via someecards.com

Hey there, cowboy! Get ready, cause I’m about to crack an egg of knowledge all over your head.

And by “knowledge” I mean pure, unadulterated awesome.

My father is to thank for sending me this shitshow of awkward-yet-mind-blowing-hilariousity I’m about to drop on you…

It really is no surprise where I came from, is it?

Happy long weekend 4th of July, poodlekins! If that video’s not freaking American, I don’t know what is.

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Hey! Have you tweeted yet today? (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 get creative, the above suggestion is just for your copy & paste convenience. Cause I’m good like that.)

The actual VOTING will start on July 7, and it will be via Facebook. (I know, the irony…) Anyway! You will only get to have to vote once, so make sure we’re Facebook friends and I’ll send ya a reminder! WOOT!!!

It’s been a long time since there was a show on I COULD NOT MISS. There was Boy Meets World, Saved by the Bell, the Fresh Prince, Blossom…

(Shuttup. I’d still do Joey Lawrence. Whoa!)

But this, my friends… this is a shit show I have been waiting for with bated breath.

On July 29th, our beloved “Jersey Shore” returns to us, full blow-outs ahead.

MTV released thirteen minutes of first episode at their Movie Awards on Sunday, and a magical thirteen minutes they were. (Here, if you missed it. P.S. About missing it? DON’T.)

Oh, Snooki, J-Woww, Pauly D, and my very favorite Situation, I love you so. You truly represent the American dream.

Well, the 21st century one, anyway… you know: get on a reality show, make a gigantic (memorable) ass out of yourself, and make the nation fall in love/hate with you.

And I want to hate you. I know you represent all that is wrong with America’s youth today, or at least the Northeastern seaboard’s.

But I just can’t. I freaking love you crazy bastards, with your lube-shellacked hair, George Hamilton glow, and mouths that would make- well, me- blush.

What I would give to spend one night out with you guys. I already have the Bumpit and the potty mouth. All I need is a few hair-pulling lessons, and I’m good to go.

Let’s be honest, no one likes Angelina anyway. Bring me in and I’ll not only not cockblock you, hell, I’ll bring the talent HOME.

No grenades, I promise. You can creep all you want, pound it out with all the girls, and I’ll just have Snooki work on perfecting my pouf while we giggle at Pauly D berating some girl who’s stalking his whole entire life on the boardwalk.

See? I know the lingo and everything. I’ll even share my Jersey Shore drinking game with you while we pregame. One condition though: I’m not standing next to Snooki at the bar. Girl is like a magnet for physical abuse, and I like my face in one piece.

Bring it on, y’all. I can’t WAIT to “Get Jersey”… even if it is in Miami.

You know how people always claim that they hold everything inside, pretend everything’s fine when it’s not, until the very last possible moment, when they can’t POSSIBLY hold it in anymore?

Yeah.

That ain’t me.

I’m the kind of person where when something happens to me, it happens to my whole goddamn world. No one escapes it.*

I had no idea when I wrote this post about Liz Lemon-ing my way through jury duty selection… I had NO idea what the next two weeks would hold in store for me.

The benevolent judge looked me in the eye, and asked if there was any reason I could not be a fair and impartial juror.

Oh, how I wish I could have lied.

But I couldn’t. I didn’t.

And eight days later, I set a man, a man accused of shooting an 18 year old girl through the heart, a man I believe to be a killer in cold blood…

I set him free.

Yes, there were twelve of us. Yes, we did what the law instructed us to do.

Yet somehow, we all know justice wasn’t served on Tuesday, April 12th, 2010.

I don’t believe in God. But somehow, I believe that poor girl’s sister when she said it’s in his hands now.

Maybe in some way, karma and God are the same principle.

Eventually, the nightmares will stop. With time, the victim’s mother’s tears, the prosecutor dropping to her knees at our verdict… they’ll fade from my memory.

But to that young, beautiful girl who had her entire future ahead of her…

I will never forget you.

