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 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 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 😛

Webify Me

I took this cutesy little quiz they had on the Firefox homepage where you answered twenty questions about your Web antics and they compile a visual collage of sorts showing what your Web would look like.  Mine is pretty awesome, so I’ll share it in the picture below:

My Web experience, in 16 items or less!

Chasing Lala, Season One: Pilot

I give this pilot post two thumbs up. And a particularly cheesy (and well-whitened) smile.

Welcome to the series premiere of my newest blog, Chasing Lala.  The first post, in my opinion, is always the hardest because there is a lot of expectations for the blog that have to be introduced and concurrently lived up to in the first post (and then the second, and the third…hell, I guess for the remaining life span of this blog!).  The first post is kind of like the first date.  Or maybe the second or third, when you’ve decided that you’re going to have sex and you feel like you should bust out all your best moves, but then you wonder if your “best moves” are really that awesome.  The first blog post is full of butterflies and nervous giggles and word vomit and bragging and maybe one too many glasses of blueberry vodka and ginger ale (soooo delicious, trust me).

That said, let’s start.  This post is wearing its best push-up bra and racy-not-too-skanky-but-just-skanky-enough lace thong from Victoria’s Secret.  This post shaved its legs and painted its toenails with Lincoln Park After Dark because it wanted to look edgy but not too edgy.  Maybe edgy sexy chic.  This post put on its sexiest-but-not-cheap-hooker-smelling perfume for you and is wearing its prettiest sheer pink lip lacquer.  It’s feeling pretty and nervous and kind of vulnerable.  Its also hoping that you brought money for parking because it totally forgot to.

First things first, my name is Lashawn.  Well, really Lashawn with a capital S…LaShawn.  I kinda hate the way that looks, so I spell it with a lowercase S when I type or print my name.  But I sign it with a capital S because it looks dumb if I use the lowercase.  It’s silly, but I’ve been doing it since I started eighth grade and it makes perfect sense to me.  And reading those last few sentences makes me realize how stupid my explanation sounds.  And that I pretty much wasted 1.5 seconds of your life that you will never get back.  My bad…but anyway, that was a bit off-tangent.  Focusssss.

I am the product of twelve (thirteen, if you count Kindergarten) years of Catholic school, including four years in an all-girl high school.  I learned all the important things, like how to curse like a sailor, wear tube socks to avoid shaving more than once a week, fake having cramps/headache/upset stomach to get out of a test or a ridiculously boring class…Oh, and the Our Father, my Sacraments, and how to be a good little Catholic schoolgirl.  I think that definitely shaped me into who I am now, a pretty intelligent preppy girl with a trucker mouth.  I am a fabulous single mom to a hilarious six year old boy, Nicholas.  Nicky is the greatest kid ever.  I may be a bit biased, but I’m gonna say that he’s pretty awesome.  Most of my life revolves around him.  My birthday is in three months as of today (9/17), and I will be 26.  Writing that makes me cringe.  Ickkkk.  I am slogging through my freshman year (which has taken like 1.5 years) of community college, which is going to take forever thanks to idiotic 18 year old me (I have a super sweet 1.7 GPA to work with).  If I ever finish my stint at community college, I hope to eventually get my Bachelor’s in Anthropology.  I want to become a socio-cultural anthropologist and see the world.  My goal is to get my doctorate and become a professor with the most amazing field stories ever.  I am currently a receptionist, which I sorta kinda hate and hope to not make a career out of, a sentiment I feel very strongly about after almost four years.  I work at a car dealership, which is a love/hate kind of thing.  I’ll get into that later.

I am feeling like this entry shouldn’t be too long, or I’ll bore you and you’ll close your tab that this is open in.  So I’ll be brief and thank you for reading post uno.  And I hope that you’ll come back for the next one, and hopefully the next 79846343838 ones.  My Pilot post is thankful that you put money in the parking meter and that you laughed at its jokes, even the one about the priest and the rabbi that didn’t exactly make sense the first or third time it told it.  It hopes that you come back.  And it hopes that you aren’t mad that unlike me, it doesn’t ever put out on the first date.

XOXO