Ladies and germs, come on dowwwwwn to the Greatest Show/Hot Mess/Birthday Party/Epic to End All Epicness in the World!!!!

This Saturday I, along with my co-birthday gals Maxie & Liz, most of DC, and friends from California to Colorado to Pennsylvania to New York to Chicago to Seattle will be coming together to celebrate the amazing, the awesome, the helluva hot mess that is

We’ll be launching the PARTAY (hey! ho! hey! ho!) at Sign of the Whale (18th and M, Farragut North) at 8pm this Saturday evening, with no end in sight. Put on your big girl panties, your drinking hat, and come on out for a Grand Ole Time. Just say “PB and Tuna” at the door, and they’ll usher you into our top secret back room area, where we will enjoy $3 domestics, $3 rail drinks, and $4 SWEET TEA VODKAS, YO.

For more where/when/who info, and to RSVP (not required, but your mama raised you right, yes?)- please just click that big disgusting PB & Tuna button up there. For more reasons to show your pretty face and for pictures from last year’s event, check out my lovely lady Maxie’s post.

Can’t wait to see you all!!!!!!!!!

Mama said share.

One of the assistants I work with is newly knocked up. (Yes, it was on purpose, but using that phrase makes me feel like I’m fighting back- just the tiniest bit- against all the MIRACLE OF LIFE talk up in here since she announced her Baby On Board status).

This event, of course, has given every woman in our very large department cause to stop by, congratulate, and of course, share their own entirely-not-work-appropriate pregnancy and labor war stories. As I sit a mere half dozen feet away from said assistant, it has been my distinct displeasure to hear every. single. ONE of them.

And I sit at my computer and type away furiously, ignoring them as hard as I possibly can… that is, until yesterday:

Random Coworker: When I was pregnant, I had this big bump under my belly button. We thought it was the baby’s heel, so we kept telling it “oh, we love you! Look at your strong feet!” etc. etc… Then I went to the doctor for an ultrasound and she told me, “Oh, that’s a hernia.”

Preggers: Oh… my… um… what was it like?

Random Coworker: Oh, just this large, spongy tissue thing. I had surgery to have it removed afterwards.

Me: *VOMITS*

Let’s break down how I felt about that, a la GIFs that @elizabethtalks sends me all day at work to cheer me up:

First, it was a whole lotta this:

And then a hefty side of that:

Topped off with a healthy dose of this:

And, from now on? I will be taking an unscheduled pee break whenever someone comes by and sing-songs How ya doooooin’?? to Preggers. Because, frankly, I like my lunch to stay in my stomach.

Also? Someone PLEASE to find me a new job. Seriously. Email me. … Preferably before we enter the third trimester.

***Don’t forget to check out my DC Blogs round up today!***

Mama said share.

Oh, BlogHer. I honestly don’t even know where to start.

*dives right in*

I got on a Bolt Bus Friday morning, anxious to meet my e-friend and roommate Elizabeth for the first time. I had an Expo/Party pass from the lovely Justine of Brand About Town, and two full days in NYC with only one specific thing on my schedule: the Saturday evening 20sb Happy Hour at Johnny Utah’s, where I had vowed to ride the hell out of their mechanical bull.

The bus took off and I was officially Excited In The Pants for all the things to come… until it broke down, an hour outside of DC. Like, electricity-off-broke-down… aka no A/C. So we suffocated on the side of the road until a new bus could be brought to fetch us. Finally, we were on our way again, and the trip was relatively uneventful until we were actually approaching NYC, and the bus was making unwieldy turn after bumpy exits after terrifying tunnel… and it was that moment I very urgently needed to pee.

Against my better judgment, matter won over mind, and I unsteadily made my way into the sliver of a “bathroom” at the back. Once inside, I was faced with a grave problem: there was no way to not fall over without supporting oneself against the walls, and yet there was no way I was touching those walls. I almost wish the next two minutes were on camera, as I was flipped around that 9 square foot space, using elbows and a few 1 ply squares of TP to try to keep myself from tumbling into the cesspool of a toilet, as well as relieve myself without decorating the restroom, or worse, myself.

