice as he had been caught rolling a jay and has a prior record of assault.

This kind of information sent me into a rather erotic tizzy as assault is always dirty and dangerous and the adrenaline rush was between a fear for my life and an enjoyable high. 

Because I went to a pseudo ivy league and therefore may as well have a J.D from Berkeley, I told him that marijuana charge is not something to fear even if he has a prior record, but him making me to his thug life made me uncomfortable and lead me to the conclusion that I need to stay on the non assault side of the line between driver and client. 

Moved out of Chez Cray

Its a true milestepping growth stone when one moves out of the whom whose vagina you spurted out of. But the time has come to grow up and have bills in my own name that I do not pay. In fact, I write off everything is a glittertherapy expense against my Father's income so my actual living expenses are few and far between.
So here I am, Ive finally gained my independence with Father paying my rent and maid service everyday and my arduous responsibilities of sounding smart at cocktail parties, getting photographed and meeting a gentlemen of suitable socioeconomic class.
Living alone is not all it is cracked up to be, as truth be told, I really do miss my maid.
Here is what is in my new pied a terre thus far
knives
cocaine
long mirror to douse myself in olive oil
telescope to spy on neighbors
bathroom stolen from the Ritz in Paris

I cant with

tap water
rich liberals
shrinks that dont prescribe
rim jobs
domestic travel
staff without accents
drivers that make conversation
boys that dont call after you casually stalked them
restaurants that dont have tuna tartare
people who dont order appitizers or sides
boys that do cocaine at night
places that dont take amex
people that dont pay cabs or offer to pick me up with their driver
moms who pretend they work
unflat tax rates
the Bush twins
Plan B
painful fingering
unreliable drug dealers and narrators
constipation
Louis Vuitton
sex without dinner being paid for

My Birthday- Im Jumping out of a cake and taking you with me

I am cuming up to a rather exciting age, my contemporaries around me are fearful that their youth is passing them by too quickly, which is just a sad excuse of saying they didnt have enough fun and are scared it is no longer acceptable to which is ludicras sauteed in the fact their parents no longer give them money to go to Bergdorfs every saturday followed by an anal deep tissue.

 I, at the risk of sounding like a 45 year old  botoxed woman in the midst of a mid life crisis with a fake interior design career and step kids in therapy, " am just getting started," and another birthday, means yet again another day to be all about me, which lets face it is a bit frightening.

What is me? The Glittertheripast. Twisted. Manic. Rude. Veuve. Euro. Not the people, the bills, as American dollars are trashy and do not allow for cocaine consumption as properly.
 My life is the combination between phenom and terrifying.
I have no life skills to speak of except for my conversational arabic, my swift approval of my credit card bill, and my half decent attempt to make friends with people in my socioeconomic bracket. I tend to fall below my Hermes belt as I relate more to the common man's daily struggles to make something of oneself. I am however, very nice and have no problem blowing bouncers to get a table.
Birthday, another year of celebrating that my path to slow suicide has not yet worked. I go through a daily struggle of feeling fabulous and wanting to kill myself, so I assume my death will be on a crystal meth binge wearing Van Cleef and Versace (H and M) off the coast of my Grandad's I joke. my dad's yacht #newmoney.

I absolutely love my birthday because I plan for each year's in advance.  because the typical social climbing herve lever wearing whore bore complains that birthday's like new years never live up to one's expectations-

 I have already booked La Mamounia in Morocco for my 35th for 10 of my closest nearest and dearest, and this list includes at least 3 C list Celebs, so if you believe you are included,I suggest you either start booking some studio projects with a post 10 milly budget or start being nicer to me and paying for cabs if you assume you are on this list.

I am not a bitch I just really want to get laid, so if you are not fun and are not a good wing woman and do not help me get photographed than you best be on your way and book something else for Christmas 2020.

And as for New Years, I always spend it on white sand beaches with veuve in my hand and a cigar in the other dancing to a cracked out reggae band dry humping a black waiter with homegrown marijuana crying. and the meal is spent with the CEO of BlackROCK, ATandT, Campbell's soup and LVMH combined, so New Years neverlivesuptomyexpectationsmyvagina.

Whilst I spent my 19th birthday with male strippers, my 21 birthday in a stranger's Hotel Room at the GeorgeSanc, my 5th Birthday at Daniel complete with chocolate fudge cake and my theripast, my 14th birthday at Susan Cimenelli spa with 4 girls who have all separately been to rehab or on page 6 at one time or another and are rawther embaressing inclusions to society.
All I know is, this year, I may pass out on my canopy with my standard poodles, veuve vogue cigs, and my new boyfriend, a low tier art dealer on the black market with specialties in large intestines and ball sacks, but more likely than not Ill see you at the St. Regis.
xoxo
If you need to know what I want for my birthday, you clearly do not read this blog. In case you are new, I like brand name xanax, foreign affairs mag, diamond encrusted things, passports, expensive porn, dolphins, orbit gum, street cred, shirts that say racist things, magic wands, splenda, Ghandi quotes, anti semitic memorabilia, Nancy Reagan paraphnalia, miles, and gift certificates to Dolce and Gabbanna and Dean and Deluca.

