My birthday was on Monday.

I am now twenty five fucking years old.

I have not since blogged because I’ve been drunk the entire time.

I have also left New York and now write from my mother’s suburban couch the tales of my titillations.

One sunny, drunken afternoon, two of my dearest friends drank sparkling rosé and pursued the conundrums of MARRY FUCK KILL on a cocktail napkin.

I would love to hear your input on who you would rather marry, murder and fuck given these trifectastic options.