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.

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.

Ladies and gentlemen, I come to you on this perhaps tragic day as the bearer of some heavy, but necessary, news.

This Thursday will be my last TMI Thursday entry here on Livit, Luvit.

I’ll let that sink in.

I know, it seems sudden. But really, it’s not.

I’ve written some 75 posts about bodily functions, sexual mishaps, general over-sharings, and the like. It’s gotten to the point where I’m stressed, where I’m reaching, where I’m hoping something vile and inappropriate will happen at my girlfriend’s bachelorette party, just so I’ll have a post that Thursday.

What?

I’ll be forever grateful for all the bathroom-humor-loving kindred e-souls I met through this, um, *project*… but TMI Thursday, at least for me, has run its course, and I’m hoping to tap out while on top.

(Twss.)

That said, let’s have one last big ass TMIT hurrah, huh? This Thursday, let’s come together, dig deep, and tell that one story we swear we never would. Let’s go nuts! Let’s have one big Never Have I Ever sesh. I’ll bring the popcorn.

And the She Pees.

WHAT?!?

Sigh. Some things will never change… it will *always* be TMI up in here.

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

P.S. I’m over at In It To Gym It today as well, writing about The Dress. Check it out. Or don’t. WHATEVS.

P.P.S. Two of my favorite people, shine and Marie, have put together an incredible project called “Women’s Writes.” Marie will be linking everyone who takes part in it today, so make sure to check out her post. Whatever your personal politics or opinions, it’s guaranteed to be interesting.

Their message to us regarding the project:

“When the Criminal Homicide and Abortion Amendments bill passed in Utah at the beginning of March, both Shine and Marie reached the end of their rope when it came to women’s rights and issues consistently being pushed backwards rather than moving forwards. They decided to have a day in which any blogger could write about women’s rights and issues and bring them to the forefront so that we could speak up and make all of our voices heard. Know it. Write it. Say it.”

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?

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.

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!

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.

(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!

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.

***FYI, the Snuggie giveaway will continue until midnight tomorrow. Winner shall be announced on Wednesday! If I can manage it, I’ll somehow post a video here of us picking one of yous… but I might be too special/lazy to figure that out.***

Last week was a tough work week for B. As his job relates to all things on the Hill, he, like most of DC, is effected by the changes in the administration, and his office has been crazy busy lately. So when I came across a delicious recipe on my dear friend Smart Mouth Broad’s page last Wednesday, I knew it was the perfect opportunity to make him a wonderful dinner and help him to relax for an evening after a hard day’s work.

Additionally, chicken saltimbocca is the one dish I never got sick of through years of working at a Maggiano’s Little Italy in college. I knew it couldn’t fail- pan-fried chicken wrapped in sage and prosciutto, smothered in a savory white wine and garlic sauce? Perfection, no? So I stopped off at our local Giant (more neighborhood funsies!) to buy the necessary ingredients.

I walking in and headed over to Aisle 1, aka processed meats and cheese. I found these weird prosciutto-and-mozzarella rolls, but no plain prosciutto. Slightly worried, I spotted an employee who was busily stocking Kraft singles further up the aisle.

“Excuse me,” I said, and waited. After about 30 seconds of emptying the box of Kraft, he managed to turn around. “Um, do you happen to know where I could find the prosciutto?” I asked.

“I don’t even know what that is,” he unabashedly declared.

Uhhhh… okay. Next. I spotted another gentleman sporting the Giant employee jacket near the milk and eggs.

“Prosciutto?” I asked again.

“Whassat?” He squinted at me.

“Um… it’s aged, salt-cured, shaved ham.”

“It’s fancy ham?” It took every ounce of willpower I had not to burst out laughing.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Do you know where it would be?”

“Gotta be Aisle 1. That’s where all that fancy stuff is.”

“I looked there, actually. Is there anywhere else it might be?”

