Preppies Lose Marbles

In Richmond, we wear JCrew. No, seriously! We do! You see, when we go to work at our Philip Morris headquarters, Genworth, Hunton & Williams, Southern States, etc., no one knows who the fuck Helmut Lang is. Or even Prada (gawd I KNOW Miuccia would spit twice into the Trevi fountain) or Gucci or Chloe or Marc Jacobs...you get it now, right? So we're used to khakis, barn jackets, and button-down oxfords. 'Member those days? Well, kiss them goodbye.

This piece of shit skinned from a cow's ass is $500. Heartfelt thanks to changing demographics, inflation, and a job that pays less per week than a flowered rayon dress from Cato.

O Henry

"Doh! Why'd I buy that pink polo?!? BLACK shirts, Henry, BLACK...god dammit..."


Meet my boyfriend, Henry. He's 45, in great shape, fairly intelligent, and hails from our

nation's capital. We share a love of the East Coast, far-left leaning idealogy, and anger. However, we're fighting right now because he says he "yearns to be the next Mark Twain." Jesus, Henry why can't you just fucking grow up and quit talking about yourself for two seconds? All you do is yap yap yap about how infuriated you are about this, how enraged about that. You're constantly warning everyone about your "issues" with being told what to do. However, you love nothing more than to jump on stage and let the diarrhea flow from your mouth for approval from a bunch of 20-something pizza-delivery guys--sometimes I'm wondering if the fire doors are locked in the stadium and your "captive audience" is less captivated by your "spoken word" than true bolts and chains on the doors, hmm?

What's Henry say?

"It's not what I do as much as it's what I DON'T do. I don't have kids or much in the way of relationships with people. I do a lot of work and that's pretty much all I do. It's perhaps not the best way to get through life but it's working for me at the present. So, basically, I have no life. Besides the work, I am not interesting."

I'll say! We never TALK anymore...you don't even want to sleep together!

Oh that's right...I forgot.

"Stop telling everyone that! I can't even get the dog to look at me!"

Come home soon, sweetie!

Know when to hold 'em...and know when to pull back your folds

Terrorific! Not content to rest on his laurels eating his delicious roasters, The Gambler apparently has spawned twins and found time to give Burt Reynolds a run for his money. Maybe a Cannonball Run 4 for his money? I don't think Dolly would want to be islands in the stream anymore.



WHY I NEED A RICH HUSBAND OR A TRUST FUND (god damn poor parents)

As if the placewhichmustnotbenamed could get worse...well nevermind it could get worse I guess if I shared an office with a flatulent born-again Christian who listened to Stryper and communicated via babytalk on the phone to her boyfriend/pastor/dog/cat/mom all day refusing to do a lick of work but still loved by boss--who will herefore be referred to as Khan (with a nod to Genghis and the hoard).

"Yes mistress...I love these vials of shit you give me each day as sustenance. Thank ye!"

Now I am charged with the planning and implementation of a major special event which must be a success or I WILL LOSE MY JOB. This is what I was told VERBATIM. I would expect this out of some ballbreaking Wall Street firm or high-pressure sales job but why am I developing stress-related diseases over this fucking shit? As if I don't have enough to do besides manage stay-at-home bitches (oops I mean the gala committee), grovel for money all day, develop cystic acne from the phone glued to my face, raise thousands of dollars, write letters, grants, repel odioius co-workers, fend off one lecherous 80-year-old board member with teeth like a cro-magnon Austin Powers, and manage pr for the agency. All this for Bob Cratchet-like wages. I am the modern-day Oliver Twist. Please sir can I have some more?

Chickie Fever

It's Wednesday and a little hot in my apartment. Or maybe I just have Chickie Fever. His chartreuse gaze will burn your retinas!

Blind Items! Richmond Version

Richmond Darlings! Who could it be? I'm all eyes on posted guesses:

WHICH Richmond bartender is a dead ringer for Nosferatu and feeds on human flesh fairly similarly? Supposedly is also a "writer" and has a serious girlfriend now...however WE HEAR he still loves his "filthy" ways!


WHICH son of a Richmond king is referred to as the "local Michael Jackson" for his tendency to pick up men at shady XXX book stores and continue his speaking engagements to local grade schools--possibly to trawl for fresh meat? Naturally he can't come out to his very religious and very uptight father...

Tuesday Nights in RICH

Well...what a horrid post for anyone coming across this! My apologies. Just got home from the placewhichmustnotbenamed (work) at 10 and proceeded to drink my ass off and eat the Reese's pieces easter eggs that are only available at EASTER for christ's sake. I guess if they were more available then they could get too popular. So on top of being half-drunk the camel lights I have are making me sick and I can't eat any more or else...you know...BLAP

So WELCOME TO VA PEACH!!!! This is what we do on a Tuesday in good ol' Richmond Virginia...smell my cat's kitty litter as I type more clutter into cyberspace.