Daniel “Diggy” Simmons… is cooler than you.

Look, I mean that in the best way possible. He probably wouldn’t even want me to say that, that’s how cool he is. But you’ve just gotta face facts.

His sneaker line comes out in a month. He dresses better than anyone I know. His second mixtape, ‘Airborne’, drops on July 29th. He’s already been nominated for MTV’s “Hottest Breakthrough MC of 2010″ for his first and other works. Works supported by the likes of Kanye and Nas.

And he’s 15 years old.

picture: @diggy_simmons's twitter background

And believe me, after talking to him for just ten minutes, it doesn’t have anything to do with his father’s success, other than the fact that he was raised in a musical environment and supported by his family to become the driven, friendly, humble, gracious, and ambitious person that he is.

Diggy’s got “it”… you know what I mean. That thing where you just know that someone will be able to accomplish whatever they want to in life, and they’re going to make you love them while they do it.

I’ve transcribed the interview here for those of you reading at work, etc., but try to listen to the audio if you can. Writing can’t capture this kid’s personality.

Okay, y’all, bear with me at the beginning… YES I WAS NERVOUS. Jerks.

L: As a blogger and prospective Twitter Jockey for MTV, one of my favorite things about you is definitely how engaged you are with your fans on the internet. And I hear you’re pretty tight with Justin Bieber, who’s also really active online. What do you think about the way social media now allows artists to connect with their public?

D: I think it’s great, because a lot of the time, I mean, you look at- shoot- years back, the only real source for even hip hop, was just like, allhiphop.com, and now you’ve got all these blogs and ways to get involved you know, as the news occurs. Before it was just radio, which is hard, and now with Facebook, Twitter- you can be like your own publisher.

L: Absolutely, and you can have a real conversation with your fans, actually talk to them.

Oh yeah, I answer and tweet back my fans, DM them, and different things, so I think it’s great, especially when I can interact with the people that go hard for me. It’s mind-boggling to me that somebody like, takes out their day, for me. So it’s great.

L: The very first thing Twitter said when I told them I was interviewing you was: “Ask him about fashion!” You’ve become something of a style icon, and your posts about fashion on your blog are so inspiring. I know you’ve started your own sneaker line, “Chivalrous Culture”, releasing the first shoes this fall, is that right?

D: Yes, the shoes are coming out this fall, like around August/September- it’s going great.

L: So what’s your next move in the fashion world?

D: I wouldn’t mind doing some collaborations, you know, with different brands that I like. And obviously, one day, you know I already have it in mind- I’m always thinking- a clothing brand I’d like to do of mine.

L: And I can’t wait to see it. So, I read that you used Garage Band and a MacBook to produce your first tracks, which I LOVE, and you’ve said in an interview that you want fans to recognize you for your lyrics, rather than mistaking you for a “bubblegum, kiddie-bop” rapper. It seems like you really know what’s important to you as an artist- there’s no tricks, just a real person with real talent. Where does that confidence, that drive, come from?

D: I mean, I don’t know, a lot of people always ask “What is that ambition, what is it in you that’s made you always know what you wanted to do?” I mean, I don’t know. I think it’s just something that me just being young- from sketching when I was like, in the third grade, to having a sneaker line now, you know, always knowing what I wanted and what was the intention.

L: Speaking of that drive, your second mixtape, ‘Airborne’ is going to drop on July 29, 2010. How has it evolved from your first one, ‘The First Flight’? What’s different? [Get a taste of 'Airborne' here.]

D: All across the board. Lyrically, the production- it’s just bigger, it’s very album-esque.

(Aaaand my TWO cameras somehow both cut out for a minute, so make sure you go give it a listen. You won’t be sorry.)

L: You’re one of MTV’s candidates for “Hottest Breakthrough MC of 2010″. You’ve been around the music industry all your life, but only in it yourself less than a year- this be quite a ride. How did you feel when you first heard that?

D: When I first heard it… I was in the car on my way to a photo shoot, and I saw it, you know, the other names pop up, and I’m just happy to be next to these dudes that have been on the grind, and, you know, shoot- it’s just been like, a happy year for me! And it’s great to be next to people who’ve been on the grind for years. It’s only been half a year- you know, the grind- so I’ve been going hard.

