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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.

There are many different types of blogs in this world. Industry blogs, dating blogs, financial blogs, news blogs, pop culture blogs, mommy blogs… you name it, someone’s writing about it.

But what I consider this place to be, and the type of blog I relate to, are “lifestyle” blogs. People who talk about the interesting things that happen to them; momentous life events, hopes and dreams, funny stories, and the like. And if I had to wager a guess, the vast majority of posts from these blogs involve one little thing we can ALL relate to:

VENTING.

Delightfully exaggerated, unadulterated hatred for the minute, yet uncompromisingly annoying day-ins and day-outs of our lives. The endless atrocities that strangers, traffic, and small children commit against us each and every day. Dare I say, a lot of this very blog revolves around such things; in fact, if you click on my post category “hatred“, there are some 25 posts there alone. While I don’t think this is unusual, as writing is often a therapeutic outlet for frustration, I do sometimes worry that all you guys see of me is the haterade. It’s only natural- we as humans are much more likely to share a bad experience than a good one, because dammit, commiseration feels GOOD, yo. But I don’t want that to be the only side of me shown here.

Truly, I am a lover. I love LOTS of stuff. I love dive bars, wine, red meat, brunch, cats, rollercoasters, cheeseburgers, and- believe it or not- even a sizeable handful of people in this world.

(Sidebar: while we’re on this topic, are you one of those people who says you “love to laugh” in your social media bio? Because ZOMG YOU MUST BE THE ONLY PERSON IN THE WORLD WHO LIKES THAT! You are so original. I bet you also don’t like having the flu, and that you prefer Fridays to Mondays! Let’s bond over our mutual affinity for being happy rather than sad together!!)

Whoops… a little venting fell out. Moving on!

So, to mix it up, here’s some of the GOOD in my life – those little things that will make me love you, almost as quickly as standing on the left side of the escalator will make me shank you.

What?

Things That Will Make Me Instantly Adore You:

(thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much!)

Making a “there’s always money in the banana stand…” reference.

Belting out a song in public, karaoke or impromptu. (Extra points as the song gets more embarrassing.)

Giving your seat on the bus to a lady, a munchkin, someone older, etc.

Being fully aware of, accepting, and openly discussing your flaws (not in a debbie-downer way; just a self aware, “I’m working on this” way).

Admitting when you’re wrong.

Giving me an honest opinion in the dressing room. I am depending on you to set me up for (booty) success, here.

Expressing a love for meat. (Extra points for meat wrapped in other meat.)

YES and also PLEASE.

Not being afraid to cancel our grandiose plans of sight-seeing or museums in favor of getting tipsy and people watching. (Also see: recognizing the inherent value in getting tipsy and people watching).

Showing up at my house with an awesomely bad movie and three bottles of wine… for the two of us.

Openly weeping tearing up at children’s movies. (Up, Wall-E, Toy Story 3, I’m looking at you.)

Getting me a wee present when you go on vacation, just because you wished I was there.

Knowing that women have a right to their bodies, and everyone has a right to get married.

Only judging me a little when I openly mock jeggings for months, and then maybe sort of buy a pair… (only for boots! I swear!)

Tipping the bartender… well.

Not having a ginormous stick up your ass. (This shouldn’t be as hard to find as it is.)

Surrounding yourself with quality people who are funny, welcoming, and also don’t have ginormous sticks up their asses.

Come to think of it, I may just change my Twitter bio to “I totally don’t have a stick up my ass, even if I did hypocritically buy a pair of jeggings.” Thoughts?

Mama said share.

We all judge.

And if you say you don’t, you’re lying. “Judging” based on first appearances, preconceived notions, and God forbid, STEREOTYPES- are skills we have developed over the evolutionary years of our existence to streamline the overflux of information that is forcibly pushed onto our senses, and must be neatly and efficiently categorized by our tired brains every single day. It’s science.

