February Goals

1. Sell my childhood Piano on Craigslist for a new Chanel and a gram
2. Get an Instagram with a terrorist


3. Complete my application to the CIA and to be one of Taylor Swift's backup dancers and purposely swap them and then correct it.

4. Only eat sand

5. Get a couples massage with my boss

6. make a collage out of my medicine to Sell at Sotheby's for at least 1G and instigate a ping pong match with the auction paddles

7.  Turn the fire alarm on at Bergdorf's

8. Sleep with someone under 16

9. Infiltrate an underground poker ring in Harlem

10. Join a gang  just for lunch and the graffiti after words

Makeout Playlist 2014

1. Ayo for Yayo
2. So Rich So Pretty
3. Beautiful Pain
4. Remix to Ignition
5. LapDance
6. Oops O My: Southern Humming Tweet
7. Mama Spice Girls
8. Its Raining Men

Glittery Dating: The Escort, My Application

I absolutely refuse to go on dates with Men that Dont have Summer Homes in West Palm Beach or Butlers who look like Jeffery from the Nickelodeon Critically Acclaimed program the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. So I met with A MatchMaker named Cosmo and when I say matchmaker I mean escort service  and See my application below:

Tell Us About yourself:
I was conceived on a yacht in St. Tropez in the Summer of 1986 in a coke fueled Jacuzzi. Reagan was President and Tupac was alive.  My mother was a German B list Model who barely graced the Cover of V Magazine and had a pathetic existence both personally and professionally. She was a descendant of Eva Braun and used words like Cunt and Delicatessen.
 My father was an entertainment Television writer who wrote Boy Meets World. They relocated to New York City over mutual interests in Vapid Charity Parties and Combined liquidated Assets.

They Moved to a 7 bedroom Upper West Side Apartment above Citeralla's where my father could fuck Ballerina's outside Steps Studio and my mother could develop into a psychopath and Kleptomaniac and fraudulent interior decorator Picasso collector . I was shipped to Rosay Boarding school in Switzerland where I became a phenom Skier, Chess Player, and could blow lines of coke longer than my protractor.

 I talked to myself and had likeminded psychotic youth heirs to Arab fortunes as BFFs and laundered money from Vegas Casinos.
I became fluent in French and Self Loathing and read Proust and the Enquirer.  I went to Georgetown University and majored in Philosophy and Mediocrity and Xanax with a minor in Shakespearian theatre. I was the understudy for Juliet but poisoned the actress who was cast by pouring bleach into her espresso and swapping her vitamins for laxatives. A rose is a rose by any other name BITCH. She did not die but was in a coma for 3 days and came out 7 pounds lighter and a new lease on life and converted to Buddhism and helping people. Thank me later Drake.

  I listened to Tosca and masturbated to Ironic Porn where children got murdered. I went abroad to Juan Les Pins and stayed thru the fall of My senior year as I participated in a torrid yet retarded affair with a Professor whom I met there. We parted ways on the fact that I needed to get back to America and become a social climbing party girl with no skill set to speak of except of crushing up prescriptions, going to therapy and excellent wine recommendations to go with the crudo, beb.

Now my current profession is Lil Wayne's sobriety coach and I travel with him and his posse to ensure that he stays off drugs, but we sometimes party together. I enjoy music, italian wine, tuna tartare, instagram, great clubs, Russian Existentialism, E.E Cummings, Glitter Pens, and freakishly short walks on the beach. I am comme ci comme ca at giving head but If I am knocked unconscious I am very good at sex. I like smooth jazz and long conversations with housekeepers. I am currently reading the Drama of the Gifted Child, I vote Republican, Go to Church every Sunday and listen to a lot of Ja Rule.

My Response to My Alleged Spin Instructor's Grievances.

Does what I have to say need to be said? Does it need to be said right now? Does it need to be said at all?

Le Fucking Duh.

Darling Devil Burner, I am a Soul Super-Sado-Maso-Chistic-Expialadocious Cycler in every way shape and Asperger Form and your post, like Cellulite, Poor People and Bad Manners was Alarming.

I am frightened by your inability to recognize the greatness of pushing past fear and credit card limits and following the glittery angel dusted infused path to truth and enlightenment by allowing spin instructor's intoxicating spell to transform every Biker Beb who wants to live an extraordinary life and have casual sex.

