i would say don’t judge me but i really don’t want you to judge my friend. because she’s already proved herself to be a total selfish whore who never takes responsibility for her own life and constantly asks for huge favors like asking you to take care of her cats once she has already ended up at her last minute hotel on the other side of the country. so don’t judge me and don’t judge her. because we already know the kind of person who takes friendships for granted and is never there for anything except to ask you for favors in the most can’t-say-no kind of ways because she knows people like you always know how to clean up their messes.
If anyone ever knew this I would be in big trouble. But I have never voted. I want Obama to win. But I just can’t bring myself to be a part of this country. My parents are from the Phillipines. But they are Republicans and live in a totally red county. Anyhow, we live in California. Please do not tell me that my vote matters here. I mean I guess it matters in the case of all of those props but I understand them even less than I understand the economy and I am sure I will get the gay marriage one wrong because I am dyslexic. I guess I am a citizen of the earth, but maybe not even. Maybe the universe. Don’t Judge Me for any or all of these things puhleeze.
DO NOT EVEN JUDGE. I am a publicist and can no longer stand the terrible images of the people in my profession that are on TV shows and in magazine articles and movies. To get even with these bastards who make fun of people like me, I have recently begun to make records of every free piece of crap I have ever given out, and who gets it. I even made an Excel spreadsheet of these terrible people, most of whom are magazine editors. So go ahead: Cross me. When you do, I have the dirt on your free trip to Thailand or that laptop you are Skyping on, gratis. HAHAHAHA.
Don’t judge me. When I sneeze I just have to look. In the tissue.
And don’t judge me. My spirit move is “No Reservations”. All Breslin, all the time.
don’t you dare fucking judge me, bitches. here’s the deal. my spirit movie, in the words of kat from that great previous season of weeds, is “boyton beach club.” that’s right! i love to watch diane cannon and other fogierellas rock the boca hardcore! i mean, why do i gotta work so much? why can’t i retire down there and date friendly insect guys with big pot bellies? i want some dude who was married for so long to one woman that one night with me would give him a heart attack–and me, the 3 mil he’s got stored since he inherited his dad’s house in south jersey. look it up on imdb. boynton. that’s the one. sigh…
Don’t judge, ok? I know it’s bad for the environment, and probably terrible karma. But I hate my downstairs neighbors and purposely do not get my leaky bathtub fixed because I know the drip, drip, drip drives them fuckin’ batshit. I also secretly hope that the old lady who has mothered the two adult drug addicts that live with them passes away soon so the kids will be kicked out. Seems like she’s already in a lot of pain, how bad am I?