Notes to the maid

I am not good at cutting apples. I left an apple out for the maid and wrote a note that said "please cut"

The subtle enthusiastic ability to send a text message to get sex

Sexting- a form of communicating sex through your phone, something I have asked everyone from my italian godfather to my jamaican maid ways to properly communicate my feelings to men of proper dating stature, where I can still maintain my dignitity as what usher calls "a lady in the street but a freak in the bed" or in our case, the phone.
The message is unclear, as women should not start, it looks dirty, unprofessional, unkept and impurely bred. Starting off with Im sooo drunk, is a great place to start, as that shows the man you are in a vulnerable place lost about your bearings, location and balance.
Gage where the response is from there, if there is a response that comes with a question such as O yea? Where? But if you get a Haha me too, I suggest you turn off your phone and throw it in the East River.

Working Opening Paragraph of my Memoir

I often went to Harry Cipprianni's in my pjamas as in New York City during the height of the technology twitter boom and xanax, and where living off your 1980's Wall Street parents success was chic, everywhere was casual, and if you were skinny and rich you could show up anywhere in a t shirt with a vintage band and an indifferent attitude.
My memoir is nothing short of a wrist slitting finger banging pill popping cocaine snorting social climbing exploration of growing up perfectly priviledged yet morally fucked up purely by own doing. What is different about me from your typical bulimic manic alcholic unable to orgasm judgemental sociopathic mess, is that I was always perceptive, intuitive, and a good friend, daughter, sister, to the best of my abilities.
 I turned out ok as no one is dead on my account that I know of, and I do not fund any terrorist organizations-anymore and to me those are signs of a seemingly successful existence.

 All this initial conversation about money reveals my jewish persuasion which you will soon find ironic as I eventually married a waspy vicodin addict who at best didnt know hebrew and at worst was a light anti semite. I am jewish in the way that I am positively obsessed with money and everyone else's personal spending habits and judge other's character based on their classification of old money-classic new money- drastic and no money-tragic.
I am not jewish in the sense that I do not find it my life's purpose to make everyone aware of the dread of the holocaust or think that I am better than other's because somewhere it says that we are chosen. In fact, I much prefer Budhists, Yogi's and Atheists and hard core Presbeterians who see the spirituality and excitement of love, laughter, life, the present moment and getting high.
 I would have to say my religious values are based on good literature, family loyalty, excellent clothing and booze in one's home, and my house of worship is First Republic Bank.
The story begins where most good ones begin, at the cemetery picking out coffins for my father, who frequently told my brother and sister and I, that once he is no longer able to play tennis and properly enjoy the opera, he wants to be smothered immediately. Interesting, how smother, soon became my "safe word" not too much later.

playlist that goes great with a joint and a xanax

Wonderwall- straight no chaser
Remix to Ignition -R.Kelly
He wasnt Man enough enough for me-Toni Braxton
Searchin My soul- theme from Ally McBeal
Waiting for a Girl Like you -Glee Cast
ITs Alright-Joe Cocker
Please Dont Go-Mike Posner
Nice N Slow- Usher
You're Still the One- Shania Twain
That whack song that Marissa Cooper overdoses to in the O.C going under by the Rockers
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHX_wMOvYHA

I travel with my sisters dead cats ashes so I dont get frisked at security

Most of my life is spent in airport security since I am such a frequent flier proven by all my frequent flier miles. There is nothing richer and more sophisticated sounding than tweeting about all of your travel dilemmas and the douchier sounding, the more impressive. And On a side note, Nelly's "Dilemma" is making a strong comeback in the club and in my bedroom soundtrack for giving great head.


 Mother, a newly Arabian heiress has some phenom examples such as, this first class lounge at Delta has the most horrific cracker choices F.M.L
Nevertheless, tweetpics like those above get you at least 200 followers and make many lesser fatter poorer people on twitter retweet and write back in affirmative agreements and hashtags that are reminiscent of #wishIhadyourlife.

Part of being a social climbing socialite is being always out of town and having a boyfriend in many an impressive city from Santa Fe to Sabia. This accomplishes good sex without having to deal with being together for too long for him to realize you are a complete psychotic manic alcoholic cunt that is made up for with strong family values and a sunny disposition.

I love the stress in traveling, it brings out the best in me as I frequently strike up conversations with the people sitting next to me in first class who have no choice but to listen to my tales of suffering as a Park Avenue Heiress with manic multiple personality disorder and inaproppe cocktail party topics whilst trying to marry into an impressive family with tennis background and no history of abstaining from alcohol or god.
Christian Drunks are marriage material. Sadly my new stranger friends are usually not amused and double their dose of ambien without sharing. Rude. Shows signs of impure white breeding which leads me to the conclusion that they won this first class ticket as a prize sweepstake in last Month's Men's Health.

