How To Get Your Teeth As White As The Oscars

Why am I writing this? Because I love oral care and you should too.


Look at me


Look at my teeth



Your smile and teeth is one of the first things that people notice and judge you on. Everyone judges everyone so you might as well be like “sorry I’m gorgeous!” and then they’ll be like… “carry on.” 0E54FA1900000578-0-image-a-3_1437410880708

Having a nice bright smile is super achievable if you’re not a lazy disgusting slob. Everyone likes someone who takes care of themselves- thats how you get to have sex with the lights on and breakfast served in bed. If you want to be hot and superior to everyone, I suggest following these super simple tips to get your teeth on pearly point. You will likely get a promotion and raise with your new teeth, so I hope you like corner offices.

My number one tip is FLOSSING.girl-flossing-teethFlossing means showing off AND getting shit out of your teeth. I have been obsessively flossing since high school because once a popular jock sitting on the hood of his dads Porsche told me I had a poppyseed in my tooth. I was so mortified that I’ve carried floss on me at all times ever since. I’ll never forget when I went out clubbing in Miami at 17 without a purse and tied a string of floss on the side of my thong Survivor style bringing the one thing that mattered most to the island. I floss every single time after I eat, which my dentist notices and therefore I am the favorite. You could be the favorite too! If you’re not flossing you’re letting plaque and food build up between your teeth which has never been cool and I’m sorry that you’re at an Oral Bottom.




If you could brush after every time you ate that would be the dopest. Make sure you have a good brush and replace it every 2 months or whenever it looks haggard.
Brushing two times a day was a weird rumor that someone who didn’t want you to be your best started. Brushing (at least) 3x a day is only if you want to be a sought after object of desire. I think my record was 6 times a day and I have no regrets, just blocked phone numbers from how gorgeous I looked.

TOOTHPASTE – There are plenty of toothpastes out there to help enhance and whiten your teeth. My personal favorite is Arm and Hammer Baking Soda and Peroxide. It tastes like success and and childhood attention from your parents (I would imagine).


MOUTHWASH –  It’s one of the quickest and only ways to feel fresh as fuck. It helps to kill bacteria, bad breath and keeps your mouth v clean. I highly suggest rinsing after each time you brush, eat and throughout the day for a quick pick me up.


Crest White Strips- Every few months I’ll use these for a touch-up. It removes stains from drinking tea and my bulimic past. It’s the fastest and easiest way out there to whiten your teeth.


Baking Soda. It’s not just for cooking crack anymore. Wet your toothbrush, dip it into a little bowl of baking soda, then brush your teeth for a couple minutes. Do this a few times a week and no one will ever mistake you for Valet again.


Straws. Coffee and tea are one of the leading ways to stain your teeth, so if you drink thru a straw it helps to keep them white.


-I don’t drink coffee because it tastes gross and makes your teeth yellow. So does soda, which is only meant for fat children from the south.

-Cigarettes are for losers and you should quit them because they make your teeth look like sticks of butter and butter is only cool on movie theater popcorn.


-Dentist visits are important because we all need professional help with cleaning. I think you should go twice a year.

-If none of this seems to work for you, I can’t help you. A professional whitening service can but I don’t know anything about that because I floss after every meal.


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I was exhausted when I ordered my Uber at 1:40am while finishing up a 6-hour shift at work. It was my first night out of the house after being sick with the flu and I had been holed up lonely as fuck in my apartment for the past week surrounded by glasses of ginger ale and baked potatoes on some randomly specific Jewish sick stomach solution someone suggested I try.

Ready for bed after a long night, I popped a non-addictive anti-anxiety pill that makes you drowsy and waited 3 minutes for my Uber drive Clayton. An old silver Cadillac Deville pulled up and I got in with slight hesitation because he looked like a pimp, and I’m not being racist- he just had a pimp energy.

