Livit, Luvit » bummin it

So You Lost Your Dream Job / Boyfriend / Puppy / Object of Perceived Inherent Value…

LiLu — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 14:23:05 +0000

…A Survival Guide to making it through a sudden and inexplicable loss, be it job, romantical (it’s a word), or your pet hampster Fred.

- Under no circumstances should you try to put on pants and/or leave the house for at least 48 hours.

- There must be at least one cat within unwilling cuddle range at all times. This is especially true if you do not have a significant other; in fact, if you do, you should probably send them away for a few days if you want to keep them. This will not be pretty.

- If you don’t have a cat, rent one. If you’re allergic, deal with it- the reaction will just hurry you along into the “ugly cry” phase.

- There should be absolutely no bathing, shaving, or other hygienic care of any sort.

- Cue up at least 14 really, really bad movies. These will serve as fodder for endless mocking, and to take your anger out on, as well as a few moments that warm your heart against your better judgment, reminding you that you are in fact still human, and keeping you from falling completely into an emotional abyss. Suggestions from my recent foray include:

When in Rome
Paul Blart: Mall Cop
17 Again
Lindsay Lohan: The Road to Jail
Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief – (Actually, I thought this was going to be terrible, and it was surprisingly awesome. You’re welcome.)
Anything with Channing Tatum (C-TATES!!!) in it

- Drink heavily and eat crap, but make grandiose plans about getting into shape and all the healthy meals you’ll cook from scratch- tomorrow. Always say “tomorrow”, and do not look directly into the bloat.

- Swear colorfully and often. Get creative with it, a la Rocco in Boondock Saints.

And then, remember you have kickass friends, a great man and two adorable furry assholes cats, and at least you’re not the Half Ton Teen.

If Only The Vulcan Salute Was An Acceptable Greeting

LiLu — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 13:15:11 +0000

Hey! Have you tweeted today yet? (If you don’t know what this is about, please to clicky here!)

Follow @LivitLuvit, my favorite contestant in the @MTVTJ search for MTV’s first Twitter Jockey! #zyncmtvtj

(Feel free to modify, the above suggestion is just for your copy & paste convenience. Cause I’m good like that.)

And now back to our regular programming…

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If you know me, “shy” and “introverted” are two words you would never, EVER use to describe me. And you’d be right. I can- and will- talk to anyone about anything. Hell, I’ll talk to anyTHING about anyONE.

Leave me and my wall alone.

But seriously. Give me five minutes with a stranger and we’ll be do-si-do-ing around the bar, the park, the public restroom- whatever.

And they won’t even like country music.

But. But!

There is one social interaction in my life I struggle with on a daily basis.

Dum dum dum…

The security guards.

Ya see, my DC office building is about a 9 on the security scale… meaning there’s a guard at every entrance, and you have to scan your fancy high-tech badge with an awkward driver’s license-esque picture to get in.

The guards rotate positions, so I see them all regularly. They’re nice people, and frankly, I’m glad they’re there, seeing as we sit a cool four blocks from La Casa Blanca. (That’s “White House,” for everyone who didn’t pass fourth grade Spanish. What?)

But.

This means I see them quite a few times a day, coming and going, walking past the building, etc. And four years in Chapel Thrill, NC has taught this Masshole that it would be just plain Stephanie-Tanner-HOW-RUDE to just bluster by without so much as a head nod.

So, I try. Every time, I try to pull off a sincere and warm greeting of some fashion.

And every time, I fail miserably.

I don’t know what it is. My Joe “The Smooth” Camel just fails me here; I become a bumbling fool, questioning my methods and changing my mind midsentence, so that whatever does manage to come out makes me sound like an awkward 20-something stroke victim.

Don't smoke, kiddies. Cigarettes are only for desert beasts and Don Draper.

Sometimes I trip while trying to wave. Sometimes my “how-do-you-do” trails off into a mumble as the realization of how dorky I truly am washes over me. More often, I pull out a spoonerism unlike anything heard before.

“How’s your going day?”

“Lovely day here out, it is?”

“Have a good night, now!” (At lunchtime.)

“Your sweat stain looks like you peed your pants.”

(Okay, not that last one. YET. I bet I just jinxed myself and I’ll say it today.)

I should probably just develop my own hand signal. Then they’d be all “oh, that’s the girl who says hello with a golf clap” or “by throwing the shocker. She always livens up my day!” Or even better… the vulcan hand salute!!!

I'd do the stern face and everything. It's a walk off!!!!!!!! Where's David Bowie?

And then I’d never have to CHOOSE when it came to my form of greeting. And life, it would be a much simpler thing.

P.S. Oh, and as long as we’re on the subject of Star Trek, THIS made my life yesterday…

via Kay Steiger by way of my darling friend amblass.

The Shiz My Boyfriend Says, Vol. XXIX

LiLu — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 13:23:12 +0000

~So. Remember that time I promise you an amazing surprise today? Um, well…

I lied.

Not on purpose, trust- no one is more disappointed than me that we have to wait… but it’s only a couple days, chickadees. I promise by the end of this week, you shall be privy to my fantabulous news…

*cue suspenseful music, slash, me feeling like a total ahole* ~

Anyway, back to our regular programming for the time being…

You all know this game by now. Time for another installment of “The Shiz My Boyfriend Says.” Woot!

