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

Well, it finally happened.

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

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

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

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

Must’ve been all those years of Brownies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I still do it every. damn. time.

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

Or something.

Basically, I mooned my boss.

I'm slightly better looking.

No, that’s not accurate, actually…

I mooned my BOSS’ boss.

Is there a someecard for that?

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

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

<a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a>

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

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

On Monday, I was actually feeling pretty good.

Sure, I knew five days of work were ahead of me. Yes, I had a bit uf da sniffoos. And having twisted my knee during p90x kickboxing was not making for a pleasant sensation.

But still, I felt all right. It’d been a great weekend, I’d slept well, and hey, first world problems, yanno?

So I got my tea and breakfast and settled into my desk, chatting with a coworker about all our other colleagues before they got to the office (and could defend themselves). It was fixing to be a decent day.

And then.

I reached up to open a cupboard over my desk, and…

Well, let’s play this out in slow mo, shall we?

1. The cupboard opens, and I realize that something was leaning against the inside of the door. I don’t know how, since this wasn’t an airplane and “the contents of the overhead bins” should not be shifting during any flights.

2. Said object tumbles out onto my desk. Quite angrily, if you ask me.

3. It becomes apparent that said object is on a collision course with my cup of scalding fucking hot English tea.

4. Like the grand finale in MouseTrap, said object strikes cup, cup tips over…

5. And spills its entire 460 degree contents into my lap of very tender, ohsopink Scotch-Irish skin.

And so. In a matter of a very horrible 2 seconds, I went from being “that quirky, mildly entertaining girl who sometimes doesn’t think before she speaks but hey, she gets her stuff done” to “that weirdo who scalded this shit out of her VAGINA at work.”

Awesome sauce.

My coworker stared in shock and disbelief for a few moments, before she shook her head with a deep sense of pity, and said:

“Go home.”

It was meant to be a gesture of compassion, but I could see the disdain in her eyes. I gathered my things silently, including my seemingly urinated-on crotch, and slunk out of the building to head home to my non-judgy cats and a very soothing Tori and Dean marathon.

When I got back to work on Tuesday, we didn’t speak of The Incident. I walked in, sat down, and simply said:

“Do over?”

“Do over,” she replied. And I turned to my computer, and began answering emails. Because, like it or not…

Me and my scorched vagine?

We’re in this klutzy-ass life together.

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

Other awesomely bad TMIs…

citygirlblog’s Rimming it

Classy in Philadelphia’s TMI Thursday- The Time I Had The Most Awkward Planned Hookup Ever

Mary’s TMIT: Brokeback Meowtain

LivingWicked’s TMIThursday’s: Masturbation 101 by Dr. Dumbass

Carissa Jade’s TMI Thursday: We’re talkin about a queefolution…

That Kind of Girl’s TKOG Who has probably watched Deep Throat too many times (mega TMI Thursday and pics NSFW to boot!)

Zan’s TMI Thursday: Mah Pussay is Broke!

Floreta’s Anal Lube Giveaway (NSFW)

Lisa’s TMI Thursday: I’ll Tumble For Ya, But Only for Five Minutes.

Just Linda’s Why husbands shouldn’t be allowed to have the cameras:

Losing It’s TMI Thursday: Oops, I crapped my pants

StarGazer’s T.M.I… read with caution!

P’s TMI THURSDAY: SOME UNMENTIONABLES

Torn’s TMI Thursday–The Pontoon Boat

Lucy’s TMI THURSDAY: WISHING I Could Change the World!

Spleen’s epic backfat fail

Sean’s TMI Thursday: End of an Era

shine’s TMI Thursday – A tale of two poops.

GCK’s TMI Thursday #4: The Cooch

Heather’s TMI Thursday: Masturbation and Anal Glands

ClaireMontgomeryMD’s tmi thursday: can a vagina puke?

Bev’s TMI Thursday: The time I lacked Poise.

Adam L’s TMI Thursday: The Joys of Running, Part VI: My First Marathon

Nickie’s TMI Thursday: On How I Burned It. (You Know..)

angel’s TMI Thursday… Memaw’s spells

ClevelandPoet’s TMI Thursday: The pantless edition

Rachel’s TMI Thursday: It really can get stuck

Vixation’s TMI Thursday for YOU: The List

RachelSmiles’ TMI Thursday: I have sleeping problems

verybadcat’s TMI Thursday: Walk of Shame

Vittoria’s TMI Thursday: Drunk Sex is Best! Except when it’s not.

Wonderful’s The Importance of Locks

amber murphy’s tmi thursday: in which my job almost went down the toilet

Courtney’s TMI Thursday: Kids Say the Darndest Things

Coffeypot’s TMI Thursday – A Dump At School

Patti’s Thursday, Thursday

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

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

<a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a>

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

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

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

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

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

Ahem.

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

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

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

Yeah. That.

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

Of course. A onesie.

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!

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

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

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

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

And all was right with the world.

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

Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

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

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

Mary’s TMIT: The Most Shameful of Walks

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

P’s TMI THURSDAY: THE FACE LICKER

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

Floreta’s Head Lice 

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

Sean’s TMI Thursday: Blister in the Sun

Torn’s TMI Thursday–Is that Pee?

Lucy’s TMI Thursday: Spice up the Marriage

Meleah’s Public Service Announcement – TMI Style

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

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

Lisa’s Dear Mr. Echo

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

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

Brainless’ TMI Thursday: This post is NOT politically correct

Kernut’s My First Brush With The Law

I 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.

