cool is contagious

A Love Letter to My Skinny Mirror

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 18:01:03 -0400

Dear Skinny Mirror,

Thank you for making me look so skinny. Your beautiful, mystical glass captures and contorts my image, turning me into mesmerizing vision of skinniness. Whenever I am feeling blue, or swollen from night of too many vodka sodas and Dominos, you’re there to look me in the belly and say,

“Tis not as bad as it seems.”

When I step off the scale, appalled at the number that glares below me, or desperately try to shove my lovely lady lumps into the highwaist jeans I purchased with little thought given to my love of fried chicken and brunch, I turn to you, and you sweetly whisper,

“I love you. You’re perfect. NOW TWERK.”

And when the rare day comes when you do not make me look so skinny, I appreciate your honesty, dear mirror. For I can trust that only you will let me know when I’ve indulged in too many cracklins at Heavy Woods or shoved too many Butter Lane cupcakes into my face. Mirror, you tell it to me true when it’s needed and tell me sweet lies the other days.

I could not ask for a dearer mirror or friend.

Sincerely,

Sarah “Body Dysmorphic Disorder” Hudson

10 Ways to Sabotage a Potential Summer Fling

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 14:23:08 -0400

Loosely inspired by true events.

Get a Vulcan haircut
Bring your friend on the first date
Suggest Bananagrams
Bring up your last serious relationship
Have sex with that person from your last serious relationship
Explain that your goal in life is to die at the exact same moment as your cat
Forego waxing, shaving, plucking, and bathing
Invite them on a running date in the cruel heat of the day
Always show up sweating
Share heavy meals, with milk

photo c/o the count

Ways You Could Die in a Pentecostal Church

Wed, 05 Jun 2013 18:30:29 -0400

On Sunday I attended an intimate little show at a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend-of-a-bandmate’s INSANE LOFT APARTMENT in Bushwick. Honestly this place was what you imagined NYC apartments would be like before you moved here and realized you’d be sharing a cupboard with 6 rats and a Craigslist random who sends you livid emails chastising you for throwing away her 3-year-old oatmeal.

At this party one of the bandmates was telling us about a crazy person who had begun stalking him at the gospel church where he played on Sundays. Apparently this person prematurely fled the service that day and sent our new friend a text after saying, “Sorry I had to leave. I nearly died in a Pentecostal church once.”

Our friend then posed to the group, “How could you die in a Pentecostal church?”

To which Eliza and I blurted, “SO MANY WAYS.”

Snake bite
Heatstroke
Starvation during a service where the HOLY SPIRIT kept things going far past supper time
Having a Bible thrown at your head
Being trampled
Choking on your tongue, what with all the speaking in tongues
Poisoned kool-aid
Getting whapped on the head with a fan
Overeating at a potluck
Falling out in the SPIRIT

Got any more?

Snapbreaks

Tue, 04 Jun 2013 17:14:00 -0400

In keeping with my theme of making shit up, today I invented snapbreaks.

A snapbreak is the thing of where you breakup with someone via Snapchat. I dreamed up this thing—and honestly I hope it is only a dream and not a thing that actual people do because come on, we are not savages—when I thought:

What is the 2013 equivalent of a breakup via post-it?

You’ll recall the 2003 Sex and the City episode where the unsympathetic and put-upon Berger dumps Carrie by leaving her a post-it bearing the infuriating words, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

For Sex City fans, this episode always sends us into an Amy/Seth-style “REALLY?!” rant. And y’all, I think snapchats are the new post-it when it comes to shitty ways to breakup.

A snapbreak, like the post-it before it, is widely offensive, yet highly effective. It’s quick, mean, and to the point. You have a mere 1-10 seconds to process the reality that you are no longer booed-up before your snap disappears—much like your (probably terrible) relationship.

I mean what would you do if your boo-thing sent you one of these? I mean REALLY?!

Well probably just quickly move on and marry Mr. Big, right? I guess the good thing about snapbreaks is that they leave no evidence—no text messages to read through at night as you watch Blue Valentine and listen to Tegan & Sara. It’s a clean break. A snap, if you will.

See what I did there??

