Poem I submitted

I would literally perform fellatio to a poor person in a Best Western Hotel, what I consider the lowest depth of misery, If  I could obtain a membership to the International Most Important People to have Ever Graced the Earth for Doing Nothing except Wearing Balmain and using big words on the CNN to talk about a fake weather crisis.

Alas, I found a competition of The Hottest plagiarized poets of 2014 and the Prize is a trip to St. Tropez and the Cover of ELLE UK Magazine:

Here is what I came up with:
Bright Lights Big City Blind People
People say its lonely at the top, but I say it was just as lonely all the way up, lonelier all the way down, and loneliest in the emptiness that is between.
White Tigers On Gold Leashes Jet Planes, What does it matter if no one is there?
Stopping by the woods, on a snowy evening, the deepest secret you already know is that behind the filter you are unwell 
Drive Fancy Cars and Sip Fancy wines in your dreams and in Your Reality, well Do you know what that means? Do you know where you are? 

2 Police Officers were shot

And Im all where did you buy your gun?

Alcohol Firearms Tobacco Explosives and Sequins

Upon my desire to infiltrate the mafia, fund low grade terrorist groups, improve literacy rates, and get money, I took it upon my self to call my attorney and get me a visit to the ATF, not to be confused with the Asberger Tasteful Forum that I also chair yearly.
Alas, my attorney who owes me majorly since I dirty rushed her niece into Delta Delta Delta and have photos of her on the internet nude, (my attorney, not her niece), I proceeded to fly straight Teterboro to West Virginia and look at Saddam Hussein's guns. I love explosives, dynamite, and weapons, because it sounds like the type of rich black people activity that occurs in the club whilst drinking crystal and conversing about gangs.
Alas, upon entrance into the facility I was more disturbed then when America voted for Barack and Kelly Clarkson. It was nothing more than a glorified mailroom for overweight has-beens who didn't pass the FBI clerical Test.
But because I am as classy as a Palomino Horse used in the Opera Aida three straight seasons in a Row I wrote a thank you letter.
Dear Members of the ATF,
Thank you for allowing me to visit your headquarters where you trace guns. It was fun and interesting and important. I really liked learning about explosives and tobacco and me and my friend appreciated the samples, though we weren't sure they were samples.
All the best to the kids,
Glitter Therapist

New Years Resolutions

Be A Better Driver

Give Better Head

Be More Discreet

Stop doing drugs with Poor People

Have more intellectually provocative conversations at dinner

Glitter Therapy Gift Guide

There are a million things I do not like about the holidays. The line at the pharmacy is always too long for my antidepressant refills and the girls who sing santa baby look like Baby Prostitutes. I do not like being reminded that Jesus was born as he is the only person I can think of who is more famous than me.

While I do love Jesus Christ and consider him my holy savior with a rockin bod, I have a significant complex that people use his name in vain instead of my own when they swear.

I also do not like spending my Saturday afternoon buying gifts for people I don't like when I could be at the spa getting a pedicure, or setting fire to an orphanage, or watching porn.

Alas, I understand that you get what you give, and if that is the case, then I plan on giving cocaine and blow jobs. Sadly, this is not appropriate for your parents or your siblings, so I have provided some other suggestions, for now.

I would like to preface this list with the fact that I have at one point in my 29 years of living, have provided these gifts which have been met with great success and enjoyment.

Boss: Dom Perignon, subscription to the economist, a weekend in your East Hampton's home in June, hydroxycut

Boyfriend: A hooker, Yankees tickets, a Brooks Brothers Belt, an exotic pet, a 50 cent CD

Your Basic Best Friend Who you hope Gets Poisoned by her new husband and chokes on her engagement ring: Entourage DVD's, the love bracelet, 6 manicures, French Rosetta Stone

Mummy: Gluten Free Home made cookies that you did not make, Barry's Bootcamp, 1/8 of marijuana, A nude portrait of yourself

Daddy: A hooker, a nude watercolor portrait of yourself, an aquarium, a Jeff Koons painting

Your Enemy: Poop in a chanel box, cum stained soul cycle passes, a sexually transmitted disease, a match dot com profile, 

I need a Painkiller for my Instagram and My Prenup

Alas, it was a painstakingly rough day when it took less than 4 minutes to receive 11 likes on a photo that was indicative of a portrait of  my made up lifestyle as a well bred wannabe socialite with asbergers who looks good in Balmain, I also dabble in light bulimia and kiddie porn. And so, with my beat up Chanel bag circa 2002, date reported stolen (by me), I found a crushed up vicodin that was mixed with a sweet and low packet, a cigarette, and a business card from an attorney who I gave a B minus blow job to at the 4 seasons in the Maldives when I was 16. I  then leaked it to the internet, I lament in a sunken depression of the vapid realization of the number of likes less than a meaningful sex position.
What a long day its been, I think I will pour Prosecco down the mailshoot rendering my Con Ed illegible. I also plan to tell my ex-husband that I shredded the pre nup during the fire I set to Barneys last Christmas when I wanted to steal manolo's without security looking.
Cheers to the weekend.