He immediately began questioning me about my life and I enjoyed that because I’m self-obsessed. On some Psychic shit, he sensed that I’ve been depressed, which had me practically on the verge of tears during our rapidly growing emotional and intimate conversation. I felt safe opening up to him and he genuinely wanted to hear everything I had to say. It was an objective opinion outside of anyone who knew me and I appreciated his intellectual insights. I can’t tell if he was building me up so I would stay in the car, or if he really meant his words, but by the time we pulled up to my house it was apparent that the conversation was not ready to be over.

A new ride popped up on his phone.

“Oh now I have to get Robert,” he sighed.

“Fuck Robert,” I responded, making him laugh.

“You wanna take a ride and continue talking?” He offered.

It was late, I was exhausted, but something inside of me wanted to stay. I craved his East Coast Style ‘give-it-to-you-straight’ life advice and wanted to take an adventure. I had been cooped up sick inside my apartment alone all week googling ‘reasons not to die’ followed by ‘how to be a stronger woman’ followed by ‘best eye cream 2015.’ I needed something to spark excitement and fear inside of me. I got into the front seat and we drove to pick up Robert.

We continued talking about my issues, even though I already did that with my therapist earlier that day. He quoted the Bible in ways I’ve only heard in Quentin Tarantino movies. He told me how he once picked up a girl from the Playboy Mansion to bring to a famous short actor’s house in Beverly Hills who’s the face of Scientology for some Risky Business. By day he was an interior designer from Baltimore who’s been in business for 28 years and has only been in love once.

He looked me in the eyes at stoplights as shadows hit his face and told me my past does not define me. He told me that I was a highly intelligent person who is allergic to stupid shit, which in turn leaves me depressed when I try to comprehend why stupid shit happens. He told me to stop being so hard on myself and that I’m not the person I negatively tell myself I am. I was eating it all up and just wanted to hear more words or wisdom and he continued to do so between passenger pickups.

I had fun messing around with the passengers. When we pulled up and they saw me in the front seat, I told them we were filming a hidden camera show. No one believed me. We picked up mainly gay guys in West Hollywood who had been out partying. One engaged couple that was significantly different in age by 20 years was completely trashed and going to Mexico in the morning. Another guy was high on coke and said he left the party he was at because his asshole wasn’t clean enough to hook up. Another group we picked up at IHop were mean drunks and thought they were actors, but we knew they weren’t- they were just hipster Filipinos in an acting class. We drove around West Hollywood to Korea Town to West Hollywood to Downtown LA.

At one point Clayton and I both agreed we had to pee, so he pulled over on the side of the road under a dark bridge and handed me some baby wipes. “Let’s pee outside,” he suggested excitedly getting out and standing behind the car. He let out a loud sigh of relief as he peed which most older men do, and then I noticed he opened up the trunk, for a crowbar to murder me with I presumed and stayed in the car. “I’m ok,” I said preserving my life.

Up until this point you would think I wasn’t kidnapped and willfully went in the Uber, which is true. However, the night took a turn of events when HE WOULDN’T LET ME LEAVE.

I told him I wanted to go home but he told me to stay. He stopped at a hotel for me to pee to ease my comfort level and make me feel taken care of. I thought about running out a back entrance of the hotel, but it was so late, I just wanted a ride home from the driver who promised it.

At this point it was 4am and I was over it all. I was out of energy, the compliments and life advice died down and I was ready for bed. The conversations had peaked and I had nothing left in me. We were very close to my apartment and I asked him to take me home. A little bummed, he agreed and said he was done driving. But then not a moment later, he sneakily accepted another passengers request.

“What the fuck? I want to go home.” I was pissed.

“I don’t want to let you leave!” He cried, driving to pick up the passenger.

(editors note: KIDNAPPED)

“I’m going to just get out and call another Uber, I’m over it.” I replied, feeling guilty for hurting his feelings but putting my foot down. Just a few days earlier I was on my couch reading a self help book about paying attention to your needs before worrying about others and I felt adamant in applying what I had learned. Ok, I barely got past the introduction but I knew what the whole book basically was saying by reading the title.

