Duchess' Quick Guide to Travel

It’s spring-break time. Refill your Ambiens and cue the crying babies, it’s the Duchess’ Guide to travel, people. Yes there are a set of common courtesy rules as well as some unwritten laws to make your traveling much more efficient and enjoyable. Whether you’re taking the Amtrak to Manhattan for a weekend, a bus to Oklahoma to knit scarves for the homeless or a 737 to Nassau, Bahamas where you plan on leaving your functioning liver along with any remaining shred of good moral judgment, follow along.

Number 1, be respectful of the people around you. If you are taking enough luggage to last you through the apocalypse, please don’t take public transportation. It’s extremely rude. We have all ridden the T and have tripped over some oblivious girl as it takes her 20 minutes to pay her fare, load all 17 of her bags on the car and to try and find a seat near said bags. Just take a cab. Trust me, the 20 dollars will be less likely to kill you than the enraged urban passengers. 

This goes along for cell phone use as well. Negative attention is not cute. Nobody cares that you’re walking around the airport on your iphone yelling about the previous night in a velour suit and trucker hat. We have all experienced this person. Instead of ordering another cocktail to drown out the annoying ramblings of the Snooki-alike, sternly stare at her in a way that makes her realize you are maniacal and terrifying. If she does not get the hint that she is an annoying twat, let the sociopath next to you with the hiking pack confront her. Hiking packs are very intimidating, like what the hell is in THERE?

Number 2, dress to impress. When traveling, one should always look their best. Why, you ask? The answer is simple, one should ALWAYS try to look good, why is that even a question. Imagine you step in line at Starbucks to order a Passion Tea Lemonade and you’re behind Kanye West. Yes, I’m sure he would be excited to be behind a girl wearing Ugg boots and her High School football team’s hooded sweatshirt. Not.

Also, nobody in the airport has any idea who you are. Have fun with that idea. Let’s just say that the guy in 1 carat bezel set cuff links won’t be fighting to sit next to the girl with the neck pillow, breathe right strips and yoga pants. 

Number 3, be careful with your meds. It has happened to us all. Our fear of flying has left us white-knuckled hyperventilating with our heads between our knees. It may have been last night’s hangover but chances are it was most-likely phobia related. God invented a pill for this, and by God I mean the money-hungry pharmaceutical industry.  Xanax is a beautiful thing, yes, but DO be careful. It takes the edge off of things and makes you feel like you’re jaunting down the Yellow Brick Road to get to Willy Wonka’s Ever Lasting Gobstopper. Whatever you do, do NOT have an alcoholic beverage. Chances are you will wake up in a pile of your own drool and will have missed your destination by 4 hours to a day. 

Number 4, steer clear of airplane food. Trust me on this one, you’re better off getting a form of nutrients from a Belvedere and tomato juice. If you’re on a long enough flight that they offer you a meal, it will be packed with enough sodium to make you bloat like Kirstie Alley. No lie, you will exit the plane looking like you made a late night stop at Taco Bell after killing a keg of Rolling Rock. Also, think about the havoc ensuing in your intestines. Just, a pointer. Eat a pretzel and a piece of Orbit gum, you’ll be fine. 

With that being said, darlings. Enjoy your spring breaks and everybody be safe. Happy travels to all. xoxoxo

Happy International Women's Day

Good morning, darlings. It’s 60 degrees out, the sun is shining and it just so happens to be International Women’s Day. Before you start reading Carol Gilligan and burning your bras, let’s look at a few ways we can feel like intimidating bitches every single day. Have you ever been out with friends and there was that really annoying girl... the girl who was about as much enjoyment as a spin class in July? Picture it, she giggles too much, talks about her needle-point class, only drinks white zinfandel, and has the personality of a dried sponge. If you are anything like me, you got hog-wild with your BAC and did your best Mel Gibson impression. AKA you made a complete ass out of yourself and horrified this poor girl. Here are a few pointers on intimidating the entire world and letting them know that you are a crazed duchess with an extensive neurotransmitter deficiency.

