It’s so hard to write anything meaningful lately, and I don’t know why. I struggle all the time with it – I can’t and don’t want to let go of this place, but I’m also not happy with the way it’s going (or… not going). I miss having this place be a true outlet and place for feedback and laughs and advise… you know, that whole community thing.

Is it because I’m happy (e.g. my life is boring)? Perhaps. While I’ve got a ton of stuff going on, there is little to no drama involved. It’s all cool new projects, brunch and happy hours with friends, coffees with potential business partners, traveling to attending and speak at events. It’s a blast, but let’s face it – the best writing comes from angry/sad places, and I just don’t have any of that going on. (And um, lest y’all start throwing things – this is not a complaint!)

Drawing from above, it is simply how utterly, ridiculously busy I am? Definitely in part. But I used to write every morning on the bus on the way to work. That time’s still there, but I’m not using it. Instead I’m flipping through Twitter and Instagram, opting for real time conversations over the investment of a blog post.

Perhaps, as evidenced by my Gen-Y attention span, I just like the immediate gratification of the short-burst platforms better. With Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, people instantly like, respond, comment. Blog posts take a lot of work, and there’s no guarantee it will even be read. If I tweet something hilarious but no one reads it, life goes on. I only wasted 20 seconds or so. But if I spend an hour on a post and no one gives a shit, well, that hurts.

And the way I used to write (back when I was REALLY writing)… I edited over and over and over. For me, it was the telling of a story, and I needed it to be perfect. That’s not where I am anymore – I want to get back to writing honestly, and raw, if there’s anything left in me like that.

I’m going to try and dig it out. I miss it.

Mama said share.

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WARNING: These are the things I think about when I’m in that weird, not-quite-awake, half-dreaming place…

Imagine for a moment that there were no domestic cats in the world.

No Persians, no tabbies, no orange tiger kitties. No Siamese, no calicos, no tuxedos. They just never existed.

Now, imagine you went to the zoo, and you saw the Big Cats prowling around, all majestic and such:

You would look at these guys, and you would think to yourself:

“My lands, those are some fanciful beasts! What a pity there isn’t a teeny tiny version of them I could keep in mine own house. It would be like a mini horse, except a feline – just a wee tiger I could tussle and play with, but it would fit in my apartment and not be able to kill me!”

(You would SO use those words. Would too!)

Can you imagine how unbelievably cool that would be? To have a perfect, tiny lion/tiger/jaguar/panther just WALKING AROUND YOUR LIVING ROOM on the reg?!?!

You’d be all, oh, NBD, I just happen to have a freaking MINIATURE LEOPARD curled up next to me in bed. Juan likes to be the little spoon.

Mini cats: pretty much the best thing that could ever exist in the universe. AND THEY DO.

Well played, world. Well. Played.

Mama said share.

You all know that person. You’re out with friends, talking about the hilarious episode of The Office from last week, and suddenly, you hear someone sneer…

“Oh, how can you even WATCH that? The British version is soooooooooooooo much better.”

You know what? We get it. The British version of everything is always sooooooo much BETTER. So much more SOPHISTICATED and QUIRKY and POOR QUALITY FILM which makes it that much more AUTHEEEEEENTIC!!!!!!!!

And here’s the kicker. Every. single. time you do this, you act like it’s a novel thought. Hate to break it to you, mate, but you’re kiiind of a cliche at this point.

So save your breath, you angry Brit-TV-ophiles, because I happen to think MY Jim Halpert is just fine.

(More than fine, in fact. I’d be his Pam any day.)

I love them BOTH. And that's? Okay.

Look, I love me a Ricky Gervais cameo. Emma Thompson is pure genius. And who *doesn’t* want to bang Colin Firth?? But at the end of the day, British shows just don’t really do it for me. Maybe that makes me unsophisticated , or vapid, or just plain not-a-Communist… either way, I’m cool with it.

(P.S.- Aren’t you sort of the same people who love to brag about how they don’t own TVs by choice? How are you even watching these shows in the first place, again?)

/rant.

And to all my lovely friends across the pond: it’s not you. It’s the people here who won’t shut up ABOUT you(r bloody programming).

Cheers!

Mama said share.

So, remember that time I wrote this super whiny post about “blah blah my life is so hard because I’m doing way too much of all the things I love to do BUT ALSO I’D LIKE TO GET PAID FOR IT PLEASE”? And you guys were totally awesome and you were all “Dude. We hear you. You rock. If you whine build it, it will come” and that’s why I freaking love you so much?

Thanks for that. Seriously. Likealot.

(((Group hug)))

Moving on!