So admit it, my darling dears. You judge. Maybe you even like it. (For everyone who says they enjoy “people watching”? Yeah, that’s just a fancy name for judging.)

And I’m here to tell you that it’s okay. Look, I’ll even go first.

Yes, I judge. I judge without shame, and with reckless abandon. And here’s when:

If you…

Use more exclamation points and smiley faces than you do periods.

Hate animals. (Severe-allergy-inspired hatred not included, Lex.)

Declare Ari Gold your personal hero. (Million Dollar Listings, I’m looking at you.)

Try to push your faith or opinions on other people, rather than simply expressing them. (There is a BIG difference.)

Are a flake.

Are a liar.

Genuinely believe PajamaJeans are a great idea.

Make your ultrasound your Facebook profile picture.

Can’t handle the heat and won’t get out of the kitchen.

Refer to yourself as a “social media guru”.

Speak when you don’t have anything to contribute. Your voice isn’t that pretty.

Start every sentence with “My boyfriend says…” (I am hanging out with you. Not him. Don’t care. Not sorry.)

Take everything personally.

Take everything (too) seriously.

Don’t nostalgically adore (and can quote) the Princess Bride.

Walk on city sidewalks with a golf umbrella.

Call yourself a ‘foodie’. (All my friends who could *actually* be considered food experts? Despise this word.)

Are 25+ and still get sloppy drunk on the regular. You are an adult. Handle yourself… because I’m not going to do it for you.

Never day drink. (Just don’t get sloppy.)

Are willing to redefine rape, but not marriage.

So go on, now. Don’t be skerred.

What makes you unapologetically judgy?

Mama said share.

Well, this has been a long time coming. But the past couple weeks have been such a whirlwind of wonderful, I honestly didn’t know where to start. So, I’m just gonna lay it out there:

You know that shiny new job I wanted for Christmas?

Well…

I GOT IT.

As of January 3rd, 2011, I will no longer spend 40 hours a week at a “job”.

I will be spending it at a CAREER.

Specifically, a career in social media. All the hours spent with my many, many, many, MANY extracurriculars have finally paid off. No longer will my passions and my profession be separate- I will be doing what I’m good at, what I truly enjoy… and getting paid in cold hard cash.

(heyooooooooooo)

And I know that NONE of it would have happened without the internet. Without the web, the job wouldn’t exist. The connections wouldn’t have been made. I wouldn’t have figured out what I want to do with my life.

So God bless you, Al Gore. And more importantly, every single one of YOU who sent me a job link or forwarded my resume or put a shout out on the Tweet or FB or even just listened to me vent on Gchat all day long… or over a beer (or seven).

I don’t know what else to say. It feels like all the pieces have fallen into place, and at just the right time. I know this job won’t be easy- I wouldn’t want it if it weren’t a challenge- but I’m so READY to take it on. I can’t wait to start the new year fresh, with the professional finally matching the personal.

And to all of you who are out there looking… I offer you these words of inspiration and wisdom:

(image credit nataliedee)

Have a scrumptious and sparkle-filled holiday, everyone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mama said share.

Okay. So. I’m literally sitting here, forcing myself to put e-words on the e-paper, because I have so much going on right now- not good, not bad, necessarily, just crazy- that the idea of writing a normal blog is totally and completely freaking overwhelming. I have so much to say but none of it ever, you know, finishes.

Twss.

(Some things never change, eh?)

But… I MISS you guys.

I miss making you laugh, I miss knowing what’s going on in everyone’s lives, I miss being a part of the interwebby community.

In an effort to get a job doing what I love, (instead of working a job I hate and doing everything I love in my free time), I am basically doubling said spare-time (NON-PAID) efforts to get more experience, while I continue to hunt for the right job, the right place, the one who will take a chance on me. I know it’s what needs to be done, but I. Am. Exhausted.

