Season One, Episode Fifteen: A Very Lala Christmas Eve

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Christmas Eve, 2011.

My house smells like hot chocolate and s’mores, thanks to the amazing candles I bought from Bath and Body yesterday at the mall.  My dad is watching TV, and getting frustrated that the only thing on TV is The Sound of Music and It’s A Wonderful Life.  My mom and Nicky are at my grandma’s house, celebrating Christmas Eve.  I just got back from Mass, church was packed, and I’m still not in the Christmas spirit.

There’s still no snow on the ground, although it is reallllly cold out.

I’m pretty bored.  I’m still dressed from Mass, I smell fabulous and look fabulous, thanks to the Atelier cologne sample I got from Birchbox (Ambre Nue), the new foundation I just bought (philosophy The Supernatural), and my rockin’ new eyeshadow from Stila (It Girl Palette #2).  I’m all for looking awesome while I blog to all my lovelies 🙂  Speaking of lovelies, I’d like to thank all the readers who came over to scope out my fab post on Alex O’Loughlin.  You guys rock!  Thanks for the unexpected hits and I hope you guys come back to read more excellence.  Increased page activity is always a great Christmas present!

I just scoped out the NORAD Santa Tracker on my iPhone, courtesy of Google Maps, and it appears that the Big Guy is currently in Tarrafal, Cape Verde.  I guess it’s time for me to start preparing the plate of Chips Ahoy and glass of milk.  And since he is probably hours from Ohio, I suppose I should remind Santa that Alex would be a nice little present to find beneath my tree tomorrow morning…and maybe this makeup collection from Chanel.  Just sayin’, Santa.

I’ll provide Santa with some visual aids, just in case he missed yesterday’s post.

Alex O’Loughlin:

Come on Santa...You could put one of those huge bows that they put on new cars on him and nothing else...well...maybe shorts because Nicky will be there, hahaha.

Chanel makeup:

So Santa, just go to the Chanel website, click "makeup" and then select this collection. Scroll on down and decide what you think would be best for me. I'm leaning toward the blush and the hot pink lipstick.

Season One, Episode Fourteen: Santa Baby

So…Christmas is in a few short days, and I totally just realized that I didn’t send out my Christmas list to Santa Claus.

Well, shit.

…I hope Santa reads blogs!!!

Dear Santa,

I have been a reaaaaallllly reaaaaaallly good girl this year.  Seriously.  I refrained from any mischief, shenanigans, poppycock, and/or tomfoolery all year long.  I was thinking that since I’ve been such an awful good girl that it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle if you were to try to get me a few of the things I have compiled in my short list below.  You can skip around and get what you think is best, but I’m really more or less partial to number one and number five.  To prevent confusion, I’ve added pictures for quick and easy referencing.  Thanks Santa!

Love,

Lashawn

L. Diddy’s Fabulous List of Christmas Excellence (The 2011 Edition):

1.  Alex O’Loughlin.

Umm...yum, Santa.

2.  A little something from Tiffany.

I'm not even saying it has to be this, Santa. I'm just giving you a general idea of what I have in mind...

3.  Perry the Platypus.  How friggin’ cool would he be???

4.  An iPad 2.

I want one of these sooo bad. They are super fantabulous.

5.  Alex O’Loughlin.

...Sorry, I was drooling. Oh my goodness.

Season One, Episode Thirteen: Musings of a Night Owl

Hello. My name is Lashawn, and I am a night owl.

It’s four am, and what am I doing? Am I sleeping? Noooo. I’m sitting at my laptop in my badass penguin pajamas, playing with the Biblical Curse Generator. I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty entertained. It might be because it’s four in the morning, it might be because I’m slightly jacked up on caffeine, it might be because I enjoy the simpler things in life, I don’t know. What I do know is that the shit this site is coming up with is cracking me up. For example:

“May you see your pomegranates wither, O thou dabbler in abominations!”

Take that, guy who wanted to argue with me over the price of his oil change.