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

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

<a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a>

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

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

If you haven’t noticed, B and I have a couple of cats.

(Pauses for laugh track)

I know, I know. But truly, I love the little bastards, because they always make us laugh with their antics and ridiculous facial expressions, and you can’t deny they’ve provided endless fodder for this here blog.

*Whispers*: In fact, that’s why we got them. Don’t tell B. He’s kind of attached.

Anyhoo, while their shenanigans [insert pistol-whip here] are usually adorable and make for much mirth, they sometimes often retaliate for being laughed at.

Soap opera voice: This. Is one of those stories.

It was a dark and cold night… last week. In the middle of a ten day vacation, the couch had by this time contorted to my body shape, and held me tenderly to its bosom like a grizzly mama bear. B was out with the boys, and the cats and I were sharing a romantic evening in the soft glow of the Christmas tree.

Somewhat dehydrated from a few bottles glasses of wine, I took advantage of a commercial break from my “Bad Girls Club” marathon to get a crisp, cool glass of water from the kitchen.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….”

I set the glass down gingerly on the blessed couch’s endtable, and decided to hit the restroom as well.

Relieved, I returned to my cocoon and nestled into the many blankets, happy as a fat kid at a Golden Corral buffet. The show returned, and I instantly became absorbed with cheering Portia on while she decked uber-bitch Natalie in the face, many, many times. Axe Murderer poised on the endtable, as though rooting with me, and we were as one for a moment in time.

After the rumble, my voice was a bit hoarse. Thankfully, I reached over for the refreshing glass of water, and took a healthy swig to clear my throat. I went in for another, and focused on the bottom of the glass as I drank.

Where I could clearly make out a tiny clump of pop-rock looking pebbles, held together by some sort of clay.

I put the glass down, puzzled for a moment. What on earth…

And then Axe Murderer walked across my lap.

Leaving little, wet paw prints the whole goddamn way.

I guess she took the opportunity to relieve herself at the same time I did.

Excellent.

Good to know our litter actually does “clump”.

Sigh.

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

Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

That Kind of Girl’s TKOG Who puts slimy stuff in her mouth

Meghan’s TMI Thursday:Most Awkward Blogger, Indeed

Kendall’s TMI Thursday: Where I Take The Plunge And Whip It Out. My Credit Card That Is.

LivingWicked’s Offensive Cunt. (or) There is Some TMIThursday in here Somewhere.

Griffin’s TMI Thursday: Awkward situation at the Novelty Shop

Floreta’s Bathtub Rash

Daffy’s Thursday’s Tittibits of Humiliation -TMI Style

Carissa Jade’s TMI Thursday: Squat Got Copped

Travis’ TMI Thursday: Yes, I HAVE Done That.

P’s TMI THURSDAY: THE EXHIBITIONIST . . .

Lucy’s TMI Thursday: Guy Codes Cancel out Stalking!

Sean’s TMI Thursday: Leave Me Alone Yahoo

Sebastian’s Harder than it looks

lacochran’s TMI/”And sleep, just sleep” –My Chemical Romance

Tricia’s TMI Thursday: My Breast-ies

I Really Suck At This’ Things no one tells you about being pregnant – TMI Thursday

ClevelandPoet is over at Mel’s: TMI Thursday – Guest Post!

the iNDefatigable mjenks’ TMI Thursday: Lose Weight, Feel…er…Great? I guess…

ClaireMontgomeryMD’s tmi thursday: it’s going to be a long year

Lauren’s TMI Thursday: I’m So Creepy

Jeney’s TMI Thursday – The time my “boyfriend” hid in a drawer

Insomniac Lolita’s TMI Thursday : Does this leather turn you on?

kate’s TMI Thursday: The Joys of Pet Ownership

Lisa’s Adventures in Real Parenting: TMI Thursday

JewliaGoulia’s TMI Thursday – 4th Edition

amber murphy’s TMI Thursday: in which my sanity took a hiatus

Lebombed1’s Karma’s not always a bitch, but I am

Kaydee’s TMI Thursday: Boobs of a Mom

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

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

<a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a>

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

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

Last weekend, B and a friend headed to the Leesburg outlets while I met the girls for brunch.

“Buy me something!” I yelled, as I left our apartment in search of bacon and champagne.

I know. I’m subtle like that.

A few hours later, we reconvened at home, where the proud little five year old in him showed me his shiny new toys; a lovely suit, a new tie, etc. And then…

“I got you something too!” He beamed, and tossed a bag onto the bed. I scampered over and tore it open, to find what seemed to be a pair of running shorts.

“Oh, thanks babe! You remembered I need new running stuff!” I shook them open and held them up to see what they were like.

And quickly realized that something was wrong. Very, very wrong. As in, too-much-material and no-leg-holes wrong.

“Um… did you just buy me a skort?” I asked accusingly, and immediately twittered.

It turned out to not be a skort, but a “running skirt” with underoo netting, which my running pro friend Kbo assured me was all the rage now in Charleston. So I packed it up the next morning, intending to give it a try at my lunch hour workout.

Noon rolled around and I begrudgingly headed down to the gym. I suited up in my workout attire, skirt and all.

It was (bulky) fuscia with running stripes… and I looked absolutely ridiculous.

But when has that ever stopped me from anything before?

