Why are the story lines in porn getting increasingly predictable?
What cocaine brings out the flavoring most potently in the Mahi Mahi?
Is Le Bernadin on Seamless?
Is it considered gauche to talk about St. Tropez with Janitors?
Can you get arrested for masturbating to photos of your siblings who are under 18?
Why do men think it is acceptable to come on your face when they haven't taken you to Europe?
Why did Cleopatra commit suicide?
Is Martin Luther King's I have a dream speech an underlying display of his desire to cheat on his wife? How many hookers did he meet with per week and did he put the cash in envelopes or give it to them directly hand to bill?
How much money would my fake Jackson Pollock further mushed in with my first period go for at Sotheby's in a pretentious crowd full of fools who majored in Art History at a 2nd tier Liberal Arts school and would not be able to determine the faux painting?
Was Will from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air involved in Gang violence before he took a cab with dice to move in With Uncle Phil? RIP
Does Amelia Bedalia Pre Teens with Acne who Travel in First Class British Airways sound like a compelling narrative?
Friday, May 30, 2014
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Can I bring My Gun To the Polo Lounge? The Bloods and The Cryps who Wore Manolo's
Gun ownership of the Well Dressed Elite Mentally Unstable is a critical All American Right. Even though I was born in between the border of Ecuador and Havana, I am not technically American because I do not want to be, what with the Football and Long island Accents and Lack of Siestas.
However my 2nd amendment right to bear toned arms is something I take as seriously as my alimony and the Oscars.
I am aware that I am a considered a threat to public safety based on my manic bi polar alcoholism and frequent homicidal texts to my ex husband but this does not give Caroline Maloney or The Terminator to remove my Chanel Diamond encrusted 9 multi milly milimeter from my kung fu pilatays grip.
Alas, as a well bred Economist reading frigid pretentious bitch with a penchant for salacious news and the ability to recite every Sex Offender off the coast of the Mediterranean, I have become ferociously obsessed with the chicest killer on the Block Elliot Rodger, who I would have given a b plus blow job too only because of who his father is in Hollywood in the hopes of becoming the next Hunger Games Fighter, except I would make my Asian Tutor complete all of my fights. Imagine, me, the Glitter Therapist, preventing a mass shooting based on my ability to give decent head and demolish the rampant insecurity of a typical depressed rejected wannabe Frat Star.
His rampant shooting was embarrassing because it drew attention to the obvious,Sorority Girls are not nice to boys who do not drive Mercedes and who are not drug addicted date rapists with access to their trust funds and carved paths to Private Equity firms. What concerns me, is the shift of gun policies in establishments to which I most frequent, CVS pharmacy, First Republic Bank and the Jacuzzi on the top floor of The Metropolitan Opera House .
I frequently store my gun in the locker before and after class, will I no longer be allowed to bear toned arms in these places above, due to a megalomanic sad little boy who was just trying to get laid? This is what I do not like. It is acceptable to write a manifesto documenting your hatred of society, your parents and everything that was terrible about your childhood as I make a frequent habit of this, even on this forum, but I have to ask, Why are you so mad on Vacation? You could have paid for a hooker, booked a massage, taken a few Xanax and asked your father for a role in Hunger Games 3
This leaves me disgusted and concerned for my own civil liberties that no doubt will slowly but surely be removed, thanks to your volatile actions.
However my 2nd amendment right to bear toned arms is something I take as seriously as my alimony and the Oscars.
I am aware that I am a considered a threat to public safety based on my manic bi polar alcoholism and frequent homicidal texts to my ex husband but this does not give Caroline Maloney or The Terminator to remove my Chanel Diamond encrusted 9 multi milly milimeter from my kung fu pilatays grip.
Alas, as a well bred Economist reading frigid pretentious bitch with a penchant for salacious news and the ability to recite every Sex Offender off the coast of the Mediterranean, I have become ferociously obsessed with the chicest killer on the Block Elliot Rodger, who I would have given a b plus blow job too only because of who his father is in Hollywood in the hopes of becoming the next Hunger Games Fighter, except I would make my Asian Tutor complete all of my fights. Imagine, me, the Glitter Therapist, preventing a mass shooting based on my ability to give decent head and demolish the rampant insecurity of a typical depressed rejected wannabe Frat Star.
His rampant shooting was embarrassing because it drew attention to the obvious,Sorority Girls are not nice to boys who do not drive Mercedes and who are not drug addicted date rapists with access to their trust funds and carved paths to Private Equity firms. What concerns me, is the shift of gun policies in establishments to which I most frequent, CVS pharmacy, First Republic Bank and the Jacuzzi on the top floor of The Metropolitan Opera House .
I frequently store my gun in the locker before and after class, will I no longer be allowed to bear toned arms in these places above, due to a megalomanic sad little boy who was just trying to get laid? This is what I do not like. It is acceptable to write a manifesto documenting your hatred of society, your parents and everything that was terrible about your childhood as I make a frequent habit of this, even on this forum, but I have to ask, Why are you so mad on Vacation? You could have paid for a hooker, booked a massage, taken a few Xanax and asked your father for a role in Hunger Games 3
This leaves me disgusted and concerned for my own civil liberties that no doubt will slowly but surely be removed, thanks to your volatile actions.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
You have made some of your closest friends offering Ambien to the group on Teterboro NOT including Seth Meyers
There is a time and place for the absurd delirium that me and my contemporary Herve Leger wearing pill popping dysfunctional group of bad Ass Bitches with Ivy League degrees and bulimia sauteed in self loathing yet have an appreciation for developing artists in Santa Monica.
