Okay! So, MTV challenged us to show who we are, in any format we liked. Of course, being me, I had to get a little different with this.

I decided to take this challenge to the streets!!!… and let the good people of DC show you who I am, a la vlog.

That’s right, I went up to perfect strangers, and made them interview ME.

(Because it’s all about me, obviously. What?)

Actually, it is all about me… making an ass out of myself. With total strangers.

It’s LiLu, in a nutshell, baby. Much like this.

Enjoy!!! It may not be the fanciest, but it’s gotta be the ballsiest… (it’s a word!)

(Ahhhhhhhhh ohmigod ohmigod it’s actually here! VOTING ME FOR MTV’s TWITTER JOCKEY TIME IS UPON US TOMORROW!!! And yes, I did throw up a little while brushing my teeth this morning! So help a girl out, and spread the word one last time…)

Twitter your hearts out, love muffins…

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

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

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

Also, you can just click here to share my plight with your friends on the ‘Book. Love you long time. SMOOCHES.

And now back to our regular programming…

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I have tasted disappointment, my friends… and it reeks of M. Night Shyamalan’s man-undercarriage.

Anyone who’s been hanging around this corner of the interwebs knows the following: A) I am a huge dork, and B) consequently, I am in love with the Avatar: The Last Airbender animated series.

So you can imagine how completely geeked out excited I was when we heard it was going to be made into a movie. Epic battles! Flame throwing! A four-element controlling avatar whose duty it was to defeat the Fire Nation and restore balance to the WORLD!!!!!!!!

And most of all, an unbearably cute flying bison who I was finally going to see ten feet tall. Giant fluffy moo-cow for the win!

So we bought tickets. We bought them in 3-D, because there was no other option…

And then we read the reviews.

The only thing 3-D about the film was the fact that I couldn’t take my glasses off or everything was blurry. Grandma if I do, Harry Potter if I don’t.

Look, I get it. It’s an ingenius way to make it feel like we’re falling into a giant abyss towards a bubbling pool of lava, and hike the prices up 50%. But frankly, if I want to feel like I’m flying over the Grand Canyon or about to be eaten by a Great White, it’s because I’m at the Museum of Natural History trying to convince my family we’re having fun since I can’t take them to our favorite local bar to eat tater tots and yell out the answers to Cash Cab with the other regulars like we normally do on Thursday night.

What?

We found ourselves a block away from the movie theater the night prior to our showing, and very seriously considered attempting to get our tickets refunded after reading Ebert’s and Vanity Fair’s scathing-yet-hilarious reviews, but lazy won out and we decided instead to just bring flasks make the best of it.

Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as we were expecting. But since a couple reviews called it “an abortion of a movie,” that’s really, really not saying much. (Also, the last movie I saw in the theater was SATC2. So, you know… lowest bar EVER.)

They erased all traces of East Asian descent from the characters, and replaced them with child actors so awful they couldn’t convince a dog to come with bacon in their hand. They blatantly changed the pronounciation of the main character’s name. They left out and changed and added things to the storyline that any good dork lover of the animated version knew had no place being there.

But through it all, I sipped on my vodka/HiC and I thought… “At least I’ll get to see a giant Appa, the flying air buffalo!”

(I’m easy to please.)

But. BUT.

When I finally did see Appa’s face… oh, how tragically disappointing. It looked like a hobbit woman and Hagrid had a love child that fell out of an ugly tree and hit every damn branch on the way down.

The adorable Appa I've come to know and love looks like this...

M. Night's abomination looks like this. (Short bus not included.)

These pictures perfectly embody what was done to this adorable little television show, this sweet and heart-wrenching tale where you couldn’t help but cheer for the lovable characters on their interesting and engaging journey.

They took my beloved cartoon… and they gave it a lobotomy.

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

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

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

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

And now back to our regular programming…

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Understandably, MTV wanted to give their viewing audience/interwebbers a change to get to know us 20 candidates a little bit better. So, they sent us an impossibly long Q&A. I’m not sure if I should be proud or ashamed of what I put forth, but it is what it is… (here’s the first half).