He picked up the pace. “No!’ He cried out laughing, “I just enjoy your company too much! This is the last passenger I promise.” I didn’t believe him. I felt uneasy and anxious. Each time we drove a further distance I felt closer to trouble wondering what the fuck I was doing.

We picked up some dumb bitch that came out of her house with a suitcase that set me into some serious apprehension. Suitcases only mean one thing.

“Where are you going?” I immediately asked her from the passenger seat when I got in.

“Is this Uber pool?” The dumb bitch asked.

“Yes…” I lied. Clayton asked me to say it was Uber Pool and to not tell this particular passenger that I was on a Ride Along aka KIDNAPPED TO THE AIRPORT AGAINST MY WILL.

“I’m going to the airport,” dumb bitch replied, “I have a flight that leaves in an hour. We have to go NOW.”

“I’m not going, take me home now,” I told Clayton. My tone said I’m not fucking around, but neither was Clayton because he kept driving.

“I got to take her to the airport. Please come with me!” He cried out.

I didn’t fucking want to. He picked up on that. “I’ll pay you. How much do you want?” He asked.

“Give me $20.” Now I’m a PAID KIDNAPEE.

He agreed to the payment. He went back to complimenting and building me up, telling the dumb bitch in the back that I was an amazing person to fill me up with reason to wanting to stay. The whole thing felt very Stockholm Syndrome with a dash of codependency.

Towards the end of the ride I really just thought about opening the door and jumping out. I grew afraid that I was never going to be able to leave. He was driving at 105mph and I didn’t think I could jump out safely although I watched the road wondering what it would be like to hit the pavement at that speed.

On the ride to the airport I began reaching out to my friends to tell them what was going on. They were worried. One offered to pick me up at the airport if I jumped out, but I stayed on the ride. As promised, Clayton took me home after the airport, making my arrival time 5am. He never paid me $20. We exchanged numbers but I will never call him again.

I woke up the next morning off 6 hours of sleep and felt like shit. I felt like I ate McDonalds or had spent the night doing cocaine – both are similarly awful feelings. But despite how tired I felt and wanted to fall back asleep, I was able to wake up and have a productive day because somehow Clayton got into my head and I felt that much more better and hopeful about my life.

SIDE NOTE: I had been joking about wanting to be kidnapped for years and my friend said I manifested it. I may be kind of exaggerating when I say I was being kidnapped, although he legit would not let me out at the end until he was ready to.

The Wikipedia definition of KIDNAPPING is: In criminal lawkidnapping is the unlawful taking away or transportation of a person against that person’s will, usually to hold the person unlawfully.

I mean……

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Am I making volunteer phone calls or posing on a disconnected phone at a Memorial Day party? You decide.

Am I making volunteer phone calls or posing with a disconnected phone at a Memorial Day party? You decide.

In the midst of one of my standard monthly depression spells I read online that you can become happier by volunteering so I halfheartedly researched my options and decided on a kitten rescue because I have a fear of intimacy and cats treat you like shit.

After a trendy Hollywood 12-step meeting one afternoon I drove to the cat sanctuary in Atwater Village to attend their required orientation, which would thereafter permit me to tell people, “I’ve been donating my time to rescuing animals amongst other charitable actions…by the way where are you summering?” when they ask what’s new with me. I hate when people ask what’s new with me. What are they expecting to hear? I’m not going to play this game where we one up each other; I would rather just say nothing and be self-effacing… until now when I can pretend I’m suddenly a virtuous person and saving lives  🙂

I pulled up to the not so glamorous Kitten Rescue Shack, a sort of ‘Kitten Projects’ if you will, to meet a small group of women with good hearts and a pension for the Old Navy Summer Sale sitting around in a circle on white plastic chairs. I joined the group by sitting on the cracked cemented floor because there were no other chairs and listened to a bunch of useless facts about their foster house that would definitely never help me with anything in the future, kind of like learning Latin for the SAT’s. Apparently there were over 10,000 volunteers but I had a feeling no one ever came back there after we were given a tour of this most likely disease infested kitten trap house. This sanctuary was so bad it needed a sanctuary for the sanctuary.

