Just an average NARPrincess living in an ol’ boys world
My friends like to tell me I remind them of Chelsea Handler. It’s hard to consider this a compliment. I don’t know who Chelsea’s handler is but he or she is NOT doing their job.
If I got the quadratic formula tastefully tattooed on my ankle would you still talk to me?
I really hate it when a guy doesn’t text me back on a Saturday night and I’ve already booked a Mariachi band to cover “Sunday Morning.”
Now I’m out $50. #maracablocked
Last week Tucker Max came out with a new book called “Oh Sh*t, They Definitely Don’t Serve Beer in Hell.” On Wednesday I got texts from three different guys apologizing for being ass holes. My favorite said “Sorry for breaking your cooch.” and five minutes later “*couch.”
All I want is to meet a nice lacrosse player, but my mom won’t let me transfer to Duke.
Sometimes, when I don’t think anyone’s looking, I like to pretend I’m a mermaid. I have this really great bra from Vicky’s that looks just like two leopard print shells.
When I was in high school I was voted “Most Likely to Marry a Ginger.” I think that’s like “best all around” but more sensual.
I really identify with this quote from a Food Baby article:
When all is said and done, and there’s nothing left to ponder, the bottom line is that I love my food baby. It’s part of me, I want to nurture it, I want to help it diversify, I want to watch it grow in the morning, deflate in the afternoon, grow again at dinner, and deflate again right before bed. It’s an immaculate conception of the best kind. Food baby, it’s just you and me, kid.
I have this theory that someday we’re all going to die. Oh shit that’s wicked depressing, now I need a drink…
Stay tuned for more “NESCAC Nancy” coming soon…