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there are a million other things I need to be doing, a million problems that need solving, and it’s probably better not to mention I haven’t even thought about tonight’s segment.
I can’t think of anything but AC. What she’s doing here, how she found me, how to get rid of her when she’s attached herself to my wife like a barnacle.
I remind myself I don’t need this job for the money. If it fell away tomorrow, the missed paycheck would barely make a blip. I tell myself I have the negotiating power here.
Listen, I can’t be the only one who thinks Alex Hutchinson is full of crap. First she spews off all this bullshit about being this evolved human filled with inner peace and acceptance, then she goes off on an underage girl, slut shaming her in the most offensive terms. Patrick, blink twice if you need saving.
She’s so famethirsty but she’ll never be a celebrity on merit alone. Patrick has probably paid for his following too.
This is just the beginning. That’s the one thing I know for sure.
The police were just here. Call me!!
My wife is too smart. She knows when there’s something I’m not telling her.
But she also knows how I feel about her personal assistant.
There were enough accurate nuggets in my answer that, with any lu...
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Alex’s gaze is glued to her laptop again, her fingertips scrolling through whatever’s on her screen.
thinking for the millionth time what a ridiculous concept social media is.
When we met, I didn’t take Unapologetically Alex all that seriously, not until she started beaming out our most personal, private moments so str...
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By the time I realized how exposed it made me feel, like walking down Peachtree in my t...
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a sponsor income of well into the six figures.
People are finally wising up. Just wait until they hear about her husband lol.
It’s midmorning by the time I slide out of my car and onto the cracked sidewalk,
she looks like any other woman at her stage of life: wrinkles, crepey
Unlike our house, where every piece is curated and placed just so, where there’s more decor than flat surfaces to put it on.
They pulled into the Starlux Motor Lodge, and AC tried to see it like he would.
His fancy car looked like a luxury spaceship floating through a junkyard of beat-up sedans.
She snuck a glance as he rounded the last curve, but she couldn’t read his face. Couldn’t read anything about him, really, seeing as he’d gone silent the second she’d slid into his passenger’s seat.
He didn’t even look over, so she climbed out and shut the door. Disappointment bloomed hard and heavy in her belly,
“Is that so?” AC put just the right note of indifference in her tone, even though of course she cared. He picked her up on the side of the road and he bought her tires. Four of them. She cared a lot.
“As long as it’s not a bill, I don’t much care.” It wasn’t true, of course, but darned if she was going to show it—not to these girls. Not to him if he was out there watching.
Have you seen what they’re saying about you?” Yes, Jenny. They’re threatening me and my daughters. Innocent girls who can bleed and die. They’re calling me a bitch and a filthy whore. They’re sending me death threats.
Women, however, they hate-follow in droves. Women screenshot my posts and pick them apart in Reddit threads and group chats. They trawl my Instagram only to nitpick me in the comments.
Patrick’s solution is to simply not look. To not read what they have to say.
They’re calling you a Karen.” Better than a cunt, I think but don’t say. I’ve seen that one plenty, as well.
And here’s some irony for you—I know how Krissie Kelly feels. How my post made her feel. Because celebrities like her and me, we are fair game. Everything we do and say, how we look and walk and talk—it’s all fodder for people to pick apart
Now that I’m on the receiving end, I know the criticism doesn’t stick to the screen. It echoes in your head and rewires your...
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“The trolls will move on soon enough.”
“As soon as we hang up. I’m putting the final touches on the apology post now.”
It’s a lie, and not a particularly good one. Jenny tsks like she knows it, too.
have no earthly idea what to say. All the promises of new and terrible ways to make me pay, all the death and rape threats an...
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I am literally frozen in fear that one wrong word, one even slightly dodgy sentiment, will rile up the angry mob even further, st...
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Get on some podcasts, or maybe launch one of your own with a long-winded and sincere expression of regret. Acknowledge what you said was wrong and talk about how you’re going to fix yourself moving forward. Be vulnerable. Bawl and plead for forgiveness. Take accountability and promise
Can I do that? Do I even want to? And would an apology placate the trolls? I can’t unsee their nasty words, and I certainly can’t forget them. Even if only a small percentage actually mean their threats, their words have taken a toll.
“Fix this and do it quick. Because the trolls might move on at some point, but the internet is forever.”
At noon, the skies open up, pummeling the slate roof with a deafening roar as I sort through my in-box. An avalanche of ugliness, interspersed with ema...
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“For now,” they all say, at the same time calling for immediate action. Kindly confirm at your soonest convenience quickly becomes Timely res...
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Companies that courted me with long, gushing emails declaring their products the perfect match for my brand, that sent truckloads of products for giveaways and to share with all my friends and family, no longer want their organic lotions and serums anywhere near my toxic face.
At two, an email lands in my in-box from Target, a partnership I’ve been courting for almost a year, canceling our planned meeting with the most corporate gobbledygook ever.
We’re going to have to table today’s Zoom, as the social landscape seems a bit disrupted on your end. Let’s touch base again when/if things settle
And then the kicker comes just before three, when a message from LinkedIn pings my phone. Account suspended. LinkedIn, for Pete’s sake! Arguably the least fun of the social media platforms, the water cooler nobody wants to hang around longer than absolutely necessary.
I’m still staring at my screen when my phone lights up with a photo of Penelope. I swipe to pick up her call. “What happened?”
take full accountability and will work hard to do better, to be better.
I feel something building in my chest. It heats me from the inside out, slithering like a hot snake under my skin, along my shoulder blades and down my spine, erupting out the top of my head like lava.
Fury. I am positively feral with fury.
I add one more to the pile—the final one, the last word—pounding out the ones that won’t stop bouncing around my brain. If you did this, I will kill you.
