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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.

If you’ve been to this corner before, even for a second, you’re probably aware that I have what science would refer to as “a sick and twisted” sense of humor.

I tend to lean towards the darker side of things. If it can be snarked, I’ll do it. If something annoys me, I’ll mock it.

Jokes and jokes and jokes and jokes.

I get the whole “positive outlook” thing, but it’s just not me. I’d rather laugh in the face of a problem than throw rainbows and reflection and personal growth (twss) at it.

See?

Honestly, I can’t help it. I bleed sarcasm.

Fact:

I will never do yoga for meditation purposes.

I will never make a “vision board”.

I will never go on a retreat, of any kind.

I will never sit in a circle jerk talking about my feeeeeeeeeeeeeelings with a bunch of strangers.

(That’s what good friends, a lot of wine, and Diane Lane/Lifetime/cheerleading slash dance movies are for.)

To clarify, I don’t look down on these things. Truly.

I just look sideways at them. With a bit of a squinty eye.

If they help you, if they clear your head, if they set you on the path you want to be on, power to you. Revel in your sunshiney happy place. Own it.

Pink elephant says blow it out your what?

But it just ain’t me. I’ll be over by the bar, people watching while I channel my inner Daria/Always Sunny/Seinfeld cynic…

And, quite frankly, loving every second of it.

Mama said share.

B and I don’t fight often.

But when we do, it’s almost always about something entirely insignificant, like who has to go downstairs to get the takeout from the delivery guy. (We’re really big on Not Wearing Pants in our house, which clearly, this interferes with.) And 99 times out of a hundred, any argument- or negotiation, really- is entirely in jest. Unless of course it’s my week to “attract vampires,” and then not only is it dead serious but I am 100% right and NOT AT ALL BATSHIT CRAZY, no matter what the situation is.

Duh.

But the other night, we got INTO it for once. And it was bad.

You see, I am a Fall Asleep With TV On (FAWTO) person.

B, on the other hand, is an incredibly selfish Fall Asleep With TV Off, Because For Some Strange Reason He Can Turn Over, Sprinkle Some of His Magic Fairy Dust He Hides From LiLu On His Eyes, and Be Dead to the World Within 2.0 Seconds (FAWTOPBFSSRICTOSSOMMFDIHFLABAW2.0S) person.

Look, as we’ve established round these parts over the past few years, I am probably not the most “stable” person on the planet. The thoughts whirling around inside my head at any given moment are akin to what it would look like if Peter Griffin, Chelsea Handler, and a unicorn had a baby and it was ribbon-dancing a la Will Ferrell around inside my brain.

See? Scary stuff.

Anycrazypants, my point is that I simply cannot fall asleep unless my loco-ass mind is distracted. I have to trick myself into caring about the Kardashians’ latest baby scare, or Alton Brown’s ceramic potted planter BBQing technique, or whose makeup is the most atrocious on Jerseylicious (it’s Olivia, FYI), just so that I can put my own mile-a-minute thoughts aside long enough to go unconscious.

B, on the other hand, prefers to fall asleep in this very, very unnerving thing he calls… dum dum dum… 

“QUIET.”

I know. Go figure.

In truth, I know it’s probably not exactly healthy to rely on cable network to lullaby me to sleep, but it’s been my way for over a decade now. The thought of going to bed and lying there, staring wide-eyed at the blank white ceiling with nary a Jon Stewart joke to snap me out of all the inane worries that wash over me is, well, terrifying.

And so, friends, I am at a loss. Perhaps the time has come for me to give up my late night affair with The Soup reruns and a plethora of Real Housewives dramz. It breaks my heart to say goodbye…

Let’s just hope it doesn’t break my mind.

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.

Dear friends, lovers, and cohorts in crime…

Give me some room.

I’ve had an idea.

*hush goes over the crowd. or, wait… that sounds more like… stunned silence… and disbelief?*

Asshats.

MOVING ON.

