I lay there in my black slip dress and wondered if I ought to have worn pants. I mean, who knew what I was going to find up there? What if I had to do some climbing? People might see my underwear.

No one wants to pursue anything creative anymore, because that's too risky. They may not get the kind of return on the financial investment they've made in their education that they think they should.

But then I remembered something Grandmere had once assured me of: No one has ever died of embarrassment-never, not once in the whole history of time.

I love jezebel.com for the latest on fashion, style, and celebrity gossip. I also love gawker.com for New York celebrity sightings, and galleycat.com and trashionista.com for book news.

It’s so much easier to walk away than it is to have to explain to someone that you never want to see them again.

Weight doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. I mean, it does if you’re a model or whatever.

I don't seem to fit to associate with humans.