L: A lot of people recognize you, I’m sure, from Run’s House, and have preconceived notions about who you are, but through the internet you’ve had the opportunity to connect with them about your point of view on all different issues- music, fashion, pop culture- and you know, has that allowed you to say, “Hey, I’m not just that 10 year old kid from a TV show, I’ve got my own identity.” How has that allowed you to separate yourself from your family, and your brother, who I’m sure you’ve been compared to?

D: Of course it’s harder, but that’s, you know, that’s something you do right here, in interviews, and through your music. You let people know, “Hey, this is just me, I’m here by myself, I’m grinding on my own.” And, you know, that’s just really how you let people know that- of course there’s gonna be the people that doubt you at first, cause there are tons of people that go, “Oh, he’s a rapper now?” Because of course there are a lot of people that are aspiring producers, and on every corner there’s an aspiring rapper, so of course to some people it must be annoying. But the people that have been supporting me, just, you know, thank you.

L: Press was buzzing after your Atlantic deal [for The First Flight] that [older brother] JoJo was jealous. We both know that’s crazy, there’s only love in the Simmons family. But is there a chance the two of you might collaborate in the future?

D: Oh, yeah, for sure. It could most definitely happen, I mean, we have done tracks a while ago that we probably wouldn’t put out, because I’ve progressed since, but, shoot, it could most definitely happen.

L: Maybe we could get the whole family in there?

D: [laughing] I don’t know about that, maybe on some ad libs or something!

Make sure to check out Diggy’s blog, Life of the Jet Setter, for sneak peeks at ‘Airborne’ as well as his fresh perspective on music, fashion and more.

You can follow him on twitter @diggy_simmons, and you can download his first mixtape, ‘The First Flight’, right here.

This kid’s going up fast… you don’t want to miss it.

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.

I had a bit of an adventure yesterday.

I met a new friend for a perfectly lovely lunch, and will hopefully be building a website for her campaign next month. (Speaking of which, did you see my sugarplum Jess’ awesome new online portfolio I made for her yet? Didja? DO IT! And then hire her!)

Anyhoo. While I am rocking my new healthy diet ‘n exercise lifestyle (blech), I couldn’t turn down the sample of homemade potato chips the bartender brought over for us. Trust me, it would have been a sin to waste those puppies.

About a half an hour after getting back to my desk, I was talking to a colleague when I started choking…

and felt my throat start to close up.

Now, I have never been allergic to a thing in my life. Maybe some sniffles in the Spring, but an actual hives/itching/choking sort of allergy? Never. So, I was a wee bit terrified.

We’re fortunate enough to have a clinic at my job, so when the half-closed throat sensation didn’t go away, I headed over.

After waiting for a half an hour and not dying, I decided perhaps I had developed a very sudden and severe case of strep, rather than a life-threatening allergy. A clearly inexperienced but very sweet nurse finally called me in and took my vitals.

“It’s a good thing you came in!” She said. “I’ve seen strep cases come on so suddenly.” She took blood pressure, temperature, felt my glands, peered down my throat and in my ears, but couldn’t see anything noticeably wrong, so she called in the wizened old nurse practitioner to give me a look.

“It’s just very strange,” I was saying. “I haven’t had strep in years, and I’ve never been allergic to a thing in my life!”

“Well, our bodies change, dear,” Inexperienced-Yet-Sweet Nurse patted my hand, as her veteran colleague entered the room. Without looking up from my folder, this was the first thing she said:

“So, did you have anything sharp at lunch today? Potato chips, perhaps?”

I blinked. “Um, I did, actually… OHHHHhhhhhhhhhh.” I began laughing as the truth sunk in.

“I cut myself on a potato chip, didn’t I?”

She peered down my throat.

“Looks that way. Here. Have a swig of Maalox and drink some fluids. I think you’ll pull through this one.”

Tail between my legs, I slunk out of the clinic and back to my desk, where I had to share my diagnosis with my colleague.

“Apparently, this whole “extreme workout” thing is getting out of hand. Even the way I EAT is extreme now… I don’t even chew!”

Sigh.

And now, to distract you from my idiocy, I give you…

Taylor Lautner looks like a llama.

Sorry, Maxie. But he really, really does.

 Happy Tuesday. Eat safely out there, kiddos… only you can prevent potato-chip throat injuries.

Last week, I glanced at my wordpress dashboard and something caught my eye.