I douche with Veuve Clicquot and other confessions

I cant remember the last time I didn't have a staff member help me shower
My dogs leashes cost more than my suntan lotion
I masturbate to Worth Magazine and Conde Nast Traveller
I would most definitely go down on each and every one of my family members grandparents included for 10 million dollars
I have broken into Lauderee both in New York and Paris because I really hate lines
I have stolen money from my latin tutor for drugs only to pay him back before he noticed
I truly madly whole heartedly wish that all the girls that were mean to me in high school get bashed in the face by a school bus along with their hampton homes going into foreclosure
I made out with a 10th grader but he paid for drinks and his parents are art dealers
I am on a quest to take one penny out of every account of first republic bank
I ate 17 ounces of caviar
I douche with Veuve Cliquot

food for thought makes no sense as we are all trying to stop eating

As I sit on the canopy balcony of my pied a terre reflecting on all of my pain and suffering I realized that I often drunkenly offer people jobs and tell them that I know a great guy for them when in fact I only know my pot dealer and my father's peurto rican errand boys.


I stroked my standard poodle and decided that tonight was as good a night as any to take my driver and rich girlfriends downtown to do drugs and judge our contemporary's careers and life choices and value their worthwhile-ness and success in society based on their careers.
When I spotted a European looking white person I decided that he was hot enough to finger me and his culture and accent made up for the fact that he was not on the Forbes list and the only english he knew was "ur pussy ees a soo tight", a compliment I am often awarded with, and hopefully eventually on the same night that I get my Lilly Pulitzer Prize for Peace in the Rich part of the Middle East.
Food For thought. Stop Eating.
See you at the St. Regis.

" I dont want a girlfriend that does drugs"

Thats Ok, I dont want a boyfriend who has an asian fetish sauteed in a middle class tax bracket with semi homosexual tendencies underscored with penis dysfunction and frat bro for life syndrome.

O You So you Interned at J.P Morgan? Cool, the CEO of BlackRock taught me how to Waterski

Allow me to Chronicle the weekend events that have occured.
Good Hell, the current upper middle class matriculation of this generation is embarassing of what is considered high class behavior in da club. I am shocked, disgusted, appalled, and outrage essentially by everyone who is not a rockefeller or has several homes in Europe and Hawaii. Otherwise You best be on your way.
Men's typical opening line whilst seeking fellatio is to not so subtlely namedrop a bank that they work (intern for).
Bragging about  internships at finance firms in an attempt for drunk sex is ridiculous as the CEO of BlackRock taught me how to waterski whilst in his speedo of the coast of the Mediterranean in Antigua when I was 8 and we remain on close terms and interpret this as you see fit as I had a dank bod in the 90's.

And then the women.  I already knew you were trashy when you were raised outside a cosmopolitan city and went to a 3rd tier boarding school, followed by a lesbian arts university, but then you had to further prove your boring personality and even more painful existence by ordering bottom shelf liquor vodka pronounced "vah ka" and sugar free redbull whilst loudly discussing how totally awesome your Job in Fashion PR is sauteed in attempting to eye fuck every guy who orders a patron shot with a black card. You have no shame no subtlety and no business in my presence unless you bring me a present.
.
Having said all this, I decided to reach into my deep dark hidden roots of my hood identity and attended a party in the Projects but it was classy as it was Notorious BiG's childhood home or at least thats what I told myself.
I needed an escape from all the social climbing wannabe socialites as I am starting to realize that wearing Manolo's and Mother's Yves Saint Laurent, only makes me look like an asshole if I dont relish in the fabulousness of it and not think that I am better than those lower dressed and in lower income. But lets face it I do. Designer clothes is a symbol of upbringing that your parents have invested enough money in you looking rich while you blackout and dry hump.
I decided to venture down to a party in the ghetto where the vodka is warm and the people are dark, than you will have no frame of reference of people from all walks of life.
I love the walks of life as long as my driver takes me home and I get to keep the guns I find and diamonddazzle my du rag.

