Babe On Tweeting

A little over two years ago, after I  had a breakthrough on my therapist, Susan’s, couch that involved me practically scream-crying about my hatred for nude pumps, she told me about a “thing on the internet called Twitter” where I could “bitch about all of my bullshit.” Susan said that using it might make me feel better about my smaller problems, and therefore allow us to use our time together wisely. Shortly thereafter, Twitter became the soapbox from which I could air all of my grievances with this dark, dark world. I tweeted for an entire year via @whitegrlproblem before realizing that I had hundreds of thousands of followers. What can I say? It was 2010. I was 23, young, naive, and wild at heart. How quickly things change.

Now Twitter has become a huge part of my life, which is 10% chic, 64% necessary, and 26% embarrassing. I get that everyone tweets or blogs these days, and that we are in the future or whatever, but it still doesn’t feel totally, 100% organic to me. So, as I approach my 1000th Tweet, I feel like I should try something selfless for once and let one of my loyal psychos have the all the glory.

That’s right, I’m giving away my 1000th tweet to the follower with the best White Girl Problem. You all have until this Wednesday to tweet your WGP’s at me, and I will retweet my favorite one, therefore launching one of my followers into a world of fame/addiction/rehab/rebirth. Tweet @whitegrlproblem with the hashtag #WGP1000, so my Adderalled-out interns know how to find you.

Example:

@whitegrlproblem I hate my horse.  #WGP1000

Or:

@whitegrlproblem I hate you, Babe Walker. #WGP1000

Or:

@whitegrlproblem I love Babe Walker so much that I’m sitting outside of her bedroom window and watching her sleep. It’s been 20 hours now, is that normal? #WGP1000

Good luck and try to make your tweets fun/funny/stalkery/weird. Otherwise my interns are gonna be sooooooo bored reading them.

LOVE YOU. MEAN IT.
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