Now, I’ve worked out enough where I know you’re better off using the restroom beforehand, rather than experiencing the need during. So, I popped into a stall, and delighted with the easy-access design of the skirt for the first time, I whipped it up, and, ahem, began to, ah,well… tinkle, if you will.

(Most of you probably won’t.)

Immediately, I felt that something was very, very wrong. And also my thighs were  kind of hot. And not in a good way.

I looked down, and realized that while the skirt did indeed flip up easily for accessibility…

The underwear netting beneath it certainly did not.

Awk.

Ward.

Sigh. All I can say is, if anyone asks me when the last time I peed my pants was, I’m totally going to lie… because I was NOT wearing pants. I was wearing a goddamn running skort that can go get the freaking swine flu, for all I care.

So THERE!

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

Were you expecting a “Post Secret” TMI Thursday? Well, I need more entries! You can use the top secret anonymous email account to send it in (Gmail, username tmithursday, password tmit1234), and send them to me at heylivitluvit at gmail dot com. I suggest the free photo editing website Fotoflexer to make it super duper easy.

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

Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

That Kind of Girl’s TKOG Who <3s sluts and hula hoops (TMI Thursday!)

LivingWicked’s TMIThursday: Eye Will Try Anything … Once.

spleen’s The ass is out of the bag. (TMI Thursday)

P’s TMI THURSDAY : AND THIS WEEK, TMI STANDS FOR . . .

Carissa Jade’s TMI: Vlog- I love deers and peeing

Sebastian’s Penises are not as great as you might think

Griffin’s TMI Thursday: When my phone decides to become a Fish

Just Another Momma’s TMI Thursday – Out Of Which End?

shine’s TMI Thursday – No, but really…this happened.

Daffy’s TMI Thursday: Jose Cuervo and Cookies

Lucy’s TMI Thursday:This is so wrong and yet so funny!

Travis’ TMI Thursday: Yes, I Have Balls That Can Write…

saratogajean’s Usually this would CLEAR a room

Mary’s TMIT: Kitchen Mishap

Dani’s TMI Thursday: There are some shames that cannot be washed away by cheap beer…

Hillbilly Duhn’s TMI Thursday – Anything you can do I can do better!

Lisa’s TMI Thursday: Uterus in Revolt

lnicole’s TMI Thursdays: I Hate Showering

Tricia’s TMIT: Up Close and Personal

Carol’s TMI Thursday

Insomniac Lolita’s TMI Thursday : Can I Get a “Chivas”?

Jeff’s i am a highly trained computer technician

the iNDefatigable mjenks’ TMI Thursday: The Shaking of the Bed

ClevelandPoet’s Jimi’s pussy twofer or TMI Thursday

Ms.Terri’s Guess what, cigarette butt? Mr. Sister is here!

amber murphy’s TMI Thursday: peel the onion

Dual Mom’s TMI Thursday – Cougars On The Prowl

Joshua’s TMI Thursday: Full Of It

JewliaGoulia’s TMI Thursday – 1st Edition

Wendy’s TMI Thursday: I guess I’m just that approachable, even when naked from the waist down. Wait, that came out wrong.

the ikss’ tit for tat

lebombed1’s And she’s in charge of impressionable young minds…

I’ve been waiting to share this oh-so-LiLu moment with you guys for a couple weeks, partly because it’s humiliating, and partly because it’s taken me that long to go back and get a very necessary picture for full-effect-y-ness and all that. Shocking, I know.

SO.

It was a particularly grey day, the nasty kind where it’s sort of misting sideways, you know? DC has been ROCKING those lately.

Dear Weather Spirits: Please stop. Or at least make it SNOW so we can have a day off, yes?

It had been one of those, how do you say, “looooooooooong days” at the office, and all I wanted in life was to be on the couch with these fools. I dashed through the disgusting, frizzy-hair inducing mess outside towards my bus stop, and quick-like-a-bunny’d up underneath the protective shelter area with the other sopping wet Washingtonians.

As I shook out my umbrella while simultaneously trying to look up when the next bus was coming (thanks to Restaurant Refugee for showing me http://wmata.com/mobile !), I suddenly realized that I was, quite rudely, standing directly in front of someone and boxing them against the wall of the crowded (emphasis on crowded, here) shelter.

I whipped around, very clearly exclaiming,

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t… see you.. OH.”

Because I had just realized that I was apologizing to a quite famous lady…

ON AN ADVERTISEMENT.

With many, many witnesses around to see.

Yup… no doubt about it. I had just publicly- and loudly- apologized for standing in front of an ad for the Joy Behar Show.

In front of, oh, a dozen or so Washington business-types.

I AM SO AWESOME.

At least it wasn’t Hassel-butt…

I know, Rosie. I KNOW.

Sigh. I need a cup of cocoa and a hug.

***I’m going to decide whether tomorrow will be a Post Secret-style TMI Thursday based on how many entries I get, so send ‘em in now! Instructions here.***

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…

No funnies today. Will be back tomorrow.

Please to enjoy this gem in my absence, courtesy of Smellexa…

xoxo,

LiLu

Happy TMI Thursday, lovahs!

Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

lovelila’s TMI Thursday: Barf, Blank-Out, and The Hangover

Courtney’s TMI: Kissing and Your Number

Jassie’s TMI Thursday- Is Your Vagina THAT Big

Sebastian’s Sweaty testicles: meet a bag of frozen peas

Stephanie’s TMI Thursdays: Where are you from?

iNDefatigable mjenks’ TMI Thursday: The Wearing of the White

The Odd Duck’s TMI Thursday: Blissful Ignorance FAIL

BigSis’ TMI Thursday (Yeah, It’s Gross)

Tabitha’s TMI Thursday: Twitsgusting.

justjp’s The Gospel’s 100th Anniversary

Liebchen’s TMI Thursday: Tastes like low standards

Pilgrim Jill’s TMI Thurday: You Talk Too Much For Someone I Just Want To Have Sex With

jen-tsk’s TMI Thursday – Someone Elses Misfortune

Stephanie Belen’s TMI Thursday: My first of many.

Nikki’s TMI Thursday: Candidates for Detrol?

EllaBella’s TMI Thursday- Rotten Broccoli

Vittoria’s TMI Thursday: Talia Talks Tooting

shine’s TMI Thursday, if you’re a boy

Lindsay’s TMI Thursday: i can’t believe i’m going to tell this story.

Mich’s A TMI Thursday Post (kinda)

Zan’s TMI Thursday: The First Time I Ever Saw a Penis

Lizzie’s TMI Thursday? Tucks

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

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

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

B: I cleaned the whole kitchen so you wouldn’t have to come home to the mess I made this weekend! The only thing I haven’t done is clean the cat box today.

LiLu: Ha, okay darlin. I’m in the bathroom now… hey, where’s the litter scoop?

B: Oh, yeah… I had to throw that away.

LiLu: Um… is there a story there…?

B: Well, the toilet got clogged, and… well, it was a bad situation. Just trust me on this.

LiLu: Okay…

B: I used a paper plate. It was rough going, but I managed.

LiLu: Umm…

B: I can stop and get a new scoop at on the way home…

(Note: He’s already staying late at work, and I know this is the LAST thing he wants. However, I spent the whole day traveling, so there is a better chance of Texas passing gay marriage than me going back out into the world right now.)

LiLu: No, it’s okay, I’ll give that a try.

B: Call me if it doesn’t work…

Off to a promising start, no?

So, I grab a paper plate (eff you, Mother Nature!), form it into a V shape, scoop up a chunk, and roll it to make a sort of funnel so the excess runs off. This is actually working surprisingly well (I have proven my resourcefulness in similar situations, after all…), and I am mentally congratulating myself on my ingenuity when Murray jumps on top of my work-in-progress.

“Murray, get off!” I yell, and toss him aside. But he immediately jumps back in. Being the genius that I am, I figure as long no squat’s being popped, he’s not really doing any harm, and he seems not to mind my working around his little furry butt. Until…

In the blink of an eye, he backed up, crouched, and fired away.

SQUIRRRRRT.

“MURRAY!” I jumped back in horror. “You just POOPED on my SCOOP!!!”

This is his innocent face.

Now, for those uninitiated with this substance, please let me try to describe what kitten poop smells like.

It smells like someone took a big ole scoop of Northern-Florida-in-August Swamp Ass, and put it in a blender with Ethopian food (aka raw beef) and five eggs so old they have liver spots on the shell. Set on “puree” for two minutes, before bringing mixture to a steady boil on the stove, and SERVE.

Murray’s poop came from the bowls of hell, and I was holding a steaming hot plate of it, fresh for the eatin’.

Oh, look. I just made myself throw up.

This is how Murray felt after ripping ass.

But don’t worry, he got a stern talking to…

Happy TMI Thursday, lovahs!

Other awesomely bad TMIs this week…

verybadcat’s TMI Thursday: Do NOT Google This (Yes, trust me… that IS the right link. *wink*)

cavy’s TMI Thursday: keychains solve everything

WickedCourtni’s TMI Thursday: M is for Maggot

Zan’s TMI Thursday: Revenge is a Dish Best Served…

Sebastian’s The Venetian cavity search

Head Biting Princess’ TMI Thursday: Dirty Sanchez Medusa

Maxie’s TMI Thursday: Trouble in the Fortress

Mb’s Wouldn’t you, if you could?

BigSis’ TMI Thursday: Oktoberfest 2006

jen-tsk’s TMI Thursday – Another Toothbrush Tale

Foggy Dew’s TMI Thursday: “I need a Beef ‘n Cheddar, Stat!”

justjp’s

target="_blank">Fun with a Bedazzler

mylittlebecky’s dog lovin’ (tmit)

verybadcat’s TMI Thursday: Poop Vengeance

Sean’s TMI Thursday: Find a Kid Next Time

JFo’s TMI Thursday: Can You Tell Me How to Get, How to Get to 69th Street?

Liebchen’s TMI Thursday: A different kind of balloon animal

PQ’s TMI Thursday (Guest): Ticksational

Cheddar’s TMI Thursday: This Mojito Doesn’t Taste Right

Jo’s TMI Thusday – Me vs The Mailbox

Wendy’s TMI Thursday: How’d Those Noodles Get on the Ceiling?

Just A Girl’s TMI Thursday: No, I DON’T Want It Back Now

Vittoria’s TMI Thursday: I’m coming! I’m coming! I’m bleeding?

ClaireMontgomeryMD’s tmi thursday: more shorts

Angela’s TMI Thursday: Girls talk about poop

Redhead’s TMI Thursday: Oh, Oh, the Places I’ll “O!”

D. Kendall’s Life’s Lessons Learned Lamely.

Rachel’s TMI Thursday

Hi lovelies! I know it looks like I’m here today, but I’m actually not. This is merely a hologram. The real LiLu is over at On the Road With Cavy, guest blogging her ass off.

