As you can see, there's been some changes around here. No more of that pink/white bubblegum layout--pshaw, how old do you think I am, twenty-two?!--now instead, there is only black. Like the color of the New York city skyline. My cashmere sweater. My soul.
Yes. There will be no more
lulz or talk of balls and skankalanks. Like my game face, this blog needs to exude professional, something like, "Dahhlin', if you sign with me, I'll get you a 9-figure book deal before I even sip my midday martini [haughty laughter here]." I'd do a hairflip too, if it weren't tied back in a face-pulling bun.
Obviously, there will be no more giggling, only bored amusement. If you must, however, show anything other than ennui, you may snap your fingers. Once.
Nevertheless, the transformation is not yet complete. The following is the status of the requisite steps to becoming...
[x] Subscribe to the New York Times
[x] Subscribe to The New Yorker
[x] Wear black leather skirt
[x] Wear black leather boots
[pending] Buy black scarf
[pending] Carry caffeinated beverage at all times
[pending] Order interns to buy me said caffeinated beverage
[pending] Adopt British or old money accent
[pending] Eat less, drink more
That's all for now, my dear. I'll let you know how this goes *kiss kiss*