I asked about what if any diseases can these feral cats transmit to my beautiful body and the volunteer leader played down Ringworm like it was nothing. She made ringworm seem like someone who had Herpes but has been on Valtrex for years with no breakouts lately and fucking without condom was a go. My soon to be exposed in the summer time skin isn’t going to be tainted with fungal infections, it’s hard enough to fight them off in West Hollywood as it is and I don’t have health insurance right now.

It was time for the tour of their facility; an introduction into a disturbing episode of Hoarders where cats ruled the property in some weird post apocalyptic animal kingdom and its volunteers were disease-prone human captives refilling their kitty litter with Chicken Feed (no joke that’s what they used). It was basically a rendition of Grey Gardens starring Cats and I was watching the movie with the filmmaker and couldn’t figure out how to politely leave with a sense of urgency without being offensive.

The air was belligerent. I straight up held my breath and almost passed out from suffocation without a hot guy in sight to make it excusable. I legit could’ve gotten sick by just standing still from an airborne disease. It was the definition of filth. The lady leading the orientation told us that if we saw a blanket that was covered in cat vomit or shit to “just turn it over.” Not to replace it. Not to wash it. To turn it over. Is that regulatory? Aren’t we supposed to be saving them not keeping them covered in their own shit? It felt like drug-addicted parents who didn’t change their babies’ diapers. If this was a Restaurant Rating System they’d be like, “we actually don’t have any Z printed, we’d have to order it.”

Hissing cats turned their heads as we walked by revealing a Cyclops, which held a menacing gaze that said, “don’t come around here no more.” You got it. It was like I fucked a girl’s boyfriend and all her friends stared me down a party to let me know they know but just get the fuck out of here or they’re going to kick the shit out of me. A cat that literally looked 1000 years old just sat there expressionless. I think it was the first cat in the entire world. It was the cat Sassy from Disney’s Homeward Bound who just never found his way home and now he’s in this dirty shelter in Atwater Village and my childhood is ruined. Some cat’s fur was just way too fucking long.

I didn’t know how to help these cats or this place. I had to just get the fuck out of there, it was too much. I lied and pretended I had to leave early and just bolted. I got a burrito at a nearby Mexican place and just sat there staring into space like I had seen some shit. A waiter came over and asked if I was ok. “Huh? What? No, I’m not… I need more pico de gallo.” How do I become a good person? I know someone reading this is thinking, “Get in there! Make a difference!” But that was just way beyond a project I was up for. I was there to brush and cuddle kittens, not save the fucking world and die in the process. I’m down to volunteer but I’m not in it the same way other girls are that’s fine with me. Those girls can take on stuff like this, Instagram photos of them making pies and running marathons. If you need the info on where it is let me know.

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I live in an apartment complex with several crazy tenants and Cops are called constantly to the scene of the domestic crime of the week. This week’s call was because my schizophrenic neighbor thought this crazy meth couple had a gun and the gracelessly balding psychotic controlling boyfriend was going to shoot the stylish and tight-bodied yet manic-depressive escort girlfriend.

I ran into a group of Cops outside my building as I arrived one morning by Uber in a walk of shame outfit from the night before, clutching a chocolate croissant that I made the Uber driver stop to pick up at Le Pain Quotidien, after coming from a crib where I just fucked a dude who’s Bar Mitzvah theme was “Watching TV.” That theme choice is kind of why I fucked him though. I love strong Bar Mitzvah themes.