And so, Armed with my Chanel, Bodyguard, Bulimia, and Wand filled with Glitter and Jizz, This is My New York Post Official unabashed J Kwon Tipsy statement

I propose the Ultimate Akins Army challenge- I invite you to Spin Next to me and race  like He's is Single and the Prize is an Instagram Video Makeout Session in the Hotel Lobby of the Ritz in Paris. - Remixed with a Diamond encrusted 8-ball sautéed in 100 likes and free water at Le Crosby Street For Spring 2014.

Alas, Hidden in my vapid psychosis in my poorly decorated home in St. Tropez, I thought that I would lay low for a while, as I seized and foamed at the mouth in sophisticated pent up aggression. I let the likeminded Buzzed Manic High Class Adderall addicted soul cycle obsessed hookers effectively book their bikes without distraction on the New Website, which by the way, looks like a Mario Kart Threw up in 16 Handles in the Suburbs on Acid.

After making my nanny re read to me your 2^nd tier University prose on How you are Personally offended by how I choose to spend my allowance funding terrorism groups, vomiting tuna tartare, indulging in attractive childporn and permitting my questionably illegal throbbing harassment of spin instructor to manifest,  I realized that staying silent, both in Sex and in War is simply not my cup of Dom.

In Tibetan Buddhism, which I learned at the Ashram high on Quaaludes and Recovery, they say to know your Enemy is to see yourself.

I am just like you, A fervently Devoted Harriet the Spy with a sweet disposition transformed into a psychotic erotic manic intelligent alcoholic slut who enjoys rape fantasies, chess, designer diet pills by Essie, weapons, and gorgonzola beans sautéed in crushed up Xanax for snacks-

I will continue to go to the lengths of activating my governmental privileges to locate his place of residence, social security number, and learn the names and measurements of Every single one of his WillaWonkamenia girlfriends to take down any possible competition.

I hope you realize Dahling  Devilburner that I could easily page Sniper and have your Physical corpse blasted to mini smithereens shipped under the Hudson River where the mermaids live faster than I would come if he touched me with no trace linked to Birkin Xanax for assaulting me via the world wide web. I do not take any battle lying down except for  soul cycle instructor.

In my Delusional Delirium, I invite you to face plant into painstaking resistance weights and reality. spin instructor is famous, and I take 98% of the credit, (the other 2% goes to the Critically Acclaimed New York Cut Magazine Post and his Faint Inducing Instagram Photos. )

His classes are as hard to book as Coachella but this, like my Elecktra Complex and desire to only eat at Cippriannis and Speak with a Russian Accent is not my fault.

I have saught General Counsel cracked out on Cocaine from the United Nations who advised that I resume Posting with class, elegance and grace and take the higher road, but I never listen to anyone even when its court ordered and will never apologize for my manic stalker drug addicted pill popping bar hopping obnoxious highly distasteful unhinged stream of consciousness and in fact you only fuel the fire.  Call me if you are interested in Meeting at The St. Regis over Martinis And Roofies tomorrow by the Moonlight to the Soundtrack of Tosca and Jay Z. 

Ganja for white Girls with Black cards

I used to be offended by the Ganja. as it reeks literally and figuratively of lower income problems and plants. Not to mention the amount of fights we used to have in my household concerning the theft of the herb by the Jamaican staff. 

The world spends too much time caring about plants and fallacies of Global Warming and not enough time on rap, Wolf Blitzer, Blood Diamonds and people on welfare   who dont need it.

Then I thought, what If I got properly stoned and socialized with dudes who like R. Kelly and fingering. I could     relieve the constant stress I endure to not do anything, get away with it, and tranquilize my lawyer so I can swipe her dope Rothko in her office. By the way, if you see her please throw a Martini on her as she owes me 20G and I will be sure to fit the bill


So I am starting a movement for Rich and Classy Stoners who get high in our Christian Louboutins quoting Russian Existentialists and jamming to "one love" and the Lion King's "They Live in you" Chilling.

Ipso facto I have come to the painstaking realization that

1. Everyone I meet has a little bit of stripes and dots of homosexuality
2. I have like 4 stalkers
3. I dont have that much money in comparison to the Rich Kids of Beverly Hills and the Blankfield's
4.  I buy my own Karma by doing charity work with Kids in the Bronx 
5. I should have been more properly acknowledged in the Bible 
6. I will only have an orgasm with an 100 dollar bill
7. it is a harsh reality concerning the dynamics of the inconsistency of loyalty by those you need the most

The Wine List at Rikers Island

Part of the reason I work for an underground gambling ring is I need a career that brings adrenaline coursing rampantly  through my veins,

 now, the reality of my delusional career as a cracked out private investigator is that my personal networth covers the basics: manicures prosecco and abortions.

