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.

I’ve never been a fan of the awards shows. I’m not part of the film or music industry; sure, I’m a consumer, but I just don’t really care to see these celebritous-people in their natural- aka boring- state. (Men who make my loins quiver excluded, naturally.) But in general, if they’re not dancing for me, I’m not interested, frankly.

But the peer pressure of Twitter is a powerful thing, and so when I realized the Oscars could not truly be avoided (and that nothing else was on TV), I decided to tune in.

My disdain for Anne Hathaway (which, truth be told, was already well established – she is a terrible actor with approximately two different facial expressions, and she seems like a pretentious snob IRL) – immediately multiplied tenfold.

It’s a shame, really, because James Franco is fun and cute and genuine and probably could have done a decent job on his own. But with that hyena giggling and shrieking and pulling every cornball move she could think of next to him, he didn’t stand a chance. She was just so phony… so completely stiff and awkwardly scripted. It was painful watching her try and be that silly, bubbly, ditzy girl who fawns all over everyone.

You're hurting us, Anne. Seriously.

She spent the entire evening trying so hard to be “likable” that I was afraid she was going to have an aneurysm. (At least then the Oscars would have been entertaining…) But at the end of the day, you just can’t teach likable, darlin.

Look, Anne, if you’re kind of a bitch, just BE kind of a bitch. Be the no bullshit girl who says what she thinks, and drop this “America’s sweetheart” BS, because it’s not your color. Trust me, people will appreciate that you’re at least being real.

...Sexy ain't your color either. Awk. Ward.

No amount of Sex Panther is going to help you out in this department, sweetheart. Liz Lemon exudes more sex appeal than you do. While holding Emily Dickinson.

"I can fit Emily Dickinson's whole head in my mouth!"

To be fair, it wasn’t just Anne. Even Justin’s oh-so-scripted Banksy jokes smacked of insincerity and indifference. Every line delivered throughout the evening was devoid of true fun- not for one second did you feel like anyone might actually be enjoying themselves up there. (Except, of course, for the acceptance speeches, which were probably really enjoyable for the 13 people thanked… and no one else. One of my tweets last night:

The 30 second glimmer of Bob Hope’s hologram showed more character and was more genuine than any other words spoken last night, and that, my friends, is a tragedy.

Yes, we’re hard on the Oscars. Sure, we enjoy the opportunity to rag on at the popular kids- though, to be fair, some of those outfits are just begging for it.

But at the end of the day, these awards shows just aren’t FUN anymore. It’s one awkward delivery of a corny joke off a teleprompter after another. No one’s real. No one’s genuine. No one’s having a good time on stage, so why on earth would we enjoy watching it?

It is the age of transparency, dear friends of the Academy. You can’t fool us with this puppet show façade anymore- these phony kissy-face stars sucking up to one another all night long, without anyone speaking a word of true emotion?

We’re Gen Y, and we’re here to tell you that we’re not buying it.

And if you’re smart… you’ll listen.

Mama said share.

Just in case anyone hasn’t gotten the memo that TMIT has come to a sad but triumphant end, I figured I’d give you a touch of it today so that no one’s world was completely shattered.

Consider this your TMI methadone, you crazy addicts.

At brunch last weekend…

Me: Lex, why don’t you share that tiny insignificant detail from your childhood that you failed to mention to any of us before? You know, the one about your dad you JUST told me this week?

Maxie and Katie look at her quizzically.

Lexa: Well, when I was little, one of my dad’s part-time jobs was as building maintenance to this block of apartment homes. It wasn’t exactly a great neighborhood, but not terrible. I would tend to tag along on the weekends as he snaked sinks, fixed wires, etc.

Well, one weekend, a domestic assault ended in murder and guess who he brought along to clean it up? There was blood and papers and just crap strewn everywhere. The best part, or worst part? Is he let me take shit from the apartment. I got a coveted copy of Guns ‘n Roses, use Your Illusion II.

I still listen to it occasionally and thank that poor woman for dying as I rock out to “You Could Be Mine.”

*Silence*

Katie: Your dad brought you to a MURDER SCENE??

Lexa: Yeah. That was kinda fucked up. I forget about it… and then I’m like… oh yeah. That happened.

Me: Wait wait wait. I have an idea. Maybe this could be the answer to why you can’t deal with bathroom humor!!! Don’t people empty their bowels when they die??

Maxie: They do! That’s it! Lex, was the body covered in feces?!?

Me: It’s okay, you’re in a safe place now. Finally, we’re getting somewhere!

Lexa: You idiots. The BODY wasn’t still there!

Maxie & me: There, there. *stroking hair* It’s okay now. We’ve got you. We’ll get you to make a fart joke yet!

Katie and Lexa shake their heads pityingly.

I love my friends.

Mama said share.