Manic Episodes in the Banker District of Soulful Cycle

Soul Cycle. I’m a Renegade Aspergers Warrior Alcoholic Republican Athlete Gold Digger. I go to Soul Cycle to workout my aggression towards my therapist. I also go hoping to be featured on the Soul Cycle Instagram website and meet more people who like to do drugs at the St. Regis and relish in vapid relationships with God.  I walked into the Financial District Soul Cycle hoping to kill two birds with one stone and find a low tier Goldman Sachs analyst to bankroll my lifestyle and drop a fresh beat to burn off the jizz and prosecco.

After I hacked into the Soul Cycle Monster Database and determined that Lance Mooney had the most sold out classes this week, I had to kick everyone out of the front row and grab bike 5 and pretend to turn up the wheel. I walked into the Financial District, armed with a mixture of snorted diet pills, poorly cut cocaine, my dog, and my wand, I exchanged pleasantries with the front desk ladies who are my only real friends. I gasped at the sight of the instructor. He is your classic All American Southern Republican.  Lance Mooney. I am in Love with you. Your Music. Your Body. Your Vibes.  You are a breath of fresh air in the soul cycle community because you are in the business of burning fat without talking about “the pack”. You are the Husband I never had and the DJ I always needed. You are aggressive with what you demand and act like a man without being a rapist. Your class made me feel like a princess, but maybe next time you will act more excited when I invite you over to my Jacuzzi in the West Village for Scotch and smooth jazz.

I do not digress

 His body is as hard as dealing with the fact that you did not sell your Evian Stock in 1982. He was confident enough in his sexuality to play Taylor Swift Blank Spaces, and did not engage in any false Buddhist eastern philosophy. He played music that I like to give head to but that I also like to dance with my dad with. Talk about a well rounded exercise experience. He kept it very real and honest and pushed me to my limits without asking me to ride for an intention. I have no other intention other than to infiltrate the mafia and social climb my way to have tea with the Board members of the Whitney. Lance had no desire to showcase an ego, which left me leaving that there is no reason I should show mine and instead practice honesty and humility. 

See you on a Bike. See you in the Club

Spring Break Where Versace Was Murdered: Scene From Nazi Cocaine

Act 4 Scene III
Spring Break: Miami, Temperature, Balmy 
President: George W. Bush
Political Climate: Republican 
Delano Hotel 8:00 PM
The girls have just ordered 7 French 75s and 14 packs of cigarettes from Room Service
Everyone is horny 

Nadine: So ladies, I hear that tonight Taylor has us invited to a party where Gianni Versace was murdered.
Alexa: That sounds a bit scary. I don’t know if Im up for a party where someone was murdered, that sounds dangerous. 
Nadine: Alexa, you promised that you would be fun on this trip. You need to get out of this preconceived ideal that the second coming of Jesus Christ is Ivy Educated, can get you off, and  want to talk about God. Who was the last date that you went on from Bible Study? 
Alexa:Jacob Torrence and he was so boring. 

Nadine:This is what I mean, I see this trip for you is to get out of your comfort zone, in terms of the type of man that you see yourself being with. Its time to get out there and explore some of the men who do not regularly think about Jesus.
Alexa: Maybe you are right. 

Nadine: My concern is that do you think it would be crass to wear Versace? I have this hot little dress that I stole from my mother before her breakdown that I would really like to wear. 

Taylor: Nadine, when is your brother arriving? And its not crass to wear someone who is dead. I think you look hot. But seriously, wheres Nathan? 

As soon as I said it, the phone rang, Nadine thought it was room service. It was Nathan. He was here. I normally was not such an idiot around men. I knew how to handle egomaniacs with a penchant for marijuana and an attitude of no fucks given. The problem was I was soaked just seeing him. It was a purely physical chemical attraction. He was smart and he laughed when I spoke, which was funny because I was just talking about my therapist. Or my stalker. He didn't care that I secretly didn't like weed. He knew I was a bulimic psychopath, but he was so preoccupied maintaining his carefree image of smoking cigarettes and talking about chilling, that he didn't deem it necessary to acknowledge. 

Ferguson For Christmas

Alas, it is with critical vapid delusion that when situations like Ferguson arise, I know absolutely nothing about it, except for the fact that I should go there immediately and check out the club scene.

There is  nothing I enjoy more than riled up youth over government malfeasances cc Tasir Square and the 1979 Iranian Extravaganza of Madness and Ayatollah's and the Neo Nazi youth.