I love everything I’m a part of- Events Chair for the Social Media Club DC, Events Admin for 20 Something Bloggers, Social Media volunteer at a local non-profit, Contributing Editor at DCBlogs.com (check out my round up today, what what!)- and oh yeah, my own Twitter and Facebook and LinkedIn and the IITGI site and that Twitter, and a couple new tumblrs and the website design stuff and that whole applying for jobs thing that is so vital to the whole “Getting a New Job” process… resume changes and cover letters and salary requirements, oh my.

And, you know, trying to be healthier and occasionally see friends and call my mom every now and then and oh right, all that usual day-to-day stuff you have to do if you want to be considered a functional adult.

(OVERRATED.)

The main problem is, I just can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. Example: when I go for a run, I generally start out at a reasonable pace. Then, somewhere in the middle, I inevitably feel like I’m going to die and really, really just want to STOP. But as soon as I get to the top of the hill, or know I only have a couple minutes left on that treadmill to make my goal, suddenly I’m sprinting toward that finish line- my 47th wind hits, I suppose, and it comes in strong.

I can’t even see the crest of that hill. I can’t hear the people cheering at the finish line, ready to celebrate my accomplishment and take me out for a nice steak dinner. If anything, it seems as though it’s fading farther and farther away with each rejection, with each person who tells me “I’m a shoo-in” for something they clearly don’t understand.

Why do you build me up, Buttercup baby just to bring me down? And mess me around…

This post is probably the most ridiculous hot mess of a thing I’ve ever written. (And we all know that’s saying something.)

Me, in probably a month or so. Watch out.

But I’m hitting publish anyway, because honestly, selfishly… I really just want to hear your voices.

How are you?

P.S. Oh, right. Also, in an effort to procrastinate against the many constructive things I could have been doing this weekend, I made a new header/rebranded the blog. So, uh. Whaddya think?

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.

I’ve led quite the charmed life, in truth.

Sure, there were a few miserable years in middle school. A (real, not teeny bopper) heart break or three. A grandfather passed- and though devastating, at 86, he’d led a full and honorable life, and was surrounded by an enormous family and friends who loved him dearly.

So. No, I’m not rich. In money, anyway… but as far as everything else? You know, the stuff that matters?

I’m making it rain, y’all.

While I absolutely do my fair share of bitching and moaning (I mean, sometimes, chained to this desk, there’s just nothing else to DO)- I’ve recently reached the opinion that I really need to just shut the hell up. Because between the fam, the man, the friends near and far, the city I love, you guys on the interwebs, the furbabies, and even the whole “living in America, land of the free” thing… I’m pretty much a fat cat, livin’ large and whatnot.

Basically me, if the dollah dollah bills were priceless treasures of LOVE and FRIENDSHIP and all that jazz.

Last week, some of my favorite people on the planet had their worlds rocked. In the Red Letter Day kind of way. I’m so hurt, so angry, so ACHING for them, and frankly, this shroud of helplessness? Isn’t really my color, either.

So for them, I count my blessings. For them, I stay strong, and try to make Liz laugh for the first time all day, and conspire to surprise Lexa with a gift from New York City, and to just be there for them, in that super corny but ohsoimportant sense.

Because life isn’t easy, and I know my time will come. I’m not naïve enough to think there won’t be incredible hardships in my future at some point.

I mean, they already canceled Arrested Development. COMMUNISTS. (Yes I know it’s like six years ago now but NO I am not over it and I’m not sure I ever will be. In GOB we trust.)

Ahem. But in the meantime, I will enjoy my ridiculously snugglicious cocoon of warm, supportive, hilarious people in my life, who for whatever reason seem to think I’m pretty neat.

In the words of Patrick Swayze (RIP)…

Ditto.

Mama said share.

…A Survival Guide to making it through a sudden and inexplicable loss, be it job, romantical (it’s a word), or your pet hampster Fred.

- Under no circumstances should you try to put on pants and/or leave the house for at least 48 hours.