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B’s friend K is over and showing us his stylish new glasses, or as he calls them, his “FIRIN’ GLASSES.”

Firin' glasses.

K: Do you guys have glasses?

B: Yeah, I had glasses once. But then I lost them so I never got them again. They make your eyes weaker. Fuck that noise. I’m a MAN!!!

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As I’ve mentioned, this Friday is our two-year anniversary. My present for B is stashed in my closet, but his present for me hasn’t come yet. Not being someone who can ever wait for anything, I’ve been begging him to let me give him his since it arrived…

Me: Pleeeeeeeeeease can I give you your present?

B: No!

*We’re watching Tosh.0, as they feature a video mocking homeless people*

B: Did you get me a homeless person?

Me: No, but that’d be AWESOME. Then we’d have a dishwasher!!!

I know. So wrong. Blame it on the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol…

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A smelly B arrives home from his soccer game, and I have a flashback to the last time he came home, which somehow resulted in his vile soccer socks being draped over my (yes, still unpacked) luggage bag from Vegas.

Me: Don’t you put your dirty soccer socks on my suitcase this time!!!

B: *shrugs* I can’t help it, baby, that’s the Drying Place!

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Trying to find a new show on Netflix Watch Instantly, we stumble across “Satisfaction,” a series featuring the working gals of an Australian brothel.

Me: Um, I’m not so sure about this one.

B: You’re always so against me wanting to see 18 year old shirtless girls! You never support any of my hobbies!

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My present better be something amazeballs.

My Horoscope Said NOTHING About A Full Moon.

LiLu — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 14:45:43 +0000

~Hey! Are you reading this in a Reader? That’s cool… don’t want the man to see you being lazy, for sure. But do me a wee favor and click here, just for a second, if you don’t mind… *vague and mysterious ftw*~

Well, it finally happened.

I knew it was going to. I could have stopped it. I could have prevented it, if only I had taken a precious few seconds of my life to think before I acted.

Ok, wait. Let’s back it up. (Ha. That will be punny in a moment.)

Every once in a while, I have to pee. Consequently, I will, at times, use a restroom. Sometimes I even do it at work.

But, see, here’s the thing. I have this really bad efficient habit of, um, “getting ready” before I enter the stall. “Making preparations,” if you will.

Must’ve been all those years of Brownies.

(And by years, I mean one. One class. Brownies freaking blew.)

So, yeah, without fail, I begin the pulling-down-of-the-pants, or the pulling-up-of-the-skirt, before I am actually within in the confines of a specific cube of bathroom privacy.

Which means that anyone walking in said bathroom would unwillingly be privy to a sneak preview of my bathing suit area.

Given that this is A) a women’s restroom and B) a place of work, I’ll go out on a limb here and say that none of the potential viewers want a piece of that.

And I KNOW this. I think about it every time I go to the bathroom, and think,

“Damn! I did it again! Moron… one of these days it is gonna happen, and it’s not going to be pretty. Check yoself!”

But I still do it every. damn. time.

And yesterday, Wile E. Coyote finally caught the Road Runner.

Or something.

Basically, I mooned my boss.

I'm slightly better looking.

No, that’s not accurate, actually…

I mooned my BOSS’ boss.

Is there a someecard for that?

Dammit, the Smelly Kid is… ME!

LiLu — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 13:39:09 +0000

Last Friday, we had a little whine ‘n cheese party for a colleague who’s retiring. Which is nice and all, if you’re into forced smalltalk with a group of lawyers who constantly ask a) when you’re going to law school (never?); b) when you’re getting married; and c) what did you do last weekend so they can live vicariously through you.

But seeing as it was FRIDAY!!!!! and we’d been given permission to leave at 2 pm for the holiday weekend, I listened to the head honcho give his speech, bobbed my head knowingly at the appropriate moments, and then made like a tree back to my office cubicle wide open desk in the middle of a room where every single person can see my shit.

Hmm. I really need to stop looking at stuffonmycat.com.

Anyhoodle, I had work to finish, and hot damn if I was gonna be in the building even a minute after 2. (I am nothing if not a dedicated employee. …Dedicated to getting the fuck out of as soon as possible, that is.)

People were filtering in and out from the party while I worked, but I was as one-track-minded as a 13 year old boy watching Basic Instinct for the first time.

It was 1:53 and the clock was ticking down. Jack Bauer had nothing on me as I furiously printed, copied, emailed, and TPS-reported my way towards the deadline.

As I began the requisite preparations for my departure (starting with the change to flipflops under the desk, and working my way up to the more obvious “I’m OUTTAAAAAAAAAA HERE!!!!! turning off of the computer), my nostrils were very suddenly assaulted by an extremely pungent odor. The scent of a sweaty man’s gym socks punched me in the face, while an eau de Jersey Turnpike gave me a one-two uppercut to the nose.

Dazed and confused (FAH Q!), I quickly looked down at myself in horror. Was it even possible for a human being to smell that way?? I hadn’t worked out, I’d showered that morning, I have no history with any sort of BO (no, this does NOT count)… in fact, I’d NEVER smelled anything so horrible emanating from any living creature (well, other than kitten diarrhea) in my life.