My understanding is from a menial glance at the New York Post Headlines before I turned my attention back to my percocet prescription in Helvetica and my .02 % increase of instagram followers who have impressive networths but questionable wardrobes and slightly weird shaped balls.
Fear not, I managed to get the important cocktail party grasp of the situation at hand so that if I am asked for my opinion I can exude the confidence of a political scientist who screams, I graduated Phi Beta Kappa, and Im not racist but look good in Balmain even if its covered in Jizz and Blood.
Since the location of le Fergie is haute couture des moment, I was curious about the restaurant and spas available in Missouri. Most of my nearest and dearest are from the midwest, CC Brad Pitt, and George Bush, so I make the frequent popover stop in the fly away states to remind myself of the greatness of the United States Land of the Free world home of the Brave-ish- where we can smoke mad blunts and gamble online. Legally. C'est Magnifique.
 I booked my flight via the Teterboro application on my palm pilot since its worthless to fly in commercial airports as I am never without my .22 engraved handgun or diamond meth laced with a choice laxative.
And of course, there is a St. Regis in the Ferguson but unfortunately no celebrities have had a drug over dose there. Yet.

See you at the St. Regis

To Thine OwnSelf Be True: Whateva Whateva I do What I want

I am who I am whether Im with the Janitor, the CEO, my drug dealer, and my Accountant Hashtag No New Friends
and so I beg the critical question, am I personally derailing my own professional growth by acting like an idiot so that I can be fired and  forced to not work and focus on my ultimate goal of being a stay at home without the kids wrapped up in a Bi- Coastal Existence with a side order of Trips to Nantucket and Cote D'Azur?  How do you say Duh in Arabic?

Par Examplay, just when I am managing critical issues such as deciding what color eye shadow Hillary Clinton should use for her Vanity Fair Spread to retaliate Monica Lewinisky's rather anti climatical most recent interview, as Where was the cum? Where was the Cigar? Where were the nods and approvals to the liberal media elite? I told her to channel her inner Nancy Reagan.

What Im Loving This Nano: Your interests design the energy that moves you

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The Soundtrack to my Life: The Violins in Psycho

It is with keen awareness and a critical eye, that I am a wealthy sociopath with tourettes and a penchant for boys with cigars who date raped their dates at the Sig Ep formal in Tit-tu-ana. So I have recently started dating this Crass suitor who is on a first name basis with Nancy Pelosi and uses words like swell.

On our first couple of dates, I realized that in order to Woo him I had to pretend that I couldn't speak English and that everything he said was perfect; I then realized that my true colors manifested and alas, I could not pretend I was a ditzy blonde from long island who chews orbit gum and drinks lattes and calls her mom. I am a hardcore Conspiracy Theorist trying to infiltrate myself into the Russian Mafia and or A Chic terrorist organization for the purpose of a stronger instagram following. I also like to fuck on the first date usually outside or in a hotel room that is not mine. 

What are you thankful for?

Its been a long standing tradition in my family since the Titanic to go round the table and express thanks. I personally hate Thanksgiving because I am unappreciative, ungrateful, and thankless. Plus the two places I love most are closed; the bank and the pharmacy.
I also detest gravy and birds. So it is with kicking and screaming that I board the plane to Paris to see my relatives; with enough heroin up my vagina.
I took a glance round the first class lounge at British Airways, and in order to appease my therapist decided to look deep within the confines of my vapid spirit and try to think of a thing or two to be thankful for.
Alas; Here is what I have come up with;
1. I am thankful that 70% of the low tier analysts at Goldman know where my clitoris is
2. I am thankful that Xanax is not difficult to break up so I can easily share with friends and family
3. I am thankful that I can buy a gun on the internet
4.  I am thankful that my Porn downloaded before Con Edison shut off the Electricity
5. I am thankful that my cleaning lady can't find my marijuana
6. I am thankful that Taylor Swift has embraced that sex sells.

Act 2: Scene 6: Harvard 2004

Excerpt from  my daddy financed-cracked out on ritalin- Screenplay
drafted in a pretentious pseudo European coffee shop with questionable wifi:

Location: Cambridge Dorm: Nadine and Alexa have known each other 3 months.
Nadine Age 18, sociopath from Beverly Hills
Alexa Age 18, Senator of Tennessee 's Daughter, a bulimic bible thumping Republican Virgin 

Nadine: Alexa, Do you mind if I have a few of the guys over that I met from Harvard Business last week? And do you mind picking up a few bottles of the Moet Chandon on your way to class? Im late for a Brazillian Wax and then Im going to Cosmo's Moms Birthday Party. 

Alexa: Cosmo's mother?

Nadine: You know Cosmo, My West Indies Drug Dealer with the dreadlocks and the lazy eye! Anyway his mother is in town and she is just the sweetest. I won't have time to pick up the liquor. So I mean. Do you mind?

Alexa: I have my women's NRA meeting at the Lauderee that just opened. I suppose I could pick up a few bottles for you, please pay me back in American dollars, Your Euros are worthless on Campus. 

Nadine: Can I do half and Half?

Alexa: Nadine, Honestly, I am trying to do you a favor. 

Nadine: American Dollars, Crisp straightly ironed 50s. No Hundreds. Ben Franklin was a Vegan which gives me nightmares. So you're cool with the party here?

Alexa: Well its Saturday, and I have to make mass by noon on Sunday, so If you promise to keep it down after 1 am that should be ok

Nadine: O right your Mass, I completely forgot proceeds to start cutting cocaine lines from her black Amex. So Le me ask you something, What does God say about threesomes? 

