Season One, Episode Twenty-Four: Chubby Babies Wielding Arrows and Slutty Streetwalking Mailmen

I hate painting my nails.  I always inevitably wind up smudging a nail somehow.  Usually it’s when I think my nails are dry and then I figure it’s safe to go pee and I smear them trying to carefully take my pants off.

Hi.

Well, anyway, I am sitting here contemplating an idea for a story that keeps tickling my synapses and researching ghost towns and drowned towns and thinking about how deliciously melancholy the idea of an entire town under water is.  I’m also thinking about fairy tales and possible names for my main character and how bright my nail polish is (China Glaze lacquer in Pink Voltage.  It’s very very neon pink.) and how much I liked the pilot episode of Smash that I just watched on Hulu.  The mind of a writer is a fantastic thing.  We multitask.

These are obviously not my nails because they are not smudged. No, these are phantom nails I found via Google.

It’s Valentine’s Day.  Yay.  This will actually be the first V-Day that I will not be at work or watching sitcoms over a bowl of Ben and Jerry’s.  I’m excited.  I’m not exactly sure what proper Valentine’s Day etiquette is, but I guarantee you that I will screw it up somehow.  I’m not exactly a particularly classeh ladeh.  Part of me keeps reminding me that there’s a new episode of New Girl on tonight and that I have chocolate gelato in the freezer.  To that schlumpy sweatpant-clad part of me, I say nay.  I will go get overdressed and put on an acceptable amount of makeup and venture out into bitter cold and snow to have a good time.  I’ll be like a hooker mailman (I just giggled at the mental image), but instead of mail I will be delivering…joy.  Yes.

Hmm. They look as though they were delivered some joy by a fat cheeked baby wielding arrows or a hooker mailman.

In other news, my unemployment was rejected on supposedly justifiable grounds, and I am not really wanting to fight the decision, although I have been advised by everyone and their mom to fight it until I get it.  I don’t really feel like fighting with my old boss.  That is a battle not worth fighting because I’ll just wind up getting pissed and I don’t need the stress.  I had four years of that shit and I actually like not having to deal with her anymore.  I might reapply, but if the state ruled that the firing was allowable, I highly doubt that I will receive any compensation.  Just saying.  I don’t feel like wasting time over $165 a week.  Hell, if I have to I’ll apply at Target or something to tide myself over until I find out what is going to happen with the casino.  I applied for state benefits, so I’m just waiting on a response from them.  I highly doubt that I will get rejected when my gross weekly income is nada.

I just thought I’d drop on in and write a quick post because I have been neglectful of a lot of stuff as of late.  This whole days blending together thing is really becoming an issue.  I’m mixing up my days of the week and sleeping a lot.  I think I need to find a routine hobby so that I don’t turn into a crazy person.  Maybe I’ll join the gym so that I have to actually leave the house on a regular basis.

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Season One, Episode Twenty: I Don’t Want To Be THAT Guy…You Know, The One Who Throws Around Their Awesomeness

Oh.  My.  God.

I feel like I’m gonna throw up.  I think I’m being attacked from the inside by the delicious kugel I just sucked down like a friggin’ Dyson.  Ughhhh.  But you don’t want to hear how the noodley goodness is doing roundhouses in my tummy.  So I digress…

It’s January Fifourth (it’s that gray area between the Fourth and the Fifth, because to some it’s still nighttime and to others it’s early morning…I say it’s still Wednesday, but I know some of you may not concur with me and say it’s Thursday–and some people in the New Zealand/Australia area might even go a step further and say it’s nearly Friday), and I am contemplating the new year and the obligatory resolutions that come along with it.  I don’t really get the concept of making resolutions, especially when people make crazy and outlandish ones that they never really keep.  According to USA.gov, some of the most common resolutions made in America are as follows:

  • Drink less alcohol
  • Eat healthy food
  • Get a better education
  • Get a better job
  • Get fit/Lose weight
  • Manage debt
  • Manage stress
  • Quit smoking

I wonder how many people actually are still keeping those resolutions by the time June rolls around.  I always feel like New Year’s and Lent fall too close together, and there is just way too much resoluting and sacrificing for Jesus and I just can’t do it.