I would also rather drink paint than be subjected to cocktails with the housewives that have never done coke with their Maids or think that Cellulite and rampant Mexicans are as serious an issue if not more serious than home grown terrorism and dynamite that doesnt effectively detonate. Thank God for my friends, so that I can effectively manically compete over who has more money from their husbands and fathers and who's darker past has allowed their crazy to manifest most successfully. So far I am losing because of my divorce and my B list erotic porn career that is only show cased in Black and White. I play the maid who tries to seduce the Butler who is Actually Black, not just because of the black and white footage, and I fail because I am racist.
Here is a list when you know You are Living the F Scott Gerald Dream of the Life you Are Proud Of
- You know someone who knows someone who runs Illegal Parties that involve gambling and chess
- You do not understand Subway the establishment, and the means of transportation. 6 Inch? is this not a sexual innuendo that is Mocking my Boyfriend? And the A train sounds like I am going to get Raped by a person who has never been to Europe. Shudder.
- Your family member is a minorly established artist
- You have passport stamps that rival International Drug Dealers
- You have Dry Humped with someone in an Elevator who has been arrested for Inside Trading and openly tweets.
- You have pooped in the Ritz
- You give fantastic Head but are also well versed in French or Italian and can maintain a 30 minute conversation on Eastern Religions without sounding like a Pretentious Buddha
- You have a website that generates profit, from your father
- You are an active commentator on the Economist Blog but also purchase well bred whores for Holidays
- You have snorted Coke to Mozart on a Victorian Mirror in a Basement with kids from Boarding School
- You fuck on the first date in the Shower at the Villa Deste
- You have abstract dietary restrictions that change arbitrarily based on mood, I. E I am depressed and horny and will only drink paint and dark chocolate laxatives crushed up in a blender mixed with sawdust and Goldman Sachs Jizz.
I would also rather drink paint than be subjected to cocktails with the housewives that have never done coke with their Maids or think that Cellulite and rampant Mexicans are as serious an issue if not more serious than home grown terrorism and dynamite that doesnt effectively detonate. Thank God for my friends, so that I can effectively manically compete over who has more money from their husbands and fathers and who's darker past has allowed their crazy to manifest most successfully. So far I am losing because of my divorce and my B list erotic porn career that is only show cased in Black and White. I play the maid who tries to seduce the Butler who is Actually Black, not just because of the black and white footage, and I fail because I am racist.
Here is a list when you know You are Living the F Scott Gerald Dream of the Life you Are Proud Of
- You know someone who knows someone who runs Illegal Parties that involve gambling and chess
- You do not understand Subway the establishment, and the means of transportation. 6 Inch? is this not a sexual innuendo that is Mocking my Boyfriend? And the A train sounds like I am going to get Raped by a person who has never been to Europe. Shudder.
- Your family member is a minorly established artist
- You have passport stamps that rival International Drug Dealers
- You have Dry Humped with someone in an Elevator who has been arrested for Inside Trading and openly tweets.
- You have pooped in the Ritz
- You give fantastic Head but are also well versed in French or Italian and can maintain a 30 minute conversation on Eastern Religions without sounding like a Pretentious Buddha
- You have a website that generates profit, from your father
- You are an active commentator on the Economist Blog but also purchase well bred whores for Holidays
- You have snorted Coke to Mozart on a Victorian Mirror in a Basement with kids from Boarding School
- You fuck on the first date in the Shower at the Villa Deste
- You have abstract dietary restrictions that change arbitrarily based on mood, I. E I am depressed and horny and will only drink paint and dark chocolate laxatives crushed up in a blender mixed with sawdust and Goldman Sachs Jizz.
Work Friends and Play Friends Do not Mix Unless You want To start a Drug Problem in your Work Space
Alas, Let us make one thing quite Crystal Meth Clear, When I say work, what I mean is upload photos of myself from family trips to Cote D'Azur in the 90s where I plotted to kill my Parents to expedite my trust fund and because I wanted my Mums Buccelati Bracelet Maintenant
I made friends with the Room Service ladies who gave me free Shampoo and where I stole all of the robes and learned how to Strip Tease in Portuguese.
The 90s were a meaningful decade, what with the Spice Girls, My first anal Experience with a Sultan and Bill Clinton' s passing of the Commodity Futures Modernization Act which legalized over the counter derivatives and prescription pills and shit.
But I Digress,
When I am at work, I like to give off the facade that I am not a manic bipolar depressive aspberger lying cheating stealing Kleptomaniac psycho path who steals crackers from your desk and frequently reads your emails, but is a kind elegant young lady who has her act together replete with tight cheek bones, Emporio Armani Suits and Ariana Grande Lattes with diluted brand name Ritalin soaked in the splenda creating a messy mushy texture which can also be used as an exfoilator for the face.