Thank the Lord Jesus Christ for alimony and kleptomania.

I have a moral compass that has been broken since I cheated my way through Rosay Boarding School and also copied all of my SATS off of Lou Chou Chow Yong Hong Chow Mein.-Meng.  My job is to keep secret and preserve the moral integrity of my clients by not revealing the intracies of my cases. But like, Id rather tell you EVERYTHING.

Lucky for you dear readers, I do no not have professional boundaries.
I see no problem in exchanging blow jobs to be taken out to lunch and end nearly every email with "Stay Fly beb" to top level executives and often put deoderant on in the middle of the hallway because my adderalled sweat smell is only appealing to myself and my maid who cooks my bong every night.

My current case that I created out of crystals and thin air,  involves a mortgage fraudulent 40 year old bloated man from Vegas, who was arrested for meth possession and gently raping his 17 year old Reese Witherspoon looking cousin. The problem with dealing with felons such as described,  is that with a slightly more reasonable stock portfolio and liposuction for the beer belly coupled with a rolex and a taste for cuban cigars and getting weird in the jacuzzi,  he sounds like an individual I would like to have a prosecco with at Lavo and talk about Reagan. but Alas he doesnt have instagram.

I am arguably the worst person at doing work that doesnt involve facebook stalking- Alas
Because I am a particularly distracted Detective, I managed to binge on Klonopin and Vinegar and a rich persons poop and FOCUS like a nerdy med student who masturbates to babysitters.
I tracked my subject to the nearest 7-11 off the I 95 in West Chester. Even though the location reeks of low class tax brackets and forever 21 Resort Wear 2014, I managed to push my sophisticated upbringing aside for a nano to handcuff this man with my diamond encrusted hand cuffs passed down from my great Grand Mother who partook in the  invention S and M.

See you at Rikers. The wine list is absurd.

Weekend Accomplishments

Donated two pints of meth infused blood to Research

Applied to adopt a dolphin and a 4 year old Romanian orphan

Casually brought up  at a cocktail party my Economist subscription and love for surrealism art to demonstrate my asbergers

Wrote 65 hate letters to Greek Mythological Gods excluding Athenia, Zeus, Poisiden, and Aphrodiasiac

Memorized all of the Lyrics to Nobody Fresher than My CLique and the chorus of the party scene from La Traviata

Sent a video of myself dancing to Oops O my Tweet Southern Hummingbird to Hillary Clinton and Chile's Financial Advisor
Fingered myself to pictures of drones

Laminated my mugshot and prenup

Sold all of my remaining  accutane on Craigslist and made enough cash to (i) buy a fake Rothko for my West Palm Beach Condo that I swindled from the Madeoff's and (ii) 1 perfectly rolled blunt by Nas

Got all of my coworkers gift certificates for tasteful Tush bleaches at the Mandarin Oriental

Solicited my Uber driver for a hand job and the remaining blow that fell out of its plastic bag and had residue in my coach pink purse from 8th grade to which he denied- It was pretty rude considering I was so polite and essentially have no liquidated assets to speak of this month and made clear of all of this on the review comments section.

Wrote a proposal advocating for PETA employees to wear minx

Someone Hates when I review My Spin Instructor: See below

I have yet to respond due to my cracked out bi sexual's attorney's advice to take the high road, which I always do because Im high.
But see below.


"Ok. I have loved taking  class and have been a fan for a long time- He actually is a really good friend of mine and he is one of the hardest teachers at Soul Cycle.  I always feel really strong after class even though his arm section is so rough. 

 

 

This is not a review against class at all. This is just a reminder to his reviewers and I guess specifically fans that rateyourburn is a serious website, and this is his career.

 

But this little  freak of nature is really disgusting, and is frankly getting on my nerves. The reviews are basically everything that is wrong with soul cycle people, and are not funny, but actually really scary and I feel like someone should do something. I am not sure what her end goal is and why no one has told her to Shut up. I don’t even know where to start with what is worse, the terrorism or the harassment or the disgusting references which make me really sick to my stomach and not be able to concentrate in class.