Go check it out now. Go. Click! I see you not clicking! DO IT!!!

Okay, now that you’ve all clicked through and read the funsies over there and left her lotsa love, I want to spread a little bit more over here. You see, I’ve been a very bad blogger. I have been ungrateful, and I am ashamed to say, that in these very tough economic times, I have been rude enough to overlook a bunch of lovely presents from fantastical bloggy people, without giving them love back over here.

It is time to right this terrible wrongdoing. I truly am not doing this to toot my own horn… I’m really much more comfortable telling you all how I wiped my ass with CVS cotton rounds, how I ended up spooning Maxie in my bed, or slipped on a used condom in the snow. But these lovelies deserve to be recognized as well for the witticisms and general awesomeness they put into the blogosphere every day. This is honestly to make up for my own laziness and meant to be a tribute to these dy-no-MITE bloggers.

That being said, I have put up permanent links to each and every one of the darling people who have given me these awards (in absolutely RANDOM order, promise), and ALL you have to do to check them out is click on the icons! Down and to the right… under the blogroll… thaaaat’s it. Right there. Mmmmmm.

Oh, sorry. Back now. That was awkward.

A big fat thank you to each and every one of you, my darlings. You make me happy in my pants, you make me laugh in my pants, you make me splooge-

This is getting weird again. Signing off now.

But first Click Here.

Hahaha I GOT YOU!!!

The thing about being in a relationship is that once you get used to the idea of “Being With Someone, You Know, Officially” (i.e., on Facebook) (kidding) (sort of), you kind of just assume it. It becomes part of you. And eventually, you forget that “TAKEN” isn’t stamped across your forehead with “and happy” in fine print beneath it. Because, as one of my new blog crushes La Dolce Vita found out, there are those guys who even “I’M MARRIED AND PREGGERS” won’t stop. Blech.

Anyway, after YOU get used to the fact that you have an S.O., you sort of forget that everyone else doesn’t magically know about it. And even though you cease to see your everyday interactions as possibilities, flirtations, etc… the rest of the world does not.

Which explains why I might have sort of accidentally hit on someone yesterday.

And didn’t realize it until about five minutes after the fact.

Let me ’splain.

As I’ve said, B and I are kicking our own asses this month, diet- and exercise-wise. (Who knew you could fall asleep without booze? Crazy talk!) So, my mission yesterday was to actually see the gym at my office for the first time, and quite possibly even go so far as to SIGN UP. Which probably would have burned 5 calories alone! But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

I was heading down towards the basement to check it out, which was about all I knew as far as said gym’s “location”, and I held the door open for a guy coming into the stairwell behind me. As I continued downstairs I realized two things:

A) I do not have the slightest idea where the gym actually is, and there
are about 4 levels to the “basement”…

B) The guy behind me was carrying a gym bag.

Using my phenomenal powers of deduction, I realized that said gentleman could probably point me in the right direction. I awkwardly stopped, turned around, and said,

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you… but are you going to the gym?”

Which, apparently, when said by a 20-something girl to a 20-something guy, can mean two entirely different things based on your “Status”. See below:

In a Relationship: “I’m sorry to bother you… but are you going to the gym?”

Single: “I think you’re cute and I couldn’t think of a less lame way to talk to you.”

WHOOPS. At least I didn’t make muscley-arms at him, a la Ron Burgundy. (“I don’t know if you heard me counting, I did about a thousand…”) He looked surprised and then flattered, pointed me in the right direction, and offered to walk me there, at which point I decided to beg off and duck into the library. The gym and my, ahem, voluptuous ass could wait one more day.

As I left, he kind of winked at me, and said, “The gym, is good, yes?” and I realized I had inadvertently hit on a young Latino man. Talk about flipping roles. But apparently, the “Are you going to the gym?” guy code transcends all language barriers.

And now I’m off to get some ink on my forehead that says, “No, I’m not flirting with you… I’m just dumb.”

YES, I do know it is WEDNESDAY, despite my debilitating endearing, ahem, absentmindedness. However, since many of us will be traversing across the valleys and snowy hilltops to be with the alcoholics we share blood with people we love most in the world, TMI Thursday is early this week for your horror viewing pleasure. I’ve got a DOOZY for ya, too, but I’m saving it for next Thursday when we’re all bored in our cubefarms, dreaming of the weekend and in great need of a truly coffee-snarfing chuckle.

My official cohorts in TMI Thursday crime, Fatty Lumpa and J of It’s Toasted, are posting theirs early as well, because we love you like that. Everyone else who joins in the awesomely bad and repulsive fun (see Fatty Lumpa’s post today for the Official Rules), I will try to link yours below here, but I worry that I miss some, so be shameless! and leave the tag in the comments as well, here or on Fatty’s or J’s, or all three! If you’re particularly bored.

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

A few months ago, I went to visit my sweet Carolina girls for one of their birthdays. I was taking the train out of Union Station, early. Very early. Far, far too early for someone who had decided that they had to be on a train early and could sleep for 5 hours, so they might as well get WASTED while bartending til 3 in the morning and then GO FOR AFTER DRINKS at a certain sketchy 24-hour Chinese restaurant nearby.

I never said I was smart. And if I did, well, I probably was at the time. I can turn it on and off. With booze. Shhhhhh….

