I’m Nicole Antoinette.

This blog is about my life. It’s also frequently about my vagina. And my mother. But not my mother’s vagina because in spite of what you may have heard I do in fact know the difference between things that are sort-of-okay and things that are not-okay-at-all-no-matter-what.

Sometimes I write about my feelings. Sometimes I write about zombies. Other times I write about pubic hair. And about my obsession with Chelsea Handler. And about my internship with The Bloggess. And about my boyfriend who is referred to on this blog as James Bond even though he’s not actually James Bond. Please feel free, however, to assume that I’m boning both Daniel Craig and Pierce Brosnan. At the same time. Unless you’re my boyfriend, in which case I finger crossie promise I’m not boning them at the same time.

You’ll also notice that I write about Jamie a lot. She’s my best friend and my business partner and the co-star in all of my most shenanigan-ey shenanigans. She supports my frequent desire to get drunk and dance on the breakfast bar. I support her desire to wear bumble bee antennas to a strip club in the middle of the day. Compromise like this is the secret to world peace.

When we’re not parading around online, Jamie and I can be found drinking too much caffeine and co-running our company, Shatterboxx Media, which basically makes the entire internet prettier. You’re welcome for that, by the way. Also, modesty.

Speaking of modesty, one day soon I plan to be a wildly famous memoirist who demands ridiculous things at press events. Like a sippy cup full of tequila. Or a bowl of Orchid petals and someone to read my horoscope to me in Italian every hour on the hour. I’m also in pursuit of general world domination and am actively trying to cross all 128 items off my Life List. Yes, there’s a donate button on that page. Yes, all donations toward the fulfillment of my dreams are appreciated more than you could ever imagine.

If you haven’t had enough yet, you can also find me on Twitter (@nicoleisbetter) and Facebook. If you add me on Facebook, please include a message telling me how many people you’ve slept with. This helps me know that you came by way of this blog and not by way of us having met at a bar one night that I can’t seem to remember.

I’d like to end with the following public service announcements:

My public service announcement to the ladies is that leggings are not pants.

My public service announcement to the gentleman is that chivalry is not dead and that they should fucking hold the door open for me once in a while.

My public service announcement to my parents is that everything is probably their fault.