 

How is following someone “to the ends of the earth” cool? How is making fun of eating disorders cool? A piece of Advice, quit while you are ahead.  I am sure that he can see right through these stories as using humor to say how you really feel , even about him, which makes me ask-  Is everything you say 100% true? Because I think so, and in which case you need major help. And maybe you should go see hes just not that into you.   Also how is talking about doing Xanax before class interesting or beneficial to anyone who is giving time and money to workout?

 

Those reviews are making classes harder to book and by people who aren’t earnest riders and just want to see what the deal is. Also, he is not stupid and this little girl’s cry for attention by talking about her obsession for him is pathetic and Embarrassing, and not that soulful.  She should get a life and move on.

 

I’ll give her this, she is a semi entertaining writer, although a little redundant, who should albeit proofread - but If you want to talk about drugs and money and sickening things, you should move your thoughts elsewhere.  And I will say this, his class is so awesome and has really great music- but his crazy fan has not gotten the message that her 15 minutes is up."

ARMY CHALLENGE

For those those unfamiliar and retarded, the Spin instructors Army Challenge is where you take a multi Milly of his classes a day at Soul full-of-glitter Cycle , LeBoutin Camp and then you Ignition Remix this with Ataturk’s finest Ab exercises on the youtube for 8 minutes with an  8 ball. 

Alas, whoever becomes the skinniest and the richest and acquires the most instagram likes- wins. What I win is not clear but my request is that I get the window seat on the concorde a briefcase full of euros funded by the sex slave market, and a black rapper following.

On the diamond encrusted path to truth and enlightenment and wrist slitting serenity within the confines of my imagination, I proceed cautiously, full of Post Teen Angst and Adderall.  Participating in a challenge such as the one presented requires focus and dedication,which, like taxes and court ordered restraining orders, are mediums that I refuse to take seriously.

However, I am manically captivated over anything anything that involves holistic anorexia, soul cycle, instagram, and my spiritual leader and primary obsession.  So, I question my credit card limits that I put on myself and ask what is it that I am afraid of besides my restaurants that don’t take Amex and the Soul Cycle Desk Girl at Bougie Square who punched me in the face  when I showed her my dried cum stained Army Sweat Shirt that I seized during a power outage on the 5th floor at Bergdorf’s as well as crocodile Jimmy Choo’s filled with blood. 

My experience in the challenge thus far can be described as what I imagine light date rape is followed phenomenal room service in bathrobes and cigarettes. What I mean is I feel assaulted and attacked with violent sexual undertones initially, but afterwards I am left with the feeling that I have the ability to lead a powerful exquisite life with kleptomania and sparklers.

My biggest fears in life, besides being just comme ci comme ca at giving head and being boring, is that I will not eventually infiltrate and take over the St. Tropez Mafia.  Winning the army will provide a prime opportunity to be properly initiated into his Army of Models and Bottles and gain the respect and weapons and liquidated cash flow that I do not deserve but am without question entitled.

Additionally, In my newest position as a low tier stripper for  Al Queada to begin in mid Feb 2014,  I decided to take on the Army challenge whilst dwindling my Trust Fund and other discretionary cayman accounts meant for uber and porn and tasti delite. The painstaking reality is although I am  (i) fancy slash asbergers as fuck, and (ii )will follow Akin around the world as long as there is Pellegrino a pharmacy and Jay Z,  is  that I am just another alcoholic manic hypnotic neurotic bi polar lightly bulimic republican whore who cannot do a push up or get through a soul cycle class without leaving in the middle to smoke a cig and call my psychic (derekcalibre.com).  Be that as it may, with 42 therapy sessions scheduled with the sole purpose of addressing my army full blown anxiety and pronounced obsession of both myself and of my Instructor I say both in Turkish and in Arabic , Challenge Accepted.  See you at the St. Regis Allah ooh Akbar.

Glittery Changes to Facebook

Facebook is obviously a phenom way to show the virtual world what a fabulous rich sophisticated neurotic slutty alcoholic wanna be socialite I am for the photos that do not make the Instagram cut. Facebook is like racism, everyone pretends its not chic anymore. 

