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While watching Project Runway last night, I couldn’t help but admire Heidi Klum for the zillionth time. She’s just drop dead gorgeous – and without being scary skinny. (The gossip mags have shown her working out all over NYC lately – lady? It’s paying off.)

Her career is off the charts, even as she’s creeping up on her 40s – and it ain’t easy for a model to make the transition off the runway to something else lucrative and not sad or trivial. Her kids are impossibly adorable, and she and Seal seem to be one of the few celebrity couples who have a truly healthy marriage – and are still nuts about each other to boot.

Well, aren't you two just vomitously cute?

And the worst part is: she’s so darn sweet that jealous as I am, I can’t even hate her. In fact, I utterly adore her.

WTF, Klum?

(Disclaimer: I’m in no way saying these are the things (career, love, kids) that every person should want. But as they seem to be what she wanted, I think it’s fair to say she has an exceptionally well-rounded life, and has successfully managed the balance between career and family, which I think we can agree is award-worthy all on its own.)

Anyway! I was thinking of all this… but then I checked myself before I wrecked myself, because my eyes are a lovely green, but my ‘tude doesn’t need to match them. And more importantly, I remembered this little nugget: nothing’s ever as perfect as it seems. I’m sure there are certain aspects Heidi hates about her job, something that Seal constantly does that drive her nuts, mundane or annoying things she wishes she could change about her day to day life.

And it occurred to me that I might even seem the same way, were someone looking in through the windowpane into the sunshiney breakfast nook area of my own life. Since landing the job I worked so hard for in January, things have certainly fallen into place in a way they never have before. I have the career, the incredible friends, the lover, and the kids (even if they are four-legged). Sure, I’m not a world famous or fabulously rich supermodel… but at the end of the day, my biggest problem is the 10 pounds I’d kill to lose and how to manage my hair in this disgusting DC summer humidity. It’s a good place to be, to put it mildly.

And even now, I sit here, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How effed is that? Finally everything falls into place, so I sit here, poised, preparing for the next valley to follow this peak. Rather than sitting back and enjoying everything I’ve made for myself, I’m counting down the minutes until something horrible happens. I know it’s crazy, and probably more than a little unhealthy, but I can’t help it.

Do you do this? Does Heidi? How do you shut your brain up and make it smell the f#^%*#@ing roses?

Mama said share.

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Now, hear me out, before you get out your pitchforks made of rainbows and CareBears.

Much like you can’t truly love until your heart has been broken (says every cheesy chick flick ever, and probably Journey, I don’t know); I don’t think you can appreciate the things and people you love in life unless you routinely experience the things and people that you despise.

Think about it. Hating bonds strangers together in a way nothing else really can. You wanna make a friend? Rip on that jagoff you both just saw cut in the Starbuck’s line to a neighbor. (Just kidding, that would never happen, because DOOD WOULD BE SHANKED.)

Hating on things is also funny. One of my favorite activities is a bottle of wine, a busy corner, and a friend who can keep up with my snark. How often have you laughed yourself into hysterics over something kind, thoughtful, or otherwise benign? Oh, that’s right, NEVER. (Unless there was a cat involved, probably.) But keeping tabs on that horrific first date in the corner? The one where you’re pretty much positive he hasn’t showered in three days while playing internet bingo and she’s clearly a spoiled brat who is going to totally balk when he asks for her half and OH GOD I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THAT MOMENT?

That is hilarious, and also strangely satisfying.

Now, please note I am in no way glorifying cruelty here. Haterade is best (and healthiest) when dealt out in private whispers, and preferably about perfect strangers who will never be the wiser. This is not a license to talk about friends behind their backs; everyone knows those kinds of things should only be said to the offender themselves, and after a lot of drinks have been imbibed. (Also prime for optimal mockage are: faceless corporations, celebrities, and yourself.)