LiLu’s Q&A with MTV – Part I

Give us some background on where you grew up (or where you spent the majority of your life). What about your hometown do you love/hate?

I had the luxury of growing up in Suburbia Shrewsbury, Massachusetts. The greatest thing about living there was definitely the sense of community. Like, when I was in elementary school, we needed a playground. So the whole town came out and volunteered their time to build us this enormous beast of a thing where you could play “Don’t Touch the Gravel” for DAYS. It was magical.

And then, a decade later, they decided it was giving kids splinters, and tore it all down.

So, that’s pretty much the ‘Bury in a nutshell.

Though we did get to underage drink in Chinese restaurants. And the birth control pill was invented there…

Hmm. Let’s call it a wash.

What would a move to NYC mean for you and how would it impact your life?

Moving to NYC would mean an endless diet of Gray’s Papaya hot dogs, learning how to stay up past midnight again, and regularly Skyping with my cats back here in DC.

Wait, scratch that last one. Um, I want to see the Empire State Building! Yeah, that’s the one… *hides*

NOM.

If you were to name your biggest flaws, what would they be?

I drink. I swear. I’m clumsy. I use (and adore) words like “toodles” and “poppycock.” I’m addicted to cheeseburgers. I’m probably a little insane. I have the worst case of “Foot in Mouth” the doctors have ever seen.

Oh, wait. Isn’t this the one where I’m supposed to say something that sounds negative, but is actually a positive?

Uhhh, scratch all that. I’m such a perfectionist! It’s totally a burden! I do work (said Rob & Big style) in my sleep, son!

Describe a few of your funniest and/or most embarrassing moments.

Well, there’s a few hundred of them on my blog. Since that’s pretty much what I do.

But let’s see… there was the time I apologized to an advertisement of Joy Behar’s show at a crowded bus stop. The time I surprise trust-falled (a la Tosh.0) a dozen unsuspecting tourists on the National Mall. The time my cat farted down my throat, and as revenge, I dressed our “family” up in holiday costumes for last year’s Christmas card.

Never a dull moment around here, I tell ya.

When and why did you decide to sign up for a twitter account?

Dude, I’m Gen Y. Twitter is MADE for my getting-shorter-every-day attention span. Why say something in eleventy billion words when you could do it in 140 characters?

*whispers* Plus, it’s kind of totally where I get my news from. Don’t tell anyone.

Do you feel like your online persona is any different from your real life persona? How and why?

Honest answer? Not a bit. Not even the tiniest iota. Ask anyone who’s had the experience (and I choose that word carefully) of meeting me in person: I am the very essence of “what you see read is what you get.”

I’m an immediate hugger, an over-sharer, a bit of a mess… and yes, I’d love to grab a beer sometime.

Why do you think some people take on different personas online?

Clearly, they weren’t hugged enough as children.

I keed, I keed. But it’s not really something I can comprehend, quite frankly. I could never be anyone other than myself. It’s a helluva ride being me.

What are the websites other than twitter and facebook that you can’t live without? Why?

Dlisted, Jezebel and Warming Glow for my snarktastic pop culture needs (mmmm, sarcasm… tastes so good), and The Bloggess/Ask the Bloggess for my funny bone.

Also, every single one of the “Cheezburger” sites: Failbook, Engrish, Lolcats… I love it all. I also use the word “nom” far more often than any grown ass woman has a right to.

Are there any new social media apps/websites etc. that you are excited about? Describe.

I’m honored to be part of the 20 Something Blogger Management Team, which is a group of almost THIRTEEN thousand- you guessed, it, 20-something bloggers, and it’s basically so awesome it must be built out of unicorn farts, aka magic. If you ever feel lost on the internets, trust me, just go there. It’s like the YMCA for gay dudes in the late 70s, only, you know… for bloggers.

That got weird.

What kind of new social media app would you love to see or invent if you could?

Teleportation.

What the French, Google? You give me the capacity to e-meet all these awesome people from all over the world, and then I can’t go grab a drink with them? Can’t bear hug them? Can’t make them feel uncomfortable when we’re getting lunch in a busy restaurant and I announce FAR too loudly that I put my underwear on inside out that morning?

Get on that already.