Let’s just say by the time I made it out of there, I was fairly certain that mechanical bull wouldn’t be a problem at all.

We arrived without further incident, and I entered the Hilton New York in Times Square to see BlogHer here, there, and everywhere. We had taken OVER the place. Everywhere you looked were women chatting, sharing, promoting, exchanging, inspiring, laughing. By the time I made it up to my room, it was obvious that BlogHer had pwned the Hilton… and it was awesome.

I spent a couple hours exploring the Expo halls with Elizabeth, where sponsors handed out swag and chatted up their new products, but more importantly, were awesome people who actually wanted to hear what WE had to say. The number one question I was asked was, “Are you a blogger??” They were EXCITED to meet us, to share with us, to impress us. *cue “A Whole New World” music*

When my arms started to hurt from the bags o’ swag, I met the beautiful Kinsey for dinner at a pub around the corner from the Hilton. We’d met before at a happy hour in Boston, but it was so great to have some one on one time and really get to talk. She’s got some exciting things in store for you, Boston- be sure to watch that girl.

After a bit, my beloved Matt met up with us for drinks.

And drinks and drinks and drinks and drinks and drinks.

Kinsey took off for a Sex and the City tour with her girlfriends, so Matt and I did what any normal people would do:

Got even more plastered and found the nearest karaoke bar.

Shitfaced at some ridiculously pretentious strangely all-white basement club, we ordered our $12 drinks and looked at the song book. This choice was not to be taken lightly.

We had two requirements: first, it had to be a duet, and second, it had to be the absolute WORST duet we could possibly think of.

Please to enjoy…

Shortly thereafter (for obvious reasons), we called it a night.

In the morning, this happened:

Followed by this:

To be continued… (and, um… Saturday? Put Friday to SHAME. That is all.)

Mama said share.

So.

It’s that time, friends. That sit-on-a-rooftop-and-drink-beer-with-dear-friends-and-a-few-strangers-but-no-one-who’ll-rape-you-time!

Disclaimer: Does not apply to cuddle-rapes.

Second disclaimer: Yes, I know rape’s not funny.

Third disclaimer: Unless the word “cuddle” is in front of it.

DONT FIGHT THE IRONY, AMIGO!!

Anyhoo, if there’s one thing in this world I’m good for, it’s bringing strangers together. In the biblical sense.

Wait. No.

Sexy-friendsical sense?

Let me try that on.

*shakes it out*

Sure. That’ll do.

What I’m trying to say here, is that I’d like to see you. Your face. And your legs. And even your hugging arm. (It’s your left. No, your other left. Just make the “L” with your hand, goddammit!! We don’t have all day.)

Wait, yes we do. We’re at “work”.

Bwahaha! Take that, The Man!

So, if you would like to see me, and all the awesome people who are going to comment here to let us know they’re coming, be at Vapiano’s in Chinatown (map) at 6pm on Friday, June 4th, a la your vote.

Spread the word, y’all. Spread it like herpes at Woodstock.

Dirty hippies.

Steal this button if you’re coming!

Copy and paste the code in your own blog:

<a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/2010/05/because-apparently-i-didnt-get-enough-to-drink-in-vegas.html"><img class="aligncenter" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3382/4641327737_8457fb1000_o.jpg" alt="DC HH June 4" width="300" height="370" /></a>

Mama said share.

So, I have a court date on Monday.

And no, shockingly, it is not for indecent exposure, or public intoxication, or getting thrown out of The Royal Palace (NSFW).

Point A: We didn’t get “thrown out”. We were just asked to kindly STOP DANCING up a storm… or leave. Guess our moves were too hot for the strippers.

Point B: Mom, the Royal Palace is a church. Or a library. Swear. Don’t click that.