Makeup-less and drained from sex, I hung out with the cops talking shit and getting their advice on my latest run-in with the schizophrenic neighbor who had called the Cops today: The night prior I got off work around 11 pm and was walking up to my apartment when this crazy bitch was HIDING IN THE DARK SHADOWS WAITING for me. I gasped when I saw her and said, “Oh you scared me there,” she replied, “I know. I meant to.” Um…………………………………………….…ok? Then she accused me of jingling pipes at 3am in the basement. I let her know I didn’t smoke meth. Who jingles pipes? No one. Bitch went full retard. Then she threatened me that I would be in big trouble if I did it again. Bitch I never even been in the basement, that’s some scary movie shit. Who goes in the basement? The only basement I’m going in is if someone has chains, whips and a strong Bar Mitzvah theme.

So I was just getting the cops advice on that issue, which their reply was to move, but I don’t feel like it because I’m super into my apartment and there’s mirrors in my bedroom on the closet doors and I constantly need validation that I look good naked from them mirrors. I know I got ghetto there, when I’m angry I like to get ghetto, it brings me back to the realization that I’m from a white privileged upper middle class family from Westchester, New York. My town was so Jewish that this girl in my grade got a Tiffany’s bracelet when she got her period. Anyways, the Cops thought I was fun and extended an invitation for a Ride Along because they said I would be good company.

They were also super down to watch me do stand up and handed me several of their business cards to follow up with them so we could continue our new friendship outside of my apartment complex. I emailed the COP (he asked me not to use his name in this story, just gonna call him COP) about the Ride Along and we scheduled it for a few days later.


I arrived at the West Hollywood Police Station at 10am and parked in the Official Business parking space as directed. I wore black skinny jeans, knee high leather boots, a navy cashmere sweater and a leather jacket. Hair was down, face caked in sensual yet suitable makeup, minimal lip color to blend in with the other female cops. Left the Chanel bag at home to be more street, but I don’t own any Pedestrian purses so I put everything I need in my jacket pocket, which consisted of $40, my ID, dental floss and lip-gloss. I don’t go anywhere without my floss. When I was 18 and would go clubbing and to expensive dinners with older men in South Beach, I would just tie a piece of floss on the side of my thong when I had no purse. The more you know.

I checked in at the front desk and had to sign a waiver agreeing to risk my life. Fuck it. Ride or die.

Displaying IMG_5094.JPG

About an hour later I realized the COP had a bulletproof vest on and I didn’t – so I felt like 50 Cent and was ready to set a new record of 10 bullets deep if shit got crazy on the street. After signing the form, the cop brought me thru the back and I saw the holding cell, used their shitty bathroom, and tried to go in the Evidence room but he wouldn’t let me. The station was boring as fuck so we went in his car to start the day.

I waited in shotgun while he went to use the bathroom and took a shotgun selfie in the police parking lot.


COP’s car was kind of dirty inside and had tons of bags of nuts. Nothing wrong with protein. The Cops leave the Cop cars in the lot and drive their regular cars to work in the morning, except the stations captain drives a black Dodge Charger around all the time because he’s stylish yet inconspicuous.

Then he came back to the car 10 minutes later because I think he took a shit and said he needed breakfast. We went to Astro Burger so he could get some kind of wrap that I watched him eat on top of the trunk of his car in their parking lot. I had tea. Cop life.

I asked him a bunch of questions throughout the day and this is what I learned:

He starts work at 6am and works until 4pm, and usually does a 10-hour shift everyday. He wanted to be a cop since he was around 15 and grew up in a bad part of LA. He watched his dad get arrested when he was 3 and that triggered him into wanting to be a cop. Now he’s 32 and has been on the force for 8 years.

ME: What annoys you as a cop?

COP: People’s driving habits and doing what they want.

ME: Where do you go to the bathroom since you drink so much coffee throughout the day?

COP: Everyone goes wherever they feel comfortable. Sometimes 711. No one has ever turned me down.

ME: What’s the deal with donuts, is that a real thing cops eat or a stereotype?