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More coming tomorrow, but how’m I doing? Are they getting the real LiLu, or what?

xoxo

P.S. Have you heard about 20sb’s latest Blog Carnival, “Friends and Money”? You could win $100- just participate and send them your link by Wednesday! More deets here.

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

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

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

And now back to our regular programming…

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

Leave me and my wall alone.

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

And they won’t even like country music.

But. But!

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

Dum dum dum…

The security guards.

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

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

But.

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

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

And every time, I fail miserably.

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

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

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

“How’s your going day?”

“Lovely day here out, it is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

via Kay Steiger by way of my darling friend amblass.

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

I lied.

AGAIN. (I know.)

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

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

So, I have a bone to pick.

(Shocking, I know.)

Inventors of the world? You are seriously slacking.

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

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

I want a show-stopper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Midget stenographers, a la Chappelle.

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

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

3. Hover boards.

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

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

Fix it!

WANT.

4. Teleportation.

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

Best. Idea. EVER.

I know.

5. A way to pee without getting up.

Oh wait… that’s a diaper.

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

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.

Okay, people. I know you want your Vegas. Get the fuck ready, cause I’m not holding back. 

My ten favorite most memorable things that I wish I could scrub from my brain with a razor blade, a la Vegas… 

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1. Whenever Maxie, RS27, Lbluca77, Shine, Mary and I are in a room together, someone’s going to get hurt. (Pride not included.) Also, this only makes me love them more, which is scientifically impossible but still true. 

RS27’s arm after battling Maxie’s curling iron: 

Maxie managed to keep a picture of her head wound from being taken, but… 

And finally, this is my own UDI (Unidentified Drunk Injury): 

That’s what happens when you snuggle Maxie too hard, I suppose.

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2. Doing a party dress fashion show (fashion show! fashion show! fashion show at LUNCH!) that involved me changing multiple times in what I did not know was an entirely see-through closet. In a hotel room full of people. And none of them TOLD me. 

Also see: me asking Shine to zip up one of said dresses. “No, really. Go ahead. Just pinch me if you have to! PINCH IT!!! 

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3. Finding these shirts in Wisconsin: 

Words clearly not necessary.

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4. Discovering the art of fake retweeting friends on twitter. See Exhibits A through E. Okay, and F. (Btw that last one totally backfired on her, because some dude DM’d her “Not to be dirty… But the footjob tweet was f*cking hot! ” 

Ew ew gross get me a shower holy vomit in my hair GROSS. 

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5. Sharing raunchy sex stories in one of the hotel rooms with some two dozen ladies… and RS27. 

That's about right.

My own submission? Walking in on my grandparents doing it. 

God, I’m great at parties. 

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6. Surprise Trust-Falling Rachel into the pool. And by trust-falling, I mean surprise dive-bombing. She’s a sport, y’all. I did at least asked if she minded getting wet first. I did not, however, wait for an answer before shouting “TWSS!!!!!!” and launching our bodies into the air. 

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7. Friday night dance party was the most magical thing ever. Two things everyone from Vegas now knows about me: 

A. If you put me in the center of the dance circle, the grand finale of my repertoire will probably be flashing the girls at my love bunnies, Katelin and Vixations. 

B. If a guy from a group of creepy straight boys passive aggressively unpops the collar of our favorite gay because he has the jealousies, I will bitch slap him upside his head. That is all. 

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8. Maxie, RS27 and I dancing through the hotel singing the Always Sunny Dayman and Troll Toll songs from start to finish. Like, a dozen times. How did we not get beat up, bozos??? 

“Stage freeze!” “Don’t SAY stage freeze, just do it!!!” 

This is how you dooo iiiiiiiiiiit. (This is how you do it.)

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9. Face-licking the hell out of Chelsea the moment I met her. I mean full-on tongue, to the ear, people. AND YOU ALL THOUGHT I WOULDN’T DO IT. 

Also, she rocks. See? 

No drop of beer shall go undrunk! Undranken? My head hurts.

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10. Zomg, I’m still hungover. I quit. Here’s a bunch of pretty pictures. 

We're on a PLANE!!!

Proof that Maxie is an elf.

Proof that I need a helmet.