No, my friends, rather, I have been called to serve my fair city in the way of:

JURY DUTY.

Bum bum bum. *triangle clang for emphasis*

And here’s the thing. Me being me and all, I totally want to go all Liz Lemon with this shiz. Partially to ensure I don’t have to go back the next day, but mostly because hot damn, wouldn’t it be fun to fuck with an entire room of people??

My goal is to make the judge blush at least once.

So, here are the options I’ve come up with so far…

1. Wear a helmet. Preferable of the My Little Pony or Hello Kitty stylings.

2. Bring Murray draped around my shoulders and tell them I have separation anxiety if they try to take him.

3. Turn every question into a “That’s What She Said” joke. And I do mean EVERY…

“Are you racist?”

“That’s what she said!!!!”

(So wrong. I know.)

4. Dress like a Daytona stripper who shoplifts from Fashion Bug.

5. Wear Green Man.

6. Pretend I’m a contestant trying out for American Idol whenever I’m on the stand. Go-tos will be Rick Astley, Pants on the Ground, and “Ambalamps.”

7. Speak only as a white girl doing an impression of Billy Cosby.

8. Pencil in a Frida unibrow, and repeatedly announce that the carpet AND the drapes match the ceiling, while wiggling said brow suggestively.

9. Act exactly like Bill Murray from “What About Bob?”

10. Lizz myself.

And so, dear bloggy cohorts, I need your votes / even better ideas to make it happen.

ARE YOU READY FOR ME, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA??? I CAN’T HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAR YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mama said share.

Today, I leave my District bubble and head down South to celebrate the first of my Carolina Girls’ bachelorette parties.

Mere, we knew you’d be the first from the moment we met Shawn. (Are you preggers  yet? How bout now? Now??)

Anyhoozle, I can’t wait to get down there and have a couple Very Klassy Evenings out with my ladies…

*coughcough*

Savannah ain’t gonna know what hit it.

My Sweet Carolina Girls - Best in the World

And that’s a threat… not a promise.

(Remember the Dominican, y’all?…

Uh huh.

Let’s DO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!

Mama said share.

Hopefully raising a glass with me. Just sayin.

I shall be wearing an adorable purple dress, and this:

See you then!

Mama said share.

You know how when people go on fabulous vacations to sunny and exotic places, and they come back and they’re all “it was a-maz-ing and so gor-geous and I’m all tan and glow-y from the rays of the sun!”

And it’s really freaking annoying because everyone else has just been doing the same ‘ol, sittin at their desk, looking at that freaking motivational poster of a cat “hanging in there”, and kind of wish the cat was hanging ITSELF because at least then you could laugh about something- I mean, not that hanging kittens are funny, but hey, it WANTED to go, and it’s really much more fitting with the office atmosphere?

Or something.

Anyhoo, I’ve decided that instead of a JOYful CHEERful OHEMGEE look what I did while you were toiling away at your desk jobs! post, I’m going to take a slightly different direction with it, and tell you all about every last thing that went terribly, horribly wrong.

You see how I love you?

Let’s do this.

1. Thursday, we arrived in Costa Rica at midnight, and grabbed a taxi to a hotel nearby… only to find that it didn’t exist. Our driver took us to the exact address… and it was a cemetary. $75 dollars down the drain later, we gave up and stayed at the stupid Hilton.
2. We bussed up it to Arenal Volcano and hot springs the next day, where we hiked up an enormous and treacherous mountain to NOT see lava at dusk… and then hiked back down in pitch black darkness. Believe me when I tell you it’s a miracle no one lost a limb.
3. While lying in said hot springs, I slowly realized the jacuzzi-esque water felt like it was scalding me… which turned out to be a side effect of the INCREDIBLE sunburn I had already obtained on our FIRST day that covered 75% of my front. Somehow, my knees were 8 shades pinker than anything else. ??????

Finally, we made it to the beach, where we planned to stay for a week of glorious sunshine. Surely things would be relaxing and easy here on out, right?