Alexa: Nadine,  I mean, I don't really know. I think God wants you to be with one person at one time, but Im not sure.

Nadine: Can you ask?

Alexa: Ask?

Nadine: The pastor or the priest or the 7th Heaven molestation reverend

Alexa: O my, I mean I don't know how I feel about asking the Pastor about threesomes, that seems a little unseemly

Nadine: O MY GOD. I am being rude! Can I offer you some cocaine?

Alexa: Thanks, but Ive told you. I don't like drugs.

Nadine: Right Right, Fascinating Fascinating. Im Listening. Im Listening. Im not understanding. 

Alexa: Nadine, Im fine if you have your friends over to our dorm. Will you promise not to play any Loud music with the word umm, Bitches in it? 

Nadine: OOOh. Thats going to be so tough. Can we compromise? What about the part where Britney goes, Its Britney Bitch. 

Alexa: Ok. You know Nadine, maybe Ill stay, I can't believe Peter broke up with me. I was Miss Teen Nashville! I cook great food? (whispers) I even let him touch my boob!

Nadine: Your Boob! Jesus Christ, I hope the room service is good in Hell. 

Alexa: Nadine, physical contact is a big deal for me. He ended things for no reason, we were supposed to get married. 

Nadine: Maybe he didn't really like you, and had aspirations of his own, and since your father lost the election, he no longer saw the effort of your investment. Your total package became less of a package, especially since you say you weren't putting out. 

Alexa: No. There is no way Peter was with me for my Father, we met at Christian Youth Group! We were 14 years old. I think he is just going through something, maybe when I go home for Christmas Break I can win him back. Will you help me. 

Nadine; O wow, I would.. but I don't really want to. He sounds like a politically social climbing faggot. Why don't you stay around when the Harvard Business guys come around. maybe you'll find one who likes Jesus and practices abstinence, although in grade school we were told that those people were considered schizophrenic. 

Alexa: Nadine, you pretend you are a happy girl, but do you what I think? I think you have a spiritual void that you try to fill with cocaine and sex. 

Nadine: Yea and it really works. Let God and Let God and Let Dick am I right?

The Dinner Party;

I understand that I am arguably the worst dinner guest to invite to a dinner party and almost worst to sit next to. I make known that I am extremely wellreadwellbred by telling you what books Im reading insert the notion that I have subscribed to the Economist since I was 12, and make up facts about World War II to sound elegant, refined, and disturbed.
I will judge you by the fact that you watch television and don't own a gun.
I will ask you about what porn you masturbate to, how your eating disorder manifests in your place of business, your inside trading investment strategy and make assumptions about your race slash net worth.
 I come 2 hours early, with a half finished bottle of Veuve and flowers that have been dead since Clinton was disbarred.  I offer to help, but instead supervise and chain-smoke out the window and judge people's instagrams. Then I make a mental note to copy their filter and text them that we should get together with sexually inappropriate emoticons. I rifle through you bathroom, use your cologne, steal your klonopin, and sometimes clog your toilet with a post cocaine poop.
I arrive poorly dressed with a beat up fake chanel bag, slit wrists, and crushed up xanax that has fallen into my purse mixed with keys and my antidepressants that I colored on using cray pas.
Alas, in my most recent excursion I happened to arrive two hours late to the wrong dinner, and was so busy telling the staff about my issues with my life coach and my inability to find good dog groomer that I realized I was in the wrong pied a terre.
But mostly, my inconsiderate political incorrectness manifests in my refusal to make small talk about where your coworkers go to lunch, your commute, and who your father knows, not because I have probably fucked him but because I am much more interested in the topics to which you want to drown in cc St. Tropez Yachts.
Conclusion; beautiful events, beautiful people, manic energy. Note to my multiple personalities; Shut the fuck up and provide better booze and better anecdotes about my Trip to Cuba where I slept with Fidel's Cousin who got me pregnant and bribed me with a life Supply of Cuban cigars in exchange for the abortion.
See you at the St. Regis.

Tea at the Plaza with DMX

There are few and far activities I enjoy less than spending time in hotel lobbies. Alas, my dear friend DMX was in town for the weekend developing a new strand of marijuana and visiting his grandmother when he texted me to have Tea.
We sat in the room at the Plaza that has 15 types of tea and no food. I admired his new tattoo and he told me that he was robbed of the role of Daddy Warbucks in Annie the movie.
I met him during a power outage in South Beach. It was pouring rain and I did not have an umbrella.

i- 594 ballot passing

Alas, it is with keen observance and awareness of the present day that I write this blog-post  to you in the moonlight in my Jacuzzi- bible in one hand, glass of gin and tonic in the other. As I filled up the jets, my ocelot, Wayne L.P wandered into my bathroom with a peculiar expression on his face, as if he was trying to tell me that something was happening. “Mr Wayne, My Darling, I said, will you help me bedazzle my weapon after my bath while we watch the evening news?”