1. Be outspoken. Always, always speak your mind, ladies. Life is too short. Never sit back and let your thoughts play air hockey in that head of yours, what the hell is the good in that? Since you are a duchess, you will be well-read, and grounded. Your thoughts and words are an extension of you, share them. 
2. Stand out. If there are 25 girls in a room, be the one that makes the other 24 turn their heads. Dare to be different. Dare to flaunt the styles others are afraid of. If there are 24 girls with long hair, North Face Jackets and UGG boots, be the girl with the magenta lipstick, platinum blonde pixie and Christian Louboutins. The world is your playground, my darlings.
3. 5’10” is the new 4’10”. Ladies, tall is a blessing. It’s an incredible feeling to tower over a man, give it a try sometime. Think Nicole Kidman, only she left the troll and ended up with Keith Urban, proving truth to the rule. Also, natural selection will be in your favor. They call it ‘top-shelf’ liquor for a reason... 
4. Throw out your Nicolas Sparks books. Instead of reading a slew of love stories, focus on the classics. Read a little Lord Byron if you’re looking to get your rocks off. Trust me, Paradise Lost and Dante’s Inferno will appear more realistic than those obnoxious books meant to make you reevaluate your life of scandalousness and poor-decision making. 
5. Go big or go home. Trust me, dainty was so 1920’s. Buy some men’s aviators, a man’s watch and try to tackle the unkempt but ridiculously expensive eyebrow look. Remember, your main purpose is to intimidate the shit out of people. No one is afraid of a girl in rhinestoned Tiffany sunglasses with a Pandora bracelet.
6. Refine the palette. Learn to eat and drink like a rockstar. Life is too short. (Insert absurd YOLO comment) Stop fad-dieting and enjoy your life, while learning to eat like a piece of Euro trash, Zara wardrobe not included. 
7. Release more dopamine. Eat more chocolate. Drive faster. Have more sex. Drink more wine. Fall in love. All in moderation, I suppose, or something like that. 
8. Climb the corporate ladder. It’s 2012. Women are making more money than their partners. Don’t be afraid to be the bread-winner. Bring home the bacon, men LOVE bacon. You can start utilizing your ovaries when you get around to it. 
9. Start carrying cash. Am I wrong? Aren’t we always intimidated by people who carry around large amounts of cash? As long as you’re not in the Starbucks line unfolding $2 bills, I don’t really see the problem.
10. Be true to yourself. I hate trite remarks and cliched statements, but it’s actually a pretty good one. You are a result of the fastest swimming sperm cell, why would you change for anybody? You are a duchess, we don’t do that. Sorry, the boyshorts are staying. 

Get out there and enjoy being a woman. xoxoxoxo much love, darlings. Cheers. 

Duchess' Guide to Family Survival

March is upon us people, comes in like Joan Rivers, out like Kate Upton (or something like that.) You know what this means, the impending arrival of spring. Iron your seersucker shorts, wax your kittens, choose your new Lilly print and throw some highlights in those dreary locks of yours, the socialite season is upon us. If you have any hopes of surviving what the Mayans predict will be the last spring of your lives, you are going to have to deal with your crazy families. Remember, we don’t choose them. The hedonistic higher being has a sick sense of humor and plays a cruel joke on all of us... forcing us to share genes with people who make a Manson family outing look like a bad episode of Family Ties. 

Let’s start with the root of all insanity: parents. You must love them, even if they are responsible for your nail-biting habits, your racked-up therapy bills and your convict boyfriend. If your parents are like mine, their relationship is basic and healthy: only consisting of phone calls and registered letters from attorneys and law officials. When my mother decides to speak about  my father, her dialogue would make George Carlin blush, completely normal, I agree. When it comes to navigating through your parental interaction, just be yourself. They changed your diapers, caught you facedown in your bed at the age of 15 smelling like peach schnapps and Abercrombie Fierce, and picked you up from after school detention on the regular. They understand that you are a complete and utter train wreck. They embrace it and are hoping that some handsome heir to millions of dollars will find your chemical imbalance quite charming and decide to marry you without forcing a prenuptial agreement. 

Next, siblings. As siblings, you should consider yourself on the same team. Think of it like a flip-cup game. Your weak player will bring you down. What is the prize? Grandparents’ love. The grandparents are looking for the grandchildren who outshine the others. YOU may be a published Rhodes scholar with a PhD in sociology, but if your brother is the lead singer of a death metal band who lives in a one room apartment in Revere, the odds are against you. This equates you to two subpar individuals with a bourgeoise income and an Associate’s degree in African Literature. You will never make it to the top of Nana and Papa’s trust fund with a team like that. Get your shit together people. Your cousins are the enemy. Just realize it already. 