So, since I’ve been rocking this whole “OMG one foot in front of the goddamn other” ‘tude, I’ve noticed that every tiny little thing that happens has a very, uh, magnified effect in regards to how I feeeeeeeeeel about it. Basically, if I stub my toe, or I rip my tights, or that Thai for lunch gives me heartburn (which it does because I’m eighty apparently)…

DAY = RUINED.

Fortunately, this extreme seems to go both ways, in that something like buying tickets to see an awesomely bad movie or knowing that you’re getting on a plane to Boulder in the morning or a particularly awesome gif can mean

DAY = TOTALLY REDEEMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Case in point:

I noticed I was dangerously close to being out of face wash on Monday. Le sad.

So I stopped at CVS and, remembering what the kind lady from my recent splurge-facial (oh god there’s at least 15 jokes in there) told me about the necessity for microbeads in one’s life, I picked up this bad boy from Neutrogena:

Simple enough, right?

Fast forward to the next morning.

You know that super, SUPER annoying commercial, with the two girls who are allegedly supposed to be dorm mates and one of them totes has a hangover even though they’re clearly preteens, and the non-hungover crazy peppy whore is all “I know what you need, gurrrrl, you need some of this amazing unicorn-urine-punch-you-in-the-face-with-special-zit-removal-powers-and-happiness face wash!!!” And the other girl is all “FINE, Peyton, I’ll use your stupid unicorn shit but then you have to SHUT YOUR FACE UNTIL I GET SOME BOONE’S FARM HAIR OF THE DOG IN MY LIFE”, but then she does use it and she magically comes out of her angry hangover cocoon and is born a beautiful butterfly who farts Lisa Frank rainbows and leaves a trail of glitter wherever she goes, and they start dancing around the room to some pop-alicious song about “waking up to love” or some shit, which sort of makes no sense because isn’t today’s message to women supposed to be “Forget Prince Charming, you good enough all by your badass self, chica*!”

*The “chica” is used to represent the company’s sensitivity to cultural diversity. Why am I not in marketing, again?

Right, so. Know the one I mean? No?

Seriously?

Fine. Here it is.

So ANYWAY, that commercial is so unbelievably annoying that I have to mute it every time it comes on, even though this action requires things like “movement” and “doing something other than drinking wine”, which are both things I AM OPPOSED TO DOING when I’m pantsless on the couch. That’s how much I hate it.

But.

This stupid Neutrogena face wash? For reals guys. It was just. like. that.

It makes me feel like belting out Miley in the shower while eating clementines. Because there’s just a hint of citrus in it… a GENTLE amount of citrus. The citrus hint is so tender, it’s not even mentioned on the bottle. It just wraps you up snugly in a faint and pleasant, not-overambitious citrus hug, probably with Norah Jones playing softly in the background.

And it makes me happy.

Baby steps, and the little things.

Sadly enough, I was in no way compensated for this post and the Neutrogena people don’t even know I’m alive, as far as I know. Though I am absolutely not opposed to them stumbling across this and offering me money for it. Just saying. What?

Mama said share.

Because it’s just so… well… ME.

via my favorites @ChelsTalksSmack and @LordWilliam

600 freaking posts… it’s been quite a ride. One that made us throw up sometimes, but hey, you knew what you were getting into when you started coming round this corner of the interwebs.

Happy three day freaking weekend, y’all.

Mama said share.

I’d hire someone to invent a new Twitter so I didn’t go through withdrawals. We could call it “Twatter” and it’d be like the “Slanket” to the “Snuggie.” Not quite as good, but hey, at least you still have warm elbows.

Challenge 4 | Follow Me

Overview: Our TJ needs to be courageous and unafraid. We want to see if they can be magnetic and tactful enough to maintain the attention of a busy celeb. This challenge will prove that the TJ candidates can be persuasive, charming, and persistent.

Personal: If you could only follow one person on Twitter, who would it be and why?

Okay, okay. As much as it pains me, it looks like I must truly contemplate a life with a nearly empty Twitter feed. Here we go…

There are three reasons I follow someone on the Tweet; for news, for relationships/networking (IRL friends, e-friends, local DCers I could prospectively grab a beer with sometime,) and finally… to be entertained.

Dance, Twitter monkey, DANCE!!!

Anyhoo.

Although one of my favorite things about the Tweet is the instantaneous transfer of information (much like I told the fabulous Kacie from NBC, cough awesome cough), I could technically get that from other places. I get my NY Times email in the morning, I check Perez and DListed throughout the day, and if anything REALLY big happens, I can count on it being a friend’s gchat status within moments of its breaking.