Just as I was devising an emergency plan of action to get down to the office gym showers jump out the window out of pure mortification, I happened to glance over at the table to my right, aka our office’s “dumping ground” for all things edible, be it holiday treats, party leftovers, etc.

Sitting there, with those wavy lines in the air literally enamating from the source, was a plate of the moldiest, stinkiest cheese this side of the Atlantic.

(Gotta give the Frenchies their due. I’m sure they’ve come up with something smellier. But I never, ever want to meet it.)

After I wept tears of relief that I was not to be the new poster child for Smelly Kids Anonymous, I grabbed my bag and checked out a whopping five minutes early. I figured I’d earned it.

Though thankfully, there were no battle wounds odors to prove it.

The Shiz My Boyfriend Says, Vol. XXVII

LiLu — Wed, 05 May 2010 13:19:23 +0000

You all know this game by now. Time for another installment of “The Shiz My Boyfriend Says.” Woot!

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In bed, Axe Murderer is within grabbing distance…

B: Hey, grab me a cat!

I snatch her up and try to cat-wrangle her, but fail… and she jumps away, using my left boob as a platform.

Me: Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!

B: That’s what you get for grabbing her.

Me: You told me to grab you a cat!!!!

B: Psssh. If I told you to jump off a bridge would you do it?

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On gchat…

Me: I don’t want to work out tonight. I’m periody.

B: I dont want to work out either… I’m sympathy-periody.

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While watching Dexter; the main character is having a hard time assisting a friend suffering from lung cancer with suicide…

Me: Would you kill me if I was suffering like that?

B: Totally.

Me: You WOULD?

B: Sure. {All tender and shit} You know, if you really wanted me to.

Moments later, the conversation turns to the notion that Murray and Axe Murderer will, in fact, pass on one day.

B: Stop! No! They’ll never leave us!!

Me: OH. So you can cavalierly discuss going all Kevorkian on me, but the mere mention of our cats dying someday is unthinkable?!

B: Pretty much.

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As we’re about to watch Vampire Diaries…

B: Ready for some VD?!

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Domestic bliss, my friends.

Mojo.

LiLu — Mon, 03 May 2010 12:37:57 +0000

… is what I would name my monkey if I could get my hands on one.

Because then at least we’d HAVE some round these parts.

I’m not sure what it is lately. My own mother recently asked me if I just wasn’t writing about my life…

Or if it was just *that* boring.

(In not those exact words, perhaps, but, yanno. A daugter knows.)

The problem is, my life IS boring… boring, and simple, and drama free, and oh so goddamn CONTENT.

I have my man. My amazing friends, both near and far. A couple of furbabies that make me laugh for hours on end, a couch made for my ass to sink into, and Netflix streaming in all the watch-instantly Dexter and Friday Night Lights a girl could ever want.

Life is good.

Maybe a little *too* good… because I am stumped, people. What am I supposed to share with you? The glorious view of my cat’s butt from the couch and how happy it makes me?

Oh, shit… I already did that.

No shame. ... (Okay, a LITTLE shame.)

Of course, there was this past Saturday night, when we had to beat down some d-bag in AdMo for calling random chicks pregnant on the street, before dancing the night away with some odd ducks wearing fanny packs and fighting off the 21 year old trying- very poorly, I might add- to roofie Lexa.

Maybe my life isn’t as boring as I think…

MIA

LiLu — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 14:10:51 +0000

I’m going to be a bit MIA while I rock this whole jury duty thing, but I figured I could give you a taste of how my weekend was. My dear friend cavy was in town, so I figured the only thing to do was throw her a party.

This is how that went.

Actually, this is just the tiniest TASTE of how that went. Let’s just say there will be the vlog to end all vlogs tomorrow, inspired by Tosh.0’s “surprise trust falls.”

You’ll see.

Trust me.

(Thanks to Berto and Lex for the image credit. You can split responsibility as Axe Murderer’s sponsor when she enters AA.)

The Shiz My Boyfriend Says, Vol. XXV

LiLu — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 13:13:51 +0000

You all know this game by now. Time for another installment of “The Shiz My Boyfriend Says.” Woot!

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In bed, contemplating the next round of our workout program…

B: Maybe you can do a real pull up tomorrow!

Me: {skeptical glance}

B: C’mon, it’ll be useful- you know, if you’re ever in a big hole! Or a well. A well with a bar in it. … {ponders introspectively…} It would suck to die in a well.

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On the couch…

Me: You’re breathing loudly over there. Are you mouth breathing?? You know what they say about mouth breathers.

B: That they breathe better because mouths are bigger than noses? Is that what they say?!

***Ed. note: B is NOT a mouth breather. This was a fluke, hence why I commented on it. Gross.***

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Watching the furbabies fight, and for once, Murray is winning…

Me: Axe Murderer’s getting fat, man.

B: {all defensive and shit} She’s not fat! She’s just pleasantly plump.

Me: *skeptical side-eye glance*

B: Well, she’s not pleasant… so that kind of rules that out, huh? I guess she’s just plump.

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After brunch with the girls, I arrive home on Sunday to find B lounging on the couch… with a towel rolled up behind his neck.

Me: Um. Why do you have a towel rolled behind your head?

B: So I don’t have to hold my head up to watch TV! DUH!

Me: ……………………………

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I guess we really do need one of those ridiculous neck contraptions from SkyMall.