Aunts/ Uncles. Oh boy. Aunts and Uncles are added to the mix to really make things interesting. We all have the aunt who shows up for Easter, gets too drunk off of Bailey’s to drive home, and ends up staying until Memorial Day. Face it, imagine a holiday without her. We must not forget the Uncle with the bad breath and coke bottle glasses... he’ll be wearing the heinous sweater that he will take off by dessert time and be forced to walk around in his frayed white undershirt with the yellow armpit stains. His jokes are corny and his laugh is annoying, but you will never be able to remember how he is actually related to you. He is sort of just there, by default.... “Wait, uncle Eddie is related to who?.....” 

The significant other. Deciding whether or not you want to bring your current love-interest around the family is a serious decision. It can go extremely well, or it can go terribly. It does not matter if you really even like this guy, once again you have to have the best date. It is all about the competition people. I don’t care if he sings you Jack Johnson songs before bed and massages you in hot Egyptian oil after your shower, if Grandma does not like him, you might as well bring Tommy Lee to next year’s dinner. Yes, your cousin’s husband could be the CEO of Charmin Toilet paper, but if he showed up at my house with an Obama t-shirt and bad table manners, Grandma is going to make his life a living hell. 

Ultimately, the best survival tactic is to ‘fake-it-til-you-make-it.’ Your grandparents really have no idea that you have absurd credit card debt, FEMME FATALE tattooed under your right breast or that you are sexting last night’s make-out victim under the table during Easter dinner. In their eyes, you will always be a perfect little duchess, which you are. Remember, we are a product of our upbringings and yes, that should scare you tremendously. Cheers, dolls. 

Duchess' Guide to Awful People

That awkward moment when your friend leaves you sitting next to the one person in the room that you can’t stand. The one person who starts to engage in conversation and you can’t decide if you would rather have a root canal at that very moment or an unanesthetized colonoscopy in a communist country. It’s a terrible feeling, really. As a duchess, you must avoid these people. They only bring you down. Here is a guide to the most obnoxious people forced to roam this spinning rock. If you can’t possibly avoid them because unfortunately they share your DNA or have entered your perfect life via marriage.... read on, kittens: 

1. “The couple.” The boyfriend/girlfriend that only go out together. The couple that only hangs out with other couples. That awful friend who has been engaged for 7 minutes and has used the word fiance 764 times. Yes, you are happy for them. It gets a tad annoying when every sentence starts with ‘we....’ ‘poor-bastard and I....’ ‘our car...’ ‘our house....’ Yes. Great. You’re a couple. Duchesses, don’t ever let go of your individual shine and superiority. In the world of women, be the Zsa Zsa Gabor, not the Tammy Wynette. Go out and buy yourself a new David Yurman ring to celebrate how incredible you are.

2. “The person who always plays: my-dick-is-bigger.” You know this person all too well.

Friend 1: “How are you?”

Friend 2: “Meh, I’ve been better. Finally finished that project at work and I’ve come down with a bad cold. How about you?”

...before you can even finish your tiny blurb about your own maladies and problems... 

Friend 1: “OH MY GOD. I KNOW. Since I have a harder job than you, my project was WAY MORE INTENSE AND TIME CONSUMING. I also have come down with pneumonia, asthma, type 2 diabetes, parseltongue, a painful menstruation, conjunctivitis, a bleeding ulcer, colitis and I have 4 planter’s warts on my feet. So I know exactly what you’re going through.”

..... Take a deep breath. Calm the urge to smack this over-exaggerating hooker in the face with the nearest blunt object. Simply voice your dearest condolences for her hard time and change the subject. You are a duchess, so this shouldn’t really ruffle your feathers. He/she is a pathetic twit and all is well. Finish your gimlet, pay your tab, and run.

3. “The borrower.” Repeat after me, people: “no.” Sometimes it’s ok to say no. 

‘No, you can’t borrow my brand new Christian Louboutin shoes.’

‘No, you can’t take my car for a 45-minute joy-ride because yours has no gas.’

‘No, you can’t borrow my new sweater and return it 4 months later covered in stains and smelling like stale vomit.’

 .... We all know this friend. Anything shiny of yours that they see, they need to have it. Maybe I’m a selfish person, but I work far too hard for my things to be handing them out like vegan activist pamphlets in front of a San Francisco McDonalds. 

4. “The Authority-on everything...” This is the friend that happens to believe that they KNOW EVERYTHING. Whatever you’re talking about, they have the answer. Pearl Harbor? They were there. Art History? Yeah, they have their PhD in it. Pink elephants? They breed them. Foreign cars? Their Uncle is CEO of Hyundai. Being annoying? Well, that goes without saying.