So while I love having Mashable and PeopleMag, etc. updates come to my phone, I would survive without them. Somehow.

Next, we have relationships. People I know in real life, through the blog, or around the town. Real people I interact with about said news updates, opinions, life in general. That interaction, for me, is the most important thing I get OUT of Twitter… but, technically, I could make do with Facebook. Once you’ve blocked Farmville, Mafia Wars, and whatever new ridiculous fake game with no tangible reward is all the rage now, it’s not so bad. Once again, I could make do. (First world problems, yo.)

And so, that leaves entertainment. The tweets from people that just plain make me happy in the pants. The ones that make me awkwardly snort out loud at 7:30 am on my bus, or cause a startling guffaw that makes it entirely apparent to my boss I’m totes not working.

The question is, how do you pick just ONE?? Conan, Stephen Colbert, Mickey__Rourke (not actually Mickey Rourke, but if he had one, it would be this, aka HILARIOUS), Chelsea Handler, Chunk Handler…

Yes, Chunk. Chelsea’s dog. Check it out. He has 65,000 followers for a reason.

BUT, when it came down to it, I knew in my heart who I couldn’t live without.

Every Wednesday at 10, he makes me laugh myself into hysterics, all while absolutely rocking a deep V.

He inspires me to surprise trust fall perfect strangers on the National Mall.

His own tweets are freaking hilarious, and he actually responds to and interacts with his fans, both on the Tweet itself, and to our tweets ON his show. (Mocking is still engaging, technically. Especially when you’re so damn good at it.)

And for that, Mr. Daniel Tosh…

We thank you.






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Mama said share.

Til voting, y’all!!!!!! 11 am Eastern Time, what what!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Voting will be at http://facebook.com/zync, starting at 11am Eastern Time!

And don’t forget, you can also help from now til voting ends on the 22nd by the following:

Twitter your hearts out, love muffins…

Follow @LivitLuvit, my favorite in the @MTVTJ search for MTV’s first Twitter Jockey! #zyncmtvtj #lilu4TJ

(Feel free to get creative, this suggestion is just for your copy & paste convenience. Cause I’m good like that.)

Voting TODAY! (ACK!!!) will be via Facebook. You will only get to have to vote once, so make sure we’re Facebook friends!!!

Also, you can just click here to share my plight with your friends on your Facebook wall.

Love you long time. SMOOCHES.

Update: Ask and you shall receive, lovahs. Here’s my very own Kevin McAllister rendition of how I’m feeling today:

Yes, that is an actual Motivational Poster in the background. VOTE AND GET ME OUT OF THIS CUBE FARM!!!!!!!!!

Mama said share.

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

I lied.

AGAIN. (I know.)

But I finally have a new date, chickens, and on MONDAY, JUNE 21st, you WILL be privy to my fantabulous news.

Pinky swear. And you know I can’t go back on that. ~

So, I have a bone to pick.

(Shocking, I know.)

Inventors of the world? You are seriously slacking.

Sure, technology is great and all. But you’ve kind of become a one-trick pony, haven’t you? It’s always just faster, better, smaller, 3G, 4G, 18G… I’m over it.

Those things aren’t TANGIBLE. I want something new to marvel at, something the world’s never seen the like of before.

I want a show-stopper.

I want the sandwich. I want the telephone. I want a blanket with sleeves. (Okay, that was this century. You guys get credit for that one.)

But overall, frankly, I’m unimpressed. Therefore, I’ve come up with a list of…

Things You Inventor-People Totally Should Have Invented By Now. (Get On That, and Stuff.)

1. A pill to make you short-term sick at work.

The perfect way to go home early! It would turn you green, makes your nose run like you just snorted cinnamon (or pepper, if you’re a tiger and that’s your thing), and, if necessary, induce vomiting, preferably on that coworker-you-hate’s desk.

And then, an hour later, after they’ve begged you to go home and rest… you’re back to 100%!!! …Just in time to get the best table for Happy Hour. WIN.

2. Midget stenographers, a la Chappelle.

For serious, I am so sick of trying to WRITE all my thoughts down, particularly when I’m drunk or in the middle of the night and then they’re completely illegible in the morning. Horse… playing… tetris? WTF?

It would be SO much better if I just had my own Chuy following me around that I could shout things at and they would be forever typing away with their cute little fingers

3. Hover boards.

FOR SERIOUS with this one, guys. Michael J. introduces them what, 25 years ago? in Back to the Future, Ali G tried to pitch it to the Donald, and zip. Nada.

I’m still walking to work like a goddamn Neanderthal, dodging idiot tourists and homicidal taxi cabs and Obama’s 87 car entourage.