Don’t forget to check out my round up today on DC Blogs!

TMI Thursday: In Which God Proves Maybe He Doesn’t Hate Me (That Much)

LiLu — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 12:58:21 +0000

***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Steal this button and put it in your post just by copying and pasting the html code in the box below, or just link back to the hub with this link, so your readers can read ALLLLLLL the TMI glory, and I’ll make sure to link to you.***

Now get ready, my darlings, for the ever popular, yet gravely feared, TMI THURSDAYS…

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Every now and then, we have to go and see these things called doctors.

Wait! Don’t go! I promise this isn’t about healthcare!

(But by the end, you might wish it were.)

Ahem.

I had a simple physical scheduled last week. Unfortunately, it turned out to be an incredibly busy day at work, but appointments can take weeks to get at my doc, so I sacrificed my lunch hour and prayed it wouldn’t take much longer than that.

As I was rushing out of the office, I realized that although I’d had my morning coffee, I had NOT had my morning TCOB. There was no time, however- never enough time, Zack!!- so I mentally shrugged and raced to the doctor’s, hoping for the best.

By the time I was verifying my insurance at the front desk, I was dancin’. You know what I mean… the pee pee dance with clenched cheeks? Prairie doggin’ it? Turtle heading?

Yeah. That.

I did a jig while the desk clerk slowwwly processed my co-pay, and slumped into a chair in the waiting room to assess my options. Finally, I spotted the bathroom across the room…

Of course. A onesie.

Sigh.

I had a brief internal struggle, but my body quickly beat out my mind in the “over matter” battle. Trying to look casual, I sauntered over and nonchalantly closed the door behind me… and went into action.

A cool minute and a spritz of Lysol later, I emerged as calmly as I’d gone in, and innocently plopped back down in my chair, hoping to appear engrossed in the May 2007 edition of GQ.

Approximately 30 seconds later, a very proper and professional looking middle-aged man set down his coffee and headed for the restroom.

Say it with me, in “Legend of the Seeker“-style slow-mo:

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!

Alas, there was nothing to be done. As I waited anxiously for his inevitable departure and judgmental stare, I pondered escape routes and prayed for my name to be called.

And then, from the heavens above… a miracle. An elderly man got up and swung the bathroom door open before any of us spectators could say a word.

An exchange so uncomfortable I can’t quite put it into words ensued, as the flustered old man decided to hold the door open while he apologized profusely, rather than, um, CLOSING IT.

Somehow, I managed to hide my smile, but inside I did a happy dance of epic proportions. The last thing anyone would be thinking about now was what the girl in the cute purple dress had done in there. Upon the man’s departure, instead of me receiving the Judgy Eye? I gave him one of pitying sympathy…

And all was right with the world.

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Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

Classy in Philadelphia’s TMI Thursday- The Time I Had No Idea How He Got Naked

That Kind of Girl’s TKOG Who wins at restrooms forever (TMI Thursday)

Mary’s TMIT: The Most Shameful of Walks

Ella Unread’s TMI THURSDAY – SENIOR DOGS FART AND BURP

P’s TMI THURSDAY: THE FACE LICKER

confessor69’s TMI Thursday: Things You Should NEVER Do in Your Closet

Floreta’s Head Lice

Heather’s TMI Thursday: A Different Kind of Pee Pee Dance

Sean’s TMI Thursday: Blister in the Sun

Torn’s TMI Thursday–Is that Pee?

Lucy’s TMI Thursday: Spice up the Marriage

Meleah’s Public Service Announcement – TMI Style

Bev’s TMI Thursday: Why I Don’t Drink Gin

Adam L’s TMI Thursday: The Joys of Running, Part V: I Forgot What?

Lisa’s Dear Mr. Echo

Cleveland Poet’s Tmi Thursday: The bj and the scab

amber murphy’s TMI Thursday: in which i should have said nothing at all

Brainless’ TMI Thursday: This post is NOT politically correct

Kernut’s My First Brush With The Law

I Would Like My Headstone to Say “Killed (Indirectly) By One Stringer Bell,” Please

LiLu — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 12:36:55 +0000

Last evening, B and I had our nightly battle in which he attempts to convince me to scratch his NAKED back, and I wail and protest and squirm and add multiple syllables to words in true five-year-old whining fashion. I will not go gentle into that good night!

Now, I’ve talked about this before- twice- I just cannot STAND the idea of all those dead, flaky skin cells cropping up underneath my fingernails. It makes me own skin, well, crawl. (Ew.)

When first confronted with my dead skin phobia,* he maintained it was worth my suffering because then if he ever murdered me, I’d be fortunate enough to have his DNA under my nails to prove it was him. Which doesn’t really work out because then I’m A) dead, and B) he is a tricky bastard and we’ve watched all five seasons of The Wire, so I’m pretty sure homeboy knows how to get rid of a dead body by now. You just don’t watch Stringer Bell operate without picking up a thing or two.

Mmmmmmmmmmm.

Anyhoo, this was his new and improved argument last night:

B: {rips off shirt} Baby, will you *please* scratch my back??

Me: Gross!! You know I hate that!

B: {puppy dog eyes}

Me: Fine. Put your shirt back on and I will.