So we all can clearly visualize that one friend who is the God damn epitome of this repulsive breed. How can you deal? Flash your pearly white smile and nod. Keep nodding. You are a duchess, meaning you’re extremely perfect and educated. Keep allowing this fuck-nut to ramble about things that he/she has no idea about. As soon as they are finished, gently school them on all things they touched on. Do it in a kind and convictive manner, which should come easy to you. Then, smile at your head-scratching friend who is left dumbfounded by your brilliance, order yourself a Glenlivet neat and marvel at your perfected brain-rape. 

5. “The ass-kisser...” That person who would compliment you if you were wearing a shredded trash bag and a pair of mismatched Old Navy flip flops, yes the 2 for 5 dollar ones. They just have to kiss your ass no matter what, I don’t get it. It’s nice the first time, but it does get annoying. Appreciate the fact that you have a small fan club and be gracious. Hold the eye-roll until your back is to them and then you can quickly vacate the premises of said brown-noser. Nobody likes the friend who compliments your weight loss when all you can fit into are yoga pants and hooded sweatshirts.... or your new hair cut which you’re pretty sure looks like a bleached out Bieber cut. Alas, smile and nod ladies. 

6. “The sloppy drunk...” Ok, ok, ok... we all have our nights... Yes, I did wake up in a Foxwoods bathrobe one night next to a 20 pound bulldog named ‘Meatball’.... it happens.... It does get old having the friend who does that every night they’re out. They meander up to the bar, hopefully not hiccuping and without better judgment start pounding Long Island Iced Teas. Next thing you know they’re face planting in their 4-inch heels, flirting with the illegal, toothless bouncer and picking fights with the group of linebacker-looking girls across the bar. As a good friend you just have to make sure she gets home safe and that she gave you enough laughs/ Patron shots throughout the night to warrant your new babysitting gig. If it gets out of hand, have a talk with 'Lindsey Lohan.' Tell her to slow her roll before she starts decorating the walls of The Betty Ford Clinic and buying flare jeans that will fit over her alcohol anklet. 

7. “The man-stealer...” This makes me cringe just typing it. You know the scene. You start eye-fornicating with the hot brunette across the bar. He’s not creeping you out, but he’s making it known that he would like to have a fun make-out sesh/ play a little sexy time. Naturally, you casually escape to the ladies room where you’ll pee, redo your makeup, hoist your twins up, apply enough lip gloss to choke a small animal and dab some Marc Jacobs rollerball on your neck. You exit the bathroom and your man-stealing friend has her drunken mouth all over the hot brunette. Slopfest, party of two. Instead of grabbing her by her extensions and slamming her head on the marble bar, keep your cool. Consider the fact that she is a raging douche and there are probably 50+ other guys you can attack. 

8. “The cigarette bummer...” Isn’t it always the same girl who asks for a cigarette but never has her own. Why is this? 

Free loader girl: “Hey, do you have an extra cigarette?”

Friend: “Oh my God. Yes. You’re so lucky. The tobacco company accidentally gave me a malfunctioned box and instead of twenty cigarettes they gave me twenty-one.”

Why? Why? Why? Buy your own, doll-face. She will also most likely put your lighter in her pocket so be careful. Sticky mitts are dangerous.... 

Moral of the story: life is too short, and unfortunately we must learn to live with one another. Grow up, move on, and laugh it off. Life is too short to be anything but happy my darlings. That’s enough for a PMS rant out of me for one blog, enjoy my dears. 

Duchess' Guide to Sisterhood

My beautiful sister turned 25 today. The Pippa to my Kate has become a woman. I remember being a little girl and my mother would tirelessly repeat the same old: “Your sister is all you’re going to have someday.” Blah, blah, blah, take it easy egg-donor, we get it. We would laugh at her ridiculousness and let it roll off of our shoulders, but in a way, her words could never be truer. I admit, I’m not the easiest sister to have, and to be honest, neither is she. Maybe that’s what perfects our dynamic and makes it such a flawless assimilation of love, rage, laughter, and tears. 

As a duchess, we must accept these for what they are, fibrous essentials of our humanistic being. I love her for the raw feelings that she has no problem showing, and she loves me for the bipolar expression of my convoluted emotions. Yes, she ran me over in her hot pink Barbie corvette, and yes I did tag along to her junior prom and make out with the limo driver. Yes, she has been with me through every medical procedure from stitches to surgery. Yes, she does put her hair back and take her earrings out when someone gives me the tiniest tainted look. This, is why I love her so much. My love for her can be summed up in the Aristotelian definition of a friend: we are one soul, dwelling in two bodies, and I would not change that for the world.