Look! I'm normal sometimes!

Jay kaying, jay kaying. Never normal.

Adam Lambert, I mean RS27's boyfriend, I mean Ben.

Apparently, Ben thinks I should inform you guys that this was a theme party. LIKE YOU DON’T WEAR THAT EVERYDAY. Not buying it.

GIVE ME YOUR HAIRRRRRRRRRRRR (ps love you Katelin!)

Bottle service. YES WE ARE THAT BADASS. Bishes.

Finally, I have my own Ebony to my Ivory!

Me OWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Airport french fry breakfast. And yes, my shirt says "Bayside High Technology Team." You may judge me for neither.

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Everyone who came, it was a blast meeting all of you. I only wish we’d had more time and less tequila. 

LOVE YOUR FACES. 

Now excuse me while I go throw up.

UPDATE: Yes yes yes Maxie has surrendered a picture of the head wound!!! Here it is in all its purple glory…

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

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

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

He’s right.

As the all-knowing Urban Dictionary says,

vs…

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

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

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

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

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

Le sigh.

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

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

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

You know how sometimes after that fourth beer, people will accidentally say something that reinforces a known stereotype, and at first everyone gasps in horror (if strangers are around- I mean, what?), but then someone goes “Well, stereotypes exist for a reason, after all,” and at some point in history that became an entirely valid argument for being just a little bit racist or bigoty or whatever your judgment of choice is?

Well, I would like to extend this same courtesy to clichés.

Look, clichés exist for the same reason we’ve decided to consider all Jews funny, and all Latinos passionate lovers with pimped out Civics, and all white people as horrible dancers (unless an 80’s beat is involved and The Sprinkler is a bona fide dance move).

Partly because it’s just plain funnier that way… but most of all, it’s EASY.

Think about it. You go to a new place for the first time, you don’t know what the hell to do. So, you go dance on the piano key steps of FAO Schwarz, or have dinner on top of the Space Needle, or visit the Kendall Jackson winery in Napa, or lead a parade through the streets of Chicago singing “Twist and Shout”.

Wait, maybe not that last one.

My point is, what’s so wrong with these things? Just because millions of people do them every year, we’re supposed to look down on them? It’s so WAY TOTALLY COOLER to come home and brag about how you got off the beaten path and found this local bar with a local band playing and and drank the local beer the local bartender recommended and got to talk with the local people, man!

Well, you know what? You were probably annoying the hell out of them, and they all made fun of you as soon as you walked out the door.

(Really, you can’t blame them. You *were* wearing a scrunchie.)

All I know is that when I’m in Vegas in nine days, we will take a totally cheesy picture in front of the Bellagio fountain. We will scream “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, except herpes!!!” about eleventy billion times, and someone will most likely get married by an Elvis impersonator.

And that’s? Okay.

It’s okay to go out in Adams Morgan and end up at a Jumbo Slice every once in a while. Hell, ride a segway around Penn Quarter, for all I care. Do whatever makes you happy! Life is too damn short to not see the ball drop in Times Square or show your boobs at the Mardi Gras, just because zillions of people have done it before.

Because after all, is there ANYTHING more cliché than some hipster or otherwise pretentious d-bag saying, “Oh, that is so cliché” *condescending hand wave*  ?

I think not.

Bee tee dubs, a very special lady is going to war with a very assholey brain tumor today. Please head over and wish her the best of luck in her fight against Wallace!!!!!

Okay, so.

A lot of you probably already know about this, but I wanted to wait to announce it here until it’d taken off a bit… and it sure as shit has.

If you’ll remember, earlier this month B and I embarked on a new and quite X-treme!!! fitness journey, which is going very well. Many of you asked me to keep you updated on our progress… but I’ve decided to do you one better.

One way, WAY better.

Last Tuesday when I was pounding away on the treadmill, it came to me. Like Smee in Hook, “lightning… had just struck my brain.”

BAM. Within minutes, I was the proud new owner of InItToGymIt.com.

I moved forward quickly- I knew exactly what I wanted this place to be. A little web design, 80+ contributors, and more than 30 posts (from as many people!) later… In It To Gym It was born.