B: {heavy sigh} Then I can’t FEEL anything! Come on, think about it. That’s like asking someone to put pants on before they bone you!!!

Me: ………………………

Too-shay, my dear. Too-shay.

He may have won last night. But he can’t come up with these forever.

Can he?

*cringe*

*This is no way applies to peeling off sunburned skin flakes. That, of course, is pure awesome.**

**I NEVER CLAIMED I MADE SENSE. Shuttup.

Are You Watching This?

LiLu — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 13:15:33 +0000

Because you should be… and not just because it has the best opening credits song since The Wire.

(Click here for more info.)

Listen to me. I’m a doctor.*

*of Loooooooooooooove.**

**Also, shuttup. I am recovering from a bachelorette and it may have been my first one but dayum, y’all… I am TOO OLD for this shit.

The Shiz My Boyfriend Says, Volume XXIV

LiLu — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 14:34:29 +0000

You all know this game by now. Time for another installment of “The Shiz My Boyfriend Says.” Woot!

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Watching the cats, which are about a year old now (!).

B: Are they going to get bigger?

Me: Maybe a little bit, but no, this is pretty much it.

B: Goddamm it! I wanted giant cats!

Me: The hell? You said you were sad when they got bigger!

B: I either wanted tiny cats or HUGE cats! Not medium sized!

Me: ……….

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While watching “Fringe“…

B: Wouldn’t it suck if your son died and you stole a new one from another dimension and then HE died?

Me: Well, couldn’t you just get another from another dimension?

B: It’s not that easy!

Me: You don’t know that.

B: I’ve done it twice already.

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Sitting on the couch…

B: I’m gonna go get my poop on. Oh wait… we’re out of toilet paper. Never mind.

Me: You’re not going to poop because there’s no TP? We have paper towels.

B: Nah…. I went earlier today. Not worth it. It’s not a diarrhea or anything.

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B looks up from the Medieval-ish book he’s reading, A Game of Thrones.

B: I want a Direwolf!

Me: Qué?

B: It’s a wolf as big as a horse.

Me: But what about the kitties?

B: Well it wouldn’t eat US or the kitties… only other people! [Dumbfounded] You don’t want this?!

Me: Baby, we didn’t get a DOG because we don’t have room.

B: Well, YEAH, but what if size didn’t matter? What if we had a farm??

Me: Well… can I ride it?

B: Of COURSE you can fucking ride it! Don’t be an ijit! I mean, look at Murray. He’s cute and all, but he’s so SMALL. And how many throats has he ripped out? NONE!!

Me: ……….

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Happy weekend, y’all!

TMI Thursday: Clint Eastwood Would’ve Lost This Stand Off

LiLu — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 13:26:50 +0000

Now get ready, my darlings, for the ever popular, yet gravely feared, TMI THURSDAYS…

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A couple days ago, am email from a dear friend- who shall remain anonymous- popped up in my inbox with the ever so simple title, “TMI.”

Uh oh.

And, my friends… it did not disappoint.

So a couple of my friends are taking these weight loss/multi vitamin supplements that they absolutely swear by. I’m always skeptical of these things (for obvious reasons), but they talked my ear off for a good 20 minutes till I finally caved and said I’d try them and my friend gave me enough for 3 days.

Then came the warning. The first day you take them, they said, you’d have massive amounts of energy… and at 3PM on the dot, be near a bathroom. Trust us, your stomach will rumble and you will have seconds to get to a bathroom.

Ok, how bad can it be? Considering I’m not the most regular of people, I figured this might actually be a good thing for my digestive system.

The next day I take them in the morning, and lo and behold my appetite is diminished and I have a lot of energy, and as predicted at 3PM my stomach started rumbling. I ran to the bathroom and took one of the most massive and loudest poops of my life. I mean I was in that bathroom for at least 30 minutes.

The second day, I took them again, and again at 3PM big poo, but less… intense.. than the day before.

The next day was a Monday. I was a bit concerned about having to poo at work, but my hall is pretty quiet so I figured there was no fear. At 2:45 my stomach starts to rumble. I was in the middle of something urgent and started to get concerned but I made it to the bathroom. I get there, run to the last stall and, thankfully, I’m alone. You never realize how loud a poop is until you’re in an office bathroom praying no one comes in. I was almost done, and very quiet, when someone came in. She, whoever she was, takes the first stall and immediately starts farting and pooping simultaneously. The noises coming out of this woman (like the noises I was likely making not 2 days before) were worthy of a movie. Like the battleship scene in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle.

I wasn’t finished, but I couldn’t just get up either. That’s when I realized because I’d been so quiet up till then she must’ve thought she was alone.

Then came the stand off.

We were both trying to hold it for several minutes waiting to see what the other would do. Considering I’d been there longer, I had the lead so I quickly finished my business and got up washed my hands and ran out of there as fast as I could without even glancing in her stall’s direction.

So yeah, definitely TMI.

And, once I stopped laughing, my response…

Hahahaha!!!!!!!! Amazing! I had a stand off of my own today, actually, but nothing that drastic.

And I totally won.

But then I realized I was wearing ZEBRA flats, so if she so much as peeked… I’m done for.

Happy TMI Thursday, y’all. Don’t forget to check out my round up on DC Blogs today!