So, when when of my basic Co- workers, emphasis on the Co and not on the workers, asked if I matriculated at the Soul Cycle, my first immediate robotic response was to tell her that I was part of the indoctrinated cult like underground scene in terms of the blow jobs in the bathroom to the janitorial staff and B list instructors alike, but then I recanted. Regained my pseudo elegant fully cracked out composure and mentioned that I have frequented the soul on a Friday the 13th sort of occasion, a casual hobby if you will, like tax evasion and pathological lying,
What Growth, to not unleash my mania on my professional colleagues and instead allow them to assume that my intensity for my work is reminiscent of Hitler recruiting his Gorgeous Neo Nazi Youth and regaining an impressive Third Reich following that if my calculations are correct would have had a ridiculous instagram following.
And so, Dont be friends with the people that you work with, there is a time and a place for the mania to unleash, and that is strictly on an off the clock manifestation which like oil and water or fine wine and poor people is never to be mixed.
I am not serious, I care for little much else than my dog, my xanax, my Euros carefully stored away in a Crystallized Vault in the likeminded banks of Delaware and the Swiss Alps. But why showcase this personality when I have multiples at my disposal. It is a complicated balancing act, but if I can pretend to pull it off by playing the part of the sweet Slut who cares about her Work, I then set the tone for the team to believe that I am a magnetic force of extreme seriousness who is Not to be fucked with. A pleasant change from the spineless vapid little girl I have always been.
The Glitter Therapist/ Chanel Weapon Enforcer/ Stripper for High End Terrorist Groups/ Private Investigator/ PR Manager For the Lehman Brothers and the newest Socialite Vita Von Chapstick is starting to take herself a little Seriously. But only a little, and only for the photo Ops. And never without pills and darkness and raging pediophelia.
See you at the St. Regis
I made friends with the Room Service ladies who gave me free Shampoo and where I stole all of the robes and learned how to Strip Tease in Portuguese.
The 90s were a meaningful decade, what with the Spice Girls, My first anal Experience with a Sultan and Bill Clinton' s passing of the Commodity Futures Modernization Act which legalized over the counter derivatives and prescription pills and shit.
But I Digress,
When I am at work, I like to give off the facade that I am not a manic bipolar depressive aspberger lying cheating stealing Kleptomaniac psycho path who steals crackers from your desk and frequently reads your emails, but is a kind elegant young lady who has her act together replete with tight cheek bones, Emporio Armani Suits and Ariana Grande Lattes with diluted brand name Ritalin soaked in the splenda creating a messy mushy texture which can also be used as an exfoilator for the face.
So, when when of my basic Co- workers, emphasis on the Co and not on the workers, asked if I matriculated at the Soul Cycle, my first immediate robotic response was to tell her that I was part of the indoctrinated cult like underground scene in terms of the blow jobs in the bathroom to the janitorial staff and B list instructors alike, but then I recanted. Regained my pseudo elegant fully cracked out composure and mentioned that I have frequented the soul on a Friday the 13th sort of occasion, a casual hobby if you will, like tax evasion and pathological lying,
What Growth, to not unleash my mania on my professional colleagues and instead allow them to assume that my intensity for my work is reminiscent of Hitler recruiting his Gorgeous Neo Nazi Youth and regaining an impressive Third Reich following that if my calculations are correct would have had a ridiculous instagram following.
And so, Dont be friends with the people that you work with, there is a time and a place for the mania to unleash, and that is strictly on an off the clock manifestation which like oil and water or fine wine and poor people is never to be mixed.
I am not serious, I care for little much else than my dog, my xanax, my Euros carefully stored away in a Crystallized Vault in the likeminded banks of Delaware and the Swiss Alps. But why showcase this personality when I have multiples at my disposal. It is a complicated balancing act, but if I can pretend to pull it off by playing the part of the sweet Slut who cares about her Work, I then set the tone for the team to believe that I am a magnetic force of extreme seriousness who is Not to be fucked with. A pleasant change from the spineless vapid little girl I have always been.
The Glitter Therapist/ Chanel Weapon Enforcer/ Stripper for High End Terrorist Groups/ Private Investigator/ PR Manager For the Lehman Brothers and the newest Socialite Vita Von Chapstick is starting to take herself a little Seriously. But only a little, and only for the photo Ops. And never without pills and darkness and raging pediophelia.
See you at the St. Regis
Friday, May 23, 2014
A FUTURE RISING STAR, DIAMONDS, PLATINUM AND JADE: THe Freshman Soul Cycle
I was thinking during my divorce indictment STATE vs GLITTER (1999) for siphoning the pope's Amex for my trip to Space, that I should try some of Manhattan's new SOul Cycle instructor's before my children come back with their father from Juan Les Pins,
Alas, I rock I sweat I smoke I Dance. DOnt Eat Dont Sleep Rave Repeat.
S. J is a KappaKappa Wutang Clan Aint Nothing to Fuck with.
Samantha is like a decadent caramel treat that really threw me off my already unstable manic rocker. What I assumed was going to be a ride full of Katy Perry and a Basic Bitch Makeout soundtracks circa 2002, I was instead met with hardcore hip hop sautéed in an international remix of magic and madness. It was on another level of superb and she is arguably the next Sydney meets Madison Meets Taye meets Creme de la Creme.
Her music allowed my pretentious Park Avenue snooty tweaked disposition into thinking that I was something to contend with and made me feel like rockstar on the bike even though I look like a has-been gymnast with asbergers. She said a few things that made my ADHD pill hopping hotel hopping megalomania concentrate.
“You are already here, “she said, “and the worst that could happen is that you pull it off." Chilling.