Our ‘About‘ page:

We’re all In It for different reasons.

We have different things we need to share, different goals, different pant sizes.

This is a place to vent, to despair, to support, to be unbelievably corny.

This is a place to do whatever we have to in order to hold ourselves accountable, be it record calories, exercise, feelings, insults, ambitions, poundage, or ugly cries.

This is not a competition. This place is simply meant to help each other facilitate those goals, whatever they may be. To create a community of support and motivation, no matter how silly or trivial a complaint or worry or bitchfest may seem.

(And, um, to add a little thing called accountability in the mix? Don’t hurt a thing.)

60+ contributors and growing, posting whenever, whatever, they need to.

The only rule is play nice.

The name of the game is get in shape, girls and boys…

Therefore, we are:

IN IT TO GYM IT.

As DC Blogs* called it last night…

And it’s all ours.

Thank you so much to everyone who helped with it’s creation, who jumped on board, who reads, who comments, who supports and helps motivate. That really is the name of the game, after all.

Sidebar: Want the IITGI button for your sidebar? Here’s the code:

<a href="http://inittogymit.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1020.photobucket.com/albums/af321/liluspics2/gym-1-1.jpg" border="0" alt="In It To Gym It"></a>

Twitter, Facebook, 20sb, and our Google Group. Okay, swear I’m done!

So from now on, any fitness-related notions or updates of mine will be over there. If that’s your bag, check it out! The bigger the community the better, right?

If not, rest assured that THIS place, the LiLu you’ve come to know and (hopefully) love, won’t be changing a smidge. It will be cat antics, self-deprecation, the shiz B says, and other ridiculous business as usual.

So wherever I see you around, whether it’s here, there, or everywhere, thanks for being there. You fill my heart with butterflies, rainbows, and cats wearing silly outfits.

*Speaking of DC Blogs, I am honored to announce that I will be taking over the Tuesday round-up as a regular gig from now on. So make sure to always post your best stuff on Mondays!

Wait, what?

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

(Click here for more info.)

Listen to me. I’m a doctor.*

*of Loooooooooooooove.**

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

Today, I am at the office.

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

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

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

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

Every night, we were rewarded.

Until last night.

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

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

A ONE-WEEK STAYCATION.

Followed by a long weekend.

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

Well, not really. If you’re on Twitter or actually read to the end of my posts or are one of my best friends, you’ve probably heard me at some point (or 50) say…

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM. MOM. MOM!!!!!!!!!!

Look what I did.”

(And yes, in this scenario, you are all my mother. Let’s not dwell on that. Just continue the exercise, folks, and we’ll all get out of here with our sanity intact.)

(Maybe.)

Anyhoo, I have, as of lately, started to dabble in the art of creating blog layouts for others. When I had mine done last year, it piqued my curious cat-like mind.

*snort*

Hey!

…and ever since, I’ve been teaching myself the ins and outs and upside downs of it all. There’s been a LOT of trial and error, heavy on the error at first… (quote from B: “You have to stop SCARY gasping like that!!!”)…

But I daresay I’m getting the hang of it.

And more importantly, I LOVE it. I’m in like-like, here, folks. If it passed me a love note right now, I would totally check “yes” instead of “maybe.” I’m ballsy like that.

Point being, I’ve now done enough of them where I feel like we should probably have a little session of show and tell. And today is my day.

on the road with cavy:

It’s Unbeweavable!:

The Bridal Bloggettes:

The Wayfaring Stranger:

Blog Voyeur Turned Blogwhore:

Sloppy Words…

Vixations of a Vixen…

Shimmerfairy’s Blog…

Not That Kind of Girl:

Just Run Just Live Just Be:

On the shelves:

(A couple that didn’t work out, but I love them and am saving them for… you??)

and also…

So, yeah. That’s what I’ve been insanely busy with the past few weeks… but I ain’t complaining. I’m absolutely loving it. I hope you do too, for obvious reasons.

Should you love it so much you want one of your own (Wordpress only, sorry!), just drop me a line. I’ll be sitting on my butt all day, thanks to the Snowpocalypse 2010.

Happy Snowday to my DC Peops! Let’s hold out for one more…

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

What? I'm gangsta.