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Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

That Kind of Girl guest posting on Rebel Mel’s: The Least Hygienic Hook-Up Ever (and how it made me momentarily internet-famous)

imerika’s TMI Thursday: The Night I Broke My Boyfriend’s Penis

Carissa Jade’s TMI Thursday: My P-phone and how I lost it

Stephanie’s TMI Thursday: When Friends Share EVERYTHING!

Sebastian’s Why men pick their nose (an ‘exploratory’ video)

miss*H’s TMI Thursday: The one where my knickers got wet…

LivingWicked’s TMIThursday: Of COURSE You Are Hot.

Spleen’s TMI Thursday: NO frontal nudity! I promise.

Floreta’s How To Eat a Baby Duck Fetus

Adam L’s TMI Thursday: The Joys of Running Part III: The Black Badge of Courage

Wife & Blog’s TMI Thursday: My Monthly Cycles

Travis’ TMI Thursday: Yes I HAVE Almost Broken Both Legs While Masturbating.

Bev’s TMI Thursday: It’s Raining Men

Hey Smalls’ TMI Thursday: VOM

Just Linda’s Give Me ‘Pause (menopause, that is)

Heather’s TMI Thursday: Barf-O-Rama!

Cleveland Poet’s TMI THURSDAY: That’s not a urinal cake

Lisa’s TMI Thursday – Something in the Air

Kate’s TMI Thursday – Occupational Hazards

MJenks’ TMI Thursday: Mid-Morning Wood

Torn’s TMI Thursday

Pat’s TMI Thursday – The “Ins” and “Outs” of an Ultra Sound

The Sassy Seminarian’s TMI Thursday: Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go…tomorrow?

Sharky’s TMI Thursday: I hope my kids are cute.

Vittoria’s TMIT: I’m not pregnant!

confessor69’s TMI Thursday: When You Get the Job In Spite of Your Pee-Suit

Lucy’s TMI Thursday: Family Dinner

Amy’s TMI Thursday: Thongs vs. Panty Line

Cammy’s TMI Thursday: He Pushed my Head Down

Dominick Bonny’s TMI Thursday: Am I racist?

Jeney Peney’s TMI Thursday – Holy Crap

Debbie Does Dallas 14: “My Gym Locker Room”

LiLu — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 13:49:34 +0000

Dear ladies in the OFFICE BUILDING gym locker room,

Tatas. Hoo-has. Heinies of all shapes and sizes.

We’ve all got ‘em, to be sure. I’ve seen a boob or ten in my day, and I in no way oppose nudity. I am no Charlotte York; a good skinny dip never hurt anybody. (Unless you can’t swim. Then why the hell were you skinny dipping, idjit??)

But. As Jerry Seinfeld explained to us, there is “good” naked… and there is “bad” naked.

Good naked?

Making pancakes for your significant other on a lazy Sunday afternoon in just that cute little apron. (Not ME, Mom. Like, in movies and stuff. Yeah…)

Bad naked?

Having a ten minute chat with a fellow employee- or God forbid, ME- with the poon just haaaangin out there, waving at me all the while.

(P.S.? If you can braid it, it’s TOO LONG.)

And then. Then when you finally wrap up said chat about your boss (gross) or your children (grosser) or your I-can’t-hear-you-because-I-just-stabbed-myself-in-the-eardrum-with-one-of-the-free-tampons-just-to-make-it-STOP, then…

You cavalierly saunter over to the sink, and begin to blow dry your hair…

With daddy long leg vadge and pancake boobs swinging proudly, for all to see.

*………..*

Look.

I am not a particularly modest woman.

I feed the cats in my birthday suit every morning as I get ready for work. I’ll pee in front of any woman I’ve known and adored for at least five minutes. I’ll happily discuss an interesting bowel movement- “It looked like prepubscent Jesus’ beard!”- with, well, anyone who’ll listen. (And preferably, chime in with a battle/glory story of their own.)

And so, dear ladies at my office gym, I say this to you. If I, of all people, find your utter lack of modesty offensive…

May the heavens above have mercy on your naked ass soul.

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***What are you doing for St. Paddy’s Day? I know I’ll be rocking out at Shamrock Fest, March 13th at RFD Stadium. Booze, live music (including LMFAO what!!), and an excuse to wear a ridiculous hat? I’m there. Hopefully you will be too!***

The Rules to PWNing Karaoke, a la LiLu

LiLu — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 13:56:54 +0000

I woke up yesterday morning to an SOS message in my inbox.

“Dear Lilu…aka Karaoke Queen….

I have NEVER been….

I have been invited to go….

March 13….

Would you consider writing a blog post on HOW TO KARAOKE?

I mean seriously….how many drinks are involved?

Do you pick a song based on ease of lyrics or personal love?

I am intrigued and terrified at the same time.”

~ Donna

Well, Donna. Given that I know a little something about unabashedly crooning for strangers, particularly in seedy bars, how could I not help a sister out?

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The Rules to PWNing Karaoke

First things first. You want to get there early and snag a table with an excellent view of the humiliations- I mean, performances. Choose a place that serves ginormous beers on the cheap so you don’t miss having your name called by the DJ while ordering a beverage. You should occasionally have someone bring a round of shots by to lube the wind pipes your dignity.

Drink heavily and with purpose. You need to be bordering on sloppy drunk but perform justbefore going over the edge. Timing is of the essence here, people.