In some ways, hating is actually very constructive. When someone/thing pisses you off by lacking in a certain area, it helps you to identify the things and qualities that you value in services and in people, and therefore, to appreciate them (and hopefully, to cultivate them in yourself). If it drives you nuts that a friend is perpetually late, you value punctuality, and will make an effort to be more on time yourself. When you’re fuming as you watch a 30 year old man sitting down on the metro while a pregnant lady hangs on to the ceiling handles for dear life, it makes you more aware of your surroundings and considerate of others. When some asshat takes the last serving of macaroni and cheese from the Au Bon Pain soup tureen and ALL YOU WANTED IN LIFE WAS A GLOB OF ARTERY-CLOGGING CHEESE TODAY…

Well, maybe not that last one.

I also find it to be super cathartic to go on a good rant, kind of like an ugly cry. But that may just be my own very deep-seated issues. MOVING ON.

My point is, hate is not your enemy. A little anger, a passionate rant, even a festering sense of malice towards Subway for never, ever putting enough of those stupid cheese triangle thingies on your sandwich… these can all go a long way towards making a new friend, getting something toxic out of your system, and maybe, just maybe, being a better person.

Mama said share.

Today is a big day, friends. Today is the day I retire my @livitluvit twitter handle for something more grown-uppy and profesh. (Does being an adult mean I can’t use the word “profesh”? Probably. LE SIGH.)

It is with a lot of relief, actually, that I leave behind @livitluvit, which kind of sounds like a 7th grader’s AIM screen name (KIT! LYLAS!!!)… for the much more mature and adulty:

@rachaelgk.

Doesn’t it sound like that person probably has fancy scarves, and knows how to wear them? She probably never forgets to cut off that thread-thingy on the bottom of skirts and jackets. I’m sure she doesn’t swear in front of children at brunch, and she’s probably never told a bathroom joke to a complete stranger in her life.

Well, I don’t know how many people I’ll fool into thinking I might be that lady, but you can’t blame a girl for trying. (And if you do happen to see my tag sticking out, thereby alerting you to the fact that my shirt’s on inside out… let a girl know, hmm?)

P.S. If you’re a lady in or just out of college, let me know in the comments if you wouldn’t mind answering five very QUICK research questions! You’ll be doing me a huge favor and… well basically, that’s it. But that counts for something, right? **HUGS**

All good on the survey front! Thanks so much for all the help!

Mama said share.

Unsurprisingly, I often end up in discussions about social media with people. It’s what I love, it’s what I do for a living- it’s an ongoing supplement to nearly everything in my life. No matter how much fun it was, an event didn’t really happen until it’s been tweeted, “liked”, and checked into.

(If mimosas are consumed, but no one twitpics it, did brunch ever really happen?)

So, yes, social media is a big part of my life. And in my conversations with people about it- especially clients- we often end up talking about the different platforms, what they’re for… and which is my favorite.

If you know me at all, you know I’m a Twitter gal. I get my news from Twitter. I make friends on Twitter. Twitter brings me Charlie Sheen jokes and endless cat pictures/comics/videos/accessories on the daily. If it wasn’t for Twitter, I would never have seen this:

Or this:

Hell, I think in Twitter. I absolutely love the challenge of trying to fit a entire witty, intelligent, informative, hilarious, or otherwise complete AND interesting sentiment into 140 characters. Less, if I can. It’s like a never ending game where people are constantly forced to share only what really matters if they want to get their point across.

If only real life was like Twitter, with everyone forced to be efficient with their words! There’d be no more long-winded, boring, redundant explanations from bosses. No more horrible phone calls where you’re trapped and can’t get a word in edgewise to say goodbye.

Guys. Guys!!!!

THERE WOULD BE NO MORE SMALL TALK.

Think about it. On Twitter, you’re surrounded by a world of veritable strangers. Most of them are simple, beloved e-friends- people you share a love of the West Wing or bears wearing hats with- nothing more.

If I read something on Twitter that’s not interesting to me, I simply don’t engage. You only talk about the things you want to, with the people who want to… and even then, only in short bursts.