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

So, Would You Rather…

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

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

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

vs.

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

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

Recently, I’ve been getting a lot of emails about finding one’s “voice,” a la blog.

(At least, I hope y’all meant blogs… I can’t help you with your press releases and such. I before e, mofos.)

Anyhoo, they send me these emails because- get this- they seem to think I’ve found MINE.

I know. I know.

And every time I get one of those, it sort of takes me aback. “Did they send this to the right person… Do they really mean MY little mess of a corner?”

This is all a bit odd for me. Now, I don’t deny that I am- currently- one big bag of personality. For better or for worse, ya love me or hate me. Holy Hell… I’ve become a Kardashian!!

But, my dear friends, and you knew there was a “but”… ’twas not always this way.

{insert shimmery “Saved by the Bell”-style fade out to a time long ago…}

dee dee dee dee, dee dee dee dee… okay I’m done.

Confession: When I was in 7th grade, I used to lock myself in closets and cry, because I thought I was so…

wait for it…

BORING.

(Sidebar: Sorry for that time at Steve’s house when you all really thought I was dead, Mom. I think I fell asleep. They must use fancy fabric softener or something.)

You see, I was part of a group… and we had the “funny” friend. The “tomboy” friend. The “boy-crazy” one, the “good-at-sports” one and the “smart” one.

And none of them were me.

I couldn’t figure out where I fit in. I was like a gay boy at a Texan high school with no musical theater program through which to find my true calling.

To be fair, this was also SEVENTH GRADE, when I’m pretty sure everyone and their mom felt like that. Or at least felt shitty about themselves in some way. Maybe you should all send me junior high pictures of yourselves so I feel better. Please?

God, this is turning into a therapy session. Okay, out of the Trust Tree and back into the real world. (Just not Real World DC. They really are boring.) The point is, eventually I found my goddamn voice or personality or chi or whatever the fuck you want to call it. And it took three things…

1. Time. As in growing up (and into my big ole nose) and all that.
2. Taking risks, like moving to the south, or getting a Brazilian. And lastly,
3. Putting myself out there. NOT IN THE SEXY WAY, you pervs. Like, metaphorically, and shit.

What do those three things add up to? That’s right, class. Say it with me: EXPERIENCE.

And so it shall be with your blog. There’s no escaping it- it won’t take off if you huddle in your corner of the interwebs wondering if anyone will notice you, crying in your e-closet. And Steve’s mom won’t be there to eventually find you, dry your eyes, give you a cookie, and call your mom to come get her bag of crazy-ass daughter.

Write. Write well, and openly, and as often as you can. Every time you hit “publish” your voice will become stronger, your direction more apparent. But that, of course, is only half of it.

GET OUT THERE. Think of the blogosphere as one big dating field. How will anyone know you exist if you don’t say “hi”? Then maybe they see your comment and come over, they say hi too… oh look, you even have stuff in common! Let me take you out for an e-drink, i.e. give you an “award” or tag you in a meme or add you to my blogroll, and then other people e-meet you too, and so on and so forth!

The fantastic difference between dating and blogging is you can connect with as many people as you want. Um, I think I just compared blogging to polygamy… hmm. Well, how bout we just don’t tell B about that handie you’re giving me under the e-table and leave it at that?

Anyhoo, I think this place is kind of great. And if you think so too, and you want to be a part of it… make yourself heard. With time, your voice will develop, and who knows… you might just find the Zach to your Slater out here.

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

Let me ’splain.

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

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

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

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

JERSEY. SHORE.

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

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

“We should create a Jersey Shore drinking game!”

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

I give you…

The “Jersey Shore” Drinking Game

While watching the show, you must DRINK when…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12. Any time someone gets in the jacuzzi naked

Oh, man… I cannot WAIT for Thursday.

Update: Oh. Em. GEE.

I just found this, and HAD to add it…

You are WELCOME.

Over the past couple week’s I’ve been inspired by the “Gift-Giving Guides” everyone’s been posting; in fact, I think I’ve been able to cross off almost half of my own Christmas list because of them. So, I thought I would come up with one of my own, and hopefully help a few of you X some names off your own lists as well.