Posts: 493

Wait. What? That must be counting, like, 100 drafts, right??

Nope. It is true, my friends. Today marks the day I have poisoned the interwebs with my drivel Five. Hundred. Times.

After I got over the initial shock, it dawned on me that something clearly must to be done in order to celebrate this ridiculous and entirely self-asborbed milestone.

A BLOG ROAST!!!!!!!!!!

After all, I spend so much time on here making fun of MYSELF… let’s give you all a chance for once, eh?

So a few of my closest friends and bloggy cohorts have given us these Roasty Tidbits so we can have a big old laugh at all things LiLu.

Thank you so much, each and every one of you who wrote something below, all of you who comment around these parts, every last one of you who reads. This place has become one of my favorites in the world, and it’s truly all because of YOU.

Here’s to another (God help us) 500…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roast! Roast! Roast!

Let’s All Make Fun of LiLu!

(If only we had Christopher Walken to MC.)

Let’s kick it off…

brad:

“Things I know you know I know you know (aka FACTS):

I don’t like cats, but I’m cool with Axe Murderer and Murray. So, obviously, they’re not actually cats. And I’d appreciate it if you and B stopped with the lies and just admitted that you found a pair of growth-stunted dogs that are fluent in purring.

Don’t worry: you will never be a cat lady. But if I’m reading the Washington Post 10 years from now and see that you and B are basically the Angelina and Brad of growth-stunted-dogs-pawned-off-as-cats, traveling country to country, adopting animals with identity crises, let’s just say I won’t be surprised.

You dance like Forrest Gump with the leg braces on.

I don’t like food that has been seasoned with poop. But even though I ate at the housewarming when you fought the beast and were elbow deep in your toilet’s exit hole before you made the food, I never once thought about not going back. So either I’m a broken, broken man, or you are worth risking some surprise fiber in the chili.

Congratulations.”

Lexa:

“Lilu once made me go see Year One…where they eat feces. That is all.”

cavy:

“From bathroom humor, crazy boy stories, and a love of both alcohol and karaoke (preferably in combination with each other), I can honestly say that you are one of the most unique people I’ve ever encountered.  And by unique, I mean very similar to me.

In honor of your 500th, I’m placing this fantasy in your hands.  Use it well.”

Lizzy:

“In our year of friendship, Lilu has given me a lot. A vibrator. A virtual, and then real, shoulder to cry on. A badass new website. Hours of inappropriate laughter. So, I love her…but I’m going to have to expose her. You guys think she’s all funny funny cat lady with the cute boyfriend, but before that? Lilu was a FASHION blogger. (The crowd shudders) Yes, people. Go back to the archives. I dare you. Almost every post ended with some shoe porn. So I’m here to say, bring back the mother effing shoes, hooker.”

Moog:

“LiLu and B – so in love you always want to tell them to “GET A ROOM.” Then you realize that they actually DO have a room but it’s full of stupid fucking cats.

LiLu is like the blogger I aspire to be: funny, friendly, and has a vagina. I love vaginas. SO jealous. But then, if I had one, I wouldn’t have time to blog. You know, with all the masturbating and sticking vegetables in it and stuff.

LiLu has been like the sister I never had. I guess that makes B the brother I never had. Which makes me picturing them having sex like some weird Kentucky home movie. Especially with me in the middle. FYI, B is packing and doesn’t like to lube up when he goes backdoor. I wish I never had a brother.”

lacochran:

“Congratulations to the only chick I know who works to make you feel comfortable while she shares details about blow jobs. Shine on you crazy diamond. Love ya!”

Marie:

“She loves hard – especially her man – and lives life to the fullest – especially in bed.

You give her specific instructions for how to make and drink a certain type of extremely strong alcohol. But since she’s already had too much firefly, she’s downed the entire beverage in mid-explanation.

LiLu, my dear, you are a wonderful and unique individual. Let’s keep it that way shall we?”

Maxie:

“Thank god the 20sb Award LiLu won for “blogger I’d most like to get a drink with” was phrased in the singular form. The girl can’t stay up past 10:00 to save her life, let alone to have 2.”

Narm:

“LiLu is to blogging what beastiality is to internet porn. She is funny and shocking but I also have to delete my history before Mom finds out.

500 posts – and at least four of them didn’t have a TWSS joke! It’s like they just come naturally (TWSS).