The Friendship of Men and Women is as Asinine as Sex Offenders at a 25,000 a semester elite Pree school

This argument that men and women are friends not only wrong, it is perhaps more irrationally irritating and induces more powerful skinny cigarette cravings. It is so powerfully obvious that men and women aren't friends it is almost as ridiculous as these so positively affirmative questions like
Are poor people misguided?
Is one mentally clinically retarded if they vote for Obama or read the Huffington Post ?
 Did the Jews kill Jesus?
Were NATO and the UN obsolete after WWII?
Was going into Iraq justified?
Are couples that didnt hire a professional to make their sex tape unclear of how to properly manage their finances?
Will Black kids always blame white kids?
Is Saks Fifth Avenue Middle Class?
Is bragging about your ski "holiday" to Utah where you didnt stay at the Stein Erikson bougie?
Will Valium and Van Cleef make your problems significantly easier?
Le Fucking Duh
 I stand crystal meth clear that men and women can never -will never- be ever just friends and here's why.  First of all lets state the facts, there is no such things as just friends in general. I use most of my inner circle to get me into parties where I can be photographed and meet a waspy coked out Sigma Chi and Secret Society Founders.
But men women arent friends because of the temptation of Sex.
Unless you are gay, fat, ugly, poor, liberal, or can speak only one language which is slick lazy and indicative of bad character then this does not apply.  Or if you are of opposing race and even the sneaky race card treads an enviable starving child thin line as I have been known to cheat on many with Sean Combs.

The reason for inability of friendship is temptation, curiosity, and the possibility of exploring What if we touched each-other? You can pretend as long as you want, but one member of the friendship is silently getting blue balls that will cause him to end up in a Middle Class Emergency Room.

I know from personal experience as I have asked each and every one of my guy friends to stick their hands down my moms prada pants purely because none of my deep dark desires goes un MANifested.

Psychological issues? Naturally, but I am obsessed with the unexplored and I guarantee that he or she is too.
I know so many couples who have friends of the opposite sex and it always 100% most of  the time ends badly.

 So my dearest and nearest inner circle members, if you are not dating someone I encourage you to explore sticking the hands of your friends down your designer pants and see what comes of it.
If it does not work out there was very little point to the relationship anyway unless the other was picking up the Tab at the Four Seasons.

If you ARE dating someone, first of all I commend you for taking time out of your day for someone other than yourself, something I will never do unless I have to walk my dogs in my Louboutins with my Shri Lankan Doorman at my side to ensure that I am not photographed in my pjamas and heels,
then I sexually urge you to think cautiously about your opposite sex friends and wonder the trouble that they are causing to your relationship.


If the significant other has opposite sex "Friends",
Then I am more serious than a hooker who needs crack, hire a PI.
Find out their life story, their goals their intentions, their birth control, their drug habits, their drink of choice, their weakness for Marlboro's and skank weed,  what word they cheated on in 4th grade, what porn they masturbate to, and where they get their nails done and how much they tip bartenders, these are all indicative of the 'friend" intentions and by all means necessary treat her like she's an effing sister wife.

Take her to foreign movies, read her your memoirs, take naked saunas together to check out the competition, as Kathryn from the critically acclaimed arguably best film for the self medicated park avenue troubled heir to the normal wall street baby boomer fortune  generation" keep your friends close and enemies closer"
Listen to this coked out bitch, anyone who gets Ryan Phillippe to wager a 1976 mustang for anal sex (r.e "you can put it anywhere") 29 min into the film is a classified unappreciated genius.
Men and Women can never be friends. Enjoy the background checks, they are some of my favorite pastimes.
Stay Rich. Stay Medicated.

Brazilian Waxes and Sexting Welcome to Sex Generation Rich and Bored

I am lazy, bored, racist, and to those who dont know me. Manically threatening. Most do not leave a meeting with me and say " I totally get that girl" and thats truly acceptable and understandable. Most of what I say are lies and my multiple personalities often confuse me of what I know is real to what I know is a trip. However, as bi polar, inconsistent, rude, filterless, and morally bankrupt yet tangibly the opposite, I am a great friend to those who are rich and skinny and tell a phenom story over veuve and dissolved xanax.
What started out as a relaxing day at Staples which prequeled my therapy session and karatay class, ended up with me hitting on a former employee of fathers who I learned within 5 minutes was now sober. My specialty. It was one of my greatest gifts to turn the sober to the non sober, sort of like turning those that dont value pseudo intellectualism and xanax to care greatly after an afternoon manicure with me.
After a few shots and a few puffs of my homemade crack in my pied a terre in the West Village, the next thing I knew we were deep in Williamsburg in an apartment of Lesbians and I had non induced scars on my legs and Fathers former employee had a nasty gash. I realized that not only had a not shaved but I certainly had not played hard to get.
It seems if I want an unclear alcoholic with wall street money and questionable morals and divorced parents (as that is better sex, something to do with mommy issues), I really needed to not suggest shots and crack upon first meeting.

60 dollar manicures and 25 dollar glasses of Veuve: Confessions of a klonopin dependant uppereastsider

Whilst many believe that money is not the answer to happiness and self fulfillment, a wise attractive wealthy gay of mine told me that we would rather be crying in persian silks in the back of the rolls royce than singing GAGA on our stolen bikes.