It typically gives me anxiety reminiscent of socializing with people who aren’t members of the Soho house to spend $40.00 on an unknown on what I could otherwise use for quality porn and a bottle of Pinot, But her challenging class that contained fresh dance moves that could be used in the club to impress my ex-husband made me realize that sometimes, a change in routine is just what is needed for my sex life and my soul life. See you on Bike 9.
Alas, I rock I sweat I smoke I Dance. DOnt Eat Dont Sleep Rave Repeat.
S. J is a KappaKappa Wutang Clan Aint Nothing to Fuck with.
Soul Cycle and Narcotics Anonymous, I often have a difficult time choosing which to go, and I am so glad I chose Samantha Jade to let GO and Let God and Let Louboutin and burn off the Jizz and Veuve Cliquot from last night- as she made me feel like I was famous.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
My looming Financial Downfall is discussed with Psychic
Im a believer in anyone that will look into a crystal magic 8 ball, offer me a pellegrino with a splash of cranberry and pay Manhattan rent on the Upper West Side by telling me my parents will die quickly and I will come into a luxurious waspy future married to the heir of Chapstick
-thus wiping away my pained existence of suicidal mid twenties alcoholic post traumatic stress.
Ipso facto,
when my attorney, a low tier junior associate at Fancy Law Firm with Excellent Pens and Sexy Paralethals with fredrick fekkai highlights and bulimia who I used to by adderal from at University, told me that my financial actions of recent bank transactions with Madeoff in Panama casually mixed in with my belief that I was too emotionally unstable to pay my con Edison bill now had the government watching -rendering my trust fund non liquidated assets to be frozen inter-determinetly, I would now have to watch my spending excrutiatingly carefully and even more painful- enter into a budget of a middle class forever 21 tax bracket- as the Buddhists say- For NOW.
How carefully? and Who am I?
I pondered, the similar way that Derek Zoolander pondered his 2nd place modeling career after the VMA's into a puddle before being splashed by pre nose job Hansel- Who am I without Veuve and Xanax and my Baccarat Cum stained Baccarat Magnifying Glass?
Instead of heading to the caves to find my roots like Derek, I saved myself the dirt and the Miles and
I consulted my psychic Asian, who advised that this too like, a difficult bowel movement, or the war torn Syria, shall pass and for now, I should have grilled chicken and prosecco instead of tuna tartare and Veuve at lavo and much like my wrists, cut back
Things that Once but are no Longer tolerated
Anal Sex with men who make less than 200K
No Orange Juice at the VIP table
Why there is a ridiculous Voss and Cocaine shortage in Milan
Gifts from Bloomingdales
Legal Diet Pills
Devaluation of the American Dollar
My repeatedly failed Ponzi Schemes
FBI agents who refuse to ship me to Afghanistan for an Undercover Op purely for the Instagrams and my ability to practice my Sunni faith
My doorman's judgement face
Hangovers that arent cured by Porn and whole wheat pancakes with honey and cut up pink lady apples on the side not touching
That Pi doesnt end
Mezzaluna
Sex without presents, playlists, or a demure African Drum band in the background
The overexposure of the Clintons and Kylie Jenner
Brunch with My Private Investigator
My Private Investigator and I went to Sarabeth's because he has a new assignment for me to track down an Ex Goldman Sachs newly turned Tech Entrepreneur with an affinity for the Opera and Hookers from Hoboken.
My Assignment was simple, Take the Long Island Express Path where Im told there is a very kind community of Middle Class Has beens who still use Twitter and Talk about Studio 54, and follow him to Manhattan.
My Assignment was simple, Take the Long Island Express Path where Im told there is a very kind community of Middle Class Has beens who still use Twitter and Talk about Studio 54, and follow him to Manhattan.
The New Trophy Wife
She is no longer the twenty something leggy Hermes Coked Out Trashy chanel Strappy bag wearing 2nd tier College First tier Sorority Piece of disturbance, but a refined drug addict with respectful republican values on the board of Meaningless Charities, appreciates Art and can dress herself without a nanny, yet has let go of her asbergers and light bulimia, gives good head but does not leave dried cum on the sheets, and throws extravagant dinner parties with abstract guests like the Chinese Financial Ambassador to Chile and loves her kids even if they are in their chunky stage sauteed in suicidal threats.
See you at the St. Regis
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Signs of a Non Basic Instagram
1. Zero selfies unless they were professionally done
2. Number of followers exceeding 750 or 56 likes per post MINIMUM
3. At least 3 Celebrity or Celebrity Off Spring frequent likers and commenters that make clear you have a meaningful relationship outside Instagram and are such best friends.
4. Photos that show more than 3 continents which include exotic animals, food, and tribal people and baths and illusions to Arab terrorist organizations
5. Finely and carefully calculated ratio balance of meaningful quotes by Philosophers of both Eastern and Western doctrines and Very Exclusive parties at the club replete with bottle service girls carefully cropped out but just enough so that you know they are there and astronomically large bottles of Veuve
6. Photos from Space
7. No illusions to your family's wealth with absurdly offensive and classless hashtags that include but are not limited to #ballin #Rich #KillinIt #Beamer
8. No Photos of weddings Unless it was featured in Town and Country and the couple was already divorced when the issue was out
9. Guns
10. Memes unless they are Racist
2. Number of followers exceeding 750 or 56 likes per post MINIMUM
3. At least 3 Celebrity or Celebrity Off Spring frequent likers and commenters that make clear you have a meaningful relationship outside Instagram and are such best friends.