Thanks to the “TMI Thursday” series it is quicker to just ask bloggers where they HAVEN’T shit themselves. It has turned the internet into one big menstruation play-by-play. Are you there, God, it’s me, THE ENTIRE FUCKING INTERNET.

Congrats on 500 posts!”

Shoebox Dweller:

“Once upon a time, a broken hearted woman wrote a message, slipped it into a bottle, and set it gently upon the water. Giving voice to her grief made her feel better, and so she continued writing, setting the words free.

Day after day, she watched the bottles drift away, destination unknown.

One day, she woke up and was amazed to find a bottle washed up on shore. She nervously unrolled the message, and read the words:

“I hear you. You are stronger and braver than you know, and I hear you.”

Words can make us laugh, sometimes so hard that we think we will burst. Words can make us cry, for our own sorrows and those of others we have never met.

Words bring people together who would otherwise never meet, for reasons of geography or age or any other divisive reason.

It’s been an honour to be a part of your life, your home, and most of all, to be part of the incredible community that you have created. Your creativity and humour brings people together, and that is a rare gift indeed.”

Jenn:

“When I first met LiLu at #pbtuna back in October, I was all nervous and intimidated and scared and “what if she hates me?!” I mean, come on people. The girl writes about poop at least once a week. What if I was too white bread because I kept my bowel movements to myself? Can you really blame someone for that sort of discretion?

Well kids, I’m going to let you in on a little top secret state secret. That girl who writes about farts and named her cat Axe Murderer? SHE’S A TOTAL SOFTIE.

That’s right. Total softie. Have you read her archives from when she first met B? (*cough* I’m a stalker *cough*). She’s quite lovable, this one.

Unless you’re a freak in a bar who won’t stop talking to her or her friends, in which case you should brace yourself because all that shit she keeps talking about? It’s coming straight for your face.”

Alexa:

“four words: penis shaped ice luge. i love you girl, and congrats on making it to 500! being the blog rockstar that you are, you’ll be hitting 1,000 before we know it. xoxo”

That Kind of Girl:

“One of the most incredible things about Lilu is how hard she works to make sure she individually welcomes every single person to the internet. Girlfriend’s such a comment whore she has to wear latex gloves when she types. Who among us hasn’t wondered how she has the friggin’ time to be a patron saint of and treasured friend to bloggers everywhere?

Pro tip: she saves time by forcing B to generate half of her posts. Can’t you just see him, locked in the bathroom, one cat duct-taped to each arm while Lilu force feeds him tequila and laxatives. “Come on, baby, next Thursday’s post won’t write itself. Give me two more cat jokes and one poop story, then we can negotiate your couch privileges…”

Completely worth it, Lilu (and hang in there, B — keep saying shiz, lest she feed you to Axie!). We love your blog, dude, and we love you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***This idea inspired by my dear friend Katherine’s genius post a year ago- thanks for letting my blatantly steal it. XOXO***

So, I know I’ve been slacking on the Weekend Doses of Fugly. What can I say, life happens.

BUT during the commercials before Avatar tonight (my 140-character thoughts on that subject are here and here),

THIS happened.

I guffawed, people. GUFFAWED.

Well played, Old Spice.

Well. PLAYED.

***Don’t forget “Life Advice from B” questions are still live. Ask ‘em now!***

Ever since Maxie showed me this, I have been unable to stop watching it.

(If I turn up dead? B killed me, and this video is why.)

*giggles uncontrollably*

No? Just me?

Sigh. It’s hard being weird sometimes.

Last week, my dear friend Marissa- who is in CHILE, mind you- took time out of her vacation to email me this, with the following message…

“Of all the people I know or e-know in the world, I thought of you and your blog when I first saw this.”

I have never, ever been so proud.

Okay, so.

If you’ve basically ever been here to my corner before, you probably know that about 95% of B’s and my weekend time is generally spent pantsless on our couch, drinking beer and trying to make our cats wear bumblebee hats. (And if you don’t know me by now…)

I kid, I kid. If you just read that sentence, you’re pretty much up to speed.

ANYHOO, this particular weekend was spent with all four of our parents.

No, like, ALL of it. (I know.)