The notion that money buys happiness always in my lawsuit case, is not new to glittertherapy but I only want to further hone it in, as I see a life where going to the theatre followed by a 200 dollar bottle of wine where the maitre D treats you like head mafia and would most likely kill anyone who crossed your path is something that I would not trade for a happy family in a toyota sauteed in public school education and holidays at Club Med and fancy dinners at the Cheesecake factory sans housekeeper and hypnotist.
 The creme de la creme do make one point of minor validity. The private school world is full of pressure if you are not skinnyand not on the boards of Charities and are not often photographed and do not have a boyfriend that went to a pseudo Ivy Leage or is Jewish.
 Your parents gave you money and freedom to become a controlled alcoholic contributing member of society who produces likeminded attractive offspring with someone who as equal if not more trustfund money.
My solution to this is to escape the bubble by floating from crew to crew depending on what mood stabilizers I am on until I have my own television show where rumours of my past as an escort and foot fetish model begin to permeate page 6 only to have them squashed by Tommy my lawyer slash booty call.
But until then I will indulge my contemporaries problems of unreliable therapists, incompetent dog walkers, and poorly cut cocaine, because lets face it these issues do stand in the way of important meetings with investors who want to give you money to your fake public relations company you are developing.

How I see it is that pain whether it is familial, in relationships or within yourself exists whether or not you have money.
 but that does not mean that my inner circle within the upper east side and those with titanium Cards in Europe and L.A do not have their fair share of deep dark mental insanity.
 It is only the fact that money provides the distraction avoid the issue that your husband is actually gay or your child has a serious drug problem, but honestly, is that really keeping you from having fun at parties and having fun with good friends?
Whilst purusing thru the corner book store looking for a coffee table book that conveys the notion that I am classy come from a good family yet give really good head if you give me some ice cubes and the hookers manual, I saw a book about the cost of elitism. This really grinded my vagina, as spoiled rich kids who are given materials instead of love need to take that up with their therapist and their driver and stronger medication.
I do not really care if you have a father who sleeps with hookers or a mother who wakes up to Gin and klonopin only to leave you untrusting of positive relationships and healthy homes. In fact, one should use this quality material to create great art and not for cocktail party conversation, something that I am slowly learning.
The why the  argument of the upper creme da la creme manhattan society is bulimia inducing because of the alternative lifestyle listed above with used cars and hotels without bathrobes and debit cards and lettered subway stops.

I am confused where the money doesnt buy happiness argument comes into play when you have a horse a home in West Hampton (even though thats the ghetto ist of the Hamptons), are a renounced floutist and do not know what mortgage and student loans mean. Yes, my upper creme da la creme inner circle suffers from manic alcoholism and lack of clarity of healthy relationships, but this hardly warrants any hardship of life complaints.

 Yes, We want to avoid being our mothers but keep their wardrobe and their prescriptions and their husbands money and their ability to produce brilliant offspring, but permanently delete everything else
 Whilst money does buy happiness being a well medicated top shelf drinking herve leger wearing chanel carrying never without titantium does leave room for personal fears and discouraging moments in life but that is no excuse for spoiled rude and unappreciative behavior. Spoiled is very 80s. This is a new generation take your pain out on your sex life and your credit card and call me after the new Manolo sale and let me know how your problems are. See you in Gusstaad this Christmas or excuse me "hannukah".
XO$XO$

This may really bother you but I absolutely love

to make small talk on the street
to get in cars with drug dealers and exchange stories about each other's families
to talk about my mild crystal meth and heavy xanax usage in public
to ask you personal questions about your sex life
to text you with sexual conentation
to cite Ronald Reagan as the best President of the United States
to question the validity of tax brackets and welfare
to obviously not shower
to go thru your BBMs when you arent looking
to treat staff like staff who are also best friends
to invite you to my home for prosecco and head
to dirty dance with my cousins
to judge people who suggest that they cant taste the difference between Ketel one and bottom shelf
talking about my money and other people's money

November Objectives

color code and bedazzle my xanax
get finger banged by an ambassador of a developed country in the Russian Tea Room
write down a diabolical manipulative highly mathematical power point presentation to Father illustrating how me paying for any part of my rent for my pied a terre will drastically affect my mood swings and may cause me to marry an abusive husband not out of my own choice
find a drug dealer with a better looking car
have my photo taken in the electric Room that ends up in Vanity Fair instead of instaphoto
find better tasting laxatives
memorize one section of the Bible
develop strong cocktail party point soundbites
bleach my asshole
read three books in Russian in public
find Steve Jobs body and climb into his tomb and take photos with it
get more black rich friends
start dressing more "downtown"
finalize my lawsuit against my childhood theripast
get better ideas for chic places to get food.

Failed Dreams of a Wall Street maid

Its every maid's dream to throw away her broom in exchange for a magic wand made of money - the dream to move from the servants quarters to the master bedroom is in fact similar to most people's dreams but this particular maid of my nearest and dearest confused cleaning their house with being their friend, a mistake I too have made on several occasion.