By mid-week, I had the following afflictions…

1. A NEW sunburn, this time on my entire back side
2. Approximately 53 gigantic bug bites covering my legs and arms, that were about 1,000 times itchier than your average bite, and therefore I was constantly scratching them open because the PAIN FELT BETTER
3. A “sun rash” of tiny red dots on my arms and neck
4. The beginnings of a very unsexy cold. At the beach. In 85 degree weather. AT THE BEACH.

At least one day when we were body surfing, I took a quart of sea water up my nose, which pretty much cleared my sinuses out.

It rained our last two days at the beach, and after a zillion hours of traveling, we finally caught a cab home at Reagan, only to discover the driver had just let out the world’s stankiest, rankiest assplosion of a fart. It smelled like the farts of someone who’d used an entire bottle of Sex Panther. He should’ve knock 2 bucks off the rate for that shiz. BUT, we got to home sweet home in one piece.

So, yeah… all in all?

It absolutely couldn’t have been any better, and I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

I have approximately a kajillion pictures… this is pared down from almost 500. So I apologize, but have at it, hoss…

Costa Effin Rica

Update: I just realized you guys can COMMENT on the pictures. Dum dum dum……

Mama said share.

Update: Looking for the results? Check em out!

A few weeks ago, you may recall that I held a giveaway for a bottle of Firefly Sweet Tea vodka in return for some sweet ass Halloween costume ideas. And, that I said a lil somethin’ somethin’ was in the works to hopefully make that a recurring thing here on the ole blog.

Well, it turns out that, after some consideration, it was just a little too illegal for Firefly to jump on board with. Hey, I get it. We can’t all be such rebels.

So imagine my surprise when, last week, an enormous box stamped with their logo showed up at my apartment. B and I tore into it like children on Christmas morning to find a plethora of pitchers, swizzle sticks, cups, stickers, and T SHIRTS galore.

And that is where you come in, my friends. I have two dude shirts and three cute girly “ringer” tees to send your way (click for pics), so that five lucky boys and girls may proudly boast their love for the Southern nectar of the gods, in style.

I’m like the Willy (Wilma?) Wonka of vodka up in here.

ANYHOO, so now the only question is, what you gotta do to win one?

All right, lessee. I was looking through the Post Secrets and thought about how a lot of them are kind of like 2 second TMI Thursdays. And THEN I was thinking about how a lot of you always say you’d love to write one, but blah blah your mother in law/grandfather/principal reads your blog, and you’re just not quite comfortable putting that shiz out there, yanno, with your e-name on it and all.

SO. How cool would it be if you guys maybe made one? A quickie TMI picture with a caption, I mean? For example, look at this Post Secret from yesterday…

Perfection, right? TMI in seven tiny little words. Or 1,007, if you’re counting the pickle. (NOTE: It can be whatever you want, however many words. I don’t care what it is, as long as it’s a picture that tells your TMI nugget you want to share. There are NO RULES.)

So, all you need to do to be entered is create your own little TMI picture. You can draw it, e-draw it, steal it from Google, I don’t care! If you don’t use photoshop or Power Point, the website Fotoflexer is free and works just as well- you can add text on the site, and then just save it to your computer. If you don’t want to get fancy with text editing, you can just email me the picture and the caption you want, and I’ll do it for you.

Now, as for the anonymity question. If you send it to me from your email, I promise it is super top secret and confidential and I’ll never tell a soul. After all, I’ve shared plenty in the blog’s lifetime to make us even, doncha think?

BUT if you’re truly digging deep for this TMI and you don’t want even me to know who it is, you can log in to a gmail I created just for this purpose and email it to me from there.

Log in at Gmail with the username: tmithursday

Password: tmit1234

And just email it to me, top secretly, at my email:

heylivitluvit at gmail dot com.

The first five submissions I get will win the T shirts! (Second Note: But I will post ALL of the submissions, anonymously, of course.) So if you send it to me from the anonymous gmail account, make sure to attach a pen name or something so I can ask you all to email me once I get the winners, who will be notified on Thursday morning as the TMI pictures go up!