I. Freaking. LOVE it.

No one on Twitter ever says “hey, what’s up?” just to say something, like they do in real life, on the phone, in emails- even on Facebook. On Twitter, someone only @’s you to say: “Look at this cat wearing a monocle!” or “Honey badger don’t care! Honey badger don’t give a sh*t!!!”

And this makes me very, very happy.

P.S. Yes… I realize this entire post makes me sound like a female Ron Swanson. Well, just call me Ronnette. Now where are my cornrows??

(Though I do think Ron would appreciate the Sheen Pyramid of Greatness…)

Mama said share.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/rant.

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

Cheers!

Mama said share.

Monday was, to put it mildly, not a good day.

It was a day of bleak, of gray, of complete and utter desolate-ness. It was a world where unicorns really don’t exist, where kittens never play patty-cake, where you do shoot your eye out with the BB gun.

In sum, I woke up that morning, after a glorious five day vacation, and was physically ill at the idea of going back to my sad, dreary little cubicle, where I spend 40 hours a week with very nice people… that I have nothing in common with, while doing nothing that I love.

Old news, I know. And nobody likes a whiner.

So- after I whined a bit- I finally reached down, deep inside myself, and found my get up and go shut up and keep plodding along.

Because yes, the job hunt is hard. It’s exhausting. It’s disappointing and demeaning and UTTERLY SPIRIT-CRUSHING, at times.

But. If I know anything to be true, it’s the fact that pouting in a corner isn’t going to change a damn thing. (Insert “nobody puts Baby in a” joke here.)

And while many of you have gone above and beyond in your kind words and encouragement regarding me and my talents and whatnot (seriously, bearhugs’nstuff), I think it’s about time I started, oh, what’s that corny phrase again? The one in Pixar movies and fairy tales and Rocky sequels?

Oh, right. “Believing in myself.”

(Is there a way to add glitter to that sentence?)

I just google-imaged "believe in yourself" and this was the only picture that didn't make me want to hurl.

So. It’s time for a little self-love, since I didn’t get any of this action when I went through TSA last week.

REASONS WHY I AM AWESOME
AND YOU SHOULD PROBABLY HIRE ME

(Or tell your boss to hire me.)

(You know, if you actually need someone in the Social Media/Digital Marketing department.)

(Or the “pet the kitties” department. I’d be good at that too.)

1. Since I was ten years old,  I’ve been training to be the brain-storming champion of the world. Ever hear of a little thing called Odyssey of the Mind? No? That’s okay, no one has. But know this: while you spent your childhood playing soccer and selling Girl Scout Cookies, I was off strengthening my creative muscles to be somebody’s idea (wo)man in a 2.0 world someday.

2. I can work unicorns into the conversation at ANY time to diffuse an awkward or uncomfortable situation.

3. I am beyond “plugged in” to the 20- and 30-somethings culture; in some circles, I might even be called a pillar of it. And I dare you to make a pop culture or internet meme joke I won’t get.

4. My degree may be in International Politics and Psychology, rather than Communications. But everything that I’m skilled at- social media, event planning, marketing, writing, networking- are all, in this day and digital age, hopelessly intertwined and (I believe) learned intuitively, by doing, and by possessing a natural inclination for them- more than any Communications degree could ever accomplish. (And hey, MTV doesn’t come knocking on just anyone’s door to be their first Twitter Jockey.)

5. I’m ready for a company and career that I can truly devote myself to, and when I give, I give BIG. Take my heart, now. Go on… take it!!!

6. I’m not just good with people; I can truly talk to anyone or anything. Seriously. Leave me alone with your wall for an hour and I’ll be a bridesmaid at its wedding. Oh, you didn’t know it was dating the couch? Don’t feel bad- we’re just close like that.

7. I’m actually really, really good at this social media/digital marketing shiz. And it’s not just my mom saying so, because she doesn’t understand most of it. So there.

8. And finally, because every office needs their very own Liz Lemon.

Come on, now. How you gonna turn THIS down?

So feel free to pass my LinkedIn profile along. Click that “share” button below and send this post here, there and everywhere. Add it to your email signature, perhaps, or include it on your holiday cards. I’ve always liked your family.