 Most people who dream, fail. Fantine from Les Mis dreamed a dream that men were kind. Fail.

The fact is a rude maid dreaming to sleep with her clients is, like Martin Luther Kings dream, a retarded dream that will get you killed or worse fired and blacklisted from Tribeca.

Here's why. Wall Street bankers marry women who are #wellbredwellread meaning they have old money, went to boarding school run charities and are on the boards of museums of artists. So if you are a fat middle aged housecleaner with limited knowledge of the daily specials at Le Bernadin and are not on a first name basis with the Pilatays instructor at Equinox than you can consider yourself out of the running to crawl out of the rubber gloves and into la perla lace ones.

Alas this crazy wall street maid took her failed attempt to marry a banker by cleaning for one way too far by personally verbally assaulted some of my nearest and dearest wall street bankers on account of her being fired due to her serious OCD, alchoholism and overall inability to do laundry without using 4 boxes of detergent.
To the maids that read this blog, or to the women that have maids tell them this. Expect nice Christmas bonuses, old us weekly issues,  spare victoria secret gift certificates and maybe a free night in the Hamptons if nothing is stolen.  Do not expect to be treated as if you belong in the same circle as those which you clean for.
You may soap their jock straps and throw away lube, but you are not close and are not on the same level and if you do not do your job you will get fired. Personal assaults on your clientele will further leave you blacklisted not only from Tribeca but from all Fidi as well.
Cheers. You missed a Spot.

Dumb Model

I try to be friends with attractive people but when they use me for my titanium card its time to call a brother out.
Some dumb whore british model asked me for money and I stupidly gave it to her. Look out Dahling, I know where you live. My mother is jewish which means I will hunt you down for every last penny.
Happy Halloween.

Who knew you could cross state lines with a prescription for Vicodin?

And so it goes, as I usually spend my time hating on liberals, sharpening my knives, drinking veuve, and reading self help books, I take a break from my arduous schedule to visit some of my dearest and nearest off of the coast of the mediterranean of Washington DC to relax and reflect and blackout.
During one of my blackouts on this apparent halloween where I dressed in My Ralph Lauren Designed Casey Anthony costume and binged on scotch and saw dust, I spent time with the people who love me not just because I pick up the tab and am not afraid to get in the car with drug dealers, but because I am open about who I am - one with an elecktra complex and narcissism bi polar alcoholic prude madic depressive psychotic being that strikes the perfect balance of being a hell of a good time and a tiny bit scary.

I sadly lost my personally designed Very Bradley wallet in the White House whilst getting Finger banged by a junior secretary of state. It naturally contained my titanium card, my ID, my fathers ID, 50 dollars, 5 pounds, sugar cubes and my maids key. Fuck.
Since I rarely fly commercial as the snacks are terrible and the stewardi give me a nasty superiority complex that I cant shake for days sauteed and broiled in the fact that I am blacklisted from SouthWest and AirFrance due to a diarhea incident that really was not my fault. Nonetheless, I figured I would try it out again to see how the lesser live to gain some perspective.

Since I had no form of identification I was sexually harassed in a good way by TSA and was allowed to fly due to my vicodin prescriptions that contain my name and a check written out to me for 500,000 dollars to keep secret where Caylee Anthony is.
Bon voyage. And aside from the "over the vag pat down"- Commercial Blows. See you at the St. Regis.

No one blames you for your suicide, in fact, we're glad you did :D

Im not one for witty one liners on the typical, in fact I do better with a story, like the time I dropped 2 grams of cocaine at CVS which was caught on camera, which then sent me into a tizzy of onset anxiety attacks that a wannabe Park Avenue Heiress with a sunny disposition and a penchant for abusive men like your truly would be sent to prison, or worse community service hours with people in middle class tax brackets.

Thank Goodness I had run into a black man that day who asked for 10 dollars but when I reached into my wallet for a quarter he nearly slapped me and told me to shove it up my ass and give it to a crack addict. .
Needless to say I had the perfect alibi of this crazy man who must have slipped his speed into my waspy westmoor very bradley wallet, which is why I was in possession of such wicked substances.

Alas, after my 17 mini attacks that were later soothed with the notion that my lawyer costs more than your birkin for each year of private school tuition not to mention I got fingered by Casey Anthony's defense attorney, I figured I had a solid defense team and could redirect my energy away from possible criminal incarceration to the greeting card business for questionable celebrations.

You know how people say Hallmark doesnt make cards for sorry I blew your boyfriend? It looks like Ive tapped into a phenom business proposal that will rival overeaters anonymous and drug dealers that accept checks.

Here's what Ive come up with thus far, relax, like my crystal meth lab that also is a library for teen drinking, its a work in progress

Suicide: No one blames you for your suicide, in fact, we're glad you did :D
Abortion: Congratulations on not ruining your life and going broke! Lets celebrate over patron body shots and 9 months of lithe bodies


Divorce: Who says Pre nups arent Romantic? Aruba over Veuve Cliquot and the Sunset is Sounding pretty sexy. Welcome back to a life with kids on the weekends and sex that doesnt require bribes!