None of us will, we dozen who held the opportunity to make your brutal and senseless death just the *tiniest* bit right, in our oh so very tied hands…

And failed you.

*(Dear B, you are a saint. Smooches.)

Last week, B and I had drinks with a couple of friends from his hometown. We always have a good time with them, but this outing was particularly lovely, because they bestowed upon me the greatest idea anyone has ever had in The History of Ever.

“If we get married,” they told us, “We’re going to register at…

“SKY MALL.”

Ohnoyoudidn’t.

People, answer me true. Is this not pure, unadulterated GENIUS? Every time I’m on an airplane, I spend an hour or so looking through this goddamn ridiculous magazine, and by the time I reach the end, I’ve spent approximately $56,391 in my head.

And here’s why.

Head Spa Massager ($50)

 I’ve always thought I’d make a great cylon.

Original Backnobber II

 I would totally get this for B to solve yesterday’s dilemma… if only it didn’t so closely resemble an anal probe.

Camo Mini Binoculars ($25)

 They’re camo! And mini! All the fun of Jurassic Park without any of the Jeff Goldblum stutter!

Wrist Cell Phone Carrier ($30)

 As someone who is convinced she’s lost her Blackberry 98.7% of the time… I might actually need this. It’s the cell phone equivalent of putting your kid on a leash.

Big Foot Garden Yeti Sculpture ($100)

 I don’t think any words are necessary here. (If they are, we probably can’t be friends.)

Jumpin Jammerz – Polar Fleece Footed Pajamas ($65)

 Creepiest. Slumber party. EVER.

Stainless Steel Wallet ($90)

 Free with any purchase of nunchucks from Chuck Norris R’Us.

Cat Toilet Training System ($59)

With a name like “Litter Kwitter,” this just can’t lose.

Seriously, guys. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want every last thing here.

YOU CAN’T DO IT!!!!!!

So, eventually, when I do get hitched, you better believe I’ll be registering at Sky Mall…

Because I’m klassy like that.

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!!!

This WYR Wednesday brought to you by my listening to Wale’s “Center of Attention“… on the treadmill. Because that’s where I do my best only thinking.

What? I'm gangsta.

And also, because I’m actually curious what you would answer.

So, Would You Rather…

1. Receive a million dollars $300 thousand (you were all choosing this one- too easy!) absolutely free and clear, but know you will never, ever be famous in your lifetime… for anything?

2. Receive zero financial gain for it, but become famous for something awesome, like an Olympic medal or curing cancer. (Let’s assume in this scenario, for some reason curing cancer did not give you any cash money. You didn’t do something awesome and give it to orphans or anything, you just never got any money for it.)

3. Be filthy rich AND famous, but you have no control over what your fame is for. Like, you could be the Cloon… or you could be Octomom. You don’t know til it happens.

vs.

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***By the way, don’t forget to put this Friday’s Happy Hour on your calendar! Vapiano’s in Dupont! Woot!***

…was, undoubtedly, the “Jersey Shore Drinking Game”.

Let me ’splain.

Perhaps you’ve been living under a rock and don’t know about MTV’s newest reality television abomination. I’ll forgive you if you’ve been too busy watching Always Sunny, as they are on at the same time, but believe me when I say that you MUST find a way to watch this absolute trainwreck of bright orange, over-gelled…

Well, honestly, I can’t even describe it. Let me just show you…

Apologies for the ad at the beginning… but it’s worth it.

Okay. So, all of us fabulous people are hanging out at the Holiday Happy Hour last Friday (unbelievably fabulous time, FYI- thanks so much to everyone for coming out!!!), when suddenly, the two magic words that can bring any group of people together instantaneously are mentioned…

JERSEY. SHORE.

Within seconds, we’re swapping our favorite most vomit-inducing moments, arguing over who’s the worst person in the house, and ribbing on brad for even BEING from Jersey. The shame.

And then, it happened. The magical words fell from Patrick’s mouth, one by one…

“We should create a Jersey Shore drinking game!”