 But there are several alterations I would like to see happen on this social network. Mark (zuckerberg) and I were having lunch the other day in Dubai, and he'll kill me for saying this, but he said, that he really thought that Facebook has become a prime reason for lack of productivity for this generation. and then he laughed and said he was kidding and spit out his prime rib. He is the most, 

I am currently developing the perfect undetected arsenic to kill his wife so that I can be diamond encrusted mrs. glitteryfacebook.
1. Why cant you be in a relationship with yourself?
2. Why arent you allowed to post tasteful nude photos?
3. Why dont people say what designers they are wearing when they are tagged?
4. Why doesnt it ask your net worth on your profile?
5. Why have bumper stickers become passe? I would enjoy bringing them back
6. Why do potential employers care that in a photo a potential employer is semi intoxicated insterting items into themselves
7. Why are some people unsearchable?
8. Why cant I know the administrative facebook password?
9. Why wont my shrinks accept my friendship request?

10, Why are Democrats allowed to post?

If you wear Blazers and Look like Neo Nazi Youth, we would most likely be best friends

I also appreciate men who are

Insecure

Financially irresponsible 

have heavy drug problems

have great restaurant recommendations

prefers to Ritz to the 4 seasons

comfortable enough in his sexuality to fully enjoy N sync and la traviata

dabbles in the tech scene in Silicon Valley

occasionally enjoys expensive hookers

has questionable business practices

flirts with stewardesses

hates anal

appreciates cote du rhone de klonopin 

Life is Beautiful, Just look at your shoes, and Up at the Stars at GOd

After Lunch with this well bred cunt from my high school where I almost hung myself with mace  on the 7th floor auditorium under Gwennie Paltrow and Jade Jagger's portrait respectively,

I lamented mid bite of bloody tuna nicoise very rare no dressing extra anchovies with diet coke no ice and 4 splendas
 in how fucking sweet and kind I turned out despite the oppression I overcame in my upper class upbringing surrounded by materialistic prudes who's only redeeming quality was they used correct grammar and could name several different motifs in F Scott Fitzgerald's Paradise Lost. Or as I like to call it, Paradise up my nose.

We ran into Greta Van Susteran at the local Upper East Side hangout whom I informed that I was a high end nanny and wannabe narcotics detective.

It is possibly the most annoying question when one asks what one is up to post matriculation of the psuedo Ivy League.
But What ever, she is skinny and republican and helped me get my first boyfriend at her cocktail party, Warner Jett the 3rd who cheated on me with a girl who is a Wiccan, so I realized that I should step up my Voo Doo game.

Did Greta really want to know what was up in my grill? Of course she did, she is a dear friend of the family's for years and is sole fish the reason I matriculated my internship at Fox News since 1999.

But Did she really want to know that my existence consists of karate, judging people's instagram choices and going to therapy for my chronic Gilt Addiction?

Perhaps,
But I gave her the intellectualized version of what I was up to replete with big words and then we went on our way.

I will say this. I die for celebrities, no matter how close of a family friend they are if only by brother association, and Girl, Your body is banging. xo

You look like you're dripping in Money in that Photo

1. Teeth
2. Anorexic Arms
3. Bottles of Veuve in the Background
4. a well decorated room with attractive eurotrash at the table with half empty wine glasses
5. Tasteful designer Handbags
6. Relaxed xanax hazed- I hate you but lets looks like we're best friends and Im not trying to fuck your boyfriend in this photo

60 plus likes

Soul Cycle Management

I need to say this like I need to jump out the window in Coach. I wholeheartedly love you and your voraciously incestuous team that hinders on potential Oscar worthy tasteful porn, what with the hugs, the closed doors and the secret coded computer system.

As an isolationist, consumed by the impending doom it takes to function in a society full of self loathing and competitiveness over transient emptiness of Social Status and Versace, I have found a new sense of belonging and strength at le soul.

I was deeply disturbed which created my very own wrecking ball when  I heard there was CHANGE IN MANAGEMENT of GIRLS AT THE DESK. 

Shall we start from the Genesis?

Scene 1

It is a terrifying yet curious madness in the scenes behind the Soul Cycle desk. It is the land of smart waters and wealthy dripping sweat left behind by women whose shoes only fit in Manolos and soul sneaks. But beyond the surface of the self absorption of the likeminded clientele,  Soul Cycle and the Desk Duchesses allow for space to recognize truth that I am entitled for greatness and tremendous growth in life beyond Amex miles and Drug Dealers and Uber Drivers. I probe EVEN further, and have recognized I have become nearly sisters, and I mean this the way black people say it, more meaningful, CC Derek Zoolander with the people who make Soul Cycle Soul Cycle, the staff. 