4. Photos that show more than 3 continents which include exotic animals, food, and tribal people and baths and illusions to Arab terrorist organizations
5. Finely and carefully calculated ratio balance of meaningful quotes by Philosophers of both Eastern and Western doctrines and Very Exclusive parties at the club replete with bottle service girls carefully cropped out but just enough so that you know they are there and astronomically large bottles of Veuve
6. Photos from Space
7. No illusions to your family's wealth with absurdly offensive and classless hashtags that include but are not limited to #ballin #Rich #KillinIt #Beamer
8. No Photos of weddings Unless it was featured in Town and Country and the couple was already divorced when the issue was out
9. Guns
10. Memes unless they are Racist
He teaches High School but has a PHD
Alas, I have been on a manic quest to meet an eligible suitor, and by suitor I mean post Frat Star Douche Bag with a drug problem and likes porn that involves complex plot twists and racial slurs, but who who meets me on my intellectual level meaning that knows the difference between all of the Henry's in Shakespeare and can pretentiously decide whether the wine is appropriate with the caviar post pre my induced bulimia, He is also shady as Fuck, can call me out on my bullshit, such as that I pay my taxes and support inner city youth, and finance my next 24 Carat Baccarat Clit Piercing and tattoo In Arabic that Says "Young Money". In italics. Underlined.
As you can see, I have entered a 48-72 hour rebel phase, for the sole purpose of garnering the attention of my ex boyfriend who has recently dumped me on account of the fact that I am quote on quote Too Crazy.
Comme Des Garcon De Comme Again Asshole? I am not the one who cheats on me with strippers from Hoboken or Blonde Bridge and Tunnel 2nd Tier Sorority sluts who who Cant tell good pure columbian Cocaine from Rat Poison Rubbish under the Hudson River where the Mermaids live.
Alas, I met this gentlemen at a very exclusive very hard to get into very scene-y very martini bellini panini white girl black card party where you had to get in by knowing a guy who knows a guy who knows a Guy Who Fucked The Cuomo's to get in, so naturally I had to break a window from the upstairs Chimney to get in since I do not know the Cuomos- Very Mary Poppins Meets Asbergers Harriet the Spy meets Nancy Drew myself in my own imagination.
And so this man whom I met whom I know had money based on the fact he was smoking a cigar and started every sentence with Be that as it may, a surefire sign of a closeted homosexual and a b plus stock portfolio, appeared interesting in getting weird in his Hotel Room in the Ritz. I questioned his choice in Hotel, why not something not more Classic Beverly Hills? Like the Beverly Hilton, or more specifically the room where Whitney Houston Died, the room I without fail stay in everytime I grace California with my presence and Dark exterior.
He told me he had a PHD from Cambridge and had turned down Yale, Dartmouth, but Not Harvard since all the girls were Raging Lesbians, and now taught High School at Lysee de Francay de Rosay for Attractive Pseudo European Retards.
I was really confused. Why do you have a PHD and teach High school? That sounded like Ja Rule directing the school play- it simply did not add up. I tried to follow the cum stained fact pattern and came to the painstaking conclusion that he was lying, which all PHD carrying individuals who bring up their level of education at parties do, or liked to finger French Sophomores, which was something I could comprehend.
So, when I was in his hotel room and he went to have a quick shower, I rifled threw his bag as I do for everyones and found nothing but 17 grams of Ganja and .22 caliber handgun and some Pink Orbit gum. Ugh, I seethed. What a lazy suicidal fuck he'd be and abruptly returned home to my psychiatrist leather couch where I belong.
Dear Diary
Sue Chef- Sous Chef
It was the eve of my 19th Birthday when I realized that I still had dried cum and glitter stuck to the side of my face and was wearing it during a meeting at work, it worked as a soothing exfoliator as I started to notice a new kind of subtle dryness in my skin tone that I hadn't recognized since my bat mitzvah or the last time that I had an abortion, which as a side note is faster and frankly less painful then a juice cleanse.
In any event, I went home and saw that my housekeeper had flipped thru my diary and stole my cocaine AGAIn and I am definitely certain that it is not part of Jamaican west african caribbean culture to snort lines so I am unclear what the purpose of the theft is as it is not out of general concern for my well being else she would throw away my diet pills and crystal meth and soy yogurt since soy apparently gives breast cancer. Maybe she was selling it for more hair wraps. UnClear.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Do my co workers masturbate to me as much as I do them? Its a women's Issue. My takedown of Clinton 2016.
Shakespeare said to thine ownself be true (Hamlet Act II,) but one thing I can not understand in the professional realm is how to turn the professionalism on and off,
I am who I am whether Im with the Janitor, the CEO, my drug dealer, and my Accountant (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.
I chose a cocaine white for Mrs Clinton's eyeshadow coloring as a diabolical attempt to take down her campaign. I chose the white to bring out her wrinkles and her political move to stay with the now trim yet chubby chasing jazz playing Husband so that she can reach her dreams of Being the Leader of the Free world.
To quote Ali G. Ish. Dont Think So.
Think of all of the critical examples of women as presidents in popular culture, 24, West Wing, and other randoms, the shows had significantly lower ratings because a woman as A President sounds like a trip to the Wrong Hamptons with no cable and Smirnoff.