Fix it!

WANT.

4. Teleportation.

Listen, Al Gore goes and invents the internet, you give us all these amazing ways to meet my most favoritest people from all over the world… and yet, no way to go have a freaking beer with them without spending money and time on traveling who knows where??? We need a device that will just BAM! ZING! KABLOOEY! And put all of us on our very own special Blogger Island, where we can sing karaoke and have drinks with wee umbrellas together for a few hours, before zapping back home to our respective corners of the universe.

Best. Idea. EVER.

I know.

5. A way to pee without getting up.

Oh wait… that’s a diaper.

Never mind. I’ll just invest in some of these:

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Mama said share.

So yesterday, I finally made The Switch.

You know the one I mean…

Woman to man. I’m finally a post-op transcentaur!

I kid, I kid.

Probably.

No no, my friends, I mean the most important switch any true interwebs addict (who can’t get an iPhone because of their Verizon family plan slash being poor DAMN YOU APPLE AND YOUR ADVANCED TECHNOLOGY JUST OUT OF MY REACH!!!!!) can make:

from BlackBerry… to Droid.

(Cue drum finale, cymbals, triangle!)

I’ve been wanting to switch teams (ha) for a while. The only thing I was worried about was not having real, push-me-and-feel-it-click buttons. This whole touch screen thing seems a little sketch, like the old guy at the bar who puts his cheek out for a kiss and then turns at the last second so you plant one on him.

What?

But the Droid- (hmmm, it needs a name. Eduardo? Eduardo it is)- won me over within the hour. First of all, Eddie has a KEY FOR EVERY LETTER!!!!! (Yes, I had the Pearl, aka the only Berry without a qwerty keyboard. And yes, it blew chunks. Big wet ones.)

I know, I know. I’m so behind the times. I’m basically Amish. Or the Duggars. (Having twenty kids is SO 19th century.)

Anyhoo. Not only does Eddie have a FULL keyboard, the damn thing practically knows what I want to say before I think it. Or at least, is reallyreally good at guessing. Here, I’ll prove it.

Let’s see what happens when I try to type in some of my most recent searches that led people to this here blog:

I typed:   dynp jb my pNys rmi thuesdau

Eddie knew I meant:   dump in my pants tmi thursday

I typed:   jetay shore deibkinf gae

Eddie knew I meant:    jersey shore drinking game

I typed:   tampok ibsertioncmp counselie

Eddie knew I meant:    tampon insertion camp counselor

I typed:   ccaugr jt ib rhe rheelevarir doota

Eddie knew I meant:    caught it in the elevator doors

*sigh of happiness* 

This, my friends, is the beginning of a Great Romance.

Mama said share.

Last night, as I was buried in George R. R. Martin’s third book of his “A Song of Fire and Ice” fantasy series, B looked over at me- from his iPad, no less- and said:

“Look at you. I’ve officially turned you into a nerd.”

Of course I balked, because I’ve always thought of myself as more of a Dork than a Nerd, but upon reflection…

He’s right.

As the all-knowing Urban Dictionary says,

vs…

We watch Legend of the Seeker, Merlin, and Avatar: The Last Airbender religiously. We laughed and cried through all of BSG, mostly when it ended.* I’ve read Ken Follet’s The Pillars of the Earth, World Without End, and three of the George R.R. Martins, all in the past year or so, which are each a THOUSAND pages… when my vacations used to be peppered with US Weekly and Charlaine Harris.

I may not really understand (or care) about the difference between sci fi and fantasy (is it dragons? It’s totally dragons, right?), but apparently my dad did the job instilling the nerd in me all those years ago when we father-daughter bonded over every episode of The Next Generation ever. (Lex, the first man to give you “a funny feeling you didn’t quite understand” was Jordan Knight? Well, mine was Captain Picard.)

So, I guess I’m both now, dork AND nerd. And I’m totally cool with that. I just think it’s hilarious that now B’s the one on the couch with a computer on his lap, and I’m nose deep in a 1000 page book about kings and wights and dragons and catching myself saying things like “folly!!” and “you craven!!” in everyday conversation. (I’m a blast at the office, truly.)

I guess it’s just proof of what sharing two years of fart jokes with someone will do to a person.

I just hope we don’t start to look like each other…

Le sigh.

*Duh! How could I forget BSG and the consumingly-awesome Edward James Olmos?? Thanks, Kev!

P.S. Have you voted on a date for DC Happy Hour yet??

P.P.S. And while we’re District-ing it up around here, check out my round up on DC Blogs.

Mama said share.