Staying up late opens your eyes to a whole new world dominated mostly by network syndicated comedies (such as How I Met Your Mother and That 70’s Show) and cheesy yet überslick infomercials for hair removal products and weird spandex bra shaper things that I don’t really need. Late nights make you feel classy, like you’re better than all the people who fell asleep during CSI: Miami. Horatio Caine peers at you over the top of his sunglasses and salutes you my friend, because you stayed up long enough to see him catch the bad guy and utter some really horrible and cheesy dialogue before and after he handcuffs said villainous villain. It’s a twofer kind of thing.

Horatio Caine: "There will be no tying of virtuous young maidens to any railroad tracks on my watch, evil silent film guy." Dastardly Evil Guy: "Curses, foiled again!"

Sleep? Ha, who needs sleep.

Sleep is overrated.

People often ask me why I stay up until the birds are chirping. I say why not? I work in the afternoon, my life is pretty boring…so why the hell not? I would much rather stay up late than wake up early in the morning, if that makes any sort of sense. I’ve always been a night person, even when I was a young lass. Nighttime is me time. I can shut off the Lashawn that the rest of the world gets to see and get in my pajamas and be the Lashawn who enjoys aloneness and contemplation and a good book or a corny sitcom.

I like the quiet, the solitude of what Robert Louis Stevenson called “the black hours”. I like that I can just sit and think and not have to be a mom or a sister or a receptionist or a friend or a daughter or anything that everyone else wants me to be. I can just be me, and not have to worry about what the rest of the world thinks. I can read random crap on Wikipedia or research the French Revolution or watch an old show from the ’50s. I can sit around with my favorite fleece blanket and eat Tostitos and salsa and not have to share. I can sit on my upstairs porch and just look up at the night sky and feel so infinitely insignificant and think philosophical things. It’s my favorite time of day, hands down.

To me, the night is beautiful, in some ways just as beautiful as the daytime, in other ways possibly more. One of my favorite things ever is when the sun sets and there’s this smooth, seamingless transition of blues and purples and pinks across the sky, from east to west. Simply beautiful. I adore the stars, and I think the twinkling, sparkling “heavens” are just as breathtaking as the white clouds across a vivid blue mid-afternoon sky. You can’t appreciate the sunshine without the inkiness of night. Sunrise wouldn’t be as memorable without the sunset. I’m suddenly reminded of one of my favorite quotes:

“I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness so I can see the stars.”

Season One, Episode Twelve: Of Michael Bolton, Consumerism, and Christmas Spirit (or the Lack Thereof)

I’m not exactly in the Christmas spirit this year, and I’m not exactly sure why.  Our tree is up and decorated, my shopping is all done, and my mom is rocking out to Michael Bolton singing Christmastastic magic, circa 1995 (when he still had the luxurious flowing mane).  MB alone should have me sitting near the fireplace, anxiously awaiting Santa and his bag of gifty awesomeness.

In my house, Michael Bolton and Christmas go together like peanut butter and chocolate.

 But, alas, I am not excited for the big guy or Christmas in general.  Siiiiiighhh.

I’m thinking it might be because it’s too warm for snow, so there won’t be a white Christmas…and maybe because all it’s really done all year is rain, rain, rain and I’m just depressed that we’ve had a rainy December.  A soggy, muddy Christmas is not exactly the stuff of Christmas classics (“I’m dreaming of a muddy Christmas” just doesn’t have the same ring to it).  Maybe it’s because Corporate America has been shoving Christmas down our throats since right around Halloween.  I think I may have actually rolled my eyes at the juxtaposition of Halloween decorations and Christmas crap thrown together at Target–because, you know, we all love to have our bloody skulls wearing Santa hats.  It adds that extra bit of undead class, you know?  It also may have been the Christmas music playing 24/7 on two radio stations since the week before Thanksgiving–and I’m guessing Thanksgiving will soon be known as Black Friday Eve.  We don’t even really dwell on the meaning of the holidays anymore.  It’s just consumerism.

I know I sound like a Scrooge, but maybe we just need Linus Van Pelt to remind us what Christmas is all about.  Maybe then I’ll get in the Christmas spirit.  Preach it, Linus:

Season One, Episode Eleven: The Ravages of Time Are Knocking Upon My Door

My birthday was this past Saturday. I am officially 26…and looking at what I just wrote, who the hell in their right mind would want to be unofficially 26? Perhaps a crazy person…yes, only a crazy person would want to go from 25 (which we all know is a whole ‘nother ballgame) and pretend to be 26. The only way I would do it is if there was a large monetary compensation, or something equally awesome.