Now, the venue. It’s preferable if the place is extra shady; things like poor lighting and the stunted walls of an acoustically-challenged basement can only help you here, folks.

Next, you’re going to need a group of friends to share the pathetic experience with you. More is better because it increases the chances of anyone remembering anything. Less is better because it decreases the chances of anyone remembering anything. Either way, you should definitely choose them from the “Will Have to Love You Anyway” pile.

Now it’s song choice time. There are a few basic rules to this:

1. Make sure you know either 50% of the words or 100% of the beat. Make SURE. Just because you rocked City High’s “What Would You Do” in high school doesn’t mean you can do it now, friend. Trust.

2. Choose a song the whole bar will want to sing. Unless you’ve actually got serious skills, class participation is key to making everyone forget that you probably kind of blow at this. Also? Nothing downer, unless it’s hilarious, like All 4 One’s “I Swear.” No one wants to hear you wail out to T.L.C.’s ”Waterfall” or, God forbid, Oasis’ “Wonderwall.” Save that for the car. (Not applicable when driving in Southeast D.C.)

3. DO NOT choose one of the most cliché karaoke songs ever. It makes the bartender groan because you are now that person that put on “Friends in Low Places” or ”Don’t Stop Believin’” for the eleventy millionth time . I don’t care if it reminds you of college and a time when you didn’t know what IBS was. Do not be That Guy/Girl.

(…Let someone else do it. Because I guarantee they will, and then you get to sing it anyway. God, I love those songs.)

Once you take the stage, which should be earlier on the night (you don’t want to have to follow anything awesome- you want to BE the awesome!)… anyhoo, you’re going to want to have a set of decent and/or ridiculous but wholly entertaining dance moves at your disposal. These will be helpful during musical interludes, places where you flat out forget lines or totally lose the beat, or to dodge items should they start, um… coming your way. (Remember the five D’s: dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge!)

There’s really only one word you need to know to give a unique and memorable karaoke performance:

COMMITMENT.

Don’t half-ass it, folks. If you suck, suck royally. If you dance, dance your heart out. If you don’t know the words, sing louder. OWN your time on that stage. Own it hard.

Whether you like it or not, friend, you’re putting on a show. You might as well make it epic… for better or for worse.

***Update!

Addendum: When coming to the grandiose finish of your performance, no matter WHAT song you’re singing, you must thrust your arms in the air in a “V for Victory!” fashion and shout, “KNIBB HIGH FOOTBALL RULES!!!!!!!!!!”

That is all.***

What? Cartoons Can Be SCARY!!!

LiLu — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 14:11:00 +0000

Thoughts and tidbits from my “draft ideas” folder that never quite made it into posts, but are rather entertaining all on their lonesome (says me):

1. (Inspired by Avatar): I really wish evolution hadn’t done away with our tails. How much fun would that be? What a great conversational starter in bars! The physical comedy possibilities alone are ENDLESS.

2. Every time someone farts in bed (not ME, of course, I would never), I think about the scene in Good Will Hunting where Robin Williams tells the story of the time his wife farted so loud she woke herself up and asked, “What was that??”

3. A delightful observation Foilwoman had over drinks a few weeks ago: twittering a conversation between two people- “Hey, I’ll be there in five minutes! Order me a beer!” “Okay, I’m to the left of the bar! I might order some chicken fingers!”- is the equivalent of talking really, really loudly on the metro. Whether it’s to a friend or (even more annoying) on the phone, we can alllllllllllll hear you. And, yanno… WE’D RATHER NOT.

4. Sometimes, I wish I was a more organized person. But I’ve decided that A) it’s part of my charm, and B) what the hell would y’all read about?

5. I quite often have visions of really odd things I would love to spring on people, just to see what they do. For instance, I have this recurring daydream where, during the groggy-ass morning bus commute when everyone looks like they want to kill themselves… I suddenly BLAST Lady’s Gaga’s “Just Dance” at top volume and boogie my heart out. How many people would join me in a gigantic, unprecedented dance party? (How many would call the police?)

6. I believe that dressing a man- (helping him with his cufflinks, straightening his tie)- is even hotter than undressing him… when you love him.

7. Speaking of undressing, I have a tendency to start to undress as I’m walking into the bathroom stall. You know, at work. This is absolutely going to get me in trouble one of these days… yet I do it anyway.

8. Whenever I leave a totally sappy, not-at-all-funny comment on someone’s blog, I’m always afraid Maxie will stumble on it and make fun of me. (Ed. note: Because I totally would do it to her, too.)

9. If someone took a movie of me watching a movie, it would probably be the greatest youtube video EVER. Even in the theater, my face is throughout a ridiculous overdramatized reaction to whatever’s happening on screen. I am also not allowed to have a wine glass in hand when “scary parts” come on. (“Scary parts” range from a slasher/babysitting movie to any time things get a little too tense in a Pixar flick.)

ZOMG watch out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

10. (Seeing as it’s Wednesday and all)… Would you rather have your partner cheat on you with a member of the same sex, or of the opposite? (This question brought to you by a friend far, far away that none of you know who caught her fiancé… well, um. NOT with a woman, but definitely cheating.)