Lightbulbs LIT-RALLY appeared over each one of our heads, and the insanity commenced as we all started yelling over one another. Out of the plethora of ideas, we eventually settled on this very thoughtful and decidedly offensive-but-still-less-offensive-than-the-show-itself list.

I give you…

The “Jersey Shore” Drinking Game

While watching the show, you must DRINK when…

1.  Any time one of them says OR does a “fist pump”

2.  Any time a girl proclaims her pride for being a true “guidette”

3.  Whenever Mike refers to himself as “The Situation”

4.  Any time a guy slathers 25% of a bottle of gel on his head

5.  Whenever the utter importance of “PROTEIN” is mentioned, or a protein shake is consumed

6.  Any time someone brags about their spray tan, goes spray tanning, or just looks so orange that you are forced to look away from the television

7.  Anytime Sammi talks about how sweet she is, or refers to herself as “Sammi Sweetheart”

8.  Whenever someone refers to cheating on a significant other back home

9.  Any time someone in the house accidentally calls Snookie “Snickers”

10. Any time Ronnie uses the phrase “pound out” in reference to a woman

11. Any time Mike expresses insane jealousy over the fact that Ronnie is pounding out Sammi instead of him

12. Any time someone gets in the jacuzzi naked

Oh, man… I cannot WAIT for Thursday.

Update: Oh. Em. GEE.

I just found this, and HAD to add it…

You are WELCOME.

Hopefully raising a glass with me. Just sayin.

I shall be wearing an adorable purple dress, and this:

See you then!

First things first… the TMI Thursday ”Post Secret Style” contest from yesterday has turned into so much more than some Firefly Vodka swag. I can’t believe how many I’ve received- some hilarious, some tragic, all brave and kickass entries that are guaranteed to move you in some way.

Yes, I am going to post ALL of them. I might have to spread this over a couple weeks so we can really enjoy them all- I want everyone who sent one in to be able to see the commentary it receives. I promise to email you and let you know when it’s going up, so if you used the Top Secret anonymous email account to send it in (Gmail, username tmithursday, password tmit1234), then make sure to check back- I’ll respond to that email chain. Please continue to send them in- I promise every last one WILL be posted!

I’m pretty sure tomorrow is going to be my favorite post of all time. Which is hilarious, because I had almost nothing to do with it (except for my own anonymous entry…)

Moving on!

This weekend I was lucky enough to have my Carolina girls in town, as KBo was running the Marine Corps Marathon (why yes, she DID rock it) and Meredith came up from the Cack to help me cheer her on.

We’ve all been close for half a decade now, and suddenly, all three of us are no longer carefree 21 year olds trying to get each other home safely from the bars… we’re staring our futures in the face. And somehow, each one of us has ended up making a home with a good man, and a few fur babies.

These chicas knew me at a time when there was a lot more piss and vinegar in me; when the “Masshole” was more of a truism than a joke. Over the years, we’ve watched Kbo’s relationship stand trial through a tour in Iraq and a semester in Australia. We spent years trying to pull Mere out of a bad relationship, only to have the perfect man swoop in and make her forget the jerk in a matter of weeks. Now, we’re planning her wedding while she coos at babies on the street.

It will be my very first wedding I’m actually in since I was a 5 year old flower girl, and from what y’all tell me, it’s going to be the first in a SLEW of them over the next couple years…

Bring it on.

Oh, how things change… and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

There are a lot of codes involved in friendships.

(REAL friendship, that is. Not, we-eat-lunch-together-because-everyone-else-in-the-office-is-a-geriatric, or your-whore-sister-married-my-brother friendship.)

Don’t date past significant others. Don’t stiff me on the bill when we go out. Tell me the truth when I’m wearing something I shouldn’t be. Stop me from chopping my pretty, pretty hair off when I’ve just seen Natalie Portman in V For Vendetta and am feeling impulsive. Encourage me to buy that waaaay too expensive purse because, really, who can put a price on self esteem?

(Um, these might be a LITTLE gender biased. What can I say, boys… despite the bathroom jokes, I do in fact have ovaries under here.)