I would be horrified if Clinton took the Ovulating Office, which it no doubt would be called, not just because she is a Dem, not just because she looks like my mailman, but because her Presidency would be all about getting back at her husband and I have enough of that in my own life. C'est Vrai?
See you at the St. Regis
I am who I am whether Im with the Janitor, the CEO, my drug dealer, and my Accountant (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.
I chose a cocaine white for Mrs Clinton's eyeshadow coloring as a diabolical attempt to take down her campaign. I chose the white to bring out her wrinkles and her political move to stay with the now trim yet chubby chasing jazz playing Husband so that she can reach her dreams of Being the Leader of the Free world.
To quote Ali G. Ish. Dont Think So.
Think of all of the critical examples of women as presidents in popular culture, 24, West Wing, and other randoms, the shows had significantly lower ratings because a woman as A President sounds like a trip to the Wrong Hamptons with no cable and Smirnoff.
I would be horrified if Clinton took the Ovulating Office, which it no doubt would be called, not just because she is a Dem, not just because she looks like my mailman, but because her Presidency would be all about getting back at her husband and I have enough of that in my own life. C'est Vrai?
See you at the St. Regis
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Fancy Slash Asbergers As Fuck: Cheating At Soul Cycle with A woman; ignites my Previous Days as A Lesbian
She has a magnetic Centripetal force that awakens my delusional vapid existence replete with Hashtags, bottle Service and Walks of Shame a reason to re Asses my modus operandi and Find Peace (and Cash)
Happy Mothers Day Indeed - Osama Bin Laden's collection of Zyrtec
I have always prided myself on being a phenom stay at home mother without the children unless of course the step children are home-
to whit I hide in my walk in Closet with a 2004 bottle of Chardonnay. Oaky-Tannin-Filled-Bull shit sauteed in Jam and Delusions but its better than pre teens.
My Step Children-Who's idea of a good time is Taylor Swift's first album and the Vampire series, hashtag you're basic and call me when someone is drunk and or pregnant at the Prom.
In any briefcase, my husband's rolls royce and cute physical abuse is the glamorous part of my story- Everyone looks thinner in Black, and Blue
But whilst I was sitting in my closet hiding from Jonas and Odette (taken from Moby Dick and Swan Lake Respectively) As their Mother was a former ballerina with bulimia and an attitude, think Billy Elliot but 10 years older and a vagina, was a literature major at Swarthmore where she indulged in a manic lesbian phase and read only Herman Millville and Hitler,
Im not sure what charged my husband into finding her an appropriate mate, except of course her casual yet rampant Saudi Money that her father had been laundering for years.
They were family friends with the Osama Bin Laden's and when I met her she drunkenly told me that she had been to their apartment in Saudi Arabia and their bathroom was very poorly decorated and Osama was swimming in Zyrtec.
This happenstance was before 9/11 where it was no longer posh to be friends with Arabs. I would have liked my husbands first wife had she not been so pro feminism and so into being a good mom be Vogue.
It was honestly quite boring and she always made me feel guilty for believing that women were meant to stay at home and give Head for Diamonds and do meaningless charity for animals that have already been extinct and arbitrary causes like raising money to stop the Drug Trade. Shudder
Alas, sitting in my closet peering at my Loubs, my Jimmy Choos, My 2004 Alexander McQueens to whit I wore at Jonas' Barmitzvah and dry humped him during his candle lighting which was captured on digital video, and my bloodied co designed Pucci Oscar De la Renta Gown that I slit my wrists in when I found out Obama was elected and Con Edison bills were not a mere suggestion.
I reflect on the painstaking reality on this holiday that promotes the notion that Brunch is real and that Pro creation of the human race isn't a sore mistake Im HIP Positive that Im grateful to my own mother for the reasons below sea level.
1. My impossibly high cheek bones
2. My icy blue stare
3. My inflected British Accent
5. My ability to choose Quality Yoga Instructors based on the brand of Cigs to whit they smoke
6. My ability to check into a hotel
7. My affinity for almonds
8. My choice in porn
to whit I hide in my walk in Closet with a 2004 bottle of Chardonnay. Oaky-Tannin-Filled-Bull shit sauteed in Jam and Delusions but its better than pre teens.
My Step Children-Who's idea of a good time is Taylor Swift's first album and the Vampire series, hashtag you're basic and call me when someone is drunk and or pregnant at the Prom.
In any briefcase, my husband's rolls royce and cute physical abuse is the glamorous part of my story- Everyone looks thinner in Black, and Blue
But whilst I was sitting in my closet hiding from Jonas and Odette (taken from Moby Dick and Swan Lake Respectively) As their Mother was a former ballerina with bulimia and an attitude, think Billy Elliot but 10 years older and a vagina, was a literature major at Swarthmore where she indulged in a manic lesbian phase and read only Herman Millville and Hitler,
Im not sure what charged my husband into finding her an appropriate mate, except of course her casual yet rampant Saudi Money that her father had been laundering for years.
They were family friends with the Osama Bin Laden's and when I met her she drunkenly told me that she had been to their apartment in Saudi Arabia and their bathroom was very poorly decorated and Osama was swimming in Zyrtec.
This happenstance was before 9/11 where it was no longer posh to be friends with Arabs. I would have liked my husbands first wife had she not been so pro feminism and so into being a good mom be Vogue.