“You gotsta ask the deli,” he pointed. Because the enormous sign that said “DELI” over the deli wasn’t enough information for me to find the deli. But then, I’m the asshole who can’t find the fancy ham, I suppose.

After waiting in line behind two very indecisive lovers, as he and he bickered about whether to go with the salmon or the shrimp, I was ignored for another five minutes while the tiny woman behind the counter shot the shit with the butcher.

“Yeah?” she finally asked me.

“I was wondering if you knew where the prosciutto might be,” I asked, thinking, Or, yanno, if YOU at least know what it is.

“Iz right behind yoo,” she pointed. I turned and saw a small display of salami.

“Um, there isn’t any there, actually.”

“That ain’t it?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Aisle 1, then,” she turned away dismissively.

“I looked there already!” I called after her.

“Then we out,” she called over her shoulder.

Sigh. I went back and grabbed one of the prosciutto/mozzarella rolls. I’d have to make it work. I gathered my other ingredients, waited behind six people in the express lane, and right as I was swiping my debit card…

realized I’d forgotten the fucking chicken.

FYI? Walking around a Giant holding Giant shopping bags full of food? Really awkward. But at least my baby got him goddamn chicken saltimbocca. And it was FABULOUS.

And it was definitely because of the fancy ham.

Update: The chicken is covered in provolone, not raw, lovers. You know I don’t eat food that’s not smothered in cheese. C’mon, now.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately.

(I know. Ouchies. Brain no likey.)

But here’s the thing. When I read through my archives, as some of you have been doing lately,

Hi! How’s it hanging? I seeeee you! Luv, Big Brother

it makes me cringe a little bit. Because if I were you, and I read what I write about me… well, the image I’d have in my head about the girl who talks openly about the consistency of her bowel movements? Is not exactly the most, ahem, flattering visual. And while I am definitely no Kelly LeBrock or Natalie Portman, I also don’t ACTUALLY walk around the district taking dumps on sidewalks.

(Yet. We’ll see how far TMI Thursday goes…)

I think we all, as bloggers, struggle with the issue of anonymity. It’s tough to put yourself out there, and in some cases, down right dangerous. (I am SO sorry, Marissa!) But I also feel like I’ve gotten to the point where, well, goddamnit, I share an awful lot more than enough wayyy too much with you already. I think it’s time you had a face to put with my redonculous, humiliating, out-of-left-field, all too often jawdropping confessionary tales and awesomely bad exploits.

So, yeah, let’s do it. Ready? Okay!

Here’s LiLu have a blast with her gays in L.A.:

Here’s LiLu during her very happy Chapel Thrill days with her enigmatic GBF, Thomas: (And YES, Tar Heels, that is Bub O’Malley’s… on 80s night, duh!)

Here’s LiLu WITH A FREAKING MONKEY OMG HOW GODDAMN HAPPEEE AM I???

Here’s LiLu with her bestie at her BIRFDAY PARTY last Saturday night:

Here’s LiLu, madly in love with the infamous B (at the bar where we met, no less):

Here is my favorite picture of my most favorite person in the whole entire world, from our trip to Costa Rica:

And finally, here is a picture that I truly see myself in. A little bit tipsy at the enormous St. Paddy’s Day bash in Savannah, Georgia… a drink in one hand, and a mischievous glint in my eye. This, my friends, is truly LiLu.

So there you have it, folks. I am, well, halfway out of the closet. THIS is the girl who talks about her cooch freezing over… walking in on her grandparents… and faking a pregnancy to explain her “morning sickness” when it was actually a hangover. And yes, obviously these are some of my favorite pictures, the ones where I look the best, because, well, I’m hoping to provide a little juxtaposition here, so you maybe give me a little more leeway when I tell you stories like how B let me pee with his uh… you know.

I know this post probably comes across as totally self-absorbed- “Here’s LiLu, putting on socks! Here’s LiLu, brushing her hair!”, but the thing is, I’ve shared so much of the bad, so much of the ugly, so much of the FUGLY… I wanted to show y’all the other side, is all. And these aren’t just trivial pictures… I chose them carefully. They represent some of the most important people and memories of my life, and in the spirit of oversharing (which is the unspoken theme of this blog, after all)… I wanted to show them to you.

