Psychos: A White Girl Problems Book
Babe Walker
Language: English
Pages: 288
ISBN: 1476734151
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In this hysterical follow-up to the New York Times bestseller White Girl Problems, Babe Walker travels the globe as she tries to figure out the answer to the question foremost on everyone's mind—including hers: Who is Babe Walker?
If you’re one of the hundreds of thousands who devoured Babe Walker’s New York Times bestselling novel White Girl Problems or one of the million people who read her blog or follow her on Twitter daily, then you’ve obviously been waiting with bated breath for her hilarious follow-up novel, Psychos.
Fresh from a four-month stint in rehab for her “alleged” shopping addiction, Babe Walker returns home to Bel Air ten pounds lighter (thanks to a stomach virus), having made amends (she told a counselor with bad skin she was smart) and confronted her past (after meeting her birth mother for the first time—a fashion model turned farmer lesbian). Although delighted to be home and determined to maintain her hard-won inner peace, Babe now faces a host of outside forces seemingly intent on derailing her path to positive change. Not only is she being trailed by an anonymous stalker, but she’s also reunited with the love of her life, a relationship that she cannot seem to stop self-sabotaging.
Babe’s newfound spirituality, coupled with her faith in the universe and its messages, leads her all over the world: shoulder dancing in Paris, tripping out in Amsterdam, and hooking up in the Mediterranean, only to land her back in New York City, forced to choose between a man who is perfect in every way (except for one small detail) and a man who could be The One if only he didn’t drive Babe to utter insanity.
Unapologetic and uproarious, Psychos is the send-up of the season—already as timeless as vintage Dior.
flipping through crisp issues of V magazine, Vogue, and British Vogue. I wasn’t entirely turned off by the vibe, which was a huge relief. Thoughts of my stalker occasionally popped into my head, especially when someone mentioned anything to do with lipstick (there were a lot of heavy lipstick scenarios going on with these girls), but I was able to keep my anxiety to a minimum. “Everyone meet Babe Walker, creator of White Girl Problems. She basically changed the landscape of social media all from
tear to roll down my cheek and attempted my best half-smile. “Sorry, this is just really important because I’m on the phone with my rehab counselor and we, like, never talk. Plus, I know that electronics don’t actually disrupt anything because my dad used to fly planes, but I will be sure to put my phone away once the plane starts actually taking off, I swear. That uniform is really flattering on you. Can I have another vodka soda?” The flight attendant blinked and walked away. I gulped down
say that Paul is dead and I’m going to Europe for a few months to shop my ass off. Hope you’re having fun in Utah. Call me back if you get this. Or don’t. Your choice.” I put my phone on airplane mode and threw it into my bag. Gazing out the window, I felt the kind of peace that can only be felt when you’re about to take off on a direct flight from LAX to CDG. Or the kind of peace that can only be felt when you’ve mixed a double vodka soda and a 10mg sleeping pill. Either way it didn’t matter,
your plan tonight?” “Nothing, just headed home to relax.” “Lovely. Maybe we can Skype.” “Yeah, maybe. I’ll text you.” “Okay. Love you.” “You too.” With that, he hung up. The cab was at a standstill somewhere in Midtown. I looked out the window and shuddered at the sight of the enormous Macy’s. It reminded me of the time I’d eaten pot brownies and gotten lost in the Macy’s at the Beverly Center during high school. It was one of the hardest days of my life. No matter how much I tried, or
in the entryway and then back at me with a steely-eyed glare. “Take care of yourself, Babe.” Then he walked out. Charlie was gone. I had no time to wallow because gathering, sorting, and boxing all of my clothes and beauty products was going to take way longer than two hours. I called Felix to see if he could come up to Charlie’s place to help me, but he was “at his daughter’s quinceañera.” No one is reliable anymore. No one. The next couple of hours were a frantic blur of packing, crying,