I woke up to the alarm I’d set, unable to fathom moving, never mind, yanno, actually being a person and walking out into daylight and not vomming in my hair. Somehow, some way, I managed to get myself cleaned up (read: put hair in ponytail, pulled on big sweatshirt, looked at the toothbrush long enough to convince myself it was the same as actually brushing) and down to the street, where I almost managed to raise my arm in the air to flag a cab. Fortunately, one of them recognized the odor of desperation (or of the previous night’s saki bombs, who knows), and pulled over.

With my last ounce of energy, I heaved myself into the car and lay back. The hard part was over. I shut my eyes and tried to enjoy the whole, “me not having to move” of it all. We took off down Mass Ave, through Dupont Circle. Through Scott. Through Thomas. And on, until we were approaching the intersection with I-395.

The nausea hit me like a tidal wave.

Ohmygod I can’t do this, I HAVE to stop, do I have a bag? What will the cab driver think, this is so embarassing… oh lord, what did I drink last night?? I feel HORRIBLE. Did someone pour me a shot of JAGER? I’m pretty sure that happened. Oh EW don’t think about blacklicoricerightnowOHMYGODICAN’THOLDITIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!…………..

“I’m so sorry, but could we pull over here for a moment!!!” I yelled frantically, unbelievably grateful that we were both at a red light and stuck in gridlock traffic. Panic-striken, the cabbie swung the car over to the curb as I fumbled for the handle and dove out onto the tiny strip of grass. On the side of Massachusetts Avenue, during rush over, I shuddered and dry-heaved my pathetic guts out while the cabbie, a couple of tourist families, and The Lord watched me, their hearts heavy with pity and disgust.

I finally was able to stand up straight, wipe my mouth, and clamber back into the cab. He, of course, was staring at me in the rearview mirror, trying to contain his shock and revulsion (and doing a poor job of it).

“Miss, are you all right?” He asked, to his credit.

Disclaimer: What happened next, I am not proud of. But, interwebs, I cannot hold back the truth. It is too horrific/funny. So enjoy my shame, and know that I truly do think my actions were ahem, slightly despicable.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, knowing that I was a terrible person for what I was about to do. But in that moment, I felt that I had no choice.

“I’m pregnant. My morning sickness has been terrible lately.”

The very sweet cabbie spent the rest of the ride telling me about his pregnant daughter, and what she was going through. He could relate, he said. I shouldn’t feel bad, he said.

I felt dreadful, both physically and emotionally. But he got me to the train station as fast as he could, which was lucky, because once there I had to stop and throw up again in a trash can outside. A very sweet bum asked if I was all right…

And I told him the same damn thing.

Aw well… we all know I’m going to hell anyways!

Happy Turkey Day, hookers!

Fatty Lumpa’s TMI Thursday: Super Punctual This Week

J’s TMI Tuesday

Foggy Dew’s My Little TMI Friday

Doug’s TMI Thursday: Thanksgiving Edition

I’ve mentioned before that I once had a slight… problem… with shoplifting. It got pretty bad at one point. I followed the typical kleptomaniac pattern: the items I stole had very little value- pencils, candy, shiny things… anything that was less than three feet from the ground and hideable.

Why three feet from the ground, you might ask?

That’s easy, dear reader. Because I was four.

I don’t know how it started. Probably because I never really liked hearing the word “No.” (What can I say? I’m a can-do kinda gal.) The thing is, at four years old, you don’t really understand the Why behind the “No.” I assumed that my parents said No, I couldn’t have the pretty/tasty/rainbow colored things I wanted because they were MEAN. Obviously, they didn’t want me to be happy, and it was up to me to find a way to make my toy-starved childhood bearable. (Ed. note: “toy-starved” can be translated to “having nearly every Lego, Barbie, and My Little Pony available to mankind, and occasionally being refused a cookie 5 minutes before dinnertime.”)

Like I said, the responsibility to brighten my own gray and barren existence fell squarely on my twee toddler shoulders. And so I did, one pack of Fruit Stripes gum at a time. Of course, I had no concept of the idea of stealing, and why it was wrong. I didn’t understand that I was taking something without providing an equal exchange of Goods and/or Services. The stores I stole from were merely faceless corporations, veritable charity organizations displaying the necessities of life on their shelves… and all we had to do was put them in our cart. What was so hard about that? Nothing, I tell you! My parents were simply trying to deny me the good stuff in life.

Now, my cat-like reflexes and superhuman mad dexterity skills had not yet been perfected at the tender age of 4, so my pilfering was, more often that not, observed by the treacherous parental units (or some assmonkey onlooker who decided to call their attention to my tiny thieving hands). What is all that ‘cute’ and ‘dimpley’ for if perfect strangers won’t just wink and “Awww” and let you have the damn Tic-tacs?!

My favorite of my pillagings was at a craft store with my mother. We rounded a corner, and suddenly, my sparkly green eyes lit up with delight! (Definitely delight, and not a mountain of greed. Not at all.) Lo and behold, there was an entire BIN of faux flowers! Daisies and sunflowers and roses, oh my! I danced among the pansies and black-eyed-susans, rummaging for the PRETTIEST (read: pinkest) OF THEM ALL. “Mommy!” I shrieked with innocent joy. “Which shall we choose to brighten and adorn our beautiful home, that you take such good care of and I am grateful for each and every day?” I’m also pretty sure I looked just like this:

But my sweet and generous mother was gone. In her place was a fire-breathing beast of epic proportions, who fed on the misery of adorable little girls. “None,” the evil Beast bellowed, as it snacked on surrounding customers’ hopes and dreams. “You shall have NOTHING. Now behave, or I’ll cut all the hair off your Barbie Dolls when we get home.”