Let’s see, for the menfolk, you… root for each other’s sports teams? Wait, no, definitely not. Hmm… I’m pretty sure your only codes are don’t bang each other’s girlfriends and don’t pee at the urinal next to each other, yes?

Anytwaddle, my point is, at least for girls… there is another quite complicated yet subtle code involved with a true friendship. And that, my friend, is…

 The Code of Gossip.

You see, you can’t just listen to a friend vent about the sluttified whore her boyfriend works with, or the bitch at work who has your new fabulous haircut only better and is 10 pounds lighter. (Cough cough… not that that’s happened to me, not at all…) Even more importantly, when a superficial friend commits a sin against a BFF, you can’t just smile and nod while your bestie goes off about all the different ways they’re going to off said faux friend.

Oh no, comrades. This moment is about give and take… it’s an even exchange, in the best scenario. You must be an active participant in the dramz, in order to help your friend feel less crazy and arrive at a point of peace.

In order to bring your friend’s anger full circle, so that they may begin the healing process, these are the steps that one MUST adhere to:

1. Agree wholeheartedly and help your BFF tear the offender apart. As a true bestie, you should also be able to ADD fuel to the fire to A) make it more interesting and B) support your friend in their time of need.

2. Listen and let the BFF vent for as long as they need to. When they appear to be winding down, offer a piece of gossip EQUAL TO or GREATER than the information just shared. This works best if it is in some way relevant to the original offender, e.g., “Last Sunday Cindy wore leggings… I’m pretty sure they were made by Big Fucking Mistake & Co.”

3. Offer to stab, burn, quarter, shank, voodoo, poison, run over, or lead pipe the offender. And be DEAD. Freaking. Serious.

(Note: It is important to remember that anything said in the heat of the gossip is most likely false, and therefore is in no way credibile as soon as said situation is rectified.)

Follow these simple rules, and you will soon be a champion gossiper and confidante. And also kind of an asshole. But most importantly?

A goddamn good friend.

Last week, B and I had one of those long, contemplative chats in bed that practically married fat and happy couples tend to have. Or so I hear.

And it pretty much boiled down to this…

I should stop being such a cunt at work.

Pardon the language (ha! You know where you are.) But it’s true.

When I started my current job, I was coming from a place I HATED. I had also recently quit my second job as a bartender after a decade of catering to the wants and needs of perfect (often assholey) strangers. I was, to put it lightly, a bit burnt the frick out.

And the new organization is enormous, intimidating, and has their own acronym for Ev. Ery. Thing. Seriously. I’m pretty sure “toilet paper” is TPR.

“Hey, Ronda, did you call facilities about that TPR situation in Stall 4 Shelf 2?”

“No, I just used some of the PPR TWL. And now I have a rash.”

Poor Ronda.

At some point, I subconsciously decided to just keep my head down, do my job well, and keep my nose out of anyone’s business. Work to live, you know?

That decision, coupled with the fact that I hate all things small talk and, in general, other people (hi, I’m LiLu, have we met?) means that I have avoided getting to know other coworkers like the plague. Obviously, not the dozen or so people I work for- I’m no idiot. But, the other hundred in my department? Short of wowing them with a rousing karaoke rendition of “The Piano Man” at the Holiday Party last year, they have absolutely no idea who I am.

And I like it that way. I prefer it that way. And up til now, seeing this job as that “Work to Live” kinda deal, in that I’m grateful to pay my bills and see a dentist but it will never be a career kinda way, I figured, who cares? Maybe I’ll seem mysterious and use some reverse psychology to make everyone desperately want to please me. It used to work as a bartender… I always made more money when I was being a complete bitch. (People are effed, man.)

But after talking it out with B, I’ve realized that tactic is more than a little narrow-minded. What about when my contract runs up? What happens when the time for promotions comes around? What if I’m pitted against someone better liked for an opportunity, or worse, to KEEP my job?

I know it might seem shocking that I’m the Cold Bitch at the office, but I’m pretty sure it’s true.