Our relationship wasn’t always a friggin cake full of rainbows and smiles, rest assured. The sibling rivalry started at a young age. No matter where we went, people would marvel at her curly, gorgeous red hair. I would sit back and fumble with my jet black, pin-straight mess of hair that fell to the middle of my back: lifeless, boring, average. As I got older, I realized that her hair makes her who she is. There is not one man I’ve met, who has ever dated a red head, who would dare fuck with one. In simpler terms, my sister could make Lorena Bobbit look like a docile Easter bunny. Her hair truly makes her who she is. It is bold, daring, powerful. No half-wit with a personality of a Pez dispenser could possess the spark and fire behind those flowing crimson locks. 

It was so easy to sit side-by-side on the swing set, legs flailing, thoughts scattering, loudly mapping out our entire lives... but, our lives are nowhere close to that plan, and that is perfectly fine with me. So what? We’re not married. We don’t have children. We don’t have houses. Boo effing hoo. My sister is 25 and has life in her back pocket. She has a group of friends that would give her the entire universe, a family that loves her unconditionally, a man in her life that sees her for the true beauty and wisdom that she possesses, and a an innate desire to live life to the fullest and to embrace all that is vivacious and spirited. 

Enough with the trite cliches and gag-inducing emotional repetitiveness. It boils down to a sisterhood. We have each other in this world and there is not one thing that will ever come between that. Pippa, your life is just beginning. You are seeomg the strong and exceptional woman that I have always known you to be. You are realizing your flaws, your capabilities, and you are doing an incredible job at it. You are an inspiration to so many and a beacon of hope to the aimless wanderers. 

Our darling mother was right, you are all I’m going to have someday and I wouldn’t want it any other way. May the next 75 years live up to the first 25. To me, you are perfect. 

Duchess' Quick Guide to Waitressing

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The Duchess' Guide to #SocialMedia

So you survived the date without any tremendous mishaps, wardrobe malfunctions or gastrointestinal maladies. Even if you had a piece of eggplant in your teeth throughout the entire dinner, or your body broke out into an alcohol-induced rash (guilty of both), chances are, things could have gone a lot worse. You may not know him enough to parade him to your house for a Sunday dinner where he will be interrogated like a prisoner of Gitmo, but you’re pretty sure he’s not the Craigslist Killer. All in all, a success for the Duchess. 

Now, there are a set of unwritten rules about the post-date social media procedure. I have not encountered them so much on this island, but I have also run into people who still use Myspace, wear Abercrombie clothes and who rub their body in Patchouli oil. I’m not judging, it’s just scientific observation. Let today’s post be a little lesson for all. It is pretty much agreed upon that girls are more obsessed with social media than men. When I say obsessed, I mean they change their profile picture more times than their underwear and they tweet about every emotion they’ve ever had. 

Exhibit A: They Tried to Make Me go to Tweet-hab

@JaneDoe is getting her drink on with @randomgirl in the city tonight! #pretendingtogohogwildwhenillbegoinghomealone

@JaneDoe is SO pissed that it’s -5 degrees. Guess I’ll have to wear UGGS! #hopingsomanypeopleactuallygiveashit #UGGSareneveracceptable

@JaneDoe can’t believe what just happened on Glee.

#nosarcastichashtagnecessary

@JaneDoe is eating an egg white omelette with veggies and some turkey bacon!

#janedoeshouldrealizethatnobodyactuallycares

All in all, you get it. Girls are crazy (to-say-the-least). So ladies, if he adds you on Facebook or starts following you on Twitter... I hate to say it, but some lines need to be drawn. This comes from personal experience. So yes, the profile pictures I had from sophomore year spring break had to go. No future President wants his future First Lady sprawled out face-down on a beach with a Red Stripe in one hand and a variety of Mardis Gras beads in the other. I’m not saying you can’t get an intern position, but First Lady is 86ed.  You may also want to untag the pics of you playing Edward-40-hands in your best friend’s basement. It was all fun and games until one of you had to relieve yourselves (raises hand). 

