The mean lady won’t take the old clothes I am trying to get rid of because she thinks I’m not fashionable enough, even though I have DORKY COOL GLASSES and THOUGHTFULLY DISHEVELED HAIR and WRITE ABOUT SHOPPING and LIVE IN BROOKLYN and OWN LOUBOUTINS and DID EVERYTHING FASHION TOLD ME TO. I’m giving this shit to charity just to teach her a lesson.

Remember what Kanye said, Emily. Your haters are your biggest fans. 

My sassy black friend just schooled me on why it’s ok to put high fructose corn syrup into our kids, and now I feel like a neglectful bitch for denying Madison the sweet, all-natural taste of grape drink, which is made from corn and not poison at all. 

If you need me I’ll be at the Hudson, freelancing.

Jesus fucking Christ on a disco stick, have you no faith in me?

To atone, you should send me some white girl problems in my e-mail. This goes without saying, but you don’t have to be 1) white, or 2) a girl to be afflicted with so-called “white girl problems.” (It helps though.)

I’m so in love I must lie to “nice guy” and bareback it with “junkie” and I have to go to a boutique hotel just to get my “freelancing” done.

Despite attending academically rigorous colig, we has 2 let scarfbro from 2003 jizz in eyeball and donkey-punch each night or we no can has boyfriend. 

My New Yorker was delivered sopping wet. :( 

Oh snap! Someone ate my last vegan cookie!