So, yeah. Um. Hi there.

It’s nice to finally meet you.

This is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to a friend who asked me for information about visiting CR, as she’s traveling there herself this weekend. I figured I might as well put my two cents out on the interwebs as well, in case anyone is googling for advice. I know I was before our trip, and I had a hard time finding sources that weren’t advertisements. Keep in mind these suggestions are only relative to travels during the rainy or “green” season (May to October).

Her request:

Hi LiLu,

I wanted to touch base with you and ask for some advice about Costa Rica!

I am headed down on a totally last minute crazy trip this Saturday morning. It’s a really quick trip, but I am meeting up with people in San Jose and we want to go to the beach (obvi). Do you have any suggestions of beaches that are a few hours from San Jose – close and easy? We don’t need any surfing-specific areas… just pretty beaches with fun bars!

Any ideas???

Super Lovable and Darling Friend

And my response:

Dear Super Lovable and Darling Friend,

I would advise you to spend as little time as possible in San Jose- perhaps you’ll like it better as you’ll be with friends, but I found it to be an absolute hell hole of a city (and I LOVE cities). Unfortunately, the beaches closest to San Jose on the Pacific Coast won’t be worth your time. It’s the rainy season right now, and they’re basically submerged in water- there’s been hurricanes and landslides, and people are flooded out of their homes. You’ll be much better off driving (or, preferably, taking a bus- there are NO street signs anywhere in the country and navigation is quite difficult, and rental cars are expensive) the four hours to Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, on the southeast (Caribbean) coast. I promise you will not be sorry that you did. The beaches there are gorgeous, and the also-lovely beaches of Cahuita (25 minute drive north) and Manzanillo (30 minute drive south) are breathtaking, sunny, and full of activities. Cahuita and Manzanillo have the best snorkeling of the whole country, and don’t miss Maxi’s restaurant (you can’t, as it’s the only one) in Manzanillo. Both towns are very small, though, so you’ll want to post up in Puerto Viejo. Lots of great bars and restaurants there- get the snapper, it’s local. We stayed at Cabinas Casa Verde for $48/night (if paid in cash, off-season price)- the hotel was clean, comfortable and absolutely gorgeous.

The brand-new rock formation pool didn’t hurt either, and the whole hotel is lanscaped so that you feel as if you are living in a jungle- you won’t find better accommodations for the price.

Also, you DEFINITELY want to buy a map before you head down. My Lonely Planet (which was also very helpful to have along on the trip) told me to do this, which I read as I was desperately trying to navigate us from city to city with the pitiful map we were given at the car rental place. When we tried to buy a better one, we were informed by the Tourist Info lady that it was one of the best available in the country. But you can order a much better one ahead of time, if you get it before you go.

Hope this helps!

LiLu

I’m a wee bit crazy. Just a little. Well, maybe slightly more than a little. Actually, I might be sort of absolutely, completely, bat-shit insane. (Don’t tell anyone.)

And you know what? Every single girl in the world is exactly like me. We’re all effing crazy. WOMEN, as a rule, are Crazy.

(Let’s get this straight, though- I’m not talking I-probably-need-meds crazy, I’m talking, I want you to WANT to do the dishes crazy. Biiiiiig difference.)

And men? Well, that’s easy. Men are DUMB.

Guys are very simple creatures. Most (straight) men fall somewhere between a golden retriever (the high end) and a sweet potato (the low).

Disclaimer: Obviously, I am only talking about a man’s intelligence as it relates to women; i.e., their ability to not only PERCEIVE when something is wrong, but to know WHY said thing is upsetting, and, for the extremely advanced of the species, HOW to go about fixing said distressing event and/or situation.