Many of you have mentioned from time to time how nice it would be to hear more from B. A guest post, perhaps, or even a vlog (preferably drunk). Though I’ve tried to get him inebriated enough to agree to something like that many, many times, it has been to no avail.

Until now.

Let me ‘splain.

Although my darling dear has many talents, like walking cats on leashes, one of my favorites is his ability to give advice. Let me rephrase that: really, REALLY good advice. Whereas I am a tad impatient, and perhaps even a bit, oh, impulsive (oh, did you all just snarf your coffees? SO SORRY)… he is generally calm, cool, and collected. He, what’s the phrase… “thinks things through.” Yanno, before acting.

Me? Notsomuch.

As I’ve said before, the man keeps me balanced. He stops me from popping off… he checks myself before I wreck myself. And so, I’ve decided to share his sage wisdom with you, in what will hopefully become a recurring sort of advice column. And yes, he has agreed to this, because A) he is pretty damn good at giving advice, and B) he gets to be all judgey, right? And what’s more fun than that.

So bring it on, my dears. Ask him about your friends, your relationships, money… friends who’ve stolen your relationships or money. Question him on sports, that pesky rash, or who will next get punched in the face on Jersey Shore.

The man does it all.

Answers will be posted on Tuesday (or over a couple days if necessary).

Happy Weekend, my friends… and I leave you with my favorite thing that happened to me this week… (thanks to @peteypumpkin for sending it to me, and to @Bboudreau for sending me five more just like it).

The only problem is that now when I listen to this song on the treadmill? I have to literally refrain myself from doing their dance moves.

Sexyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Update: Okay, I think he’s got more than he can handle! I’ll post the answers in a few installments, maybe every Tuesday for a couple weeks. If you had a question you wanted to ask but didn’t get to, don’t worry, I’ll make him ask him nicely do this again. Woot!

*10 points to anyone who gets the movie reference. And by points I mean, go buy yourself a cookie.

P.S. Voting ends this Sunday… love you?






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Mama said share.

I usually try not to offend too much at this little place (guys! GUYS! I said that with a straight face!!)… but Andhari’s hilarious plea for more… ahem, “colorful” bloggers to be nominated for the 20SB “featured blogger” yesterday has inspired me.

Dear oh-so-boring tweeters on Twitter (and Facebook-status-updaters)…

You really grind my gears.

“I had a ham sandwich for lunch! It was mediocre!”

“Me too! Let’s be besties 4-eva!”

And the back and forth convos that no one else in any way needs to see?

“Are we meeting at 6:30?”

“Better make it 6:35, I have to brush my teeth!”

Guess who cares? Go on, guess. We’ll wait.

NO ONE.

I mean, I’m sure I’ve gotten drunk  before and twittered something inane, like “mmmm… jumbo slice“. Sometimes you just have to throw out a simple “Thanks!” or “Happy Birthday, Jane!” It happens; we all get a few freebies. But come on, people. For the most part, unless it’s funny, witty, bitchy, complimentary, or about something horrible that happened to you… I don’t want to hear it. I don’t think any of us do.

And what is the obvious solution to this problem… don’t read them, right? And so I don’t. I rarely look at the timeline, and I only use it when people say something “@” me. Same for Facebook… I pretty much only log in when I’ve got a request or something.

Still, it’s kind of sad, because now I’m missing the good stuff too. But I’m sorry, Twitter/Facebook… I just can’t do it anymore.

Bottom line, people?

I love you… BUT…

Think before you tweet.

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 can’t…

Eat a cheeseburger without ketchup. NO MATTER WHAT. Get your gourmet shit outta here… Nothing beats that heavenly sugar and vinegar concoction.

See a puppy without squealing like a 5 year old spotting the ice cream truck. Um, also, there are sound effects involved, and they vary according to size and breed of said puppy.

Work out without an iPod AND television- preferably Tyra, for maximum distraction purposes. If there’s something about sex changes or makeovers, I can make it on that treadmill twice as long.