Tips for Hanging Out with Fancy People

Fri, 31 May 2013 17:00:00 -0400

Tomorrow I will attend the Veuve Cliquot Polo Classic, and I am about to get all Pretty Woman up in Liberty State Park. And much like my beloved prostitute protagonist, I too will need to play the part of someone who knows how to stomp a divot. So here are my tips and tricks for fitting in with people who have probably never accidentally eaten squirrel at a family reunion.

Fake a Charleston-style southern accent. It sounds like old money.
If anyone asks, “Hudson? Of the Hudson River Hudsons?” Say yes.
Do a millionaire laugh.
Don’t talk about money, but allude to being rich by mentioning things like summering or “the gardener” or “the club.”
Something something “East Egg.”
Overuse the word “tacky.”
AIR KISS EVERYONE.
Don’t throw up when rich old men say, “Oh the things I would do to you if I was young!” Instead say, “You are making me blush!” Or “You rascal!” Or “You are too much!”
Don’t acknowledge class in any way, shape, or form.
Do talk about plastic surgery, affairs, and alcoholism behind people’s backs. Basically, gossip real hard but under the guise of concern.
CHEEK KISS EVERYONE.
Act out of touch with poor people stuff, like shows on cable television. Additional poor people stuff: bottom shelf liquor, student loans.

And if all else fails, ask the nearest gentleman to fetch you another glass of champagne. Preface this with, “Be a darling, won’t you…”

photo c/o guardian

Shit in the City

Tue, 28 May 2013 18:01:04 -0400

New York City is home to a lot of poop. And a lot of people who fancy pooping in public. In my brief time here, I have been the victim of several shit-sightings. We’re talking folks mid-poop, in public, and often in a crowded space. Read on if you dare.

Vinyl, Chelsea - July 2010

Sarah Wright was visiting me while I interned here summer before my senior year of college. I insisted that we “brunch” because all the cool kids were doing it, so we went where my NFT app told me: Vinyl in Chelsea (which has subsequently closed, and frankly I think the following incident played a part in that).

We were happily enjoying ~~a couple~~ many mimosas at a prime window table, but as soon as our Monte Cristos arrived we saw a terrible thing. Directly across the street from us there was a homeless man squatting in full on poop position. We watched in terror as we both silently thought, “Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t…”

He did it. And he kept doing it.

This devolved into a 45-minute ordeal, where the man—pants off, wiener waving—rummaged through a trashcan to find something suitable to wipe with (he eventually settled on newspaper), wandered aimlessly around the trashcan, and maybe pooped once or twice more. Meanwhile a crowd had gathered in the restaurant to watch this spectacle. We were all particularly fascinated with how unphased all the passersby were. THERE IS A NAKED MAN WITH HIS NAKED PENIS POOPING NEXT TO YOU.

Eventually he was escorted away by the police, and brunch resumed. Though I’m not sure we were able to finish our Monte Cristos.

The L Train Stairway, Union Square - November 2012

One morning last fall, I was walking up the stairway off the L—the one where two sides of the stairs merge into one—with two thousand of my closest subway friends when it happened. As I ascended the stairs, I caught a glimpse of an all too familiar poop pose. I got dizzy as I flashed back to that afternoon in July, and again watched in horror as a man took his morning poo RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STAIRWELL.

From the looks of the newspaper he’d neatly spread out under his bottom, I assume this was a typical morning routine for him. We were intruding into his bathroom. And as with the incident at Vinyl, everyone was markedly unphased.

The L Train Platform, Lorimer Street - January 2013

This pee rather than poop sighting, but still warrants a story.

I was coming home at 2 AM from a very long babysitting gig, waiting on the L platform judging all the drunk hooligans that surrounded me. There is nothing, literally nothing, that will make you question your drinking habits more than a sober ride on the L train between the hours of 2-6 AM. SAVAGES.

Anyway, as I’m judging and waiting, I see one drunk young savage stumble to the platform wall where she clumsily proceeds to take off her pants—ALL THE WAY—and her panties—ALL THE WAY. My first thought was, “Oh great, she’s going to start having sex with that greasy boy she’s with.” But oh no. It was worse.