COP: I try to stay away from donuts. I like cookies. They’re my weakness. Do you eat donuts? You look healthy.

ME: Healthy means fat, are you saying I’m fat?

COP: What?

ME: Do you ever drive by someone really slow and stare them down just to fuck with them?

COP: All the time, that’s our job to observe them.

ME: Do you wear a seatbelt or nah?

COP: Of course

ME: How much does your belt weigh?

COP: 25 pounds

ME: Do you get a lot of free massages?

COP: I don’t get massages unless their happy endings.


After he finished eating we cruised around for a few hours looking for people to bust. He said there are always a lot of troublemakers in the parking lot of McDonalds on La Brea and Lexington. What kind of loser hangs out in the McDonalds parking lot? I hope all of my ex boyfriends do and eat old food out of the garbage and get fat and have Psoriasis and high blood pressure. We also had to drive by several parks and watch people who were in there to make sure they weren’t being shady. He questioned a few homeless aka transient people in one of the parks who were nodding out. He looked them up on his computer to make sure they didn’t have any warrants out. One of them had some fine for Cocaine. Cocaine is the finest white bitch I’ve ever tasted. But homeless coke probably isn’t as glamorous as Hollywood Hills party coke.





The COP was low key playing rap music on 93.5 and was surprised when he heard I love rap and had assumed I was a basic bitch who liked Katy Perry or Taylor Swift, which was stereotypical and untrue. “Nah, I like rap,” I said, and then he became attracted to me I think. I can never tell if people like me. But I think he did.



The whole day was pretty boring honestly, nothing cool happened. I guess it’s hit or miss like working as a stripper and not knowing if a money customer will come in or not. We pulled over 3 people – the first two people were for stupid reasons and I felt like he was just trying to give me something to witness. The third person he pulled over had their car towed for expired registration. All we did was drive around weird alleyways and streets I’ve never seen looking for trouble. He was really interested in my past as a party girl.

Looking shit up


We used the bathroom at Sunset Marquis, where he often frequents to use the restroom. We went to 711 as well to use the bathroom and I got VIP bathroom access into their disgusting Employees Only room. Cop Perks.



It had been 4 hours of aimless driving around and I got bored and wanted to bounce but he didn’t want me to leave. I said I had to go home and do laundry and he offered to take me home so I could put the clothes in and then get back in the car, but I declined.

He said it’s much better at night and we will do it again so I can see more action. I guess West Hollywood is just boring but I was grateful I got to go and see what it was like nonetheless.