And I love them dearly. I do. But between a trip to Baltimore (Go Sawx!), a two hour trek to Eastern Market on a twisted ankle, a late night at the DC Improv, and a movie here or there, I could die dead right at my desk right now and pretty much be totally okay with it because at least MY EYES WOULD BE CLOSED AND I WOULD NOT BE MOVING.

Heaven.

Note to self: Next time? Take Monday off from work.

P.S. to self: Don’t let there be a next time.

(Kidding, Mom. You are my everything.)

Anyhoosits, my point is that I am fucking tired. So, here… have some bullets.

Go on, take them. They’re not rollover or anything!

(God, I hate those commercials.)

• If you know me, you know that I adore the DC Improv with all of my heart and soul. Saturday’s show did not disappoint, but they never do, and here’s why. I’ve probably been there a dozen times, and lately I’ve noticed that this guy Tim Miller is almost always the host/MC/first comic up. And he. Is. HILARIOUS. Honestly, I think he’s better than the headliner most of the time. Find a way to check this man out, y’all. His regular set is amazing, but my favorite thing about him is his ability to play off the audience for, oh, ten minutes at a time. To me, THAT is the measure of a great comic. And he gets an A+++.

(Did I mention he was funny?)

• Today might, just might, be my two year Blogoversary. Woot. I WAS going to do something really cool to celebrate, but then I happened to notice that I’m only a few hundred away from hitting the 20,000 comment mark… and frankly, I think that’s a helluva lot cooler. That marks the fact that this is a community; a place where discussion goes on. And frankly, I’m a lot more proud of having created that. So, when I do hit that mark, I’ll be having a giveaway THEN… because obviously this is all about you, not me. Also? The giveaway is entirely awesome, boozy, and a little bit illegal. What’s not to love?

(Oh, hi Feds… how you doing? Um, it’s not THAT illegal… I promise to check people’s Facebooks to make sure they’re 21! Swear it! Hey, why are you looking behind m- oh, of course I’m not crossing my fingers! Come on now… who even does that anymore… I’m almost 26 years old, for chrissake’s. Let go of my arm! KNIBB HIGH FOOTBALL RULES!!!!!!!)

• Speaking of turning 26 in LESS THAN A MONTH, Maxie and I have chosen a venue for our wedding/co-birthday party. It will be UPSTAIRS at Stetson’s at 16th and U Street at 9pm on Saturday, October 17th. So stick THAT in your hat. Or in your calendar. Mostly in your calendar. Or your calendar’s hat. I’m not picky.

As of right now, we have out of towners from Colorado, Los Angeles, Florida, Detroit, Boston, Milwaukee, Cleveland, Toronto, and CHICAGO!!!! traveling to hang out with the already enormous D.C. crew.

(Gwen, you don’t even KNOW what bananas looks like. Let us show you it.)

That’s all I got. Excuse me while I go collapse now. In the FACE.

Hey! Guess what. I’m only a LITTLE bit here today. I’m mostly over here, at Maxie’s place with one of the most deranged Would You Rather Wednesdays ever, thanks to the help of my dear friend Moog from Mental Poo. Go on, you know you want to click. I know you want to see that trainwreck, you sicko, you!

Ahem.

It’s actually quite appropriate that I’m posting on Maxie’s Pad (tee hee) today, given my current state…

Last night I started crying because we couldn’t find the episode of The Tudors where we’d left off. Seems reasonable, no? I thought so.

(Aunt Flo, you are a dirty, dirty whore.)

Anyhoo, B patted my hand and asked, “Would you like some wine?”

Good man.

He returned and I meekly thanked him as I took a big sip. Later, when I was slightly more sane, he showed me this.

 (Click to enlarge.)

Sometimes, getting relationship advice from the internet is a great thing.

(Move along, folks… not much to see here today. Life is kicking my ass from every direction, so unless you have some cheese to go with this whine…)

Thank god B is sane, or I probably would have jumped by now. He really is my rock. Which comes in handy when I physically abuse him to get my stress out. (Kidding. Swear. Don’t call BFPA on me.) As much as his calmness is infuriating sometimes when I think it should be co-freak out time!!!, I suppose it is somewhat advantageous that one of us is not batshit insane.

