„Ik werd enkel een bustehouder die tot mijn tits een gehele grotere kop!“ zal maken Ik zing in mijn iPhone, sprekend aan de Jongen, mijn jongen. „Het is zo chef-!“

„Hoeveel keer u naar Starbucks?“ vandaag ging hij vraagt.

„Slechts drie,“ ik zeg. „Hoe dan ook, zal deze bustehouder me tevredenstellen tot ik in mijn IRA breek om mijn toekomstige verslaving te financieren Botox.“ Ik let op mijn gezicht in een spiegel, en mijn browsrimpel bij een schaduw van een vouw ik het ontwerpen van mijn glimlach vind. „Dat is werkelijk wat mijn pensionering stash voor is, omdat weet het motherfucking Lord zal ik in mijn doodsbed, werken zijn, die vuile verhalen wordsmithing terwijl het geven van u een slagbaan.“

„Ik heb altijd uw ambitie.“ bewonderd

HOUD LEZEND“

Er zijn iets werkgever over a Bum van Louis Vuitton zak.

Het Louis embleem schept Europese elegant op om de bum timeless toerist van de zak in evenwicht te brengen vibe, om klassieke stijl te evenaren.

Als overvallen het worden in het Vierkant van de Tijden van New York, of, zo ook

Het krijgen fucked omhoog de ezel.

» Bum van Louis Vuitton zak $710, eLUXURY

I’m lying in my dentist’s chair, and from my lofty vinyl seat Hollywood’s hills look like the rolling green of a miniature golf course–until my eyes slide wide shut to soft black, and my mouth opens to take in The Doctor’s hands. He numbs the bottom half of my face so it’s virtually paralyzed, while my mind frolics free.

I dream up a bow-shaped fanny pack that can fit an iPhone and keys and a book, maybe The Great American Novel I must birth, whose theme might be luck, same as my conversation with The Boy last night:

“I’m getting my gums done tomorrow,” I said. “My entire front lower mouth. So I’ll be living off soy lattes for a couple weeks, and no blow jobs for a few days.”

“I guess I’ll be busy for a few days,” said The Boy.

I echo his laughter with a giggle only interrupted by The Boy’s crackling voice:

“Fuck,” he said. “I want a streak of good luck.”

KEEP READING »

A little bit country club, a little bit rock n’ roll.

A lotta bit boss.

And discounted.

This Givenchy shoe is how sex should style: playfully tough, smartly erotic, equal parts femme submission and masculine domination.

And like sex, this Givenchy shoe’s success lies in its details: an extra thick cover-up exaggerates a peep show of a peep toe, the tiny polished studs drip wet-like over a beautiful skin, and a sumptuous arch is inspired by something long and hard and–

Maybe I should stop watching porn between writing dirty love letters to you.

» Givenchy shoes $535, Barneys.com

I’m in my second office–pick a Starbucks, any Starbucks–and post meeting I decide to wait out the storm of L.A. traffic, buoyed by another soy latte, on an island of a strip mall in, like, totally the Valley?

I float to the cashier. “I’ll have a sugar-free caramel, iced soy latte. Extra shot of gay.”

The cashier looks at me, polite. “Anything else?”

I survey the rows of pastries, against my will, and see the cookie I’ve been desert island-hungry for since my red tide rolled in days ago. “I’ll take a chocolate chip cookie, please.” He drops one into a bag, and the cookie’s little weighted noise sounds like the future echo of me hitting a bathroom scale. “I shouldn’t have one because I want to get crack whore-thin, but I’ll just throw up the cookie in the restroom later.”

His eyebrows raise into a question mark: his brows the curve, his pinched mouth the dot.

“Times like these we can’t waste a minute being unrealistic,” I say. “Also, I’m trying to get wireless internet in here for an S.O.S. back to L.A., but it’s a pain in my never-done-yoga-in-my-life ass. What am I doing wrong?”

“I can give you a brochure.” He reaches for a life jacket-yellow pamphlet that someone’s already tossed at me.

“It’s like you’re throwing me a brick as a life saver–not helpful,” I say. “Should I just throw my computer against the wall? Will that fix it?”

He finally cracks, a little smile. “Here’s your receipt.”

» Mesi Jilly shell ring $285, Vivre.com

I’ve never understood flower bouquets: they’re useless gifts that do nothing but passively pose pretty for short seconds before they wilt and die.