Keep my mouth shut when I think someone is an idiot. And if I do somehow manage to keep it shut? It’ll be written allllllll over my face.

Imagine my life without B, my darling (asshole) little kittens, or any of my hoes. You know who you are.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can…

Wiggle my ears. And no, I won’t show you. Unless I’m drunk. Then, DUH, have you seen this shiz?!

Make you the best damn margarita you’ve ever had in your life. Trust.

Admit when I’m wrong. Fairly quickly. And even apologize for it, genuinely.

Forgive almost anyone for almost anything. Often whether I want to or not… I am nearly incapable of holding a grudge.

Be the best damn listener in the world, despite how often my mouth is moving.

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

I won’t…

Feel such a responsibility to be “on” all the time in a social setting.

Let shitty people be a part of my life… even if that means cutting some loose.

Ever stop doing whatever I have to in order to set foot in as many places as possible before I die.

SETTLE. In any area of my life.

Ever give up on us.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I will…

Cry at animated movies. Wall-E, I’m looking at you.

Dance and sing wherever I want, whenever I want, even when I get the inevitable “Who sings that?… Let’s keep it that way.”

Try to express myself more, ahem, quietly. Speaking louder will not make someone see my side.

Send flowers to the people who make my life worth living, just because.

Hit “publish” on that post that’s been sitting in my drafts since the day I started blogging, no matter how scary it may be…

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I shouldn’t…

Make the horrible, horrible jokes that I do. (And especially not relish it so much.)

Write people off immediately, because they don’t believe in my rights to my body as a woman.

Swear so goddamn much. Well, at least in the company of children and the elderly…

Giggle like a school girl whenever I toot. (snarf)

 Take so much joy in shocking others and pushing them outside of their comfort zones.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I should…

See my grandparents more often.

Stand up for myself when it comes to money and friends. It goes against my nature, but so does getting screwed over repeatedly. (TWSS.)

Publish the hilarious mess of a vlog I made with Maxie and Caviandra. Wait, this goes under “shouldn’t”…

Drink less, work out more, eat better, blah blah fucking blah.

Be a little bit more grateful, every day, for my fantastic little life, and everyone who makes it that way. (Here’s looking at you, kid.)

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inspired by this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, and this. If I missed you, I’m sorry- shoot me an email/comment and I’ll remedy that in the shake of a lamb’s tail.

Mmmm. Lamb.

Mama said share.

(Did you get to ask B a question yesterday? About me, us, his balls, footballs- anything! Just head this way…you have til Fri-dee!)

So, today is sort of a little somethin… it’s my 300th post. That’s right, folks, I have annoyed y’all with my writings, musings and atrocities in this corner THREE HUNDRED TIMES. Instead of writing some big recap, (since yesterday’s was sort of a collection of my least proud moments anyway, and what’s better than that?), we’re going to play a game.

It’s called:

Guess WTF Is Going On In This Video Footage From Our Trip to NYC.

I’d explain the rules, but… yeah.

The prize for guessing correctly, you may ask? Well, you have your choice. I will take a picture OR make a video using only your direction- have me dress like an idiot, serenade you, try to dance to a hip hop song- and I will send it your way to post as you see fit. The only thing I ask is that we leave the whole nudity thing out of it, as I know someone in my home who would probably not approve.

(The kittens, of course. They don’t need to see their mama whoring it up.)

All right, chillens… and awayyyyyyy we go!

(Youtube link here.)

Have at it!

Update: I’ll give y’all a hint for bonus points… there is a movie playing in the background. If anyone can guess what it is along with what’s happening, you win HARDCORE.

Second Update: Whoever gets the most specific (correctly), first, will win. Woot!

Final Update: Winner will be announced Friday!

Mama said share.

As I’ve said before, this whole quarter-life crisis thing is throwing me for a bit of a loop. I’m having a bit of trouble figuring out how to balance out my life and how to prioritize the ways I spend my time, now that I’m A) living with my boyfriend = serious relationship and B) have a real job and responsibilities and all that jazz.