And, yes, I will have a couple in there myself… you’ll have to guess which ones.

You’ve got til midnight-ish tomorrow (Wednesday), so send ‘em in now!!!

GO!

Mama said share.

I want to write a recap. I really, really do.

But honestly… there is just no way I could EVER do this weekend justice. It would be impossible to truly capture. But, for you… I’m going to try.

Use your words…

My favoritest things about this past weekend, a la bullets.

• Maxie admitting she likes 30 Rock.
• All 50 of us bursting into song at Stetson’s. “You say she’s just a friend, but you say she’s just a friend OH BABY YOU!!!!!!!!”
• Actually, all of us bursting into song all weekend long.
• Finally at long last convincing f.B and B to perform “Ebony and Ivory” at karaoke. And by “convincing” I mean “writing their names on the list so they had no choice in the matter”.
• Meeting all the people I’d never groped in person before.
• Stealth-salting everything and everyone in sight.
• Someone shouting “INTERVENTION!!!!!!!!” every 30 seconds.
• Lexa going rampant on people’s heinies all Saturday.
• Much needed brunches and bacon Bloody Marys at Matchbox and Bar Pilar, with a side of laughing so hard it hurt… the entire time.
• Getting awesome and hilarious presents like a pictoral collection of cats wearing wigs, children’s Pooping Instructional books, a penis ice luge, “dirty” Mad Libs, Firefly sweet tea vodka, a pet Snuggie (box altered a la Sharpie to be for a cat instead of dog), a plastic guitar I can drink out of, engraved goblets with our wedding date, some Spanish pornos, an “I Love Jesus” shot glass, some Flava Flav-esque bling, and way, WAY too many vodka and sodas.
• The bartender’s t-shirt at Stetson’s that said “I heart peeing”.
• B treating me like a pretty, pretty princess on my birthday weekend.
• Not vomiting once. (Well, at least not until MONDAY morning… it counts!)
• The sombrero that mysteriously appeared and danced its way over the heads of all #pbandtuna participants.
• Epic dance offs all over the goshdarn place.
• Little lip-liner hearts appearing on people’s chesticles throughout the evening.
• Me going absolutely POSTAL on a strange man who tried to kiss me and pretty much every girl there… and terrifying him to the point that he actually left the bar within about 10 seconds. Do not fuck with me on my special day, Creepy McCreeperson. YOU WILL LOSE.

Our fabulous wedding guests were…

(I hope to Chuck Norris I am not leaving anyone out. PLEASE let me know if I do and I will fix and give you a free dumpster baby or a Tootsie Roll pop or something as reparations.)

12 Minds, A, Alice, anoukange, B, Cavy, Cleveland’s A Plum, Deutlich, dmb5_ libra, DMBosstone, Dysfunction Junction, f.B, flippy, Ginger Mandy, jenniferalaine, JerzeyGrrl, JP, Just A Girl, KassyK, Katertot, Katie Rose, Late- Night Drama Queen, Lemmonex, Lusty Reader, M (Only One Way Down), Malnurtured Snay, Marie, Maxie, Mr. 5280, Pithy Comments, PQ, Rachel Smiles, Restaurant Refugee, Shine Out Loud, Suburban Sweetheart, thebestmichelle, Urban Bohemian,and last but certainly not least, What A Grand World. 

I could not have asked for a better group of people, for reals. And so, as a very special (shameful) treat, I’ve decided to make your ears bleed with a video of the song I serenaded my fiancee with at karaoke on Friday night… there are no words. Please to enjoy.

I’m so ashamed, yet strangely proud… how is that possible?

PB and Tuna is obviously going to be a recurring event. How could we not, after its complete and utter awesome-icity?

Pencil in your calendars, folks. October 23rd, 2010… it’s all going down, AGAIN.

Mama said share.