Free Stuff Makes Me Happy in My Pants

LiLu — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 15:55:27 +0000

(Sidebar: As long as I’m doing reviews, the apartment is sorely in need of some new and fantastic bar stools before we throw our next shindig, and this site is totally tempting me…)

So, this weekend I was lucky enough to get some free stuff. When is that ever a bad thing?

Answer: When it’s an STD.

Zing!!!!!!

Anyhoo.

First up, a lovely lady from Glasses USA asked if I’d like a free pair of eyeglasses. (They also have prescription glasses, and their prices seem pretty darn reasonable to me.)

My answer?

I went with the Michele Burgandy eyeglass frames, mostly because the name reminded me of Anchor Man but also because they are kind of awesome, no? They even inspired my new Twitter profile pic!

Yeah… so… that happened. Moving on!

(Oh, and just in case you can’t see what I’m reading…)

Yes, that is Glamourpuss, by the genius people from KittyWigs. Anytime y’all want to send me something to “review,” I am GAME, ya hear me?

Next up, another lovely lady was wondering if I’d like to try some magical new skin lotion from Skin MD. (Okay, she didn’t say magical, but it is snOMG here and I am SCOTCH-IRISH, people. Just imagine what my hands look like right about now. Any sort of lotion is magic to me at this point.)

At first touch I was skeptical, as it seemed a little runny. I tend to like the super thick, almost-impossible-to-spread cremes and lotions. But it quickly absorbed and seems to be doing its job quite nicely, thankyouverymuch. If you want to try it, their store locator can help you find some near you.

And finally… well, yesterday was Valentine’s Day! So of course I got free stuff, aka presents!

The man?

HE KNOWS ME.

That’s right, my friends. He got me a completely badass giraffe computer bag for the new Mac…

And six pounds of ketchup.

Klassy.

(The cats approved.)

Trouble, I tell ya. With a capital “T” and that rhymes with “P” and that stands for Pussy!

Oh, is that not how it goes?

Happy Monday, chickadees.

I Don’t Get (or Get) Cabin Fever.

LiLu — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 15:19:31 +0000

Today, I am at the office.

It is, thanks to snOMG, the first time since last Thursday.

All week, I’ve heard growing moans of despair as the District announced snow day after snow day.

To the moaners I say… What. The. Fuck. Is wrongwithyou???

Every night this week, B and I waited anxiously to be granted yet another day of heaven in our cocoon of cat, food, booze, not showering, and Netflix on demand. We rooted for the Impossibly Corny Newscasters as though they were announcing the lottery, and exploded with high fives and fist pumps every time the Federal Government’s roulette coin landed on “snow day – white.”

Every night, we were rewarded.

Until last night.

I know it was greedy. I know it was selfish. I know people out there were without power or internet or their sanity and I sympathize with them- I do.

But for me? This week was a gift from the ancient gods. Something so magical it would never have occurred to me to do, and therefore all the more special…

A ONE-WEEK STAYCATION.

Followed by a long weekend.

DC may know it as the Snowpocalypse of 2010… I will remember it as the week all my dreams came true.

Oh, and also the week we learned that Axe Murderer barks at squirrels when we’re gone all day. First Murray fetching, now this? I guess I was wrong when I told B he couldn’t turn the cats into dogs…

(Hopefully you can hear the audio- my work computer’s speaker isn’t powerful enough. But if you can’t, isn’t she preeeeeeeeeeeeeeetty?)

P.S. My lovely friend Stevie in Seattle’s brother is currently serving America the Beautiful in Iraq, and soon he will make a lucky woman his bride. Please click here to read their story on Stevie’s site and vote for him and his fiance to give them the wedding of their dreams!!!

TMI Thursday: T.C.O.B.

LiLu — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 14:09:40 +0000

Now get ready, my darlings, for the ever popular, yet gravely feared, TMI THURSDAYS…

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This is a short-but-sweet, my friends.

Well, maybe “sweet” isn’t the right word…

Short-but-PUNGENT, perhaps?

You’ll see.

Yesterday morning, I made a pot of coffee before B got up, so that he could wake up to fresh coffee. There are few things that excite the man as much, and I really should do it more often, if only to hear his squeals of joy.

An hour later or so, he looked over at me tenderly, and said this:

B: “Baby?

Me: “Yes, dear?”

B: “I need to go T.C.O.B.“

Me: “Uhhh. Okay… thanks for the status update? We have Google Buzz for that now, though.”*

B: “Well, I was just wondering if you needed to pee first.”

Me: “Awwwwww. No, I’m good. You go right ahead. But thanks.”

Now that is what I call true love and consideration for one’s partner.

(This story brought to you by Two People, One Bathroom Productions.)

*I didn’t really say that. But it would have been a GREAT one, no?

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Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

Classy in Philadelphia’s TMI Thursday- The Time I Accidentally Made Out With A Freshman

That Kind of Girl’s TKOG Who spills the bloody details

PQ’s TMIT: Frosbitten Indecent Exposure

The Sassy Seminarian’s TMI Thursday: Dining Hall Dash

Jenny DB’s TMI Th: anything but anal

P’s TMI THURSDAY: GONE TO THE DOGS/HORSES/SHEEP/GOATS/INSERT OTHER ANIMAL HERE . . . NOT LITERALLY!!!

BigSis’ TMI Thursday: Feeling Crafty?