And so we have it,

“The Holiday Gift Guide, LiLu Style”

In this terrifying day and age, it’s only natural that you should want to protect your loved ones from the dreaded plu.  Stuff their stockings with this Swine Flu Survival Kit!

Protect thee from the bacon!

Speaking of bacon, is this not The Awesome???? I like my money greasy…

I have absolutely zero justification for the existence of these… all I know is I WANT THEM.

Hander. PANTS! Hander. PANTS!

Tell me, when is the “Christmas Story” leg lamp NOT a good idea? All I want to know is, does it come in a box marked “Fra-geel-ay”???

Front and center in my house, baby.

Need a $10 present for an office gift-swap? Try and tell me this “Swearing F-bomb Talking Plush Bomb” isn’t JUST the thing!!

Do they make this in sling shot form?

Now, this just wouldn’t be a LiLu gift-guide without something poo related. So here you are, animal lovers… the “Little Poopsie Dog Poop Chew Toy”!

"He called the shit poo!!!"

All I want to know is, why on EARTH am I just finding out about the all-amazing Hopsholster?! I can pretty much guarantee there will be two of these in my house on Christmas morning, one way or another…

Um. How much for those abs?

Celebrities and ducks… who can believe this is the very first time these two phenomenons are coming together??

All he's missing is his green hat.

Back when B was still all “I’m allergic to cats” (pssssh!), I was obsessed with getting one of these little guys. And yes, it was 98% because of this video. No shame.

Boogie boogie!!!

For the man (or differently lift-styled lady) in your life, Bobble Babe drink holders! (Click through for jiggle…)

Tee hee!

Yes, I know this is really, really wrong. But am I the only one who also finds it absolutely HILARIOUS??

I am such an a-hole.

And last but not least, the crowning jewel… adult feety pajamas for the win!!!!!!!!!

This is me never leaving my house again.

Love it. Happy shopping, and remember… there’s always money in the banana stand!

Yesterday, it just so happened that I doled out a lot of dating advice. This is kind of ridiculous, as I haven’t been on a date in almost two years, but hey, I had my fair shake before that.

But this wasn’t what concerned me on my dreary bus ride home after work; Lord knows I adore giving out (solicited) advice by the handful. But it occurred to me, as I tried not to get motion sickness while the 43 wound its way through rush hour traffic… that I will, in all likelihood, never go on another date again. And that thought made me warm and fuzzy inside, like a dose of riot eggnog in a can.

(Sidebar – ohmygaw LOOK Always Sunny Fans!!!!!!)

And then, the crazy, estrogen-floweth–over woman in me took over, and I thought, But what if.

What if one of us dies from the plu?

What if he leaves me for someone who doesn’t blog about our bowel movements, or getting peed on by our cats?

What if Maxie and I finally become famous reality TV stars, and the fame totally goes to my head and I accidentally bone John Hamm (just a little bit!) at Diddy’s “White Party”, and B can never forgive me?*

These are the important questions, folks.

Meanwhile, on the side of my insane inner monologue, I was simultaneously gchatting with a friend to get through the gray and ohsomoist ride home. My ballet flats were soaked through and my cold little tootsies dreamed of a warm fire and a serious comfort meal. Anyhoodles, this happened:

5:45 PM me: it is unbelievable out here

i just want to go home and cry

that’s how gross it is

5:48 PM Lexa: noo

that makes me sad

in the nethers

me: yes

i hope B made grilled cheese and tomato soup

because that is ALL I WANT

Finally home, I picked up a package at my building’s office- a surprise present for B- and trudged upstairs to find a nice bottle of red and shiny bigass wine glass sitting on the foyer table waiting for me.

“Awwww, honey! You are the best in the world!” I called, and made my way into the kitchen. “Here, I got you a little something…”

Without even looking at the package, he beamed at me and said, “Always Sunny Christmas movie?!”

“Uh, YES, actually,” I replied. Then I looked down at the frying pan, where he was cultivating what looked like the most delicious sandwich in the world.

“Um, baby?” As I took in the panini, the soup humming in the microwave, I looked at him in awe. “Are you… are you making grilled cheese?”