While we’re on the topic of pictures, enough with mobile uploads of your dogs/cats. I will admit, I’m the biggest offender. My dog is essentially my child but I’m pretty sure no potential love-interest wants to see my Jack Russell Terrier in a princess gown. (Please message me if you would like to see it. I can email it to you! Quite the beauty queen!) I will bend the rules for the creator of http://foodonmydog.tumblr.com/. Please check it out, my darlings. The Duchess gives it an A+. The same animal rules do apply to cats. Honestly speaking, the only cat your man is interested in, would never be posted on Facebook. Meow meow. Purr purr. 

On to the next rule: please don’t start a poke war. It’s not cute. It’s irritating. It’s like ‘Hi, I’m thinking of you, most likely in a naughty way. I’m too much of a chicken to act on it, so I’ll virtually ‘poke’ you and hope you take it as an inappropriate gesture representing my desire to ‘bang-you’ in my backseat. Please poke me back and reaffirm my belief that we have an unspoken agreement.’ Enough said. No poking.

While we’re ripping apart our bad Facebook habits, stop posting those pictures with inspirational quotes and rainbows on them. THAT’S WHY THE SOCIAL MEDIA HIGHER BEINGS INVENTED PINTEREST. Go to town creating boards that will fill your empty soul with hopes of imaginary weddings/boyfriends/children and baking skills. 

Another general rule: if your status makes someone want to slit their wrists in a warm bath... don’t post it. Steer clear of country song lyrics, Marilyn Monroe quotes, excerpts from James Patterson novels and anything that a 19-year-old girl might get tattooed on her ribcage. 

Exhibit B: The Attention-Seeking Status Update

Jane Doe “The greater your capacity to love, the greater your capacity to feel the pain.”

-Let’s keep in mind that 17 people have probably liked it and every female in your life will comment saying... “what happened?” “Girl, you are so much better than him.” “Baby, let’s get drinks this week.” Enough. Go for a run or something. 

vs.

Jane Doe “So and so dumped me for a bridge-watching troll with rosacea and a G.E.D. Who wants to take me out for drinks while I rip him apart and hit on anything that walks by with a collared shirt and a pulse?”

-You will receive much more likes and comments I assure you. Your rate of rebound will be quicker and much more people will be interested in your Facebook posts. A win for the Duchess. Remember, no man is really worth any status update unless you’re trying to campaign for Ron Paul.

Exhibit C: The Painful Over-Share

Jane Doe “I’ve been sick for a week now. I can’t move. I just want to curl up in my bed and watch movies but I have so much work to do. I’m not a happy girl right now.”

-One minute of somebody’s life that you just took away from them. Most people would rather watch the ending of Steel Magnolias than relive the horror of that status update. What are you looking to get out of it? Do you want somebody to come over and do your work for you? Make you cookies? Blah blah blah.

vs. 

Jane Doe “I have been sick for a week now. Who wants to come over and we can watch the Food Network and take shots of Robotussin every time Paula Deen says the word “butter?”

-Wow. That’s better. You’ve really captured your reader, and who doesn’t like Robotussin and/or Paula Deen? Any lucky man in your life will be hand-feeding you Hall’s Sugar-Free cough drops and making you his grandmother’s Hot Toddy recipe. 

As hard as you will try to make it look like you wear pearls and cardigans EVERY DAY, you want to be honest. Nobody likes that person that untags every picture of them where they have more than one chin or pit-stains. Life is full of imperfections. The Duchess has the remarkable ability to own those. There’s a difference between being a full-blown fake and trying to cover-up your past of Jagermeister shots, hotel parties and keg stands. You don’t want to fool this guy into thinking that you’re the president of the International Relations Honor Society if you can’t spell ‘Israel.’

Lastly, don’t sugarcoat your intellect or verbal style for anybody. If you want to post something that will make George Carlin blush, I say go for it. Pictures are a little different, but the U.S gives us freedom of speech and please do not be afraid to use it. If your political rant about Newt Gingrich pisses him off, he’s not worth your time anyway. I’m not saying you should describe last night’s booty call in your status, but a little wit and cleverness will get you far in life. 

If he reads your updates and you realize that he does not comprehend them, then you must kick the knucklehead to the curb. It doesn’t matter if he has Joaquin Phoenix’s face on Jacoby Ellsbury’s body... if his brain is the size of a walnut, you want nothing to do with it. It will make you sad to see the sex-pot out of your life, but a duchess chooses a toned frontal lobe over a set of ripped glutes any day. You deserve the best, and it is within reach. At the end of the day, my cherubs, we are forced to live with our own decisions. Choose wisely, I know you will. Kisses. Until next time, my regal kittens.