And I hate women. And I hate staff. Except for my housekeeper but she cooks my bong and reads me Amelia Bedalia. 

I walk into the studio cracked out on Adderall on the verge of suicide and in desperate need of a manicure and an orgasm and I see The Desk Ladies. Who address me by name, SequinPellegrinoknows my shoes, my sequinpellegrino water, and the terrible legal trouble my ex is in what with his light mortgage fraud and hooker and gambling addictions- They always politely and with the grace of Princess Kelly asks how I am doing with the authenticity of the POPE himself.

 thHeir client relation skills are like none other than I have ever seen except for the time I was boarded to Canyon Ranch in Switzerland subsisting only on sandpaper and 40 minute ice cold baths to lose a stone in the 5^th Grade for my upcoming Birthday Halloween party and had started my period early.   

Of all the manic psychotic soul cycle clientele out there, I would argue that I am a particularly difficult client, I am rude, racist, trashy, messy, violently inappropriate, throw tantrums when I cant remember my locker number, and l have been known to physically push people off bikes. Ultimately I believe in the deepest part of my bile fueled core that I am the most important person here. I do not care about anything with the exception of having an impeccably toned physique and a trust fund, divorce settlement, and hidden bank account in every Middle Eastern country mutually matched in Swiss Francs and management  understands this and is wildly accommodating to my needs, and without them I would be on a ridiculous bike in the 2^nd row contemplating how many hours it will take for the cyanide to work on my boss.

Part of the magic of money of Le Soul Cycle is the transformative power it has not just on your body but on your mind, after particularly stressful days of trying to find an instagram worthy picture as well as a new psychiatrist to support a causal friendly addiction there is nothing like crème de la crème Service. DIe for all of you. See you at the St. Regis

How do you say this Jet is uncomfortable in Turkish?

It is perhaps the lowest depths of misery and a dark hole of pain in a cadavar where the devil lives next to a homeless person on the corner of Dean and Deluca and mediocrity

-When your instructor doesnt call your name out in class. It’s the thrill, the abuse, the need, the craving to be screamed at that keeps myself addicted and like 

Bulimics Anonymous keeps me coming back.

 I lit tra Lay threw an aggressive temper tantrum replete with foam at the mouth and spitting to my psychiatrist sautéed in light wrist slashing with my Cartier engraved Razors for a nano and 

then took a vicodin, bedazzled my vibrator and applied to adopt a small yet threatening white tiger named after my instructor, read Jesus’ manuscript and watched Cake Boss to help ease the pain. 

The pain of realizing that Workout Instructor does not belong to me.  For now. Then I got over it and fingered myself to  ex- husband’s hidden account in Bora Bora.

It has been established that like poison and cum, I am an acquired taste. I understand the difficulty it is to have me as a raw throbbing manic needy stalker with a light sociopathic method of manipulating the Jay Z United Nations  into giving me my fitness intructor's keys to his pied a terre so I can sneak in and post nude photos of myself all around his living space, but like my rampant addiction to 19^th century Islamic Art and decently cut cocaine,- sorry for partying and being culturally interesting and well travelled in coach, I am here to stay.

But, I could not help but ponder,

 is it too much. ??

This class, my core, unlike my vagina has not been challenged since the Reagan administration and my A plus section by a surrogate because carrying a human is whack. 

and I cried the entire time. I have the pulsating deep voracity to be so hot I make my father uncomfortable so I will stop at nothing to take every workout class on God's green earth, with enough Xanax to tranquilize an orphanage, and this is the class to take to accomplish having the body of a greek goddess, through pain, blood, sweat Beyonce glitter and jizz.

Winter WellBredWellRead List

Nothing says Im a well bred well read classical musical listener proficient in Red Wines and sleeping pills and Hotels off the coast of the South of Italy Like a great list of book recommendations.
The next time you are looking to impress a future connection, drop some of these novels that you are reading cracked out on adderal and self absorb-tion abortion.

1. The Interestings Megan Wolitzer
Anyone who went to camp and was seriously disturbed by the bridge and tunnel folk who matriculated their bunks will most definitely enjoy this cuming of age book that follows a group of 5 friends who meet at camp who think they are bigger than Spring Awkening-
 half of whom become successful because they have the funds to finance their artistical pursuits, which raises a critical question plagued by the likeminded John Stuart Mill and and Paris Hilton, once you acquire independent wealth that puts you in a different tax bracket than your peers, for how long can you pretend that you all still like each other?

