Humor, Life, Rambles


I’m not going to lie to you guys—I didn’t dress up as Bob Belcher from Bob’s Burgers for Halloween. I was totally going to, but I put on the t-shirt and sweatpants and looked down at myself and felt so acutely un-cute that I was like, “Errrr.” And then I was in my kitchen and my flatmate comes in and he asked me what I was doing for Halloween and I told him and then he asked me when I was getting into my costume.

“I am in my costume,” I stare at him.

He stares back at me. Eyes flick down to the sweatpants. “Oh. I thought you were in pajamas.”

I wordlessly scream at him.

So I decided to put on a pair of black skinny jeans, draw a tombstone on my shirt and write “My Dream” above it. I was going to write out “My Dreams” but I’m not good at planning and—frankly—I ran out of space. And then on top of that, I painted my face like a skull.

Screen Shot 2015-11-02 at 8.49.11 PM

Really, I’ve never looked better.

So for Halloween this year, I went as “My Dreams Are Dead!”

“Oh!” My mom shrieked a little bit when I showed her my make-up.

I felt bad for ditching my original costume, but I didn’t feel that bad because it’s not an actual person and even if it was, I have difficulty processing emotions. So. On Actual Halloween I went to a club with a DJ who insisted on playing The Worst Of The ‘80s and then we waited in line for almost two hours to go to this really fancy 24-hour restaurant on the 40th floor of a downtown London skyscraper to have duck confit and waffle and by the time I got home it was 5:30 am and even now everything is fuzzy. On Fake Halloween—aka Friday—aka the Beginning of Halloweekend—

Side bar: I fucking hate when people say Halloweekend even though I used it this weekend but I’m allowed to (ironically, obviously)


Danny + Jenny 4NEVER

—I went on a pub crawl in a ~hip~ and ~cool~ part of London called Shoreditch and I was a sexy lumberjack—short khaki shorts that I cuffed even higher on my pale thighs; red flannel shirt unbuttoned almost to my bellybutton; gray beanie—but to make it ~spooky~ I painted on a slit throat because I wanted to add depth to my performance. It was very well received. People were very attracted to me. Rightly. Interestingly enough, people were less attracted to me when I was a skeleton, even though my entire mug was completely covered in paint. Weird.


Speaking of ugly mugs, I was looking through pictures of people I went to high school with. AYOOOO WHAT A SEGUE. No there is really something very satisfying and emotionally vindicating about going through the photos of people from high school and being able to decide whether or not they’ve gotten worse-looking or not.

I was talking to a guy I went to high school with; we were friends but more friendly but friends but also I think we were both a little bit of a bitch in high school and that really bonds two people. My friend—let’s call him Lucas—also likes dudes so we were dishing and there is something very satisfying about talking to someone from my high school—all boys—about boys. I was grilling him about his hot friends. He wasn’t grilling me about mine because I was the hottest friend. And then we just started looking at the guys we went to high school with.

Some of them have gained what I call the “Fratty Fifteen” where you join a fraternity, drink enough beer to feed/drown an Amish village, and gain fifteen pounds in your neck/face area, and also I’m hotter than you. Side effects of the Fratty Fifteen also include a beer gut and a superiority complex inherited by me. So yeah, a bunch of them look like forty-year-old dads and I am living for it.

Still stings. Just kidding I'm fine. I have no pride or dignity.

Still stings. Just kidding I’m fine. I have no pride or dignity.

Of course there’s the guys who have gotten way hotter since high school but those I just make into voodoo dolls for later. Halloween may be over but being a witchy bitch is year-round. It was nice to connect to him. Lucas, if you’re reading this, you go girl! And if you can’t figure out if I’m talking about you, dafuq dude? Seriously?


white ppl, amiright?

white ppl, amiright?

With the advent of a new month, I have done away with all of my Halloween social media fixings. For my laptop wallpaper, I went with a simple Pinterest-y background. I try to find something funny for my wallpaper, like “Hocus Pocus and Chill” but nothing really funny happens in November and Thanksgiving isn’t really funny because of the Trail of Tears and smallpox and just generally white people and also feeling fat, so I decided to go for the “pretty” route.

@thedanosaurus #shamelesspromo

@thedanosaurus #shamelesspromo

For my Facebook and Twitter headers, I went for a “Queens of Cooking” theme and did Ina Garten for my Twitter, and my Kween Kris Jenner on the kover of her kookbook. Also, why has Kris Jenner not released a holiday-themed cookbook and called it “Merry Krismas?” Like I don’t want to do the job of her marketing team, but come on people the opportunity is shaking its tits in your face. Metaphorically, of course.