(Ed. note: My mother insists that she did not see a beast of any kind, and that she said something along the lines of, “Those are ridiculously expensive and I already bought you 19 things this week, which you seem to have forgotten even though you promised not to ask for anything as we were walking into this very store. Stop screeching like a banshee, people are looking.”) Whatever.

Now, what you need to know is that it was a blustery New England winter day, which means I had my puffy coat on, AND those way cool mittens-on-a-string that you thread through the sleeves so that you can’t lose them. When the Beast’s scaly back was turned (I think it was busy tipping over old women’s walkers), I valiantly stuffed my puffy sleeves full of the flowers, or as I like to think of them, mini-beacons of joy.

Brimming at the seams with the glorious buds, I followed the Beast- I mean my mother- through the check out and outside into the frigid winter air. “LiLu, put your mittens on!” She said, as if she cared for my well-being. Monster. I fumbled with the mittens-on-a-string, sliding them back and forth and trailing behind my mother as I struggled to get them on my wee hands. She turned to see what was taking me so long, and I watched her eyes follow my path from the store front to where I stood.

“LiLu,” she said dangerously, “Did you take anything from that store?”

“No, Mama,” I deadpanned. Did the Beast- I mean my mom- have X-ray vision??

“LiLu, what do you have in your coat?” Her eyes twinkled in the winter night. Mostly with thoughts of murder.

“Nothing, Mama!” My little heart was beating furiously. Exasperated, my mother put her hands on my shoulders.

“Then why, my dear,” (she turned me around)… “Is there a trail of flowers following you out of the store?” Damn you, mittens-on-a-string! Clearly, my brilliant plot was foiled. And then the dreaded words came, “I’m going to have to tell your father about this.”

Telling my father I had done wrong meant only one thing: The Wooden Spoon.

Sure, it might look harmless enough. YOU may associate it with Macaroni & Cheese, or even Funfetti cake batter. But I? I associate it with my early years of guilt, an aching backside, and anguished cries of “This hurts me more than it hurts you!” (Um… yeah… BULLSHIT.)

On more than one occasion, we arrived home only to have me refuse to take my jacket off with them watching. “I’m going to take it off… in the other room…” I’d murmur slyly, my little eyes darting back and forth. (I am equally as covert at being secretive today.) Don’t know how my father ever figured that one out, but I ended up with a red heiney and a bruised ego every damn time.

P.S. Someone got to my blog this weekend by googling, “i love bacon panties.” Know what’s even weirder than that? When I saw it, I felt a strange sense of pride.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should try harder to be a better person. I think we all consider this at various points in our lives; self-examination, introspection, and all that. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a tendency to over-analyze things, and I myself am definitely not exempt from scrutiny.

I think, in general, that I am a good person. I am compassionate (empathetic, mostly, not sympathetic. I.e., if I can relate to you- like if you trip on the stairs in the metro and spill your coffee down your shirt and no one stops, I’ll be the first to give you the napkin from my purse and tell you a story about how I ate it on the escalator yesterday and fell in the lap of a smelly fat guy, just so you’ll feel better. I’ve got a heart of gold, obvs).

Negative: There’s a lot of stuff I should care about that I just can’t, like the homeless, the environment, saving the whales. I mean, I do care, just not enough to um… do anything about it. Or give you any of my money. Whew, we’re being honest today, aren’t we?

I can’t hold a grudge to save my life. (I actually can’t think of one person I really and truly hate. Except Kirsten Dunst. And Ann Coulter- oh, and Sarah Palin (same diff, really). And everyone over the age of 12 who has ever recreationally worn Crocs).

Negative: This also means that I can’t hold a grudge when I probably should. People have definitely taken advantage of this.

I prefer to root for the underdog. (Shuttup, I know I’m a BoSox fan. They were the underdog for the first 18 years of my life, okay?)

Negative: I’m a BoSox fan and no one is buying this.

I love my friends passionately; I am loyal to a fault and will do absolutely anything for them.

Negative: If you fuck with one of my friends, I will kill you. Homicide is bad. I wouldn’t do well in federal prison. Also, I have a tendency to view all strangers as offending ‘outsiders’ until they prove otherwise to me. This makes for a lot of great jokes at their expense, but it also makes me a less-good person.

I have mellowed because of my years in the South (and, you know, because of growing up and getting slightly wiser and all that) from a sharp-tongued, naive Masshole into a much more well-balanced, reasonable human being, who is more inclined than she used to be to “just let it go,” in every sense of the phrase.

Negative: I worry that I will continue to mellow, until I’m just completely boring and trapped in a house in the (ugh) suburbs, with a dog and (deargodno) children.

But I’m not all sunshine and kittens, as anyone who knows me can attest. Quite the opposite, in fact: I’m sort of a raging bitch.

It’s all in the name of humor, and I would never mean to actually hurt someone’s feelings. My snarky comments are reserved for the ears of those that I trust, those who delight in my vicious and sarcastic sense of humor. But it is my natural tendency to make fun of others, particularly unsuspecting strangers (out of earshot, of course, but still), and this worries me sometimes. I just can’t help it. Do other people not think these things? Do they keep them bottled up inside so that no one can see the blackness in their heart?

Because that just ain’t me.