Like, I don’t know, maybe this badass pegasus.

I’d consider it then.

But seriously, I’m 26. Four more years to 30. Ouch. I suppose 26 is a grand achievement. If I lived in the 1600s, like in Jamestown or whatever, I’d have like ten years left in my life before I died a horrible death from cholera or smallpox. I’d have 54516561 kids by now, all named after virtues and kings and whatever, married to a guy named James Blacksmitherson and living in a leaky shack shittily constructed out of logs and mud and no windows. I’d be all about sewing and hanging out with my equally fabulous friends, Rebecca and Prudence. We’d have the best gray bonnets in the entire village. The bitches would be jealous.

Oh yes. They would be jealous.

But anyway. Christmas is coming. Tres exciting, no? I am proud to announce that I finished my shopping for Nicky an entire week ahead of schedule. I usually am rushing around on the 23rd, hating myself for waiting until the last minute. This year, I finished on the 16th. I think that warrants a high five…so I totally just gave myself one. (I usually do this so that I am not left hanging, by well, myself. Denying someone a high five is such an asshole move, and I am not an asshole.) Perhaps this early shoppage is a part of turning 26? Perhaps.

Or I just remembered to do it early this year.

My god…I think I might just be growing up.

Season One, Episode Ten: A Change Is Gonna Come

What I think is that the American people understand that not everybody has been following the rules; that Wall Street is an example of that; that folks who are working hard every single day, getting up, going to the job, loyal to their companies, that that used to be the essence of the American Dream. That’s how you got ahead — the old-fashioned way. And these days, a lot of folks who are doing the right thing aren’t rewarded, and a lot of folks who aren’t doing the right thing are rewarded.“–President Barack Obama on the Occupy Wall Street protests being held across the country.

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Season One, Episode Nine: A Funny Textular Interlude of Sorts

Taken from a conversation I had Sunday with my girl Destinie (with whom I seem to have the most amazing textular conversations):

Me:  I ate some cold greasy pizza and feel like Jesus must have on Easter morning.  Except He was, well, dead and I was drunk.  Minor difference.

Destinie:  Lmao aahhh you just made my day.  Lmfao…

Me:  That may be the quote of the day right there, lol.

Destinie:  It most definitely is.  Haha.

Me:  Haha I like to imagine Jesus as a fist pumpin’ party animal.  In a tuxedo tee shirt and flip flops.

Destinie:  Lmfao!  That’s perfect, and I can’t imagine Him any other way now.  Lol.

Me:  Hahaha I can totally see it.  The tee shirt is on over the toga.

Destinie:  Bahaha and Him rocking out on Guitar Hero.  Haha.

Me:  Hahaha exactly.  Telling Mary Magdalene to chill out because He just needs to finish this level and He’ll turn her water into wine.  Which could be taken very inappropriately lmfao.  I’m going to hell.

Destinie:  Lmfao!!!!  Ahahahahah, save me a seat!

Me:  Lmfao I definitely will.

Season One, Episode Eight: Of Peppers and Time…All In the Name of Science

Whew.

Last week was craziness. Four of the girls in my office went to Niagara Falls (the New York side), so I had to work two thirteen hour shifts while the day receptionist was gone. I spent the rest of my week trying to catch up on my own work and sleep. I figured there was nothing interesting in the least to write about–unless of course, you wanted to read about dealer trades, filing repair orders and parts tickets, and the horrible joy that is known as month end at a car dealership. No? I didn’t think so 🙂

I’m going to insert a quick little red herring here and inform you that I am currently typing this with one contact lens (in my right eye).

Okay, so all was well until Friday evening. I decided that tacos would be delicious for dinner, so I dragged my mom and Nicky to the grocery store for taco-y goodness. I purchased some habanero and serrano peppers to mix in with the ground beef. I’d recently discovered the culinary punch that these little peppers gave ordinary dishes, and I figured that adding something new to my ho-hum Taco Bell taco kit would spice things up, both figuratively and literally.