I had just returned home from my women of the NRA Seattle Chapter meeting with dear classmates from Miss Porters.  Tonight we decided to have a bible study and had a round robin where we shared why we loved the story of David and Goliath. I wondered if the story would have turned out the same way had Goliath had a gun.

My handgun was an heirloom that I had received from my Great Aunt Bianca, who had tragically drowned herself in her pool in East Hampton when she heard that her husband had gambled away their fortune at the Casino in Las Vegas. She left the gun in her will to me, much to her daughter’s disappointment; but if you ask me, it was a good decision as my cousin suffers from bipolar disorder and is also boring; a lethal combination.

My handgun was a rare .9mm, in which only 300 models were made, 10 remain here in Washington and the other 290 were used in the Black Ops ATF “Gun Walking" scandal in which several agents purposely allowed licensed firearms dealers to sell weapons to illegal straw buyers hoping to track the guns to Mexican thugs. As a  sidenote, the agent who exposed this conspiracy was my 8^th grade boyfriend who was really nice to me.

I digress.

Aunt Bianca’s handgun was one of my most prized possessions as it served as the vital reminder that I had the power to protect myself and my ocelot should someone try to poach Wayne LP. It was a symbol of my independence and my inner strength even though as soon as I get married I will immediately stop working and devote myself to meaningless charities.  I decided to add some much needed bling to my weapon in the hopes that the rhinestones would trigger my boyfriend into proposing during the Obama Administration so that I would have at least one fond memory of his term.  After gluing the last stone to my handgun, I paused in admiration, and took a moment of gratitude. I picked up my needlepoint that I was making for my soon to be fiancé that said Jesus Loves a Winner. I turned on the TV and heard news more traumatic then when I did not get a bid for Delta Delta Delta in 2001 at the University of Tennessee.  I-594 had passed. What in fresh Hell was this?  What the world was coming to? I fingered my NRA badge that I received during a shooting the National Women’s Shooting competition and was so angry I shredded it to pieces. Gun Violence is not caused by waspy pinot drinking well educated wannabe socialites with a pseudo ivy league degrees, like yours truly, but by mentally unstable youth who did not get laid in high school. This is not our problem, it is a mental health issue about bullying and stuff.

 This bill passing is indicative of a critical problem, a fear of guns. I am afraid of democrats with cellulite  and the inability to tell crystal from moet chandon but that does not mean I will not ban them from my soon to be boyfriend’s restaurant establishment.

5 ways to make 5 Basic things not Basic- Lets first Start by calling us Basic Cunts

Alas, I wake up with ferocious night terrors damp in sweat wrapped in my white duvet with the chronic  guileless gut wrenching fear that I am a Basic Cunt. Do you know what I mean though?

A superficial ritalin meth dependent bulimic alcoholic with a penchant for Room Service Vogue Cigarettes and Salad Nicoise Jizz on The Side.

I woke up with a low Tier tech executive  on the side of my bed, whom I took home when I blacked on Murray Hills de Cote D'Azur De Hollywood Hills and played the just the tip game. 

He believes he is on the brink of the next retarded dating slash food delivery app, where a jew delivers sushi and vodka to your doorstep and then goes down on you and takes you to Nello's and Fred's at Barney's. 

I only told him that his App was a silly idea because I was jealous I had not thought of it first. Luckily I have every Angel Venture Capitalist cell phone number and plan on stealing the patent a demain bientot. 

I digress.

When we awoke both hungover, he ,late for a meeting, and me late for pretend work, I told him I had to get a Coffee and an adderal and that perhaps we could see each other again at Gelinas, a hot spot for anorexic hipster up-and- coming musicians in the Middle East and in Venice 90210. 

Ah so you are basic he said. Alas, my fear had been realized. and facing your fear isn't so bad, because once you face your fear head-on, you have some Muhammad Ali Bad Ass choices, give up or give in or give it all you got it. 

Here is the outline of a basic existence and here is the antidote laced with Glitter and 1982 Pinot Noir to correct it, so you too can become a fabulous well dressed well bred well red slightly less basic whore. 

1. Pumpkin Spice Lattes - 

Antitode: (i)Throw it up, (ii) mix it with quayludes (iii) mix it with gin and poison and give it to a homeless person who looks like he voted democrat. 

2. Yoga pants

(i) have an arabic phrase on the ass (ii) wear  a Giaccomo Versace Top with it from the collection before he was murdered. (iii) Invent a new type of Yoga.

3. Instagram 

(i) obtain a wealthy rapper following (ii) include tasteful semi nudes (iii) post photos at critical political events with a caption that makes no sense but is rifled with big words and conservative hashtags.

4. Netflix

(i) don't tell anyone you watch it (ii) If you must indulge in the television, only watch Porn or Prison Break (iii) use your own password and maintain the strict policy that you do not share. 