Re: the housing search (P.S., I’m sorry if you’ve been following my angry and clinically depressed Twitters.) I’m trying not to be discouraged or frustrated… Wait that’s a lie. I am totally and completely both of those things. Not only do I love our amazing place, not only do I not want to move at ALL, it’s just so hard to trade down from “amazing” to “acceptable”. And, as I said last week, B and I have very different ideas about what makes a place acceptable to each of us. But, miracle of miracles, we somehow managed to agree on one neighborhood (Eastern Market, for you locals) as being the perfect compromise for both of us.

And THEN, lo and behold, we found the perfect apartment there, literally on the steps of the market, within a stone’s throw of all the vendors! The rental agent told us it was basically ours when we turned in our application a few hours later. Two exhausting days of silence later, he finallyconfirmed… that we had lost it. *cue ugly crying*

I’m trying not to slip into a dark place, but I’m not going to lie, it crushed me. Knowing that the perfect solution to this hellish problem slipped through our fingers has now tainted the whole search for me. Now everything we see is “not as good” as that place. It’s all too far, too small, too expensive, in comparison. And I know I shouldn’t compare to what was the diamond in the rough (someone is actually corny enough to name a Craigslist ad that, btw), but hwo can I help it?

I’m sorry to beat this dead horse but it’s all I can think about. It would probably help if I wasn’t also entrenched in a mind-numbing week long work project (wanna see? pic here) that A) affords me all the time in the world to think about how stressed I am and B) keeps me away from the computer, so I can’t even be house hunting to try and assuage some of the anxiety. Sidebar: I also learned last night that I’ve been pronouncing the word “assauge” wrong my whole life, much to B’s amusement. CAN I PLEASE WIN AT SOMETHING, WORLD???

The house is a mess, I couldn’t find the energy to put make up on today, and I haven’t worked out in over a week. Apartment or no, I really need to get my shit together.

Apparently Monday is the day I drink my hatorade. Also today I suppose it’s more like depressed-ade. Angry is funnier… I’ll try to kick a puppy tourist on the way home or something.

Breathe, LiLu, breathe. I am going to my happy place…

(And for all you Canucks, here’s a taste for you as well.)

Actually, I’m not lazy. I’m having the most insane week at work I’ve ever had and even though I am lame/psycho enough to bring my BB into the copy room with me so I can gchat, my umbilical cord to the computer has basically been cut for the week and it makes me sad in my pants because I’ve had no time to read or write basically anything. Which is why you are getting deliciously awesome and hilarious videos today!

Thanks to my love alexa from cleveland’s a plum for this one…

Awesome sauce.

Next up, this insta-classic is via SkylersDad over at Some Days It’s Not Worth Chewing Through The Leather Straps. Make it through to the end… it only gets better.

Ha! That shiz is GRRRRRREAT! Silly fucking leprechaun.

Now, I can’t decide if I only think this is hilarious because it’s 5 in the morning and I’m totally sleep deprived and out of it, but well, I fucking love this.

“I heard that motherfucker had like, 30 dicks.” I heart you, CollegeHumor.

And finally, um, well, this is technically NSFW. Technically. Make sure no one’s behind you, at least. And then Click Here.

AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! *wipes tears of laughter*

I GOT YOU!!!

No, I’m not sorry. Okay, I’m a little sorry. But you have to forgive me, because it’s FRIIIIIIIIDEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Happy weekend, love muffins. Watch out for the man teats out there…

First things first… I’d like to extend my most heartfelt thanks to everyone who sent me an inquiry via a myriad of technological methods, asking after me and mine in light of the Metro crash yesterday. (Amazing/horrifying WaPo pictures here.) Your thoughtfulness is truly overwhelming. Although B and I have many friends who commute on the Red Line, everyone has been accounted for… though the loved ones of at least seven others (as of 8am Tuesday, according to the Mayor) were not so lucky.

I walk around this city every day feeling completely safe, as though no harm could possibly come to me. Those cabs speeding around corners wouldn’t ACTUALLY hit me, right? Those double decker busses taking out tourists… that’s just a myth, isn’t it? METRO CARS DON’T REALLY COLLIDE, RIGHT?!?

My neighborhood, Shaw, is far from the safest in DC… but I trot home, day or night, without so much as a glance over my shoulder. I feel (felt) 100% safe here, even though I absolutely should not. Though it might seem like I can’t go to a bar without running into a friend, this is not a little podunk town where everybody knows my name… this is a Real City where Real Shit Happens. And I forget that.