And what I’m realizing is that it all comes down to your choices. The DECISIONS that you make, big and small, every day. Like everything else, they add up to create the big picture of Who You Are and What Your Life Is.

The thing is, I’m a pleaser. (Come on… SOMEONE gimme a TWSS…) I like to make everyone as happy and comfortable as I can, all the time. I like to make friends and build bonds and work on them to make them stronger. When I go out to a bar, I’m not looking for prospects out of the corner of my eye… I’m entirely focused on spending time with the people I adore (with a healthy side of people-watching). Now that I’m no longer “on the hunt,” as it were, I should have more time to do this, yes?

And in some ways, I do. But, as I (and we all) have said, as you get older, life shifts ever so gently from a focus on Quantity… to Quality. This is true in many different facets, but obviously it is most pertinent to the people that you let in and share your life with.

Now, we spend our teenage/young adult lives forming our ideas about what a “romantic relationship” should be. Through trial and error, we determine what our Dealbreakers are, those things that we absolutely cannot abide in a partner.

But I was thinking the other day (I do that sometimes), and I find it interesting that we don’t- at least consciously- apply these same life lessons to our friendships.

Think about it. You dream about Mr. or Ms. Right, and you decide all these things they CAN’T be. It’s grounds to cut them out of your life, to say goodbye, to let them go forever. But we can’t do this with friends… you can’t “break up” with a friend unless they do something incredibly drastic and awful. Generally, you have to do the “fade-out,” and if they run with your circle of friends, this is nearly impossible to achieve, as Seinfeld proved long ago.

The solution, my friends? PREVENTION. Just like the Herp.

By the time we’re of a certain age, we need to start identifying red flags that we will use as signals that we should deter a certain prospective friendship from even beginning to form. We do this automatically when dating… why not with acquaintances??

I’ve thought long and hard about what my “Red Flags” would be… my “Dealbreakers,” if you will… and they are as follows:

Someone who is selfish. Someone who was raised to believe that they are the most important person in their little universe, and that all others should cater to their needs. They will suck up your time, your energy, your money. Even if they’re filthy rich and you’re dirt poor, when you’re the only one who ever reaches for the check out of common courtesy, you will get SCREWED. This is another fault of mine- I will fight for the check to the end, because I expect everyone else to fight just as hard (it’s how the restaurants raised me). It ain’t the case, unfortunately.

Someone who repeatedly takes advantage of you. This seems as though it should be obvious, but it’s really not. Some people have spent their whole lives learning how to manipulate others to get what they want, all the time. If you find yourself constantly bending over backwards for someone because you don’t want to “deal” with disagreeing with them? Regularly finding yourself in unfavorable situations because of them? Someone who always manages to make it seem as though *you’re* the one at fault? RUN.

Someone who can’t admit when they’re wrong. This, my friends, is truly the difference between a child and an adult. Look, I don’t care if you fuck up. We all make mistakes, and most are forgivable. But if someone is unable to own said mistakes, get on their knees, and say those two beautiful words, “I’m Sorry,”… well, then they’re no real friend to you, and their pride is more important to them than you will ever be.

Someone who has no friends. Yes, this may seem a bit cruel and unusual, but think about it… there is a REASON for this. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, like when you move somewhere new, but generally? If someone inexplicably has no real friends to call their own, it’s because they chased away those they did have, one way or another. I have been suckered into more than one awkward situation by feeling bad for someone who certainly didn’t deserve to be pitied. They were lonely for a reason, and I should have left it that way.

Someone who tips poorly or is rude to those in the service industry. Self-explanatory. And if it isn’t, stay the hell away from me.

I have a habit of wanting to trust, of feeling guilty, of giving the benefit of the doubt, when none of this has been earned.

It stops here.

Life is too damn short, people. Spend it in good company.

Mama said share.