Sorry I slept with your boyfriend, but girl are you lucky.

Sorry I broke your 40,000 dollar lamp, but to be fair my mother died so Ive been a little stressed. I love you, look forward to your next cocktail party!!


Congratulations on Graduating Community College! Here is 500 dollars.

thanksbutnothanks

It was so kind of you to offer but I am highly disinterested in the following
keggers
sales at Louis Vuitton
shrinks without M.D's
a boyfriend without a drug problem
a country home without sailboats in bottles scattered around the house
fignewtons
a job
a date anywhere else than Palm or the Ivy
really good weed
a modeling job for American Apparel
A blind date with a jew
spiritual sex

I called the concierge to ask for scissors, as all good stories once begin

When I stay in a hotel I make sure I know the concierge by face and name as not only will I be needing their ASSistance in just about every move I make, I most likely forgot everything at home so I will need them to fetch me my usual mace, razor, veuve, and underpants.
On this particular occasion, I was having a male suitor over and realized I did not bring my how to give a great blow job hand book, so immediately texted my gorgeous gay for some phenom sexy sounding french words as his mother is a french Duchess and he was born at the Crion, and then immediately called the Concierge for some ICE and some scissors as my most recent European lover liked my hair long.

As I trimmed away with the public scissors at my heiress Vagina and chewed Ice and xanax to prep myself for a high class hooker blowjob, I realized that life does not get much more whack than this.

Daddy Im sorry but Im stranded in Africa...

Ah the three children, brother, sister and I, never cease to amaze in terms of what kinds of trouble we find ourselves, and only Father, but for this post will be called "Daddy" can solve.  These texts that you will read continue to leave the mystery unsolved, of who is truly the best thing that happened to our family. Perhaps the question should be rephrased as, who can stay under the radar the longest?
 And who can blame us really, the heirs to what can only be regarded as the normal fortune in the cosmopolitan metropolitan narcissistic manic bipolar rockstar lifestyle. Overtime the three of us, the trifecta of children, send Daddy many a text that can only be prefaced by Daddy Im sorry but...

Im stranded In Africa
I have been summonded to court for light arson
I lost my passport 3 hours before Brazil
I used a fake I.D at the airport
I will need a nanny until I am 40
I simply refuse to work for the next couple of months
I want to ice skate so please wake up at 6 am every saturday to take me as Mother is resting
I have scratched up legs that embarress you due to my excessive high compulsive anxiety
My personal shopper at Saks is too "Gay" please have him switched
I will not go to Nantucket Unless I can leave from teterboro and take the first flight out on Sunday
I didnt get into Brown
Im using a different broker
I left all the lights on in the apartment
I didnt walk or feed or take care of the dogs in any way shape or form
I actually think that the opera is lame
Im not drinking tonight
Im dating a Jew
I need you to triple my allowance in envelopes this week

Im am the Jesus of Wingwomen

Something I pride myself on is being a good friend to others, as long as they are rich, white, dress well and enjoy sushi and xanax and chess and expensive porn. I think that greedy women who dont' help their minions out are sleazy and lazy which are indicative of poor upbringing and worse character.

I know how much I enjoy a good drunken flirtation scenario followed by a taxi cab makeout and potential fingerbang in the 2 bedroom apt in the village as much as the next girl, which is why I make it my mother theresa Life's mission to see to it that my inner circle's sexual needs are fulfilled. After all, I could use the good karma after blackmailing the Sheik of Israel to get that prisoner released in exchange for not releasing my sex tape untill the week before my story of "I used to be fat" heirs.
Usually its fairly simple, I simply text the man, "my skinny rich blonde well bred waspy friend thinks you're kind of cute", and text the girl, t"hat man comes from a good family and is in law school and will go down on you for 5 minutes and thinks you are hot"
Badda Bing. Matchmaking is sort of my trade, I had a cousin who was a matchmaker in the 60's and had a side business of selling her homemade LSD. It runs in my family. Nepotism is a trait more powerful than alcoholism.
Later Bitches. Stay Tight. Stay Medicated.

Everyone has a price

People normally dont consider themselves attracted to their family members at first thought. But for 68 million dollars would you go down on your mother for 15 minutes? 68 million. Thought so.