It’s a wake up call in a few ways, actually. It may be twisted to think of it this way, but no tragedy occurs without the silver lining of reminding those of us still here that Life. Is. SHORT. Any of us could be gone in the blink of a Metro car that plows into the back of another train.

And as “too soon” as it may be… that reminder is the last push I needed in a battle I’ve been preparing to fight.

You see, I’ve been struggling. I’m sure some of you that read here, that see my Twitterings about the ‘too much fun’ I’m having think, ‘Just reading about this is exhausting… when does she stop?’

The answer is, I don’t. And all this funsies and debauchery, it comes with a price.

I pretend to be invincible, but the reality is that I’ve lost control over many aspects of my life. Maybe it’s that being in a relationship that was so easy and comfortable, I expected the rest of my life to follow suit… but over the past few weeks, I’ve had a rude awakening. And it’s time for me to listen to, well, myself.

I may not be able to control the Metro, or whether I get jumped in Adams Morgan one night. But yesterday, something snapped in me. I need to take back control of the things that I CAN have power over in my life.

The truth is, I haven’t felt good for a long time… inside and out. I feel sloppy, disoriented, stressed out. My body is angry with me for the things I put it through… and so, for that matter, is my wallet.

I cannot down cheeseburgers and booze all the time and expect to lose the ten pounds that have been haunting me.

I cannot never say ‘No’ to hanging with a friend and expect my bills to pay themselves.

I cannot sit on my ass and wait for my life to magically take direction on its own.

I wrote a couple weeks ago that I wasn’t burning out… and when it comes to writing, I’m not. But I AM burnt out on this thing called life, physically. I am tired of being drained, hungover, bloated. After the past few weekends, my liver has sent me a letter of resignation… and I am inclined, for the first time in my life, to accept. I feel too weak to argue… and I miss feeling strong, healthy, clean inside.

Forget something… everything’s gotta give. And I’m finally ready to grab whatever I need to by the balls and make it happen.

I. Am freaking. WASTED right now.

I just went to the bathroom and there’s blood in my poo. (TMI? Sorry, it’s still Thursday in my head.) Apparently that’s the international sign of You Had A Freaking AWESOME Night Out With Some Crazy-Ass Bloggers.

Dear Maxie, Deutlich, Liebchen, and my darling darling Lemmonex… I love you. No, I really, really love you. We bonded last night in about 15 ways, and not just because of the amount of titty I saw. Wait what? You don’t really know a girl until you’ve taken a shot together on the floor of the girls’ bathroom at Recessions, true story.

You see, I went to an innocent “Blogger Spa Night” last night… at the wonderful Nusta Spa, where they fed us bottomless amounts of booze, the best pasta salad I’ve ever had, and gave me a massage that ended with the adorable Asian girl awkwardly petting me and saying “Okay, is over… wake up.” Awesome. Now I know how every Senator feels. And then that rolled over into Bar 1, and then Bar 2, and then I was asleep in a cab with Maxie in my arms.

I was going to write a post in defense of Valentine’s Day today, but my boyfriend won’t even talk to me because he’s convinced we were doing terrible things last night, when really it was just 9 lemon shots and a whole lotta boobage. (Lisa, your “flashing game” definitely was put to use last night.) Guess I’m not getting anything for V-day!

At least I managed to get Maxie so drunk that she came home and spooned me. That is, until I woke up and caught her trying to sneak out at 4am with some line about “driving to West Virginia” to “go to work”. If you don’t want me to stroke your hair while you’re sleeping, lady, all you had to do was SAY so. P.S.: I got your text this morning: “Uggggh found metro. Gallery place? Dying of death. I smell like a bar/indian food. Love you!”

Don’t worry about me though. I think I’m gonna pull through. I just made myself a melty grilled cheese sandwich (yes, for breakfast, WHAT) and cut it into four diagonal pieces because that’s how my MAMA does it and it TASTES better.

It’s all gonna be okay. Planet Unicorn will heal me.

Happy weekend, hookers. XOXO

I have not slept in two months.

Correction: I have not slept for more than a couple hours at a time in the last couple of months… unless heavily sedated with Tylenol PM. And I’m not big on self-medicating, unless it’s recreational (read: booze), so there hasn’t been much of that either… nonetheless, even my blessed Tyl PM has seemingly started to not work. I don’t want to get a prescription for sleeping pills… that just seems like total avoidance, and thus a waste of time and money.

