Nichole: No... There will never be another Maximo.

Nichole: You guys are ridiculous. Here, I'm going to come across the hall and hang out with you guys. Be over in a few!

Hello, psychos.

Today, we are praying for Femen, a topless pussy-gang of feminists who protested in le support of le marriage de gays this weekend in Paris. They accessorize their tits-out looks with body paint and nun’s caps. It’s so next level unchic that it’s just regular unchic, which is actually super chic this Fall, especially in Paris. We pray for their exposed, chilly little nipples because their protest ended in violence which is so incredibly pedestrian that it hurts, literally. They were spraying a Catholic group (who were going on about how much they hate gay marriage) with white powder and chanting “in gay we trust” and I guess the Catholics were just not into it. So people started getting touched. Can we all agree that strangers do NOT need to be touching each other, much less punching? Femen deserves better than this. Stop hurting Femen. Pray for Femen. Should I name my next dog Femen?

You’re welcome.

Nichole

OOC: I hear Stuart, and I think of this:

I’ve become kind of pet-obsessed lately, with my due date drawing ever nearer. Actually, to be honest, I’ve always been pet-obsessed. I’ve had fifty-seven pets throughout my life. I can’t say that I’ve loved them all equally, but they do each represent a very specific time/breakup, so for that I am grateful to all of them. Pets are like boyfriends, if boyfriends were always drunk and couldn’t speak to you ever.

I wanted to make sure all of you know about this psycho little lemur thing that is becoming one of the most chic pet options in Spain right now. A friend from Barcelona just sent me one in the mail, disguised as a pair of Loub’s. When I opened the shoebox, there was a baby Aye Aye, just curled up peacefully in the corner, its two long fingers sprawled out in front of its little body. Maybe the worst gift I’ve ever received for no reason, I mean, what am I supposed to do with that? So, I let him free behind my apartments. He’ll be fine.

They come from Madagascar, which is somewhere, and they look like sickly, devil-worshipping monkeys from hell. But they make it cute. They are the PEREFECT gift to give a boyfriend/girlfriend if you need them to break up with you. Sometimes you just need that out, and gifting this fucked up wingless bat will scare anyone away, pronto.

You’re welcome.

Nichole

Nichole: ........ I.... Um....

I don’t want to get into the details of my sex life currently, because I basically don’t have one from the pregnancy hormones, but just know that I fucking hate today more than you could possibly imagine. I mean, I get it. This day is awful for a lot of us, with its constant reminders that we are fat, ugly, and unable to have even our husbands pay attention to us.

But I’ve decided to repurpose this day and celebrate the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre: Basically, in 1929, a bunch of gangsters in Chicago dressed up like cops and then shot another group of rival gangsters, execution style. Seven people died. It was gruesome. It was horrible. Blood was everywhere. But to me, celebrating that seems more appealing than celebrating roses, chocolate, and pink.

If you are in love and getting fucked today, good for you. But maybe next year will be really sad for you. You never know. I’m just being honest. I’m sure you’ll be fine, though.

You’re welcome.

Nichole

Erica: no whole milk?! If you are suggesting I drink skim milk....skim milk?! Fuck that shit! Whole milk!

Erica: um....you going to lock up the door to coley's temple to keep them in? That's a fire hazard you know!

Erica: your belly would be HUGE!...do it , I wanna see this.