2. Dare Me
I read this because twisted skinny brunette author, whom is one of my nearest and dearest Gillian Flynntastic of Gone Girl recommended this
 It is essentially a thinspirational tale of teenage cheerleaders who live off of sugar free hoodia pops adderal and instagram until there is a questionable suicide which makes them question for a second long enough to stop texting and answer the question that plagues me deeply, what happens  when physics and b plus hand jobs and 11th grade ends?

3. Chocolate Money
This book is everything one could ask for in a novel. Money, Chocolate, Maids, Narcisscistic materialistic highly proficient in cunt mothers sauteed in boarding school and preppy Blonde men with a remix of cartier cased vogue cigarettes.

4. Wolf of Wall Street
As a born and bred child of the Roaring Reagan 80s, I was doing my first lines of smashed percocet by my doll house  whilst potty training, I missed a crucial financial element of the 90s. The unregulated times of Wall Street where our Forefathers before us were able to tranquilly inside trade without the rawther disturbing regulators. A fascinating look at what it was like to be corrupted by the World of Wall Street while learning about the markets using other terms besides volatility. Not to mention the movie is a good feel family fun oscar de la renta champagne buzz with hookers and $26,000 side dishes.

5. The Good Father
As a classy sophisticated raw trashy rude intelligent reflective manic bitch with a sweet disposition who prides myself on my family values and xanax, this book is the story of a test of family values, as when a son is accused of murdering a senator, (as some dems should be shot) a father goes to ultimate lengths to protect his offspring and question his own grossly erroneous ways as a Parent.
Especially highly recommended for those with children, as it provides ample opportunity to reflect on ones own erroneous ways that thus contribute to this degeneration of society that is today.

Overused Lies. There are no drugs in this suitcase Sir.

Hi.
Ive said it. You have said it. Now we said it.
Let us stop saying immediately.

It was mutual.

I hate Facebook

Giving back is nice and meaningful thing to do with your money and time

I never have sex in cabs

I didnt sign the prenup, and I didnt even know his situation.

I dont watch Hills reruns.

I dont hate Jews.

I know exactly what health care is.

Botox is whack.

I would have a three way with my siblings and a dead relative for all of this season's Missoni Spring 2014 Resort Wear coupled with the ability to be conversationally fluent in Russian.

I would be exactly the same if I came from less money.

I like all my friends of different races the same.

Rape is not funny.

Im pretty sporty and LOVE video games. I will crush your super mario Kart.

Instagram is stupid and shallow..

I dont blackout.

Cheating on Spin Instructor Was Whack. But if you Are going to Cheat, Do it with Mittens

After I finished a phenomenal earth shattering ride crème de la crème ride with Spin Instructor, I proceeded to my usual post soul routine of light bulimia, chain-smoking outside on the phone with psychic (derekcalibre.com) and snorting my Sequin powder in the men’s locker room comprised of klonopin, vyvanse, glitter, and salad nicoise dressing. I realized that my dwindling inheritance, vapid existence and lack of self worth was fleeting because of my full throttled pulsating throbbing Swimfan devotion to my instructor. He has changed everything, so why do I continually rock the yacht?

 

 

I took a vow under oath at the White House with Mitt Romney himself signed in period blood and cum that I would never again cheat on instructor.  I was all set to return my pied-a-terre to masturbate to my trust fund and sharpen my knives,

 

 

when the Soul Cycle duchesses at the desk announced that Mittens’ class would be compensated on the house and charged into thin air. Confuse me? Seduce me? Is this some sort of a special Asperger’s Make a Wish Foundation for instructors and students alike?

 

 

Alas, my means of paying for classes most recently has been a mélange of going down on the ladies at the desk and threatening the legal department with an emotional lawsuit that Instructor might have girlfriends other than myself rendering my manic desperate psyche incapable of productively soul cycling.

 

 

Be that as it may, everyone, including well bred hookers like myself enjoy a free lunch with dressing on the side. I was cautious though, the last time I took something free, my stepmother offered me an “altoid” and the next thing I knew I woke up three days later in a prison in Tijuana and thank God I practice my Spanish with the Soul Janitors and was able to Los-Uber-Jet it- Os out of there Muchos Bhutros Gracias-

 

 

At first glance, I noticed a very sexual blonde surfer gentleman who looked like he might have been lost on the way to the Phi Kappa Alpha House but nevertheless had a powerful energy, which entertained the notion in my delusional erotic frustration that he may be interested in casual sex and the philharmonic after class. 