She pressed her BARE BOTTOM on the platform wall, which is scientifically proven to be filthiest place on earth and honestly I’m surprised her bum didn’t just rot off upon contact, and began to pee. But because of the alcohols, her aim was off, and everyone in a 6-foot radius was in danger of getting caught in the crossfire. When she was sufficiently relieved, she got dressed and resumed chatting with greasy boy, and by his nonchalant attitude, I can only assume this was just another Saturday night for the couple. Boozing and peeing. Boozing and peeing.

I should also note that at the time of the incident, the train was a mere TWO MINUTES away. Again, I say: SAVAGES.

photo c/o observer.com

Bloodys, Boos, and Social

Tue, 21 May 2013 15:32:42 -0400

Today I invented an acronym, kids. SDOA: Social Displays of Affection.

It’s the thing of where you have a boo (or would-be boo) and you openly boo-love all over the internets. We’ve got Vines; we’ve got tweets; we’ve got tagged FB pics; we’ve got so many instas you’d think all you ever do is brunch & boo.

SDOA is all about the @mentions—not DMs or FB chat or gchat. You wanna scream it from the platforms that you are in a boo-thing and probably eating a lot of good food and doing a lot of fun things and looking really friggin cute all the livelong day.

And before you ask, “relationship statuses” are not still a thing. Too vintage. So try-hard. SDOA is more like:

“Oh look at me being suuuuuuper casual with this bloody mary insta. Why did I tag, Brad? Umm because you can’t see because it’s a casual insta, but Brad & I are brunching and booing and drinking the shit out of these bloodys.”

And it’s all hearts and likes until the boo-thing is over. That’s when things get sad and awkward, and you’re like:

“Well great my Vine is now nothing but videos of my boo-no-more frolicking in the park and washing dishes and dancing at that cool party we went to and drinking bloodys at that spot we love. Guess I’d better find some cool stuff to Vine to fill this sad boo-shaped hole in my heart.”

And let’s ponder…

Are social displays of affection good? Bad? Annoying? Necessary to demonstrate your affection in our DIGITAL AGE?
Can you base an entire relationship on a shared love of bloody marys?
Do the lovers who brunch together stay together?
Should someone create a social platform where you can send all your old SDOAs to die when you’re no longer booed up?

BRB going to invent this now and become an internet millionaire.

Things I Could Do to Become an Actual Adult

Wed, 08 May 2013 18:01:00 -0400

Buy a friggin bed skirt
Wake up early enough to eat breakfast at home in the morning while reading the newspaper and leisurely sipping coffee
Wake up early enough to wash my hair
Wake up early enough to pick out an outfit that doesn’t scream I’m-a-20-something-living-in-Bushwick
Just wake up earlier
Save $moNeY$ instead of brunching like I ball
Learn what a “mortgage” is
Know how the “stock market” works
Finish reading “Young, Broke, and Fabulous” (never got to the fabulous part, broke section was too sad)
Buy a cutting board intended for humans, not elves
Do pilates… or yoga… or SOMETHING
Quit eating McDonald’s like that shit plus no exercise won’t catch up with me—oh wait, it’s caught up with me!
Feel the same excitement about marriage and children that I feel when there’s a new Amanda Bynes Twitpic
Floss
Quit feeling nostalgia for Flavor of Love, Daisy of Love, Rock of Love, I Love New York (okay really any VH1 show between 2006-2008)

We’ve got a lot of work to do.

Pre-Date Wine

Fri, 03 May 2013 18:01:16 -0400

Yesterday Sarah Head posed one of the most important questions I’ve heard in a long time:

“How many glasses of wine is appropriate to consume before a first date?”

After giving it some thought, I think I have the answer. Controlling for medication, tolerance, and general emotional stability, it really depends on where this date came from. Here’s my breakdown:

eHarmony, 0 glasses

The guy you’re going out with is likely 40, divorced, super-Christian, and a father of 3. He’s looking for wifey #2 (or #3—it’s the 90’s, Bill!), and if you show up feeling loose you might not be able to hide your terror when he mentions things like “joint custody,” “alimony,” and “Jesus.”

This rule also applies to Christian Mingle. And FarmersOnly.