Oh, how right I was.

I cut up the peppers with no problem, chopping them into little bits to add to the ground beef. Things were uneventfully going well until I got a stray piece of hair or dust or something on my lower lash line. For some incredibly dumb reason I completely forgot that I had habanero pepper juice on my fingers and I just oh-so-casually wiped away whatever had irritated my eye. Bad, bad move.

I’m going to try to describe what happened next as Hiroshima and Nagasaki going down in my eye at the exact same time in the tenth of a nanosecond. It was the most painful feeling I’d ever experienced in my life, apart from pushing out a nearly seven pound baby. I actually think I may have fallen to the ground in the bathroom as I tried to keep from crying out like a little sissy girl. There were tears. There was an eye that was squinched shut and I couldn’t really open it to see what was going on. I was scared that I may have blinded myself. I panicked and freaked all in about thirty seconds. Then I remembered that I should probably try to rinse the pepper juice out of my eye.

I fumbled around for my bottle of contact solution and I squirted like half the bottle in my red, angry, teary eye that burned like the hottest wildfire was raging across the span of my eye and under my eyelid. No luck. It was like using a Dixie cup to throw water at an inferno. I turned on the sink and started splashing my left eye with handful after handful of cold water. It would help momentarily but as soon as I pulled my face from the water the fire would start raging again. Two things came to me as I splashed my eye with the water: that my contact was still in my eye and that my iPhone was on the toilet seat. I squinched up my eye and quickly Googled what one should do when they stupidly get habanero pepper juice in their eye.

Yahoo Answers suggested that I try saline solution, water, and milk in the affected ocular area. I’d already tried two out of the three suggested remedies, and neither had worked. I’d even washed my eyelashes and surrounding area with Johnson and Johnson’s baby shampoo in hopes of washing the stinging juice from my skin. No luck. I was growing increasingly desperate and really was worried that I’d wind up spending my Friday evening in the emergency room. I was in no real desire to head up to Fairview General, and I didn’t have $150 to cover my ER co-pay. So…milk it was. I tried to rationalize what I was about to do by telling myself that when I ate hot food I drank milk to stop the burning feeling in my mouth. I also vaguely remembered all these fancy scientific terms that I really didn’t care about at the moment because my eye felt like it was on fire. I poured milk directly on my eye and the relief was almost immediate. Thank you, Yahoo Answers. I was able to get my contact out and I thought all was well.

I was wrong.

I refrained from wearing my contact lens in my left eye for the rest of the evening and most of Saturday. I was going out Saturday night and I figured that I’d soaked the lens long enough and that all was well. I popped that bad boy in my irritated eye and it was like a fiery blast from Hell all over again. I took the lens out and contemplated throwing it away. Obviously it was no good, it must have soaked up the juice from the peppers, but this was a lens from a new pair of contacts that I’d opened Thursday. I couldn’t justify throwing out a brand new contact, especially since I wear extended wear lenses and they tend to be kinda pricey. Moments of desperation are countered by moments of brilliance…so I filled my case with milk and threw the contact in it and went out. Not very hygienic, but pretty resourceful.

Taken from a text sent to my friend Destinie:

Hahaha I haven’t put it in my eye yet. I’m kinda scared to, lmao. But I must, in the name of science. When in Rome…hahahaha

When I stumbled in later that night I rinsed the case and the lens out with saline solution and soaked my lens until Sunday night when I put it back in my eye. Apart from some initial stinging, all was well. I wore it all last night and all day at work with out any problems until around 7 pm. My eye and upper lash line began to get irritated, so I took the lens out again when I got home. My eyelashes are still irritated, that grainy kind of irritation that comes with the onset of a stye or something equally awesome. I have a feeling that I may need to throw that lens out after all, which really, really sucks. Either that or my eye is really irritated from the peppers and I didn’t give it enough time to recover.

I learned a valuable lesson though. Next time I cut up peppers, I’m wearing gloves. And I’m definitely wearing goggles. I’m gonna make Mexican cuisine soooo dorktastic 😛

Season One, Episode Seven: Silent Sunday

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(Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, taken with my iPhone with the Hipstamatic app.)