“And tomato soup,” he replied. Wait for it… “AND French fries!”

I died. I went to heaven.

And I knew, as I have a thousand times before, that this?

Is absolutely PERFECT, and I am one lucky sumbitch.

*Besides, John Hamm is totally on my “LIST”, so B couldn’t break up with me for that anyway. Boo yah!

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

Awesome Announcement #1: You may have seen my tweets that I am honored to be DC Blogs‘ newest contributing editor. My first efforts are posted today- please head over there and let me know what you think.

Awesome Announcement #2: 20SB is now accepting nominations for this year’s 2010 Bootlegger Awards! Totally and completely badass. Make sure to nominate your faves…

Awesome Announcement #3: Since none of us will be looking at a computer on Thursday, other than the boys checking their Fantasy scores, I will be posting the fifth installment of TMI Thursday “Post Secret Style” tomorrow instead, and leave it up all weekend. Remember you can absolutely send more in, any time (to heylivitluvit at gmail dot com)! Every last one will be posted. This is too much fun- let’s keep it going!

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.

As a woman in a somewhat functional relationship, there are times when *gasp* girlfriends come to ME for dating advice.

Sometimes they even do it sober.

(I know, right?!)

Anyhoo, while it may seem that I am old and married and perpetually on our couch curled up in my pj’s having fart-off contests with B, there was a time- not so long ago, even- when I too was a single gal fighting my way through the “scene”.

When I think about my dating history, well… let’s just say there’s a lot to learn from. While most of the guys I dated were, I believe, good guys at heart, they were lacking in a myriad of different ways when it came to true partner material. Not so long ago I considered what my Dealbreakers for Friendship have evolved to be, over many years of befriending the good, the bad and the ugly. What would that list look like if I were to create it for a relationship? When would I tell a girlfriend to cut and run, based on my own experiences?

*Keep in mind these are meant to be for that first year or so, when you’re deciding whether this hot tamale really has the legs to make it… not after you’ve been together for five years and are hitched with munchkins. That is wayyyy out of my league.

Thank the baby Jeebus Amen.*

And so. My “red flags” that would (now) send me running for the hills, were I to be thrust (TWSS) back into The Game We Call Dating…

Get TFO (The Fuck Out) If…

You like his family and friends more than him.

Alone time with him stresses you out.

If he admits your ass looks fat in that.

You go on vacation for the first time… and it is a huge, enormous, fail. (If you can’t make it through a long weekend of traveling… you can’t make it at all.)

He puts the TP on so it comes out the bottom instead of over the top. (No explanation necessary.)

You have ever been truly frightened that he would do something to purposefully harm you, physically or otherwise.

If he spends more time primping than you, and by extension…

You and your friends joke-about-but-secretly-truly-worry that he might be gay.

You go a week without sex… and don’t notice. (Remember, this is for new-ish couples only. If you’ve got a couple of toddlers, from what I hear, once a week would be porn style.)

If you can’t let your inner dork/freak fly when you’re alone.

If he avoids meeting the people you love most.

If he believes you when you say you don’t want anything for your birthday.

If he doesn’t make you laugh. Like, all the time and stuff.

If you think, deep down, that he would probably bone your best friend, given the right circumstances.

If you feel like you pay for more than he does. (Disclaimer: unless you make a significant amount more than him.) (Disclaimer not valid if he’s unemployed- and we’re talking real trailer park trash unemployed, not “the economy is flushed” unemployed.)

If he lets you down instead of building you up, a la Mr. Astley.

And, finally…

If you’re unhappy more often than you’re happy.

This is obviously just one chick’s perspective. Unfortunately I’ve never been a dude, so I can’t speak for them, but I’m pretty sure the main two are “stops giving beejays” and “keep talking”, yes?

P.S. The gorgeous and unbelievably adorable Ben Boudreau of No Ordinary Rollercoaster has made me my very own personalized vlog in response to my question to him:

“Is it possible for you to *not* melt men’s- and Kelly Clarkson’s- hearts worldwide with those big puppy dog eyes?”

It may or may not involve the word “schnookums”…

LOVE. IN THE FACE.