It was honestly quite boring and she always made me feel guilty for believing that women were meant to stay at home and give Head for Diamonds and do meaningless charity for animals that have already been extinct and arbitrary causes like raising money to stop the Drug Trade. Shudder
Alas, sitting in my closet peering at my Loubs, my Jimmy Choos, My 2004 Alexander McQueens to whit I wore at Jonas' Barmitzvah and dry humped him during his candle lighting which was captured on digital video, and my bloodied co designed Pucci Oscar De la Renta Gown that I slit my wrists in when I found out Obama was elected and Con Edison bills were not a mere suggestion.
I reflect on the painstaking reality on this holiday that promotes the notion that Brunch is real and that Pro creation of the human race isn't a sore mistake Im HIP Positive that Im grateful to my own mother for the reasons below sea level.
1. My impossibly high cheek bones
2. My icy blue stare
3. My inflected British Accent
5. My ability to choose Quality Yoga Instructors based on the brand of Cigs to whit they smoke
6. My ability to check into a hotel
7. My affinity for almonds
8. My choice in porn
Monday, May 5, 2014
Streams of Consciousness, Streams of Delusions, Streams of Morbid Fascination with Your Net worth: Scene 2
Act 1
Scene 2:
Bad Lighting.
Think Dressing Room of the 5th floor at Saks meets Early Bird Filter.
Cable playing Behind the scenes of the Sound of Music:
Liesel's Boyfriend the Neo Nazi Rolf is talking about how Captain Von Trapp and Brigitta had sexual tension so intense that she nearly bashed Liesels head during the EdelWeiss rendition on the floor of the ballroom scene. You look happy to me indeed. I am 27 going on 17 Innocent as a Cheetah.
SideNote I have a Tatto On My Inner Thigh which also gave me a Very light strain of AIDS that I adore because of the weight loss, the pity, and the Throwback to the 80s. I also had a write up in More Magazine about it which I make sure to include in Every Conversation.
The tattoo says Edelweiss In Arabic so that when my boyfriend is going down on me and inquires within, (literally) it sparks very questionable discussion and turns our whole sexual tourette like escapade into a Rodgers and Hammerstein memory lane, and then its a double win because they lose their erection and I can take my Ambien and go the fucktosleepdotcom.
Drug Dealer Enter Stage Right: He wears Dolce and Gabbana Sunglasses and a frat Snap back tank top that Says My Start-up is in Beta Spring Formal 2014.
I am getting dressed in My Pink Sparkly Oscar De la Renta Dress for Pre Teens with glitter and frills. I find old cocaine on the sleeve of the dress and smear it on my eyes so they look particularly numb and poofy.
I start shaving and then bleed around my ankles because I refuse to use shaving cream and enjoy the raw trailer park roughness of razor to leg sans lubricant.
Housekeeper Enters Stage Left: She brings pellegrino grapefruit and cars table water crackers so I think that I am in St. Tropez. Sometimes I ask her to put lotion on my body and Read me passages of the Koran even though she is not Muslim. I am trying to act more Islamic so I can more easily infiltrate the role of a Sultan's whore who does not have to wear the Hijab and shop a lot.
Pregame.
Purchase meth and vicodin from the dealer. Tell him his sunglasses look like they were hand me downs from his half-brother who Works as a Consultant at a low tier Boutique Investment Bank and sleeps with Girls who haven't had a debutante ball. Shudder.
Housekeeper pretends not to acknowledge the dealer. I ask the Dealer to Frat Formal. He declines based on my rudeness and Republicanism. I shoot him with my BB gun and he pretends to call the police. I tell him that he is a drug dealer and has enough Valium to tranquilize all of Ms. Clevel's Orphans in Paris.
My girlfriend Petra sashays into the loft, a brunette West Coast NASA Employee who got her job because she accidentally found another planet when we were really coked out at the Library at Georgetown, not because we were students there but because I was trying to get invited to Sasha Obama's 13th for the booze and the grams. NASA became soaked over her and hired her immediately which is amusing because she cant spell and hired an Asian to take her SATs. Shes also Anorexic but in a way that isn;t offensive or noticeable because she only eats Cheesecake.
Scene 2:
Bad Lighting.
Think Dressing Room of the 5th floor at Saks meets Early Bird Filter.
Cable playing Behind the scenes of the Sound of Music:
Liesel's Boyfriend the Neo Nazi Rolf is talking about how Captain Von Trapp and Brigitta had sexual tension so intense that she nearly bashed Liesels head during the EdelWeiss rendition on the floor of the ballroom scene. You look happy to me indeed. I am 27 going on 17 Innocent as a Cheetah.
SideNote I have a Tatto On My Inner Thigh which also gave me a Very light strain of AIDS that I adore because of the weight loss, the pity, and the Throwback to the 80s. I also had a write up in More Magazine about it which I make sure to include in Every Conversation.
The tattoo says Edelweiss In Arabic so that when my boyfriend is going down on me and inquires within, (literally) it sparks very questionable discussion and turns our whole sexual tourette like escapade into a Rodgers and Hammerstein memory lane, and then its a double win because they lose their erection and I can take my Ambien and go the fucktosleepdotcom.
Drug Dealer Enter Stage Right: He wears Dolce and Gabbana Sunglasses and a frat Snap back tank top that Says My Start-up is in Beta Spring Formal 2014.