Match.com, 1 glass

If you’re paying to be on Match, you’re serious. But not that serious. Chug a glass of Pinot Grig, search Twitter for something relevant to talk about, throw on some slutty heels, and go WERK that Match date, girl!

OKCupid, 2-4 glasses

You really have no idea what to expect with a NoWayStupid. And by “no idea,” I mean you can pretty much bet that he’ll be autistic and someone will make an outdated hipster joke and use the phrase “did you see that Buzzfeed post?” Yes, I did see that Buzzfeed post, 173 million people saw it today, and now that you mention it, I wasn’t so amused.

But because you had the foresight to dip into mama’s sippin sauce, you’ll laugh and make him feel relevant and probably end up agreeing to another date before cleverly escaping into a bodega to buy yogurts.

Post-One Night Stand Date, 1 glass

You were probably wasted when you met this guy because that’s how one night stands work. And if the best indicator of future behavior is past behavior, then all signs point to y’all will be getting wastey tonight. So no need to over indulge beforehand. You’ll be doing tequila shots at a nice mexican-fusion spot and tumbling into back into bed soon enough.

Real Life Date Where You Met a Boy IRL and He Asked You to Share a Meal with Him IRL, 2 glasses

I’m not sure this is even really a thing. Maybe in the “Midwest”? I don’t know. But if this happens to you, first make sure he’s not a serial killer or has a secret family in Florida or has plans to lock you in a basement for all eternity. GOOGLE THAT ISH. If he checks out, then have a couple glasses because this means you’re going on a real date, which is like discovering a unicorn, and you will need some liquid courage to avoid screwing this up. You will probably marry this man.

Things I Love Today

Thu, 02 May 2013 17:21:40 -0400

I interrupt my regularly scheduled snark to bring you a list of things that I love today.

Sunshines that let me roam tights-less
The Gatsby soundtrack. Crushing rul hard on the LDR.
Madewell sandals + sale + 30% off + I bought them.
Real vs. Ideal campaign my lil sis is running at my alma mater. WERK.
Celebrity handi-capable mini-pig Chris P. Bacon’s FB post today. He is my daily inspiration.
John Legend fo free tomorrow night? Sure why not.
Looking forward to: outdoor dranks tonight, booze cruise saturday, plenty ‘o ritas on Sunday.

Sage Dating Advice from My Adolescence

Wed, 01 May 2013 18:01:24 -0400

I had the privilege of being surrounded by incredibly wise, articulate, well-read, and hilarious adults in my youth. And they bestowed upon me terribly insightful, sometimes offensive dating advice over the years that I will now share with all y’all. Though many of these adages were told to me in my formative middle school years, they are hauntingly relevant today. Take notes!

Who needs a man when you have a hand? - Millie & Lynn

En route to an 8th grade dance (horrifying “before” picture above), my dear mama and her partner in crime Lynn decided that my dear friend Sarah Wright and I needed a little lesson in safe sex. Mind you at this point Sarah and I were still in the sweaty-hand-holding-during-the-last-5-minutes-of-a-movie phase with boys, but Millie & Lynn nonetheless wanted to make sure we didn’t feel the need to slut it up at the dance. Their argument was that boys our age didn’t have a clue how to treat a lady’s body, so it was best that we treat ourselves and hold out until the boys caught up. Sometimes it feels like we’re still holding out…

It’s just as easy to love a rich man as it is to love a poor man. - Peggy

PREACH, Aunt Peggy. No scrubz.

Girls can fake orgasms, but boys can fake entire relationships. - Quinn

Again with the premature advice, papa Quinn shared this little nugget with me after a particularly traumatic breakup circa 8th grade. There are so many layers of this friggin onion of a phrase to peel back, but my most recent takeaway is boys and girls are both liars. And girls often bear the brunt of the lies. Other takeways over the years have included:

Don’t trust boys.
Don’t fake orgasms.
Relationships can only be fully understood once they’re over.
Breaking up sucks.
I will likely die alone.

But seriously this is a heavy one—let it marinate.

Any more than a handful is a waste. - Millie

We’ve got another onion! Mama was obviously referring to my insecurities around my bebe As, which I stuffed religiously from 1999-2003 (okay, maybe 2005, idk, whatever). But if you peel back a layer, the real wisdom is that you are enough. Whatever you have, whatever you are—it is enough. The trick is to find a boy who agrees with you and loves your small boobies.