Season One, Episode Six: Through The Looking Glass

I was on the site 20 Something Bloggers earlier, and one blogger, Andrea Regueria, posted in one forum a great topic to blog about–writing your teenage self a letter.  I did a lot of stupid stuff towards the end of my teen years–goofing off my junior and senior years, failing a few classes that I had no business failing, not walking with my class, getting pregnant at 18 and becoming a mom at 19, getting dumped by Nicky’s idiot father at 20, failing horribly at two (count them, two!) universities and ultimately losing financial aid at both schools–some of which made me into the person that I am today, the rest just stuff that I wish I could go back in time and kick my teenage ass over.  Instead of writing a letter, which would be too time consuming, and let’s face it, Teenage Me wouldn’t have bothered to read it because I thought I knew every damn thing back then, I am going to give Teenage Me just a little advice and a heads up on the consequences that lurk ahead in the years to come.

Christ...This is probably from between 2002 and 2004, making me anywhere from 16 to 18. I'm leaning more towards 16, but anyway, I'm the girl in the middle. I look pretty much exactly the same.

*You won’t believe me now, you won’t see it until you’re about 25, but you are absolutely beautiful.  I know you think you are ugly and you want plastic surgery on the nose you think is too big and you hate your high forehead and all your curves and features that don’t exactly blend in with all your friends, but you are so, so beautiful.  I wish you would see it for yourself at 16 because that would stem the tide of bad decisions that you make in the next few years.

*Don’t worry so much about having a boyfriend.  You’ll learn that you’re completely fine without one.  I know you think you are a loser because you haven’t been kissed yet, but you aren’t a loser.  You aren’t ugly or hideous or gross.  You just go to an all girls’ school and you are insanely sheltered.  In a year’s time, you will kiss a stupid boy at Burger King who just wants to get in your pants and since you won’t give it up, pretty much ignores you forever.  You won’t even like him.  You will feel like an idiot, and I wish that you would listen to Jari, but I know you think that there is something wrong with you if you don’t kiss him.  Please don’t kiss him.  Save that kiss for someone who deserves it.  That kiss leads to a long line of stupid mistakes with guys that you still will have a hard time with when you are nearly 26.

*School is so important.  So much more important that the kids you are going to meet at Burger King, the same kids that you try to fit in so badly with because they think you are stuck up because you go to a Catholic school and this Burger King thing is the first time in your life that you feel like you don’t exactly fit in at all.  Don’t blow your 3.5 GPA over these kids.  It’s not worth it.  You are going to screw up so bad in the next two years and everything you worked for since Kindergarten is going to go down the drain.  You never get to join NHS, you never get to graduate with honors.  Remember that you wanted to graduate with honors.  Please, please do your homework and get up and go to class.  And please stop thinking your SJA friends are lame.  They are not lame.  They all go on to four year universities while you become a teen mom who is struggling to pay her bills.  And 10 years from now you will be a receptionist who makes $10.25 an hour and is still a freshman in college.  Please just focus on school.

*You have no idea how much that postcard from Yale will still mean to you at 25.

*Stop being such a bitch.  You will regret some of the things you did and the way you treated people when you lay in bed at night years and years down the road.

*After you get pregnant, which you will do because you will become a mom to the most beautiful and amazing boy you’ll ever lay eyes upon, please just ditch his dad and do it alone.  Because you are going to do it alone anyway, and it’s easier to get rid of him before you talk yourself into falling in love with him.  You can do better, please remember that you are beautiful and you can do so much better than him.  Please don’t waste two years of your life on him.  It will take you years to finally let go and you will never trust a man with your heart ever again.  And if you don’t let go of him after you get pregnant, please don’t take him back.  He leaves you when Nicholas is 10 months old.

*Follow your dreams.  Try to become a singer.  Keep writing those stories and poems.  Don’t ever give up.

I’m sure there’s more that I could say, but I think that I covered the things that matter the most.  I think I might do another episode before my birthday in December, but please feel free to share a few things you’d share with yourself if you could 🙂

XOXO