When I’m (ahem) intoxicated, I will perhaps be lucky enough to pass out, but only to wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning and lie awake until the alarm goes off at 7:30, watching the minutes tick by…

When I’ve not been drinking, I don’t even have the luxury of passing out. Those nights I’ll usually manage to finally drift off around 5am and grab a couple of hours before getting up for work. If not, there’s always the interwebs (how many of you have noticed me commenting at 5, 6 a.m. before? Yeah, that’s not a typo…) I’ve got hours and hours of Sex and the City, 3rd Rock From the Sun, and random horrible MTV/Vh1/Oxygen/Bravo shows that B won’t let me watch around him, mostly because they are seemingly mindless enough to put me to sleep… but they usually don’t.

Last night I slept for a couple hours in the evening… but woke up at midnight. I saw 5 am roll around before I was finally able to sleep- on and off- again, and in the interim I watched Britney Spears’ entire “For the Record” Special, a Bad Girls’ Club episode, last night’s new Girls Next Door, a RERUN of Real Housewives, and some other crap I’m too ashamed to admit. (Pssst, Katherine? Thank you for CatHouse! That shiz is hilARious.)

My insomnia is rotting my brain.

Two months ago, I figured it had to do with general anxiety, exhibited by the chest pains I was having. My doctor told me it was either anxiety or heartburn… and I knew it wasn’t heartburn.

I decided said anxiety was probably related to my unhappiness with my then-job. So, I went job huntin’. I tested, I interviewed, all the while… yup, still not sleeping well. Clearly, it was a product of the stress of job-hunting, no? But then I found a great job, a much better job, a job that I was excited about! Problem solved, right?

When I still wasn’t sleeping, I thought maybe it was the starting of said new job, in conjunction with worrying about holiday plans (whose house for Xmas, etc.), and the pressure of meeting B’s parents for the first time over Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving came and went, and was a delightful affair. I didn’t say anything too foot-in-mouth, and it was a relatively relaxing weekend of card games, movies, and home-cooked food. B agreed to come to Christmas with my family, and I was ecstatic. Surely, now I would be able to rest?

When I continued to jerk awake in the middle of the nights, worries and tasks flying through my mind accompanied by little shocks of adrenaline that completely prevented sleep, I thought, “Well, the holidays in general are always stressful… so much to do, and I haven’t even started shopping!” Nevermind the fact that going to Costa Rica had essentially bankrupted us since we got back… and everytime the paycheck came that was FINALLY going to take us out of the red, something else came up.

Honestly? I have everything. I love my apartment, my man, my family. My paychecks from my new job are coming in (with a raise that finally gives me a little breathing room to boot). Maybe I can’t shop or frequent restaurants the way I used to, but I can still afford to go out with the friends I love and spend some quality time boozin, talking, loving life.

A lot of my Christmas shopping is done or in the works. I love wrapping and giving (!!!) presents to the people I adore. I love traveling to upstate New York every year to be with my whole family, and I couldn’t be more excited now that B is coming with me to experience it. I love holiday parties and decorations and the pointsettia in my living room and my sad but sweet Christmas tree and the two adorable ornaments my mom sent so that we would have some “real” ornaments that came from loved ones.

I don’t mind winter or snow. I like a reason to snuggle up and get cozy.

So, yeah… you gotta ask, right?

What. The FUCK. Is Wrong With Me???

Woke up horribly, horribly ill. Coming out both ends ill. Coming out both ends BLACK ill. (Gearing up for TMI Thursday tomorrow.) Dry heaving is so sexy. Thank goodness I knew exactly what I wanted to write today and started it yesterday, because that’s all you’re getting. Excuse me while I go hug the porcelain god as I sob gently…

So, I know I toot the horns of Sunny and Mad Men. I’ve tooted them all over the place. But I must toot one more. Ffffffweeeeeet…

Things I love in this world: Food. Drink. People who love food and drink. And, of course, sitting on my ass in front of the television. While drinking.

Therefore, as it combines all of these lovely elements into one big mess of joy, Top Chef is my favoritest reality show ever of all time. And finally, FINALLY, Season 5 is here.

I cannot. freaking. WAIT.

If we’re friends, you better watch it. Cause I guarantee I won’t be able to talk about anything else tomorrow. WOOT!