You need to be with someone who thinks you hung the moon. - Millie

Mama tells me this after nearly every break up. It means you need to be with someone who thinks you’re the most lovely, the most darling, the smartest, the funniest, just the most special. And if your someone doesn’t think you hung the moon, then buck up, eat a cupcake, and move on.

Oh and you should probably think the boy you’re with is the most special, lovely, blah blah blah.

Thoughts on Movies I've Seen Recently

Wed, 01 May 2013 11:31:48 -0400

The Place Beyond the Pines

It should be illegal for Ryan Gosling to hold a baby. It does terrible things to a lady’s reproductive system.

Side Effects

Well that was terrifying and provocative and thrilling. You’ve done it again, Rooney Mara! Also how is Catherine Zeta Jones still so friggin beautiful? It’s like you’re old now. Give the rest of us a goddamn chance.

How to Marry a Millionaire

WHY DO I NOT OWN A MINK WHY AM I NOT COVERED IN DIAMONDS WHY DON’T I LOOK LIKE A GODDMAN ANGEL LIKE MARILYN WHEN I SLEEP WHY ARE NO MILLIONAIRES MARRYING ME

Drive Me Crazy

The stringy front hair pieces were totally a thing. WERK, Melissa Joan Hart. Also let’s play the game where we all wear belly shirts and see how many clips we can put in our hairs, k?

Grease

How does Sandy have no idea that she’s going to the same high school as Danny? If you spent a whole summer making out with a boy, why would you never discuss where he’s from? Like how did this never come up?

Showgirls

I think Jessie Spano thought this role would make people “take her seriously” and “launch” her acting career and view her as an “edgy yet brilliant” actress. But this was almost as poorly thought out as the time she got addicted to caffeine pills.

Warnings for Anyone Who Would Want to Date Me

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 18:01:10 -0400

Inspired by yesterday’s piece on Thought Catalog, here are some warnings for anyone who would want to date me. I didn’t go the “marry” route because I am only 24 friggin years old and have no idea what marriage means or how I would behave in a forever-ever-forever-ever?! type of situation.

I will do dangerous things in the kitchen out of sheer pride and/or inability to ask for help when I really need it.

I am a short person. I am also lazy when putting away dishes, which creates a precarious pile of glasses, plates, and pots that I am want to reach and scramble for often creating an avalanche of cookware. I will be mildly injured on several occasions, and I will break nearly every wine glass I own. Just buy me a step stool, please.

My knife skills are inept at best. This will probably scare you. Maybe offer to take a cooking class together, so you can have a girlfriend who has all her fingers and toes in tact.

When I am hot, I am very, very hot. And when I am hot, I am horrid.

I hate being overheated. Please see my White Water Season Pass photo above for proof. I was very hot this day and likely hangry. I will say and do terrible things (especially on the subway) when I am sweating.

Please know I am still a good person. And maybe let’s go get a popsicle and ride an air-conditioned bus around for a bit till I cool off.

I love Hanson.

And I will see them perform once a year and freak out when they release new albums. Yes Hanson is still a thing, and yes I will get irritated if you make dumb Hanson jokes that include but are not limited to:

They still make music??
Wait, they’re girls, right?
Wait, they’re gay, right?
Better hurry up and buy tickets before they sell out! LOLZ

Have some respect. MMMBop was the greatest thing to happen to 1997, and if you disagree then you’re a dirty, rotten liar.

I pick at my lips.

This is the weirdest thing I do, so just be glad I’m not a hoarder or secretly eat couch stuffing, okay? It’s just a nervous habit, but it can be quickly remedied by applying chapstick, so just tell me to quit and put on some Burt’s already. Don’t tell me, like my mother does, that when I pick my lips I “look like a tree fell on my head.” This will only make it worse.

I like to eat.

My favorite foods include the following, and if you feed me them I will find it terribly difficult to ever leave you:

Fried chicken
Cupcakes
Brussels sprouts
Biscuits
Orange juice

Keep these in mind when I am mad at you for making fun of Hanson or my lip picking.