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1. He was drinking vodka alone when I arrived at his home at 3pm, sure it was a Sunday at the beach, but he continued drinking nonstop until midnight. RED FLAG.
2. He doesn’t like drama, but we all know anyone who says that has a lot of drama. RED FLAG.
3. He asked me several times why would his neighbors be so nice to him. Why wouldn’t they? RED FLAG.
4. He needed his neighbors to see me in my bikini and paraded me around on the beach. RED FLAG.
5. He kept telling me stories about girls who were obsessed with him that he doesn’t like in return. RED FLAG.
6. He told me about tons of girls he’s hooked up with, yet he said he also doesn’t hook up with anyone. RED FLAG.
7. He gets his blood tested every 6 weeks. RED FLAG.
8. There was piles of a woman’s hair on his bathroom floor. RED FLAG.
9. There was tons of women’s products throughout his home, including in his personal shower, but said it was all his kid’s nanny’s. RED FLAG.
10. He met a girl from Estonia with Asperger’s on Seeking Arrangements and got a $500 blowjob. RED FLAG.
11. A girl he “wasn’t dating” pissed on his bathroom floor because she was mad he brought another girl home. RED FLAG.
12. He brought me to a restaurant where a girl who’s “obsessed with him” was at and kept secretly going to the bar to get more drinks behind my back to entice her that he was on a date. RED FLAG.
13. At one point he was so drunk he didn’t remember what he was drinking when ordering a refill to the waiter. RED FLAG.
14. At the restaurant, Suzanne Somer’s walked by and he grabbed her aggressively by the wrist and whispered something in her ear. She walked away afraid and he said she loves him. RED FLAG.
15. After dinner he said he got a text from two different girls at the restaurant. One of them said he deserves a girl like me. DOUBLE RED FLAG.
16. He said he hates guys with tons of body hair, but he clearly shaves all of his body hair because his skin is spiky. RED FLAG.
17. He shaved off all of his pubic hair. RED FLAG.
18. He laid on top of me with all of his body weight and licked my mouth with his tongue. I told him I didn’t like that. Then he held me down and shoved his tongue down my throat, trying to steal my soul. RED FLAG.
19. I crashed the front of his Bentley and he didn’t care. GREEN FLAG.
20. He left our table during dinner to smoke cigarettes at least 5 times and he’s not European. RED FLAG.
21. I slept over because I was tired and far from home. He was snoring the entire time and had restless leg syndrome but I at first thought he was jacking off next to me in the bed because it was shaking so much. RED FLAG.
22. When he ran out of Evian, he had only DASANI left. RED FLAG.
23. A fugitive on the run for attempted murder on his wife’s family called him at least 10x throughout the night. RED FLAG.
24. He looks like David Beckham, is very successful and single. RED FLAG.
25. He takes HGH and testosterone every other day. RED FLAG.
26. He peed all over his ex wives families feet at a family reunion by a camp fire. RED FLAG.
27. He graduated high school the year I was born. RED FLAG.
28. He didn’t want to go to the Malibu Fair. RED FLAG.
29. He thought Jared Leto was a girl at the restaurant we were at. RED FLAG.
30. He said he wanted to date me. RED FLAG.

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Hating on Bohemian Girls In LA

I was invited to go to Burning Man by a group of girls I barely know, which they claimed would be a free trip in a fancy expensive camp. I figured I should branch out and hang with some “hot girls” but quickly realized I would never fit in with their kind.

They asked me to meet them at a “feather shop” to pick out “costumes” for the trip so we can all “match.” Reluctantly I drove 20 minutes to a feather store and upon arrival the girls were joyfully putting together piles of feathers to make Mohawks, wings, hairbands, shoulder decorations and whatever else they were thinking to fake being bohemian for the week. I can only imagine, but choose not to, what Coachella preparation was like for them. They were all dressed in expensive clothing and had designer bags but were planning on dressing in costumes for the week and being something they aren’t.

Within a few minutes of being in this store and walking up the aisles to select feathers as clothes, I knew this was a terrible mistake and left immediately. I felt sick knowing I would have to spend 5 days stranded in a desert with nouveau riche whores on Molly pretending to be hippies in raver boots while house music blared and dust blew in my face. I’m not about that life.

Later that evening I went to a Soundgarden/Nine Inch Nails concert and was surrounded by depressed social rejects in all black making minimal effort to dance. I felt immediately at home – Not only because the music was awesome but mainly because nothing about being there felt fake. The contrast between the two lifestyles were very clear and I didn’t have to go to a desert to have a spiritual experience to figure it out. I just had to listen to good music and see a guy on meth making weird faces at the concert to know the truth.

It was just like the moment in Clueless when Cher realized she loved Josh. I don’t fucking like house music and I am not the type of girl who wears feathers at a festival. Sure everyone should do what makes them happy – but I will not go to burning man and dress like some LA bohemian bitch that I am not. I will never join any of these LA girls in their boho chic styles in neutral tones like brown and khaki, with fringe hanging from my clothes, cowboy boots and large floppy hats. Sure I technically didn’t have to dress like that – I could dress however I wanted, but burning man doesn’t even appeal to me. Why would I want to be in the desert for 5 days with a bunch of strangers on drugs? I’m sure the art is cool but since when was I willing to go to any lengths for some fucking art in a desert?