5. Your pathetic stalking of your ex-boyfriend

If you are going to pine over a has been low tier Merril Lynch Analyst with a pseudo Ivy League degree with a small dick and smaller stock portfolio who can't tell the difference between Rothko and De Kooning than you need a higher dose of lexapro, but if you insist on basic stalking, here are some improvements to up your game 

(i) get binoculars (ii) get bank statements and his gmail (iii) Become best friends with his boss to the point where you know where his wife gets Brazilian Waxed 

November Goals, Bringing Soul Cycle to a War Torn Syria

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Recent First Date Questions

Alas,  You could be headless, look like you have 7 eyes, be Asian, and perhaps even have a tattoo on your face,
but if there is even the slightest glimmer of an inclination that your bank account has the wherewithall to bankroll my lifestyle from Ibiza to Miami to Juan Les Pins to Cote D'Antibes - I will most certainly give you a class B minus hand job and text you on the regular in multiple languages so that you know I am well bred like a horse.

Alas Here are some of my typical first date questions that have bode well for me in terms of gleaning pertinent information for my everyday life
1. What is your relationship like with God?

2. What is your hedgefund's investment strategy

3. What position did you do when you lost your virginity?

4. What does your mom do to stay thin?

5. What were the conditions of your parents prenup?

6. Do you own a handgun?

7. Did you pay for your girlfriend's abortion in cash in Paris?

8. Have you ever been to the Brasserie in the Cayman Islands and what do you think of the wine list?

9. What bath products do you use for your dogs?

Nothing to be Ashamed of Meets Everything to be Ashamed of- Anal Bleaches and The Thug Life

Alas, it is with a critical Eye, and cum stained chanel reading glasses, that I turned my short attention span over to a manuscript called Nothing to Be Ashamed Of- a Phenom read, for only the creme de la creme who like chess and have tourettes.
Now truth be told, I never read, unless its the Bible, or the warning labels on my medicines, but on a cold dark and stormy night when my drug dealer went to visit his grandmother in WestChester and there were no meaningless Charity Events to care deeply about I snuggled up on my cozy blood stained canopy bed, with bottle of  1984 pinot noir infused with laxatives and low grade quayludes with a side dish of all red skittles and red m and m's.
And so I write this review high as a Kite, and heart as Open as little Orphan Annie all grown up.
I met the author at his book reading because I heard that Wolf Blitzer and Suri Cruise were going. I had a quick catch up with Suri who told me she that she used to date the author because of his European charm, devilishly high cheek bones, and the maintained the whitest teeth of perfection. After the reading, I kissed Suri on both cheeks, stuffed several amuse bouches crudite de kill myself into my mouth and I bought the book with funds that I siphoned from the Pope.

The author keeps it very real and sticks to what this manic generation is solely focused on, which is the vapid morally bankrupt youth- who's objective is to quite literally fuck bitches and get money sautéed in the emotional destruction that this quest takes on your soul.
I enjoy the inner psyche dive into the male sex, but I am always skeptical that men can write and cut to the core of the dark deep split open vein of emotion without being a faggot. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that he could accomplish this- as everything I am ashamed of, is in fact what I have known in my heart; nothing to be ashamed of, but I will still make my therapist to tell me so.
What I liked also was that there were so many pictures because I get headaches with too many words. I felt like the author was speaking to me Directly in the passages of the Lunch on the Upper East Side and Anal Bleached cunt, as I imagine that is what my epitaph should read.

This book Speaks to me and comes as a close second to Matthew Mark Luke and John. Corinthians and Satan. I look forward to attending more book readings with Republican Pundits and Childhood celebrities.

See you at the St. Regis

Kelly Parsimonious

It was a beautiful weekend, I went on a date with my new man friend, a likeminded 47 year old divorced thrice who likes la Grenouille and Operas in English. I only had to call my therapist once in the bathroom and didn't talk about my anti depressants.
I took a pilates class with a real housewives of Miami and she told me that I had nice hair but I know she was just saying that.
I laundered a Piano from Georgina Bloomberg and sold it on Craiglist to buy more adderal and light crystal meth, but only for decoration.
I painted my nails white with white out and got a tattoo on my inner wrist in Arabic that says Im a Baddass Republican.
When I look up at the Sky and want to jump off of the Beverly Hills Hotel like I did my sophomore year, of high school, I remember that life is beautiful, when you look at the glass half full of bae.

Physique 57 Physique 69

I live breathe and die for  Le Soul Cycle, what with its fake Eastern philosophy, 2nd tier Model instructors, and Cum scented candles to the beat of Pompeii. I am A Renegade Basic Warrior Bitch Replete with my douchebag sweatshirt and my 16 pieces of Orbit gum.

But I realized something, I had obtained some limousine liberal cellulite and I have an upcoming erotic porno that will zoom in on my vagina and my abs, so was in need of a new workout, or another place to occupy my time and not stare at my phone and try to hack into Bank of America.

In an event to rock the yacht I decided to see if Physique 57, could provide a meaningful compliment to my meaningless existence of salad nicoise and Jizz and vomiting my pre halloween candy.

