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Suck on This, Kelis!

2 Feb

I’d just like to throw it out there that my milkshake is 100 times better than Kelis’s ever was.  Yeah, hers brought all the boys to the yard, but mine makes them bust through the front door.  Why?  Because mine has Bailey’s in it.  Yeah, that’s right.  A milkshake WITH booze in it.  Take that, Kelis!!

Saturday night I had a romantic she-date with Jersey Belle.  It was a very refined date complete with a cheese plate from Wegmans and a very fancy and healthy tropical salad.  There was even pink champagne.  But the highlight of the night wasn’t when Jersey Belle hopped up on the couch and started belting out her own rendition of “Baby, I Like It” (her words include, “Baby I like it, the way you poop on the floor”.  No, no, my friends.  The highlight was the delicious milkshakes we made.  And the fancy part was we used 4 year-old Brown’s straws to drink out of them.  Nothing says klassy like drinking alcohol through a Mickey Mouse straw.

Bailey’s Milkshakes

  • 1/2 cup vanilla ice cream
  • 1/2 cup chocolate ice cream
  • 6 ice cubes
  • 1/2 cup milk (skim because you’re really trying to watch your weight)
  • lots and lots of Bailey’s
  • whipped cream to top

Throw it all in the blender and mix it until the ice cubes are crushed.  Pour it in a big glass, add the whipped cream, grab your kid’s straw and drink until you can’t feel your feet anymore.

It’s Snot Funny

31 Jan

Bitches, I hate being sick.  I freaking HATE!!  Every time I get the teeniest tiniest taste of a cold or the flu I turn into an eight year old brat.  All I want is for someone to dote all over me and listen to me whine about how I’m going to die and take notes as I begin to bequeath all of my worldly possessions.  Boom Boom can have my Burberry handbag.  My sister can have all my bedding and furniture.  Jersey Belle can have all my music.  Fashionista can have all my cookbooks and Le Crueset stuff.  Jewcy Bits can have all of my gluten free goods.  Lucy(fer) and Damien can have my 401(k).  My mom can have my photo albums.

Is anyone writing this down??

No, of course not.  Because everyone is busy leading their own lives while I sit here on the couch dying from Ebola, or the Hantavirus, or Anthrax, or the Black Plague or God knows what else.  In the past two hours I have gone through half a box of tissues.  It’s that kind of day.  My poor nose hurts so badly from blowing it that I’m afraid of what it will look like in two days.  And where on God’s green earth does all of this damn snot come from?  WHERE?  It’s not possible to produce so much freaking mucous.  It’s just not right.  I’m rotting from the inside.  It’s the only explanation.

I’m dying.

Goodbye cruel world!


Fuck, I have to blow my nose AGAIN!

An Open Letter to My Liver and the Livers of my Friends

23 Oct

Dear Livers,

I just wanted to take this time to apologize for the damage that we are about to cause tonight.  It’s South Philly Fashionista’s bachelorette party tonight, and as is tradition, the friends of the bride must make the bride vomit.  This, of course, will require that we also get wasted beyond imagination.  There will be wine, and probably bubbles, and fancy expensive cocktails, and tequila, and shots.  Probably Irish Car Bombs.  And I might be the one responsible for buying those Irish Car Bombs.  I might be, I might not be.  We’ll have to see how the evening turns out.

But one thing is for certain, tomorrow morning we are all going to wake up wishing that we were dead.  That’s what bachelorette parties are all about.  Right?  That and running around with penis straws trying to get dudes to hit on us.  And maybe someone will make out.  And maybe someone will touch a penis.  And maybe someone will cry.  Drunk girls are awesome.

So on behalf of myself, Boom Boom, Jersey Belle, and SPF I’d like to tell you that we love you, and we’re sorry.  And if you’re going to make someone vomit, can you please make it be SPF?

Thanks so much!


Mexi Melt

5 Jul

Yesterday we had a BBQ at Boom Boom and Depeche Mode’s house.  Jersey Belle, Oingo Boingo (Jersey Belle’s husband), Phashionista and the future Mr. Phasionista all came over to help us drink our weight in booze and inhale some hamburgers.  For us chicks the conversation turned to what it typically turns to: our fat asses.  We decided that it was time for us all to drop some pounds.

Boom Boom brought out her fancy ass scale and we all took a turn getting weighed, having our BMI checked, and getting our body age.  Our ages range from 31 to 37.  Our average body age, according to this evil scale made by the devil, is 58 years old.  Um…are we really such fat asses that our body age is that old?  God, that made me want to kill myself.

Between the six of us, we weigh more than half a ton.  1, 226 pounds to be exact.  That’s a lot of fucking weight for six people.  With Phasionista’s wedding in Mexico looming in exactly four months, you can probably see why we’re all freaking out that we weigh about the same as an elephant.  That’s really bad.

So, we raised our booze filled glasses over the giant bowl of fatty potato chips and made a pact: everyone is going to lose some weight…or face the consequences, and they’re bad ones.

Everyone has decided that they need to lose at least 15 pounds.  The incentive?  If we don’t, then we have to have our picture taken in a bikini and each one of us will feature it as our facebook profile picture for three days.  Do you have any idea how humiliating the possiblity of strangers and friends and Office Adonis staring at my fat gut and thighs is?  Yeah, it’s bad.  And so, dear people, Boom Boom and I are hitting the gym today.

If you thought Operation Muffin Top(ple) last year was something, you have no idea what you have in store with Mexi Melt.

Where Fat Whores Go To Die

2 Jun

I have found the place.  I really have.  Apparently, Philadelphia is a mecca for fat whores with bad taste.

No, that is not why I chose to move there.

It just so happens that the city of Philadelphia is welcoming me with open arms AND providing me with opportunities to mock.  Opportunities unlike Baltimore could possibly give me.  Sure, I miss the white trash dudes in long, white tank tops and jorts (jean shorts).  But how can I possibly not like Philly when it offers me something like this:

I’m not sure which I love more: the mullet or the back fat.  It’s really something.  The super crazy thing is that these two klassy ladies were dressed up.  Dressed up!!  I went to the Sex and the City release last Thursday with Boom Boom, Jersey Belle, and South Philly Fasionista.  It was pretty hilarious to see how some of the chicks at the movie had dressed up for the occasion.  It was like some of them pretended that they were actually in the movie.  Very unfortunate for them, but high mocking times for us.

Our favorite, by far, was not mullet girl.  Oh no, that chick had NOTHING on Nemo.

When we first spotted her during our uber fancy dinner at Pod, we laughed and laughed.  The poor whore walked in wearing a dress that was clearly not suited with her.  Along with this unflattering dress she carried a GIANT pink bag and a faded denim jacket from 1982.  Not attractive.  Upon closer inspection, we realized that her dress was COMPLETELY see through.  We had zero trouble seeing the gigantic granny panties she was wearing underneath.  The pink and white ones that matched her bag.

We spent most of dinner staring at her in utter horror and debating whether/not she had done that on purpose.  We also decided that none of the 20 girls sitting at her table were her friends.  She must have been a horrible person because no one mentioned to her that everyone could see everything that she was carrying underneath.


God knows how we were able to stomach the entire meal.  Jersey Belle and I almost lost it when she bent down in front of us.  I see London, I see France.

Lucky for you, I took a pic.