@KrisJenner, let's talk about

@KrisJenner, let’s talk about “Merry Krismas”? Call me?

My phone background is currently Kris Jenner and Ina Garten as well, but that’s more of a placeholder until I find something else. I change my phone background more than Kylie Jenner changes wigs—

*Holds for canned audience applause and knocks on my microphone—“Is this thing on?”*

—and it really depends on my mood.

Side bar: it took me a solid five minutes of minute adjustment to get these photos centered. So be happy. S/o to Shelby. Ily and our joint love of artisanal glass-blown dildos. And that’s not the only thing being blown. AYOO I’ll leave.

  12188861_10208362593329558_183573037_n   Screen Shot 2015-11-02 at 9.28.54 PM


I went grocery shopping today and bought more donuts. I regret nothing. I regret some things. But not this. Never this.


P.S. I look so chiseled as a skeleton.

Okay bye!

Xoxo Gossip Squirrel

I want to get this to 1000 words, so imagine that Gossip Girl was actually a squirrel.

Life, Rambles


So technically it’s past midnight here in the UK, which means I’ll be posting this on a Tuesday technically but the majority of my audience is American so really I didn’t miss anything and you’re welcome.

Today was a bit of an odd day. I woke up at eleven, wrote an exam paper, ate chicken nuggets and then watched Halloweentown. I also changed the background on my laptop. And along the way, I discovered myself.

Screen Shot 2015-10-12 at 2.30.22 PM

Just kidding, but I did realize these things.

1). Halloweentown has a number of alarming plot holes that I didn’t realize as a twelve-year-old.

2). I wish I were a kid again and not overanalyze old Halloween movies.

3). I am incapable of being cute in front of cute boys.

4). I can’t wall-twerk. But I guess I could figured that out on my own.

Okay, end of blog.

Just kidding, I’m going to explain. First, why did Agatha not put the sorcery orb thing into the pumpkin first? Also why if Marnie didn’t become a witch, does that mean that she would live only to like 80 years old, unlike her grandmother who is like 1000? How old is Marnie’s mom? Is Sophie possessed by the devil? Why is it a goddamn bus that takes the people from Earth to Halloweentown? Are there other Halloweentowns? Is it a full world? WHY DID THEY REPLACE MARNIE WITH SARA PAXTON? NEVER FORGET.

As a twenty-year-old watching Halloweentown on a Monday night while eating Ben & Jerry’s out of the carton with a large tablespoon, I guess I wasn’t as mesmerized as its target audience: twelve-year-olds. But I wish I was as easily entertained as I once was. I want to relive Halloweentown and not immediately think, “Hallowieners.”

I was writing my exam paper in the school library, so after writing 1000 words, I decided to reward myself with some tea. While I was leaving, my new friend—hmm—Jess told me that there was free pizza in the lounge. I shoved her out of my way and stormed up the stairs.

One hand holding my tea, I unhinged my jaw and stuffed two slices of pizza into my mouth. I decided to go back to the library, so I walked slowly down the stairs and ate my pizza. However, I wasn’t done when I got back to the library, so I hovered outside for a second gnawing on my food before eating enough of the pizza to kind of hide it behind my phone. I have the iPhone 6.

Once past the librarians, I stuff the pizza back into my mouth, one hand holding tea and the other hand holding my phone. Just as I cram the pizza into my fat slob mouth, I walk past a really cute boy. Let’s call him Patagonia. He is very white.

“Hi,” Patagonia does that almost silent hi.

I grunt around the pizza in my mouth a word that was supposed to be “Hi” but really ended up sounding like “Gugghsh” like a seal gulping down a fish at the aquarium.

Screen Shot 2015-10-13 at 12.21.17 AM

Like, there are days when I shower and shave and pick out an outfit and comb my hair—okay, that part is a lie, I don’t comb my hair—and wash my face. I never see cuties on days like that. No, it’s days when I haven’t showered for 36 hours or shaved in four days, and am wearing a Beyonce lyric sweatshirt and a beanie and have pizza sticking out of my mouth that I run into anyone remotely hot.

Lastly, I twerked against the wall to the Halloweentown ending credits. I’m not proud, but I’m also not not proud. It took me SO long to figure out how to get you guys the video, so hopefully the link below works! And werks! And twerks! And I’ll stop now.