So, yeah, I’d like to change that. It’s just that I’m not sure there’s enough Pixie Stix in the world to make me sweet.

Update: Freaking hilarious… “30 Warning Signs You’re the Office Bitch Everyone Complains About.” (Especially #18…)

2nd Update: Daffy just sent me this. I am so getting a button made and wearing it around the office. Which completely defeats the point but who cares, IT’S THAT FUNNY…

On any given day, I am the biggest proponent of city living you’ll ever meet.

Whereas other people are torn, seeing the positives of big city life as well as wide open spaces, I get hives at the very thought of living anywhere I might have to operate a motor vehicle. My ass looks far too good from the miles of walking I do every week, and the half a mile I drove a car while we were in Virginia last month was TERRIFYING.

But sometimes, it can get to be a bit much here. Because I have this cute little affliction… I think it’s called “Being Notsomuch A Fan of Other People.” And, well, there’s a LOT of them here.

In fact, they’re sort of everywhere. On the sidewalks during my walkin’ commute, they stand in my way. They “do the dance” as they walk towards me, because some people do not understand the simple concept of moving to the right. They are touristy and stop in the middle of the walk and stand on corners while DC-ers pile up behind them.

I love our new neighborhood, but it is very, ahem, Latin. Which means we have great food, but I also cannot take one step outside my apartment in anything other than a burka without being cat called, kissy faced, and hissed at for the next five blocks.

As I crossed the street today, a homeless man I can only describe as yeti-like waited to accost me on the other side. His breath almost made me revisit the banana I’d eaten this morning. Consequently, I will be working out today, if only for the shower I get to take afterwards.

For the second day in a row, I forgot my badge, which I need since I work in a building lots of dirty hippies would LOVE to blow up if given the chance. I do this pretty much every Monday, but it still takes me ten minutes to get through the visitor’s entrance because after nine months of working here, the same three security guards fail- or pretend to fail- to recognize me.

Yesterday was the last day of our old lease. I have emailed, texted, and called our landlord to ask how he would like to handle the return of our keys and security deposit (!!!), but he has been curiously MIA. If he decides to say we’re not getting it back, or says nothing at all, what are we supposed to do? This isn’t my $100 deposit I paid in Carolina, folks. This is almost two grand we’re talking about. Such is city living.

I adore DC. I really, really do.

But it is time for a fracking vacation.

Two months… two months…

/rant.

Okay, so, I lied. Don’t look so surprised!

But, I will be making my Wordpressy move TOMORROW, not today. Still ironing out a coupla things. As I said this weekend…

“While my url will still be http://livitluvit.com, the one problem is that if you subscribe to my posts via Google Reader or whatever, they ain’t going to show up no more.

So let’s fix that, here and now.

Simply click this button to subscribe to my NEW home via your Google or other favorite reader…

Or, if you want, you can just subscribe by email and have my shiz hand-delivered to your inbox. Crazy talk, I know!

DO IT TO IT! (I very excite.)”

Okay, now that we’ve got our BIZNAS out the way, let’s move on to this alleged “transformation” I alluded to last Friday.

You see, I’ve been thinking about cutting mah hairs off for some time now, and I finally went for the glory. If you remember, it used to look like this…

Not too shabby, but, well, it’s looked that for a few years now… = BOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRING.

So, I may have done this.

Oh, right. Maxie and I also may or may not have reenacted “War Paint” with my homemade BBQ sauce this weekend at my 4th of July shindig. What of it?

Anyhoo, so of course I was all excited on Friday to get home and show B my new hairdid. And, um, well… I came home to find THIS.

Please to forgive the quality, as I was A) in shock and B) using my Blackberry.

Take two.

All that pretty, pretty hair… Surely he feels some remorse??

Sigh. Guess not. Well, let’s see the finished product, shall we?

Yes, we matched on purpose. We’re corny/hilarious/awkward like that.

Let’s see it from a couple more angles… art like this must be admired.

Yeah… that’s about right.

Of course he had to go and upstage my haircut with a MOHAWK. Jerkface. That I love.