- There must be at least one cat within unwilling cuddle range at all times. This is especially true if you do not have a significant other; in fact, if you do, you should probably send them away for a few days if you want to keep them. This will not be pretty.

- If you don’t have a cat, rent one. If you’re allergic, deal with it- the reaction will just hurry you along into the “ugly cry” phase.

- There should be absolutely no bathing, shaving, or other hygienic care of any sort.

- Cue up at least 14 really, really bad movies. These will serve as fodder for endless mocking, and to take your anger out on, as well as a few moments that warm your heart against your better judgment, reminding you that you are in fact still human, and keeping you from falling completely into an emotional abyss. Suggestions from my recent foray include:

• When in Rome
• Paul Blart: Mall Cop
• 17 Again
• Lindsay Lohan: The Road to Jail
• Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief – (Actually, I thought this was going to be terrible, and it was surprisingly awesome. You’re welcome.)
• Anything with Channing Tatum (C-TATES!!!) in it

- Drink heavily and eat crap, but make grandiose plans about getting into shape and all the healthy meals you’ll cook from scratch- tomorrow. Always say “tomorrow”, and do not look directly into the bloat.

- Swear colorfully and often. Get creative with it, a la Rocco in Boondock Saints.

And then, remember you have kickass friends, a great man and two adorable furry assholes cats, and at least you’re not the Half Ton Teen.






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Mama said share.

I am a bit, how shall we say… terrified of getting older.

I know, I know. No big shock, right? So’s your mom.

But here’s the thing: it’s less about actually aging and drooping and having mortgages and breaking hips and shit than it is about…

Not being cool.

You know… with it. In vogue. Streets ahead, and so on and so forth.

I know what you’re thinking:

But LiLu, you’re already the biggest dork we know! For Pete & Pete’s sake, you’re obsessed with your cats and an anime Nicktoon…

Don't hate. He's the world's very LAST Airbender!!!

 and frankly, we didn’t want to say it, but you’re a little bit loco in the cabeza with the Always Sunny references… AND the twss jokes.

*You duck in anticipation of my flailing-arm protest*

The thing is, I KNOW all that. I’m well aware of my Reigning Dorkdom. And what it boils down to is, I basically don’t stand a chance of being hip in my golden years. And that scares me.

You see, this weekend at the wedding, I met the World’s Coolest Lady.

(No, seriously. I’d present her with a sash that said so if I thought she wasn’t too cool to wear it.)

The lovely bride put together a meet and greet for the families on Friday night; we gathered around a fire pit to bond over far too much just the right amount of vino. From the moment Aunt Theresa walked in, I was in awe.

This woman was Helen Mirren with a side of Meryl Streep, all wrapped up in a healthy dose of Bea Arthur’s ‘tude.

Redic… wait for it… ulous.

Statuesque and sophisticated at NINETY, (and never without a cocktail in hand,) she regaled me with tales of her life, her travels, and her four marriages (one in her 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s). “Oh, you grow,” she told me with a casual wave of her hand, the mark of a person who’s not only experienced, but accepted life.

At the reception, I continued to hassle her (in between showcasing my White Girl Dance Moves) for the secret to rocking it at almost a century year old, until B came to subtly rescue her from my drunk clutches.

The next day at the airport, B and I were nursing our Awesome Wedding Hangover with some hair of the dog when I turned to him.

Me: She was just so freaking cool! I wonder what the secret is to never getting lame…

(pregnant pause, B begrudgingly turns one eye towards me from ESPN)

Me: I guess… I guess it’s just not having kids, so you stay rich and thin and can travel the world and be fabulous all the time?

B: *laughs* Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty much it.

Le sigh.

Aunt Theresa, I raise my glass to you. You are 90-some years old, and cooler than I could ever hope to be.

Mama said share.

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

Yeah.

That ain’t me.

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

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

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

Oh, how I wish I could have lied.

But I couldn’t. I didn’t.

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

I set him free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will never forget you.

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

And failed you.

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

Mama said share.