My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [129]
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And if I wore one, you’d be allowed to laugh. See? It’s only fair.
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Scored an upgrade, woo!
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First is the original Paradise Hotel.
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If they do, I bet the Europeans roll their eyes, too.
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Which I didn’t watch at the time but eventually caught up on with the DVD series, coincidentally after I finished my last book.
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And I mean EVERY.
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Hermès.
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Yes, frozen blueberry mojitos were involved. Is that a problem?
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The second rule of WASP Fight Club is the martinis must be as dry as Cheever’s wit. Why? What did you think it was?
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We’re probably the only people in here who aren’t from, like, Kansas or something.
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In my mind, everything kind of leads to Survivor.
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Shame Rattle, Shame Rattle, Shame Rattle.
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Never been there.
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Never tried it.
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Never seen them.
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Or funny.
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I mean attending, not talking down to them, even if they are trying to pass off Vaseline barbells as art.
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But admit it, he did.
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Some of you may argue it turned me into a conservative, compassionless douchebag. Some of you might not be wrong, but that topic is not currently up for debate.
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Although I’ve yet to understand why that damn dog happily kills outdoor rats, but couldn’t lift a paw in opposition to indoor rats.
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The first person who asks, “Why didn’t you start writing it in January when it sold?” gets a solid kick in the teeth.
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Kind of puts that whole ratinmyhouse thing into perspective, doesn’t it?
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WHEW!
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Again, wouldn’t be an issue if he’d just let me have a gun.
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Fine, that’s exactly what I was about to do, so perhaps it’s for the best.
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Okay, that was fan-freaking-tastic. Here’s the thing—you can get your rotten old tree trimmed so its falling limbs don’t crush my garage, or I will convince the City that it’s a nuisance and needs to be removed. Your choice.
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Correction, having BRAGGED about studying O’Neill in college.
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Also, you might want to check with the O’Neill estate before you swipe that name, too.
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Because she was on Top Chef, I grudgingly tried her fois gras dish. And you know what? Two thumbs up—it’s like meat butter!
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Paltry as it may be.
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At least, anymore.
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Although I’d be hard-pressed to find something I prefer.
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Ten bucks says the Bard allowed popcorn in his shows.
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Or perhaps it’s just my hobby.
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My familiarity with fancy theater-speak comes from years of watching Bugs Bunny cartoons.
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Movies-1, plays-1.
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Perhaps they’d learn their lesson if I were to throw PETA paint on them.
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Or how come we never saw a damn elm tree.
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Team Beverly rules!
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And a lot of a buzz.
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Even though that sounds kind of awesome right now.
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They serve wine!
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I am not writing out their whole name, as the “Co” does not stand for “company.”
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Fletchaissance? No, that’s pushing it.
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He says I can resent him for not starting soon enough or simply be happy that he’s extended his life. My choice.
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Definitely.
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This is where I’d like to be all snarky and describe how Miss Tyra should never be seen that big/in such high definition, but she’s flawless up close. Argh.
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Stacey was right. He’s hilarious. (Oh, settle down. I kid. I kid.)
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Share, why don’t you?
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I mean, if I don’t first.
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I know he’s a character played by Ed Westwick, but I don’t love Ed Westwick—I love the character. The opposite applies to Pattinson as I find Edward Cullen creepy. Do you see the difference?
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Hey! Two points for Jen!
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Although, seriously, if I recited this litany of excuses to Jillian on the Biggest Loser right now, I’m pretty sure she’d ram her foot up my ass. I guess it’s best that I never made it onto the show.
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It’s a real word. Just ask The Simpsons.
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The non-Ty Pennington version.
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And chicken.
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I call her an armpit bull for a reason.
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Undercoating? Yes, please!
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This is why I answer every call breathless and panting and sounding like a reverse obscene caller.
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People, enough with the dying