I will probably inadvertently discourage you from working out.

Going back to my I-don’t-like-to-be-hot thing, I have never been a person who “works out.” I have a torrid past when it comes to exercise and sports, beginning with my first dance recital circa 1993 where I threw up mid-grand-plié. When I was 8 my dad also forced me to run a 5k when I was terribly ill, so of course I never did that again. And finally, I was cut from my no-cut-policy soccer team in high school. So please don’t count on me to motivate you or be a “running buddy.” I might try it once, but I will ask you for fried chicken after.

The One Where the Sarahs Talk Online Dating

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 13:59:53 -0400

I just discovered Sarah Head has crossed into the murky waters of PAID online dating. This is a move I’ve been wary to try because of the $money$ and seriousness factors. Like the boys might want to put a baby in me, BUT they might also be quicker to pay for dinner… so it’s like what’s a girl to do??

Welp Sarah went for it, and here’s her assessment of last night’s date:

Sarah: graduated from uva, worked as an u banker for 2 yrs and now works in a private equity firm

me: nice

but

is he cute?

Sarah: he has a nose that no mother would want to pass down genetically

LOLZ. And here’s a pic of Sarah enjoying a big glass-o-wine during our trip to Mexico last fall. Cheers!

The One Where the Sarahs Have Too Many Teeth

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 14:01:36 -0400

Why ain’t I got no monies? Why ain’t I got no boo?

Y’all I think I might be writing a country song… But honestly, these are the questions that regularly burn in my heart. Along with, “Why ain’t I got no cupcakes?” and “Why ain’t I got no beach house?” So today the lovely and talented Sarah Head and I ponder the one re: boos. Here’s what came up with:

me: boys are so friggin dumb

Sarah: sarah.. leighanne my cousin w one tooth is getting married tomorrow

me: if she can find love there’s hope for the rest of us

Sarah: or… we have all of our teeth, so what else is wrong w us?

me: true dat

maybe we have too many teeth?

Sarah: thats most likely it

I've Been Watching a Lot of Depressing Things on Netflix Recently

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 16:30:00 -0400

I’m sort of a masochist when it comes to movies. If I’m feeling even the slightest bit blue, I think oh what better time to watch a movie where people fall in love and their lives become a stupid, rotten mess?? Netflix has only been encouraging this lately because they have a lot of really good, really depressing movies right now. Below are my top picks. Spoiler alert: they all star Michelle Williams. Prepare your heart.

Blue Valentine - The 2010 classic that singlehandedly destroyed any notions I had about happy marriage being a thing. I first saw this movie in a theater alone in NYC when I was here interviewing for jobs and was subsequently stranded for an extra week due to a snow storm. The foreshadowing here on my romantic escapades in NYC is now blatantly apparent. Anyway I like to watch this little ditty from time to time because I love Ryan Gosling playing a banjo and forget that for a majority of the movie he’s not playing a banjo but living the saddest, most dismal life with Michelle Williams. Which doesn’t even seem possible, but it is.
Mammoth - Also featuring Michelle Williams and an attractive costar, Gael García Bernal. YUM. But not, because every sad thing that could happen does happen. Like just when you think “oh they won’t do this thing, it’d be too depressing!” they do that thing and crush your heart into a million pieces.
Take This Waltz - Okay last depressing Michelle Williams movie, I promise. This one tricks you because it’s about divorce and new love, so maybe the love part will make you happy, right? Wrong. Did you learn nothing from Blue Valentine?? At least there’s a REALLY hot scene with my new boyfriend, Luke Kirby. Teaser here.

So there you have it—my depressing Michelle Williams Netflix picks! Watch them the next time you’re looking to have your heart broken then run over by a bus. Or just jump out of a three story window. It might hurt less.

photo c/o guardian

Former Bully

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 16:01:39 -0400

So you know the thing where you have a bully in elementary school and 17 years later that bully becomes romantically obsessed with you?

That’s a thing, right?

