I'm famous on the Internet for all the wrong things. The Chicktionary is where I make it right.
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The better-known Sex and the Ivy chronicled my adventures as a Harvard undergrad from August 2006 to January 2008. That blog -- along with my sex life -- is in the process of being resurrected.
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Dear Sexual Partner,
Thanks for going apartment viewing for me! That was kind and unnecessary, and I will dogsit eagerly and often in gratitude (and because Hamlet will now have a pal for company). I miss you and look forward to touching you inappropriately the second you pick me up at the airport next week. At 5am. Have I mentioned how much I love you?
P.S. I’m sure you’re thrilled that I now have my own place to trash.
Why has it taken three representatives and multiple return calls to make ONE booking that isn’t even on the weekend I originally requested? Why have you completely forgotten to make a note of the free breakfast included with my visit? And how did my three-night stay suddenly turn into a two-night stay on my supposedly final itinerary? WHY WON’T YOU RETURN MY CALLS?? You are incompetent, and if I didn’t have a gift certificate for a free visit, I would say “Fuck it” to your hotel after all the hassle you’ve put me through. FAIL.
[Christine, Daniel, and all else: expect less enraged, more fabulous me in D.C. from October 10th to 13th.]
When you leave persistent comments telling me to “watch where [I] walk” and saying that you’re going to send someone to “find” me, that’s harassment and it’s illegal. You should probably … I don’t know, stop?
It highly irritates me when I have a troll who is CLEARLY male and CLEARLY has no conception of how disturbing physical threats are to women. I don’t care if you call me a big slut or even insult my family, but c’mon, this is just being an asshole. Can ya chill out for a second, take a look at yourself, and actually think about what you’re writing? Who does this stuff?