Alas, as I wandered the room replete with women who had blinding engagement rings and bodies slicker than my divorce attorney, I realized that I had stepped into Sabrina the Teenage Witch's other realm.

I was greeted by an Anorexic Never Made it New York City Ballerina who clearly failed at her Sugar Plum Fairy dreams and delusions and settled for the next best thing. She greeted me with a sing song voice like I was in a pre school slash mental institution which I respected.

The beginning of the workout began with weights and push ups to which I thought was easier than cheating my on my LSATS.  But wait, before I drowned in my meglomania, I was about to feel the burn that like I was a war Prisoner at Guantanomo Bay in a Concentration Camp.
We then moved on to squeezing the ball between our inner thighs which made me feel like I was being raped by a poor person who can't tell a Cote De Rhone from a Zifandel.
I liked swiveling my hips due to my awkward asbergers bedroom tendencies, and asked the teacher if this would improve my bedroom behavior.
Even though my pants were full of holes giving the creme de la creme charity ladies of New York on the brink of the beginning of their first marriages a full view of my vagina.

This is Our Youth- Another Blatant Example of Michael Cera's Awkward Sex Appeal

Theatre Review:
This is our youth speaks to me- Why? Because it is a pretentious night at the theatre giving me an excuse to get drunk at intermission on the reasonably valued 14 dollar pinot noir and make fun of the overweight Bridge and Tunnel Ok Cupid Dates whilst laughing about cocaine.


I attended the performance with my Harvard Graduate beauty executive Editor Classmate whom we share a bond over wealthy alcoholics and surrealist art and healthy obsession of our fathers. The audience was full of Celebs from Samuel L. Jackson to Kelly Ripa, and a sorority sister who's boyfriend I gave head to in the bathroom at formal and put the whole production on youtube as it was a fairly critical acclaimed performance.
The show is encompassed of what my core values are, indulging in drugs, robbing from your parents, and exhibiting awkward tendencies in attempt get laid.
I must preface my review by telling you that the role of Jessica was between me and that bulimic fashion blogger Tevi Gelvinson, and the only reason the casting directors gave it to her was because she put out and didn't have a manic asbergers fit when part of the role was that one could not actually fuck Kieran Culkin.
But my audition was phenom as I read my tried and true Monologue Titania's Set your Heart at Rest from MidSummers Night Dream.

Nevertheless, I put my failed actress qualms aside and snorted my adderal in the ladies room to properly focus on the sharp dialog, the minimalist poor person apartment look, and fingered myself to Michael Cera. I related on the level that I make up my family member was murdered to get sex, and frequently steal my parents money but experience little remorse.

Even though I would have done a much better job than Tevi, I appreciated her anorexic matchstick arms and her monologue that schooled Michael Cera in all realms of chemistry and adult personality development.
As my adderal wore off, I felt it a tad too long, and followed Michael Cera home after the performance.

My Trust Fund- My Xanax -My Hand Gun

What are the three items that one would take if you were stranded on a private island.

Lost My Yves Saint Laurent Ring at WestWay

Alas, it was a particularly rough week at the Rottage Cottage Banksy factory. I keep all of my jewel and prescription pills in my bidet so that i can keep track of my personal belongings, but I had arguably one of the most questionable dates in my lifetime.
I have resigned myself that if I get married it will only be to my father but I entertain the notion of potential suitors because I am bored as fuck, and I enjoy the opera and blacking out in Murray Hill or Juan Les Pins.
I met this man in AA meeting in Tribeca, the same one where Calvin Klein used to go, and after I gave a meaningful share of my 9th step that I literally verbatim read word for word out of page 168 of the Big Book, a man approached me.
Normally I run for the hills Sound of Music style when men talk to me, because why waste my time if you do not have a jet with a white tiger and kiehls products in your summer home in Miami sautéed in Showtime and French Maid who also douches you in the shower at no additional charge.
 I am simply not interested. Adieu Adieu Adieu
But he had a rolex and looked like he used to acquire phenom Apres de Ski de Kokain in his heyday and so listened.
He asked if I wanted to go listen to jazz music at a speakeasy downtown which was questionable since my Alias had to pretend to be sober. We went downtown and he immediately started talking about his ex girlfriend which would have been find except for the fact that it was Amanda Bynes and I thought he was kidding until he showed me photos.
There is no way I could compete with that kind of crazy.
Then again, I met him at an AA meeting using my Alias.

Apologies for the Prolonged Pregnant Abortion Pauses

Readers, I apologize that I do not write as often as I should but I have been quite pre occupied trying to infiltrate myself into the low tier poorly organized yet compelling terrorist group Isis and contract Ebola so that I do not have to work. This will enable  a small yet appropriate time slot on CSPAN and Chelsea Lately,
Alas, October is my favorite month, because it celebrates shamelessly dressing like a slut and blacking out, and eating squash and wintery vegetables, behaviors that I personally carry all year long.
I hope that as we have reached mid autumn, you take a moment, to relax, reflect, and count your euros whilst in plank and be thankful that you are not addicted to meth and can book a pedicure and finger yourself to the newest Hugh Jackman Movie and Sultan's Hassanal Bolkiah's net worth.