At least it was for America.

Happy Monday, y’all. Hope your weekends rocked your socks off!

Though it took me months to get my act together, I am, as of Monday morning, officially moving to Wordpress! Thank the baby jeebus… Blogger, you will NOT be missed.

Anyhoosits, while my url will still be http://livitluvit.com, the one problem is that if you subscribe to my posts via Google Reader or whatever, they ain’t going to show up no more.

So let’s fix that, here and now.

Use this to subscribe to my NEW home via your favorite reader…

Or, if you want, you can just subscribe by email and have my shiz hand-delivered to your inbox. Crazy talk, I know!

DO IT TO IT! (I very excite.)

Now have yourselves a merry little 4th o’ July, and go blow some shit up!

A few days ago, my sister sent me THIS with the subject line, “No Commentary Necessary.”

I watched it, and after I picked myself up off the floor from laughing, the following email conversation ensued…

LiLu: The whole time, I kept waiting for the punchline… and then it was SERIOUS.

Lil Sis: Oh, so serious. My favorite part is that they’re all so white. Especially the black guy.

LiLu: HAHAHAHAHA. The whiteness is blinding.

Lil Sis: Also, it’s just Taboo! They can’t be on and poppin’ in copyright law.

LiLu: Booayh!

Then, realizing my typo…

LiLu: Booyah, even. That was a letdown.

Lil Sis: Hahahaha that’s okay. For a moment I thought booayh was another awesome hip-hop term I had missed.

LiLu: I’m sure it is. Better check Urban Dictionary: Helping white people seem cool since, like, last week.

Lil Sis: Also the hand clappers! They must have just had like a million extra hand clappers lying around and were like, whatever just toss some of these in there, they cost like -2 cents.

LiLu: -2 cents because the kids in sweatshops pay to work?

Lil Sis: -2 cents because I’m sure there is an epidemic of overproduction of hand clappers.

Happy Friday, y’all. For sheezy.

P.S. Oh, um, something sort of amazing transpired yesterday… let’s just say that B and I have both undergone transformations, of sorts. Pictures to prove it on Monday…)

People, this day will go down in history. Get out the red pen, and put a little heart on your calendars.

For THIS is the day that my BFeffinF Maxie has created a masterpiece that will define the year 2009 in every history book for the rest of time.

(At least in the blogging world.)

And we all know, that’s saying something.

<————— Huge Dork Anyhoosits, perhaps you have heard of a little overplayed yet undeniably catchy and awesome song called "Pokerface", by one legendary yet herpalicious force known as Lady Gaga? No? Let me enlighten you…

Okay, got that?

Well NOW, I give you the new anthem of the blogging world… just one more stepping stone on Maxie’s and my way to the Colberts, the Ellens, the Perezes and the SNLs of the world…

“BLOGGER FACE”

(Original youtube link here. Please to spread it around the blogo/tweeto/interverse, thankyouverymuch. Spread it like the herp on steroids. The people deserve to know.)

People, she wrote, directed and produced that video, if you can believe it. Maxie, my darling… you are a musical GENIUS. All I can say is, I am honored to know you…

And I can’t wait to drop our rap video on these peeps in a few weeks. Isn’t that right, Cavy? *wink*

It’s going to be the whitest thing of hilarity to ever hit the interwebs.

In other words… AWESOME SAUCE.

UPDATE: CLICK HERE FOR THE LYRICS!!!

It’s that time again, peops! (FYI, read all the past “Shiz My Boyfriend Says” here.)

But first, a short Public Service Announcement…

I will be road-tripping to New Yawk Citay with my DC harem, aka the lovely lovely Lemmonex, Deutlich, Maxie, and dmb5_libra. We’re headed up next Saturday, May 2nd, and will be chillaxin (read: flashing boobs and generally tearing shit UP) at the Village Pourhouse, on the corner of 3rd Ave and 11th Street, circa 9:30 p.m. (More and funnier deets here.)