At least I admit the blackness is there… I’ll be the first to admit it. I justify it by telling myself, I would never say these things out loud to these people (unless you fuck with one of my friends. See above). I tell myself, “Well, if I walked by myself on a street corner, I’d have PLENTY to say”- and it’s true. I tell myself, I make people laugh, it’s just harmless fun to get through the work day. (I’m not saying that I have a “drinking” game with a fellow blogger where we have to “drink” water every time we say (type) something bitchy… I’m also not saying I don’t. I’ll let her out herself if she wants to.)

I am, I think, pretty damn self-aware when it comes to my strengths, weaknesses, and general shortcomings. The question is, am I okay with them? Or should I be striving to be a “better person”?

Um, does anyone else equate “better person” with “boring”?

Lord Almighty… I have a problem.

I like bananas. I like them better smathered in peanut butter. (Chunky, obvs.)

This morning I was about to enjoy said items, when I remembered that my doctor (who looks and acts EXACTLY like this, bee tee dubs) told me I needed more calcium. I used to drink milk by the big, tall glassful when I was growing up (my grandfather was a dairy farmer, after all, and cows and I have a long and complicated history), but lately it’s been a whole lot more booze, and less sweet Holstein nectar. (And by lately, of course, I mean the last eight years.)

“Aha!” I thought to myself. “There are few things in this world better complimented by milk than peanut butter!” Oreos are a worthy contender, of course, as are their slightly messier cousin, the chocolate chip cookie. Pastry for breakfast seemed a bit much… but fruit, peanut butter and a cold glass of milk? Sign me up.

Patting myself on the back for my ingenuity (satisfied craving AND a healthy dose of calcium? SMARTEST WOMAN ALIVE) I trotted to my little Korean deli place across the street (you know, the breakfast/lunch bar types they have on every corner) and scoured their drink items for milk. After wrestling with my inner child who tried to convince me that really, chocolate milk is the same thing, it just tastes better! It’s even low-fat, it’s good for you!!!, I opted for the lone, sad little carton of skim milk, shoved behind all the chocolatey goodness.

Probably should have been my first clue.

Judgment clouded by thoughts of moral and health superiority, I pranced back across the street (what? I’m wearing zebra flats today. They demand to be pranced in) and upstairs to my desk, where I readied my mouth for the explosion of flavors. (Sorry, can’t help it: That’s what she said.) I took a delicious, peanuty-goodness-enriched bite of banana, used my amazing one-handed reflexes to open the wee 5th-grade-cafeteria carton of milk, and enthusiastically took a large, satisfying swig. I swallowed.

The smell hit me before the taste did.

How do you describe spoiled milk? The word Yellow comes to mind, as does Curdled, Goat Urine, and OMGMyStomachIsChurningAndI’mGoingToDie. With a side of, IReallyHopeIDon’tVomOnMyComputer.

Ah, gluttony… you sadistic whore.

Methinks this afternoon warrants a CVS run to stock up on pink stuff, and calcium vitamins. Because frankly? I’m not sure Milk and I are going to be able to work through this and still be friends. And it’s totally NOT ME, it’s YOU.

Moral of the story?

When your inner child says CHOCOLATE!!! ?

You listen.

(Video Warning: Just kidding. It’s a freaking puppet. Handle it.)

I love my super new-and-fantabulously organized apartment, thanks to Bdriving me like a work horse all weekend to get all my very important things(read: crap) put away. For the first time in my life, I actually know where (and what) all of my belongings (crap) are. My closet(s) are organized, the kitchen is organized, even my make-up (jealous, Lem?) is organized. It feels great.

I was hoping, however, that this lovely development would mean that I would be more organized. Like, my brain. As such, I was hoping that I would get a little bit better about forgetting stuff. I am, shall we say, a wee bit absent-minded. I’m that person who finds the wine key in the medicine cabinet, because I was opening a bottle when I noticed a hangnail that had been driving me crazy, and I needed to cut it off that second before I forgot, because otherwise I would pull on it and it would hurt and get all ouchy, so I walked into the bathroom and set the wine key down where the nail clippers were and… well, you get the picture.

I was hoping that living in an incredibly neat and clean and painstakingly organized place would help prevent these kinds of things.

Yeah, right.

Today I forgot:

My shoes (I walk to work in sandals and change. Fortunately, I have both “brown” and “black” back-ups here, as a preventative measure. YES, I forget stuff a lot.)

My lunch (I had a frozen dinner in the freezer I was going to bring. Apparently remembering to reach in there was just one step too many for my slowly-starting brain)

My snack (I bought bananas yesterday specifically for this purpose. I’m not saying I keep a jar of peanut butter in my desk for just such occasions, but I’m not saying I don’t, either… shuttup. You’re just jealous.)

My checkbook (Thank jeebus rent isn’t LEGALLY due til the 5th…)

My sunglasses (actually SEEING the bus before it hits you as you cross Thomas Circle is totally overrated)

My pinky toes

My dignity (also answers to the name, “pride”)

My wit and/or ability to bring mirth to the lives of others

My fifth of Kahlua for my coffee (which has a direct correlation with…)

My sense of compassion and benevolence towards humanity (yes, I know this is usually in short supply anyway, you can comment during question and answer time, thankyouverymuch)

And might I also point out that I also have an extra 10 minutes every morning now, due to my shorter walk, and was still 2 minutes late, even though I got up at the same time?

Ah well… at least I remembered my ability to procrastinate.

Now where did I leave that damn work ethic? Ah, crap…