 

 

I was skeptical, as like Domestic Blow, Could Mittens in fact be a possible substitute for when Instructor is Jet setting across the globe with his Asian Mafia?

 

Absolutely.

 

Mittens, you are Money, and your class is like chocolate peanut butter fudge rolled in nutella caramel sauce dipped in strawberries consumed in a Crystallized Napoleon Palace off the coast of the Mediterranean. Delicious, Addicting, and  Justin Timberlake I could see us holding hands walking on the beach our toes in the sand.

 

 

I thought your playlist was choice and there were very serious additions that will be added to my give better head playlist 2014. Your class reminded me of Spin Instructor in a way that my boyfriend reminds me of my father, and I enjoyed that you had your own minor cult following of Chanel carrying wealthy toned intense biker bebs. Your hills and sprints were intense without being offensive and I could actively showcase my dance moves without feeling like I was going to have a heart attack from the 8 ball.  Alas, I can safely say that I want your body and maybe even your soul, and you are without a doubt Birkin Xanax approved without a prescription.

 

This is not to say that anything has changed with my rampant devotion to the Turkish Lord of Spinning but when I need an alternative to manically burn off the prosecco and jizz besides stomping on my step children when he is on holiday, you satisfy this need.

My 10 Dollar Bills are Some of My Best Friends. I absolutely refuse to Work #ForeignPorn

I love money so much that sometimes I cuddle with it, masturbate with it and get really high and pretend that Alexander Hamilton is a real person and get into a meaningful yet profound debate about the ethics of his original economic thought.
Disturbing? Maybe, but at least I own my drug problem and ability to connect only with inanimate objects.

The issue of course comes back to the very notion that I simply refuse to work unless it involves selling my prescriptions or training dolphins or judging your worth by your instagram collage which looks like Mario Kart Threw up in a Fro Yo Shop.

However, when I saw an advertisement on richandlazygirlswhosmokecigsatlebain.com for  men with Foot Fetishes I knew I found my calling.

Essentially one goes to an apartment on the Lower East Side by yourself and men make appointments with you to suck on your toes and pay you 125$ an hour. What is bullshit is that the house takes 60 percent which means I would only walk away with 100 dollars an hour but thats more than enough to blaze and get tuna tartare at Lavo.

Also, I could really use some new and interesting friends. Men who have a fascination with feet must have had a really unique upbringing and if they have the funds to support such a questionable fetish than perhaps they have a beachHouse in Miami and a jamaican maid who will cook my bong and adjust my nightlight to a proper setting and punch me in the stomach so I throw up all my food. As Aristotle Says, Dare to Dream

See you in a dimly lit apartment on the Lower East Side if I haven't been killed.

Grouper the Fish, The Mingling Platform

Alas, there is nothing more awkward than a blind date and by blind I mean that I havent seen his stock portfolio or rifled through every single one of his text messages through my diamond encrusted device of cracking every iphone passcode known. I built it with the help of my Scary Skinny intelligent blonde  friend who sells drugs to a few of the engineers at the CIA.

Ipso facto I decided to entertain the notion of going on a group Date and I only agreed because Grouper is my favorite fish and my 20 dollars was already paid for so I could use that money to smoke a joint and lightly slit my wrist with a Venus Razor from Duane Reade. I am so obsessed with myself that the idea of dating anyone else is questionable. I would rather just marry my dad. Or Jesus when he returns as I too am the daughter of God and Incest is very Royal-Lorde.

The point of all of the painfully middle class poor people dating sites come with the rampant expectation that a  handjob over your 2002 Ralph Lauren pants under the moonlight is expected at the end- of which favors me since I have been giving solid B minus hand jobs since the 8th grade and learnt it from a melange of Teen Vogue les articles and Greta Van Susteran.


I  dont like people who's hobbies dont include mixing their medications, Quoting the Bible, funding diamond excursions and tranquilizing orphans

I just do not care about your 2nd tier consulting firm and the dope bachelor party that you frequented with your has been fraternity brothers and your enjoyment of the Knicks and dive Bars.  Kill yourself.

Call me when you want to kidnap a Princess and literally skip to Vegas to the Soundtrack of Spring Awakening,

In the meantime, Ill be at the St. Regis.