So far, we’ll be meeting up with these delightful peoples: my DARLING cavy, Chris, idontliketoread, Wordy Ninja, Kat and Lauren. If you’d like to swing by and hang, please do- I promise, you can’t miss us. Just look for this.

AWESOME.

And now, on with the show…

On finding out I owe $1300 to the Feds…

B: But at least we have each other!

LiLu: (Sigh) True. And I would gladly pay $1300 to have you.

B: Yeah! I’m a high class whore. That’s what you were implying, right?

LiLu: Obviously. Now take off your pants!

(Must’ve been noon…)

At the airport on the way to Charleston, we pass an expensive jewelry store…

LiLu: Why the hell is that store open at 7am?? Who on earth is buying a $10,000 necklace NOW?

B: I was planning on it until you said that. Now, you’re lucky if I buy you breakfast.

Later at the airport, we walk by a middle-aged couple…

Woman: Baby, do you have to potty?

Man: [Clearly embarrassed as hell] No…

We bust out laughing before we’re even past them- it can’t be helped.

LiLu: I can’t believe she just asked a 45 year old man that!

B: You ask me stupid shit like that all the time.

LiLu: Well, maybe, but I’m obviously KIDDING.

B: Maybe she was too. And now he has no balls.

In the kitchen, B sneezes, then wipes the wood floor with his foot.

LiLu: Did you just sneeze… and wipe it up with your sock?

B: Yeah, but my sock has a big hole in it, so it was basically the least effective clean up of my life.

LiLu: Yet another moment when I truly know we are made for each other.

While arguing over who “seasons” better while cooking…

LiLu: Have you TASTED my burgers?? I am way better at spices than you!

B: The only thing you can do better than me? Is WHORE.

My angel.

Happy Friday, lovahs, and hope to see some of yoos in the Big Apple next Saturday!

You remember how I thought I owed the Feds $1,000?

I was wrong. Dead wrong.

I went to H&R Suck yesterday to see if they could help. I figured I HAD to be doing something wrong.

The lady plugged all the same numbers into her computer exactly as I had… and even managed to find an extra tax I’d forgotten to pay. Thanks, lady.

According to them, I owe Obama THIRTEEN hundred dollars. Not 1K.

THEN, she wanted $250 for all her fine work. Which was exactly what I had done, except, yanno, clicking another button that added $300 to my debt.

Needless to say, I grabbed my W2’s and RAN.

Straight to the pharmacy, where my anti-anxiety/panic attack pills were waiting. (Because life just makes too much fucking sense sometimes.)

And then stopped off at my neighborhood Mexi-mart for wine and 79 cent burritos. Since that’s all I can afford now. You gotta have priorities, after all.

As I write this, I am holding an enormous glass of vino, watching Turk airband to “That Girl Is Poison” on a rerun of Scrubs, and an exceptionally handsome man has promised to rub my feet later.

I mean, how does this NOT make you feel better?

I truly have the greatest friends, all across the country, one of whom I am going to lay on a beach with in Charleston all weekend. Another of whom I had a textual “I fucking love YOU man” with last night, and totally meant it when I said she’s going to have to be in my wedding someday. My family is amazing and loving and healthy, and I’m 25 years old with three grandparents still going strong.

Incredibly awesome, caring and talented people from all over the world send me gross and funny tidbits here in the comments and in emails every day. They think of me when they see Smittens and Poof toilet drops and Snuggie bar crawls and it makes me happy. They get me through the work week, and they have no idea how much they really mean to me. [Ed. note: THAT'S YOU.]

Finally, B came home last night, not even knowing yet about my taxes, and handed me an envelope with my name and our address on it… which makes this just that much cuter:

Text: Dear(est) LiLu: I was writing “thank you” notes for that briefing last week and thought of you. Thank YOU for being lovely, and sweet, and sticking with me. You’ll never regret it. I love you more than anyone else ever in the history of the world (or at least my own personal history). I was going to mail this… but ran out of stamps- I’m stamp poor but rich with love for you! Yours, B.

So, $1300, huh?

Fine. Take it. Cause my life? Is so definitely worth that.