Women, on the other hand, are insanely complicated. We think, we worry, we analyze Every. Little. Thing. We notice every tiny nuance of everything you (men) do or say, and then we rip it to nearly imperceptible shreds in our brains, considering the action and its potential meaning from all possible angles.

Then, inevitably, we decide upon whichever one is the least rational.

And we wallow. We don’t want to “bother” you with it. So instead, we sulk, we pout, we answer with one word. And finally at some point, when you, say, get annoyed because we sometimes forget to put a glass in the dishwasher instead of the sink, (totes hypothetical, of course), we freakthefuckout. It may be tears, it may be anger, but you can be sure there’s a whole lot more behind it. I promise.

Like I said, we’re effing crazy. What do you want?

THEREFORE, the trick, I believe, to finding the “perfect guy” is not at all about how he looks on paper. It’s not really about his job, his clothes, or whether he makes you laugh- those all help, yes, but they are not the most important thing.

The most important thing, my friend, is finding a guy who not only puts up with your crazy, he gets your crazy. Although we’re not really aware of it, this is what we mean when we say “he just GETS me.” What we’re actually saying is, He Gets My Kind of Crazy.

Conversely, when a man gets Your Kind of Crazy, he is no longer nearly as Dumb. You even realize his weaknesses as far as his Own Kind of Dumbness, and are willing to help him out with the little Bits of Crazy he doesn’t get. You throw him a bone now and then, as far as, “I’m upset BECAUSE,” because usually? He Gets It.

And thus is born a new axiom in Livit, Luvit’s little world. Words to live by, if you will.

“It’s all about finding a man who can handle her brand of crazy… and a woman who can handle his brand of dumb.” ~ Me and J

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Sidenote- this post is totally an open invitation for a gentleman blogger to write The Other Side…

Update: See one excellently written and thought-provoking response here, by my esteemed friend Restaurant Refugee.

Last year when I first realized just exactly how boring my office job is, and consequently started reading blogs, one of the first I stumbled on (and fell in love with) was Belle de Jour’s. The high-class London call girl’s story started there, soon after she published not one but two books about her escapades, and now, finally, the TV show based on her experiences has made it to the States. Secret Diary of a Call Girl started this June on Showtime, and I’ve seen every single episode. Billie Piper is sexy, adorable, and endearing as Belle. Apparently the show’s gotten terrible reviews, but whatevs. I heart it.

At the end of last week’s episode, Belle wrapped up the show with a quote that I absolutely loved…

“That’s the thing about London… In London, you can keep secrets, be anonymous, be whoever you want. But as long as one person knows you entirely, and still loves you… it’s the best place in the world.”

Now, I do have a total soft spot in my heart for London, seeing as I spent an absolutely aMAZing summer there in college, and lived there for a year when I was four. Consequently, all of my first memories are of asking my Mum for my wellies when it was raining, and of some cheeky munter who thought she could get away with stealing my brand new fluffy white earmuffs. Think again, you barmy pillock. (English insults are wayyyy more funsies than American!)

Although the quote is pertaining to a career as a call girl in London, and referencing the love and acceptance of Belle’s ex-boyfriend-turned-bff Ben, I think it rings true in a much more generalized way as well. No matter how you live your life, someone out there is judging you for something- your career, your lover, your friends, your religion (or lack thereof), your life philosophy. We all judge each other, whether we mean to or not, and at one time or another, we’ve all felt someone else passing judgment on us.

And they will continue to, it’s human nature. But it makes it easier to face, to accept, to give a judger the hand and tell them to talk to it (kidding!) when you know that somewhere out there is a select group of wonderful and amazing people. A group of people who absolutely adore you, every last thing about you, NO MATTER WHAT. They know every twisted nook and cranny of your personality flaws and questionable nature (not to mention sick-humored psyche), and love you completely… not in spite of it, but because of it.

Point being, I know EXACTLY how damn lucky I am to have the people who love me, unconditionally and without judgment, in my life. And you should too, because it really does make all the damn difference in the world.

<3