You’ve brought me so far, my beloved interwebs. Let us conquer this one last hill together, you and I. Someone grab my bootstraps and pull, y’all. I feel my nine hundredth wind coming on.

All I want for Christmas… is a SHINY NEW JOB.

(that I love.)

Mama said share.

Beliefs I hold, for better or for worse:

That a great pair of boots can turn around an entire week.

That zombies are the new vampires.* (Disclaimer: NOT in the sexy way. Purely in the “new black” way.)

That the excuse of “temporary insanity” is not valid as a legal defense.

That just because you can physically get it on your body doesn’t mean you should wear it.

That both celebrating and drowning sorrows should be done in the same way: with lots of booze and good friends.

That it’s a tragedy we lost men in hats, and I hope against hope that we never lose men in ties.

The hat: BRING IT BACK.

That an action can only truly be expected to have a great reward if you’re more than a little bit terrified of doing it.

That I inevitably take on way too much, but it appears as though I’m happiest that way.

That the flu shot is malarkey.

That sometimes I just want to say things like “malarkey”.

That there is incredible power in a new beginning.

*Walking Dead?? UMMMMM AMAZINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

P.S.Speaking of new beginnings, you may notice- if you click through- that I’ve been cleaning up the old web design a bit. The only thing I’m stuck on is the header. That picture IS me, it IS this blog- I don’t want to lose it, but I also don’t know how to incorporate it into something new. Any and all ideas, suggestions, criticisms and general solicited advice-givings are welcome.

Mama said share.

People who are always right are really, really annoying… but you’d do well to surround yourself with them. Maybe even listen to them. (Once in a while.)

As much as I want one, having a job that didn’t require me to wear pants would probably not end well. For anyone.

There can never, ever be too many silly cats on the interwebs.

I don’t care if it’s immature. I will celebrate my birthday until the day I die. (And so should you. Be there.)

I take people who’ve never worked in a restaurant, or at least customer service, with an enormous grain of salt.

You CAN have too many friends… quality vs. quantity, y’all. Sometimes you need to snip snip.

Mock Jersey Shore and those who watch it all you want… what they say may at times sound stupid or simple, but more often than not, it’s just the naked truth.

 


***Despite the above statement, I’m never averse to making new friends. So, if you’re in the Chicago area, please come out and say hi this Saturday night when B and I are in town! Details here.***

Mama said share.

If you follow my tweets, you know I’ve been in the great outdoors for the past few days. While we are “cabin-ing”, not camping, with a couple friends in Shenandoah, it’s still been much more nature-y than I’m used to.

When we walked across the lawn- yes, lawn- for the first time, heading down to the river with our canoes (who am I??), I actually couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt a whole plot of grass under my feet. At least, one not littered with the homeless and stray chicken wings.

Yesterday was spent touring a few of the local wineries, which was delightful… at first. By the time we got to the third one, we were running out of adjectives with which to pepper our banter with the taste-givers. Let’s face it, you can only say the words “bold”, “earthy” and “full-bodied” so many times before even you start to hate yourself. So, we decided to branch out from the average descriptions and make things a little more interesting.

I believe I started it off when I declared a light red table wine “whimsical and flighty”… and it just plain snowballed from there. (I believe the increasing ridiculousness would most likely directly correlate with the number of tastings ingested. Shocking, I know.)

Some of the phrases we quite seriously deadpanned at our poor taste-givers, as well as a few brainstormed around the fire last night:

“naive, yet playful”

“reclusive, with hints of confidence”

“the finish has a sense of immortality”

“positively existential”

“dirty… even sinful”

“starts out with a bit of agony, finishing with a sense of euphoria”

“slightly prepubescent at first…”

“a note of spoonerism in the nose…”

“very cosmic… gives a real sense of animalistic sensuality”

“the nose cajoles you to drink more”

“very boastful!”

“almost iambically diabolic.”

“claims your palette with a hint of dirt”

And finally, the crown jewel from B:

“No wine is an island unto itself.”

Mama said share.

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!)

Mama said share.