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Like showing up to
Glamour's Women of the Year event pulling off a demure, unflattering black Gucci gown but still smiling with my eyes, so as to appear appreciative and mature, as opposed to totally OMG super excited at the fact that my tampons and drag queen parade loosely referred to as a talk show puts me on the same pedestal as the
Secretary of State and that
monkey lady. You've come a long way, lady. Remember, sultry not slutty. I'm just going to keep this hand perched ever so lightly on my hip, a little industry trick to take off a good two pounds. Now if I only had
eight more hands...
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