[Twerking to Halloweentown]

Finally, like Norman Rockwell always used to say, “I really want a hot dog right now.”

Lol this post isn’t great. But who cares. It’s free content, fuckers.


Humor, Life


Do you ever have one of those bad days where it’s not really a “bad day” bad day, like you don’t have a plunging depression, and you don’t get knocked over in the supermarket, and you don’t rip your pants in front of that really cute boy with the half-moon smile? You just feel generally grumpy and want to trip someone.

Yeah, me neither.

JUST KIDDING, I’M DEFLECTING. I’m having one of those days now.

I’ve had “bad day” bad days, and today is not that. I’m in a mood that’s teetering over disgruntled and into “bah humbug” sans Christmas and three ghosts.

Last night I went to a bar—the bar of the college associated with Fictitious University’s study abroad satellite campus—with Jenny and Sebastien—are you happy? Now you know your name. Knowing you, though, there’s a good chance you might hate it—and friends of Jenny’s. It was really fun. It was also full of freshers—UK first years—and we largely spent our nights hovering around British people and whisper-arguing about how best to break into their conversations so as to make British friends.


One of Jenny’s friends and I decided that we would use the “Do you have a lighter?” ploy to hijack the conversation of a group of three boys and a girl. We decided that that was a good ratio of peens-to-vajeens because it was obvious that the girl was just friends with the guys and it was not a Mormon Situation.

“Do you guys have a light?” Ainslie asks, holding a cigarette between her fingers.

The tallest boy—hook nose, but in a cute way, and a beanie covering sandy blonde hair—shakes his head. “No.”

“Wait,” I say, shouldering Ainslie aside. “Are you guys British or American?”

“American,” Hook says.

“FUCK,” I say. “Bye,” and half-jokingly begin to walk away. Obviously the joke is hilarious and everyone laughs and we begin to chat.

They’re all from Malibu—which is…no comment—and they’re all blonde and laugh at me when I do the “cool brah” hand thing where I stick my thumb and pinky out like a dickhead and shake it like a maraca.

Eventually, we get onto the topic of travel, and one of the boys—who is cute with glasses and is the definition of “Did I meet you before, or are you just a generic white boy?”—says they’re going to Sweden. Stockholm.

“Oh, you’ll have to listen to “Stockholm Syndrome” by—”

“By One Direction,” he finishes my sentence. How fucking cute. “I love them. I just went to their concert.”

“ME TOO,” I flirt-yell. “The Wednesday one.” He went to the Monday one. I’m planning a summer wedding. The groomsmaids will wear champagne.

Side bar: Once my older sister told me that she would refuse to be in my wedding party if the genders on both sides of the wedding party were not balanced. We both know that’s false, because Margot will grab at any chance to stand in front of other people in a fancy dress.

Long gay story short, he’s not gay. We found this out when Jenny said, loudly, “I don’t even like One Direction that much, I just want to have sex with Harry Styles. Which one do you want to have sex with?” and Stockholm just answered, “Um. None of them? I just like their music?”


  2. I don’t want to paint with a broad brush, but no straight males should ever like One Direction because then you should be gay and in love with me.

So other than the feeble attempt at romance with Stockholm, I didn’t meet any cute boys who like boys. I just talked to “straight” people about “England” and “nuclear weapons” and “cricket.” I have a wide breadth of conversation topics. I can discuss nuclear weapons almost as easily as I can discuss the pros and cons of Khloé Kardashian being classified as the “hottest Kardashian” while Kim is pregnant. Also I binge-read multiple articles about what Kim will be naming her son. Some sources are saying Easton but that hurts me, so I’m gonna veto that one. My vote is still on Ocean. Or Second Coming of Christ West.


And I hate being that person who’s like “Oh I didn’t meet any guys tonight, so the world is a black, swirling void and nothing matters,” because I hate that person but I just want to meet a cute boy. Or I want to pet a cute dog. These are simple requests. I’m a very reasonable person. I’m like the most low-key celebrity ever.

So after a night of eating ramen, drinking beer at the university bar, and finishing off with my very first Burger King, I woke up today feeling about as good as roadkill. I didn’t shower before class, so as usual I was sweaty and uncute.

After going to the gym, showering, singing to “Shake It Off” and eating stir fry—and watching Miranda—I feel a little less grumpy and a little less frumpy. And now I’m sitting on the floor and my butt hurts but I’m talking with my friends. Charlie and Millie. Idk if you’re gonna like those names but I chose them already. Deal with it, kittens.