The story of a bottle blond with nothing to lose...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Spittin' That Hot Game
Asking boys you used to eff with to be your valentine?! HOLLA! "Repellant;" self- described?! OH HELL YEAH! "Prototypical dream bitch?" Perplexing and troubling... I don't know if this is complimentary.
When I come home to my mansion on the Upper East Side, I just kick off my Jimmy Choos, get a drink of champagne from the faucet, throw on an Hermés scarf as an apron, whip up a jewel salad, scrape off the scraps into my Louis Vuitton garbage bag, and watch my servants perform an opera they wrote while I was flying my Versace helicopter to the Congo to pick up some conflict diamonds for my jewel salad.