Hotel Bars

Naturally Since I am over Dorm life, for this weekend I had father put me up in a disabled suite equipped with a jacuzzi and a sushi maker and my on call hypnotist to satisfy my non sexual needs.
Whilst lounging in the hotel bar with my wall street journal, sunglasses, veuve cliquotlap top and my vicodin van cleef necklace , I looked around and realized not only how much I missed my sister, who is currently galavanting around Asia visiting various lovers and clubbing with Asian business men whilst saving the world and critiquing her peer's outfits.
Hotel Bar comtemporaries are looking for 2 things, sex and drugs.
My attitude in hotel bars is to adopt the attitude of a combination of sister and mother, seemingly classy coifed and an heir on the snobbish side to scare away those who are American and thus lack taste and proper decorum while traveling.
Riding solo, as that black rapper sings, I realize I am lost without the women of my family in hotel bars and wind up getting drinks with men my own father's age who take my line of "I am a sex columnist" as an invitation to graze my thigh and tell me I have an east coast flair and am so sweet.
I am so much smarter than I was yesterday, or so I thought.
If it is one thing I learned from Sister, its that men have to work harder than that. So I took his hand off my thigh and said call me later.
He did, 5 minutes later and I ended up in his room. Sorry Sister, I tried, looks like I still have a lot of work to do.
I hope you are over your Asian Phase. People wear masks up there.

Homecuming

There is something rawther pathetic about alumnae coming together in their small liberal arts pseudo ivy league college town to recreate their youth that is slowly but surely is escaping them, it is almost like bad botox. Homecuming, like botox, is a procedure to try to recreate your undergraduate youthful existence, yet deep down, you and everyone around you knows that it is over.

This isnt a bad thing. I am better, smarter, hotter and more properly medicated than I ever once was and have one night stands with actual low tier bankers as opposed to economy Blankfield wannabe's who dont know a merlot from a Chianti.

Looking back on my graduation, when I was so drunk the entire weekend that I didn't realize I had glass in my foot, whiplash, and a missing kneecap and grandfather, whom we had left behind in the disabled section, I realized that closure, doesn't really exist. We are still texting our sophomoric hookups with post teenage acne and natty light beer bellies, but the only difference is we are better dressed and slightly less delusional.

It reminds me of when I went back to an all girls horsebackriding camp the summer of '79 when I had already been fingered and smoked 3 joints. It seemed I was looking to recreate a part of my lost youth or innocence as the fact is, it doesnt get any easier. I realized that horses and girl power no longer interested me and took another two weeks at the ranch with bad water pressure and worse food to realize that my career with horses were over and was evolving into social climbing and finger banging.


So for all of those who are falsely recreating their youth, whether it be botox, untouched childhood innocence, or drunken sloppy undergraduate nights with alcoholic frat boys who cant get it up, may I suggest you take this afternoon to relax, reflect and take a moment to relish the magic that exists within you and that you do not need a recreation of what once was. Because who we are now, with our wisdom, our adderall, our own rents, and our own psuedo careers is so much better than who we once were.
Evolving is Sexy. Living in the past only makes one realize what a drunken slutty loser you once were. You don't need one night stands and fraternities and solo cups to prove your self worth and your superiority over your peers.
You are already superior. A, by reading this post. And B with your trust fund and xanax.
Stay Present, not in the time frame but in the gifts.
Love you bitches.

October Accomplishments

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I dont know what any of these words mean

So I decided I need to babysit in order to get money for drugs. The problem is children are horrible and dont like to talk about sex and booze so I come across a variety of issues since those are the only things that interest me.
Not to mention I dont understand the notion of appropriate conversation or rules. If a child chooses to eat candy and watch porn instead of homework, than who am I to stop them from pursuing their dreams and if all else fails I feign amnesia.

I received an email from one of the anorexic brunette pseudo ivy league stressed out sex starved power moms who was late for soul cycle yogalaties when she sent me this message.

Alas, I did not know what any of these words mean so I instead deleted this email and made the kids sit with me at Saks while I tried on outfits and then we went to a bar to try to pick up single dads.

Hi Glitter Therapist

Hope all is well. So today please get daughter from the bus and please bring her home.  Usually Wednesday is her day when the Hypnotist comes to our apartment and then you get son from the driver (like the day you visited), but today is different. Son has a playdate and Daughter has a shrink session at 5.  So if you could please take her home from the bus and try to get her homework done as much as possible.  When we get done at doctor she needs to take a bath and eat so hopefully can get most of it done.

Please do:
1. Have her finish her spelling. It is in her folder. She is supposed to do her spelling in a black and white composition book that says “spelling” on it but she forgot yesterday so started on a separate page.  She needs to write a sentence using each word – I think she has 7 left to do. Please let her work independently (she will ask as many questions as she can to get you to give her hints etc. but actually is capable of doing on her own).

2. Math is done!

3. She needs to read and discuss with you. Please keep checking in with her to make sure she understands by asking questions and getting her to predict what will happen, why, what the person was thinking etc.  Reading for half hour and fill out log. Another Ivy and Bean book (thankfully the last in the series).

Then please meet me at 5 to see Dr.  You guys can walk and please quiz her on her spelling words!

Sound okay?

This lady is on crack. I will never do any of this.