It all started when I went home for Christmas and my frandz and I did the thing where you hang out with everyone from your pre-NYC life and reminisce over too many Georgia Browns at Sweetwater. At some point we ran into my former bully and his co-bully. I should provide a little background here on the extent to which they terrorized my dear friend Sarah Wright and me as small children…

These guys were your classic bus bullies. Like two years older than Sarah and me, and they really enjoyed asking us math and spelling questions that were far too advanced for our little 2nd grade brains. They would scratch our hands when we put them on the back of the bus seats, call us names, and probably steal our lunch money. They were just really really mean, okay!?

So when we ran into the bullies, we obviously had to do the reminiscing thing and make them feel just terrible for being mean to two sweet girls who turned out to be pretty friggin awesome and hot. It was all fun and games until my bully revealed to me one particularly cruel trick that he’d been holding in all these years. Apparently he had plotted with his co-bully and made a sign that read “kick me,” which he promptly stuck to my back at some point on the morning bus ride. Later that day in the cafeteria, they saw me and noticed that the sign was STILL STUCK TO MY BACK. But that’s not all—on the bus ride home, they noticed the sign was STILL STUCK TO MY BACK. So this means I walked around school all friggin day with a friggin “kick me” sign on my back and no one friggin told me.

But it’s cool. I’m over it now, because what you don’t know is that I somehow decided it was a good idea to hook up with my former bully. Maybe for revenge? Maybe for laughs? Maybe after hanging out with autistic boys in New York for nearly two years, a former bully felt like a step up. IDK!

It turned out to all be a big mistake though because he became obsessed with me. Rul fast. In addition to flooding me with weirdly affectionate text messages, he called me all the time, asking if I would move back to Atlanta, saying he’d name our first child Leroy, and I think he proposed marriage maybe twice. Like umm, you’re my former bully. Get a grip. Things really backfired though a few weeks ago after he sent me a couple of unwelcome dick pics (the worst kind of dick pic) and then told me he loved me. Oh also when he mailed me back a necklace that I suspect he took from me to treasure as a keepsake, he enclosed a really weird letter. What is it with guys and letters??

If there’s a moral to the story, it’s this: don’t ever reconnect with a former bully. Especially one who wants to name his son Leroy.

My dear sweet little Liza Bird and I went on a fabulous getaway...

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 14:50:07 -0400

My dear sweet little Liza Bird and I went on a fabulous getaway to Tulum last month. It was all margaritas, guacamole, and sunshine until the last night where I was literally EATEN ALIVE by one very hungry mosquito. After an unsuccessful attempt to procure some Mexican Benadryl, I drank half a bottle of something that was probably cough syrup and had the trippiest, itchiest sleep of my life. Once back in America, I took some actual Benadryl and documented the injuries. Enjoy!

Daily Wears

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 10:40:40 -0400

Went on a date last night. We drank at Levee and ate cheesy poofs and to Caracas and ate bomb arepas. I’ll give this guy one more date before I dish.

Also, my hair is turning into dreadlocks!!!

Weekend Funtivities: Helen Comes to Town

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 20:21:05 -0400

My dear friend and frequent cupcake accomplice, Helen, came to visit me this weekend from DC, and we had a blasty blast! In addition to nearly dying of a heat stoke and drinking our weight in sparkling red wine, we went on several little adventures around not one but THREE boroughs. Take a peek!

Fishbowl complete with plastic reptile at Brother Jimmy’s! Helen rescued me from a rather debaucherous office summer outing—our solution?! More dranks!

On Saturday we ventured to PS1 in Long Island City. It was a ton of fun sweating and drinking next to 5,000 of my closest friends. However, it was quite a scene, and I’m not sure I was wearing enough Miu Miu sunglasses to fit in.

Saturday evening at Union Pool. Because, you know, the previous 24 hours didn’t provide enough drinking. Excuse the sweaty face!

BIBITS N GRAVYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY c/o Manhattan Inn.

Before seeing Batman in IMAX on Sunday, Helen and I made an obligatory trip to Sephora. She succeeded in buying nothing (not one fake eyelash—nothing!), and I made out with Bumble and Bumble’s entire line. Also a free blowdrying cream ~~because I spend too much money there~~!

Then Helen left, I cried myself to sleep, and that was that! For the next month I am not eating or drinking anything. My pooch and liver aren’t as young as they used to be.