See you on a bike.

Why do You hate Hillary Clinton

Ever since I was a little girl; I have been a martini drinking self loathing manic depressive kind chess player with a penchant for conservative politics and the cookies after Baptisms at Brick Church on the Upper East Side;

Alas; whilst I was having my  Adderall Americano at a trendy book shop in Soho where I frequently pretend to work on my screenplay; I mentioned to my dear Ivy League  Republican Rapper Waspy Cuban slash consultant friend my hatred for Hillary Clinton.

I agree with you he said; but Why?

And Alas, my wealthy vapid republican contemporaries, I could not think of an appropriate response other than she looks like my mailman and let a rapist go free; which I actually like about her.

So, I realized a critical moment; I cannot go around preaching my SteelCore Reagan Republican Values if I do not know PRECISELY why;

Ipso facto;  I have created the Rich and Lazy Girls who Smoke at Le Bain and Wear Love Bracelets Guide to Why Hillary Clinton will be terrible for the free world; and so that you too;  can be learn-ED


1. She looks like a mailman
2. Senator Ted Cruz (R) said she was a terrible lay
3.Religious liberty is not her priority
4. She thinks Barry's Bootcamp should stay a Gun Free zone
5. She poorly handled the bombing of the U.S facility in Benghazi with the class of a Stripper from Queens
5. Pharrell endourses her and I am all for black people but I am anxious that her campaign song would be "Happy"
6. The Clinton Global Initiative is worth 72 Billion dollars opening her presidency up for corruption
7. Shes meek and acquiescent
8. First Ladies; like dead bodies, belong in the kitchen. LadyBird Johnson established roadways that have the highest record of DUIS in America Betty Ford is an alcoholic and Dolley Madison tried to get on the twenty dollar bill

October Goals besides cutting down on Sodium and Meth

Go to Rao's with the  Mafia and become dear friends with the Maitre D
Develop a deeper relationship with God
Accidentally send my manuscript to my Boss
Survive on Saw Dust and Salad Nicoise
Have a Halloween Costume that rivals Paris Hilton
Get lightly raped by a Sultan
Update my resume
Improve my Stock Portfolio
Chainsmoke with Menthols
Read the articles in Vogue
Give head to the CEO of Soul Cycle
Find a Mid tier Consultant at Bain to verbally abuse me and then apologize with a Rolex and drinks on the Cape

My Doorman, My Conscious, A walk of Shame in Louboutins.

Alas, as I wandered down the rickety streets of the Meatpacking district and saw a puddle, I took a well regarded look into my reflection and had a vital Mid to Late twenties critical Zoolander Moment; Who Am I?

I do not know, but I know who I am not. After a night spent with a Collegiate Georgetown Graduate with a major in Economics and a minor in Mali at Tiesto, I stumbled into my pied a terre with my beat up chanel bag that I stole from Paris during a power outtage in 2001.
My doorman gave me a judgemental deathstare, similar to one that I had received from my middle school Principal when it was discovered that I made phony calls to the P.E Teacher at Chapin.

"Good Evening"he said, "Or should I say Good Morning", this doorman unlike my other doorman was obnoxious and did not have to make me feel worse for the fact that my one night stand husband material whom I had given a Solid B minus hand job to - to the lyrics of Pompeii by Bastille, did nto invite me to stay for brunch and and adderral.

Judgement should not be given by those who's main purpose is to prevent rapists from entering the building and notifying me that my seamless by Le Bernadin has arrived; and whist we are at it; I prefer no eye contact.

See you at the St. Regis

If you had to choose between Mind Blowing Sex with a B List Musician and Marrying a Billionaire, what bath products would you put in your private jet?

Kiehls

Nazi Cocaine

Father had an acting teacher who was very much in love with him and convinced him to audition for theatre. When he was 17, my father was cast in the off Broadway play This is the Life We Live. The play was about three men in rural Pennsylvania and one of the men’s daughter had been date raped. My father played the date rapist. He received rave reviews and The New York Times called his performance eerily believable . His off Broadway stardom led him to leave Fieldston and enroll in the Professional Children’s school where he could properly manage his acting career slash indulge in party drugs and casually immerse himself in the world of New York City theatre. My father was deep in a superficial way. He could manifest emotions on the stage that he knew would please the people, but ultimately he was like any other 17-year-old, he just wanted to party and get laid. When he applied to Harvard, he invited the head of admissions to see him perform and then took her out for a night-cap after the performance. He had a virgin strawberry daquari and she had a Campari. Ms. Hall was a typical Bostonian with charcoal gray hair that wasn’t brushed. She was married once but her husband had left her recently for the recent French Professor whom they plucked from the American University in Paris. It was a minor scandal in the Harvard Admissions department. They considered sending Madame Van der Beek  back to Paris, but ultimately decided against it when the Boston Globe did a cover piece on her neavaue curriculum of combining neo French Philosophy with French Grammar.