I am getting dressed in My Pink Sparkly Oscar De la Renta Dress for Pre Teens with glitter and frills. I find old cocaine on the sleeve of the dress and smear it on my eyes so they look particularly numb and poofy.
I start shaving and then bleed around my ankles because I refuse to use shaving cream and enjoy the raw trailer park roughness of razor to leg sans lubricant.
Housekeeper Enters Stage Left: She brings pellegrino grapefruit and cars table water crackers so I think that I am in St. Tropez. Sometimes I ask her to put lotion on my body and Read me passages of the Koran even though she is not Muslim. I am trying to act more Islamic so I can more easily infiltrate the role of a Sultan's whore who does not have to wear the Hijab and shop a lot.
Pregame.
Purchase meth and vicodin from the dealer. Tell him his sunglasses look like they were hand me downs from his half-brother who Works as a Consultant at a low tier Boutique Investment Bank and sleeps with Girls who haven't had a debutante ball. Shudder.
Housekeeper pretends not to acknowledge the dealer. I ask the Dealer to Frat Formal. He declines based on my rudeness and Republicanism. I shoot him with my BB gun and he pretends to call the police. I tell him that he is a drug dealer and has enough Valium to tranquilize all of Ms. Clevel's Orphans in Paris.
My girlfriend Petra sashays into the loft, a brunette West Coast NASA Employee who got her job because she accidentally found another planet when we were really coked out at the Library at Georgetown, not because we were students there but because I was trying to get invited to Sasha Obama's 13th for the booze and the grams. NASA became soaked over her and hired her immediately which is amusing because she cant spell and hired an Asian to take her SATs. Shes also Anorexic but in a way that isn;t offensive or noticeable because she only eats Cheesecake.
Pretentious OverDressed On Adderall and Ambien and Redbull in A Brunette Alice in Wonderland Delirium
When I was a child my father was Framed for a Crime he did not commit.
http://www.rferl.org/contentinfographics/infographics/25103887.html
Gorgeous. Im in Qatar. Im a princess. I like to launder money into terrorist organizations to pay for my Hamptons home just like the Graysons.
http://www.rferl.org/contentinfographics/infographics/25103887.html
Gorgeous. Im in Qatar. Im a princess. I like to launder money into terrorist organizations to pay for my Hamptons home just like the Graysons.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
"I dont Pop Molly I rock Tom Ford"- Eleanor Roosevelt
Act 1 Scene 1 Part One
The Living Room with my Life Coach
Ambiance
Ouji Board
Philip Stark Mirror which reflects Alcoholic OverExamined Daddy Issues
Fake Chagall Painting that fooled a two time generation Sotheby Auctioneer in the right hand corner.
Plate of Olives, Wasa Crackers, Cars Table Water Crackers smeared with low grade caviar and Pink Grape Fruit Perrier that is Constantly refilled by arbitrary West African Nanny who smells of homegrown Aspen Marijuana and Washed up Dreams of America
I always knew that the truth was stranger than fiction mostly because have the manic madness that myself and my contemporaries get involved with -
most people would believe did not actually happen. And with good reason as most of what I say are complete lies by virtue of the fact that I am a pathological liar sauteed in kleptomania and light narcissism and insecurity and penchant for waspy child porn. The narcissism and insecurity comes from my highly refined background in Academics and Cheating.
But enough with the self analytical Tara Reid Cruel Intentions Psycho Babbly Bullshit and we shall cocaine cut to the chase of the madness of the story.
I struggle with the fact that I do not really have any story to tell except for the time I got kicked out of teterboro for hypothetically Asking -if you were a member of Hezbollah would you still be allowed to fly
- or the time I followed my pilates teacher home to his pied a terre in St Tropez one night after clubbing with P Diddy in attempt to allow me to go down on him- and then it later ended up on the internet on boredDaddyGirlsfromParkAvenueWhoCantGiveGOodHead.com
So embarrassing Sort of, but In truth I appreciated the fame and the suspension from high school; it allowed me time to catch up on my correspondence with my camp friends and pals in Prison that I met during a required trip to Rikers as part of my court ordered community service for getting caught with 2 light grams of Meth in Vegas for my 16th birthday.
My father was more angry about the minibar bill as chocolate is for middle class forever 21 tax brackets with no social graces or opinions on the tannins of wine.
And so, without further Neo Nazi adieu and light harassment of your body- comes the story of the time that I drugged my then boyfriends wife and hid her in the bathtub so that I could have a party with my friends at their home in the Hamptons. Very Carrie meets Carrie (Bradshaw).
In the early 90s during the Clinton Administration, what with his jazz music veganism and penchant for hopeless interns with little interest in self care let alone Camp David, it was a frightening time for America, school shootings were Rampant and Versace had been Murdered. Shudder.
I was only dating married men mostly from the boredom of my own pathetic existence of getting spa green tea pedicures, chainsmoking outside Goldman Sachs and fingering myself to the Swiss Franc American Dollar Exchange rate. I figured this Syracuse Sorostitutey P.R for Nyquil Kors turned housewife sauteed in a poorly highlighted yet perfectly toned ass- who used words like chaotic and Whole Foods in the same sentence was a basic bitch who could soon be looked over. She also had a prescription of klonopin that was so large that the orange pills looked like the instagram hearts came to a life like manifestation and could fill all of FenWay Park- and yes I am aware that the baseball reference is as classy as fuck.
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