I instead will wear black, hate everything around me and upset people with this post who will tell me I am a hater. But yes. I am. I am hating on these types of girls in LA. Somehow I know they are the reason for the drought, because I’m not getting wet by any of this shit.

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When taking a dick pic, take it from the underside. It makes it look bigger and often features a daunting vein, which says business. Blood flow business.

When guys eat a lot of food it’s hot.

Don’t talk shit about other guys, it doesn’t read well.

Stop looking at me in the eyes when you go down on me, this is my moment not ours.

Bitches LOVE flowers.

Bitches love compliments.

Bitches like almost getting stitches aka dominate these bitches.

Girls don’t like being called bitches.

We both know it’s never just the tip.

Be confident and if you’re not then fake it. I have this conversation with girls all the time about wanting confident guys. But don’t be cocky or too cool for school because that’s not hot.

Make a point to talk to my girlfriends if you don’t know them when we are all hanging out.

Don’t talk about how rich you are. It’s not hot. Just be cool and nice.

Please don’t ever complain about your weight or the way you look.

Hold the door open for me. Anything that has a door. Car. Restaurant. Your bedroom. Chanel.

I don’t like burping. I don’t think other girls do too and if they “don’t mind it” then they probably do it themselves. Class up bitch.

Tell me how good I look dressed and undressed.

Contrary to popular belief, it’s actually not funny when cum gets in a girl’s eye. It hurts and their eye will be bloodshot all day (so I’ve heard).

Go down on girls and then make out with them because they’re bi-curious and it’s like killing two birds with one stone but no girl dies and she just gets to see what her pussy tastes like.

Make sure your nails are trimmed.

You can’t just stick your dick inside a girl without making her wet and don’t assume she is without touching her.

Don’t jack hammer my pussy. Don’t go from side to side like your cross-country skiing.

When pizzas on a bagel you can eat pizza anytime.

Don’t tell us our friends are hot. We already know they are.

Calling girls to ask them out instead of texting is dope.


Don’t try to make us jealous because you’re insecure.

The second you put your dick inside a girl: BEWARE of EMOTIONS to follow.

I don’t believe in game playing or rules. If you want to see someone then call them.

Don’t buy deep V-necks unless your Greek then I guess it’s cultural or whatever.

Don’t tell us about your past relationships or girls you’ve fucked. Really don’t care.

If we are on a date and you run into someone you know and start talking for awhile, introduce me so I don’t stand there with nothing to do and have to text someone, which will be my gf to complain about this moment.

Never and I mean never shave off all of your pubic hair. It doesn’t make your dick look bigger.

Don’t say your going cum over and over and then take 10 more minutes.

Don’t try to secretly put it in my ass by fucking me really hard and “accidentally” slip because that really hurts.

One time a guy asked me when he was going to see me again at the end of a date and it was really cute. Doesn’t work it we don’t like you though. Then it’s like UGH never!

If you don’t go down on a girl you’re a terrible person.

Send me a dick pic so I can show it to my gf’s and have something to talk about so we feel like we are so Sex and the City.

FYI – No one likes Miranda on Sex and the City. Just a random fact.

Don’t take too long on purpose to answer texts because that’s stupid and we are texting our girlfriends wondering what we did wrong.

Clean your fucking bathroom. Why are there so many little hairs on your sink? It’s fucking gross.

If you don’t need to wear Magnums, please be real about it and stop. Just stop.

If you pull out a Magnum we feel like Charlie Bucket discovering a Golden Ticket.

Guys who have big dicks – when you don’t mention having one and it’s a discovery for us like Lewis and Clark on a sexual expedition, that’s so cool. And let us do the whole “Oh my god you know it’s big!” and just pretend back, “is it?”

If your dick is small, make a lot of money.

If your dick is average, be really good in bed.

If your dick is big, you can treat girls like shit for the rest of your life and they will keep coming back.

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