Like suburban housewives.

But an enameled orchid necklace? An orchid necklace is more shine and spine, it’s beautiful but hard, lasting past bad meetings with boys and worse dates with bosses, playing hard at work from nine to five and five to nine again, while still styling time to invest hours–and hours–in pleasure.

Like a boss motherfucker.

» Natural orchid necklace $38, Novica.com

A little lover’s letter held tight in a tiny, golden envelop, its “I Love You” hugging near your heart, this Urban Outfitters Jewelry “I Love You” necklace is so saccharine.

I’m def gifting myself this love letter necklace.

It beats the porn I usually forward to myself.

And paired with a little Al Green on my iTunes–

I’m totally sexing myself tonight.

» Urban Outfitters Jewelry “I Love You” necklace $24, Urban Outfitters.com

“Fuck you” shoes are heels with an ambitious arch, a solid sole, “fuck you” shoes are a decidedly bold shoe you’ve earned that stands tall alone, figuratively — they’re confident like you — and literally — they style boss with just trashy lingerie.

“Fuck you” shoes mean you’re on top, whether you’re single or partnered.

And “fuck me” shoes?

“Fuck me” shoes are overpriced designer duds inviting you to get fucked by any dude you think might be able to pay off the credit you used to buy the heels.

Can I get a “fuck yeah”?

» Alberta Ferretti shoes $745, Net-a-Porter.com 

Birds of a feather flock together, while cool cats play alone.

I was once politely conversating (read: “boring chat supposed to be greased with cocktails at a party”), and someone asked me if I were an early bird.

“I’m the cat that eats the bird,” I replied.

And these Patrick Cox shoes would be the heels I’d sport while dining very fine.

Meow, motherfuckers.

» Patrick Cox shoes with feathers $399, Koodos.com

This crystal Devi Kroell clutch is exactly how a woman should be:

Built unique on her own solid, original base; confidently bold with smart, almost blinding shine; and naturally exclusive about what she lets into her.

Relatedly–

Like a boss Devi Kroell clutch, you should be motherfucking expensive.

» Devi Kroell box clutch $1,890.00, Net-a-Porter.com

I skimmed this Oprah.com article about how to live twice as large, and I had an epiphany:

Oprah is twice the motherfucker I thought.

And I love her twice as much.

Thank you, Oprah. Not only do I know about charities I’ll never contribute to, and how to get Vicky Beckham’s $2,000 shoes that look like they cost $20 for $200, but now I realize life is double as short as you think, so your skirt ought to be twice as short.

And your heels twice as high as you think you can handle.

And your “Fuck you”s to catty kitties who hate on your attitude twice as hard.

Like your next dude’s dick.

» Steve Shein “Fuck” necklace $68, Testimo Boutique.com

This Parisian Abaco bag is like a man: you want it to mellow into maturity, to age smart, to–

Have plenty of years to get great in bed.

See the Abaco bag’s front pouch? How it’ll just fit some extremely modest pajamas, perhaps a bunny-print onesie?

That’s what I meant.

You dirty motherfucker.

» Abaco bag $635, Shop Intuition.com

I splash my gaze on The Boy over the champagne fizz of his jacuzzi, watching him walk ’round his patio, backgrounded by a moving postcard view of Los Angeles’ coast. Spotlighted by the sunshine is his house with empty servants’ quarters 25% bigger than my shoe box home, is his groomed grass, is almost everything he’s earned–

Including the pool he’s cleaning.

I pull my topless top half out of the hot bubbly, so he can hear me when I ask, “What if we play out a pool boy porno?”

The Boy laughs, not looking up from the baby blue water he’s skimming. “So that’s what you’re thinking about, little fucker, while I work? That’s–”

“Pool boy,” I interrupt. “Pool boy, when are you coming into the jacuzzi?”

Under his surface seriousness I see a smile. “Soon, miss.”

“I’d prefer immediately, Pool Boy.” I slap wet the Italian tiles of his hot tub, with authoritative impatience. “Please strip, right now.”

“You know I prefer to pretend that I do you voluntarily, miss.”

KEEP READING »

Just like those Pretty Women on Sunset Blvd., these goodies from ASOS are S-E-X on the cheap.

Only a little safer.

And likely less exciting for your boy.