Maybe I’m just non-committal?  Could be.  Whatever the reason, I have compiled a short, but detailed list of previous resolutions of yore and why they failed:

  • Swear less.  I’ve tried that one for Lent a few times too.  It doesn’t work.  I may look sweet and aw shucksish, but I have the mouth of a trucker.  I think all my attempts lasted a few hours.
  • Lose 10-30 pounds.  Pfft.  I love food waaaaay too much to eat healthy.  I hate most healthy food and I can rationalize consuming half a package of Oreos during an episode of New Girl.  That one has lasted me a few weeks, but I always crash and/or burn.
  • Get fit.  Yeaaaaaah…I lasted nearly a year on this one.  I am a pretty vain person, and I like getting all buff and toned and wearing smaller pants.  Who doesn’t?  I am also a sucker for having super toned arms and a fit back, so this was a resolution that I enjoyed…until work derailed me and I fell off the workout wagon.
  • Be a nicer person.  I am, for the most part, a pretty nice person.  Even more so if I like you or think you have potential to be included on my golden list of compadreship.  But if I don’t like you?  Oh that is a sad card to be dealt, because I am quite bitchy and mean.  In both the preppy mean girl mean and in the smart person who makes mean comments that sail over your head and that you don’t really get until you think about it later.  I can usually do good on this one until I inevitably run into a person that I decide I hate.
  • Be less messy.  Oh man…yeah, that one doesn’t get too far out of the gate.  I don’t even know why I try to make that one, to be honest.
  • Try to go to bed earlier.  Um…yeah.  You see how well that one worked out.

I decided that this year I’m just going to not make any resolutions and see how that works out.  Ash Wednesday is February 22nd, and I have to come up with something particularly good to impress Jesus, so I’ll come up with a good Lenten thing to give up.  Maybe I’ll actually keep it?  That would be a first.  I don’t think I have ever kept a resolution or whatever I gave up for Lent.

Wow.  I am a non-committal, foul-mouthed, slightly chubby, mean and messy nocturnal Catholic who eats badly.

You can't argue with perfection.

At least I’m funny.  That’s gotta count for something, right?  😛

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 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 Four: Extreme Makeover, the Follicular Edition

I’m bored with my hair.

I’ve been growing my hair out since late 2009, and it is right below my bra strap.  Pretty long.  I have been thinking about donating it to Locks of Love, so I’ve been on the fence about cutting it.  It’s not long enough for me to actually have hair to have after cutting off the required minimum of 10 inches, so I have to wait, and I’d be really pissed at myself if I chop it off right before it’s long enough to donate.  In my opinion, that would be like quitting the race right before you crossed the finish line.  It’s taken nearly two years to grow it out and nearly three years to get rid of all the bleached highlights that I had since September of 2008 (Locks of Love won’t take hair that has been bleached).  That is the follicular equivalent of training for a triathlon.  Except in the follicular world, instead of lifting weights and cross training, you refrain from excessive hair dye and you deep condition.

I have had long hair and short, but I feel like I should inform y’all that my hair is thick, what my stylist calls “dense”, pretty coarse, and curly.  To sum it up, I have a LOT of hair.  And it is heavy.  I occasionally (like at the moment) get headaches from the weight of it piled up on my head–I hate wearing my hair down a lot because it takes a lot of time to wrangle into submission and I hate having hair in my face, so I usually wear it in a ponytail or in a messy bun.  And I have a bad habit of pulling it up while it’s soaking wet, so I have this huge wad of heavy, wet hair just chilling on the back of my head all day at work.

Fabulous.  Add that to the stress that my job already gives me, and no wonder I get migraines at work.

So anyway, cutting it is out.  So is dyeing it blonde, something that I’ve been itching to do since early early 2008, the last time that I had dyed it that color.  I am currently my natural color, which I guess could be described as a medium brown with lots of natural blonde highlights and a slight tint of auburn.  It’s pretty, but I am bored.  In high school I dyed my hair religiously, anywhere from blonde to dark brown to reddish brown, and I cut it whenever the mood struck me.  This being good thing is hard.  I haven’t dyed it since June of 2009, and my hair is healthy, yes, probably the healthiest it’s been since I was like 11, but I want to do something new to it.  I like the reaction you get when you do something to change up your look.  And for me, dramatic is always the way to go.

I am kind of thinking about dyeing it darker.  I saw Kristen Stewart (I don’t like Kristen Stewart, and I haven’t seen any of the Twilight movies) with this long, black hair for some Snow White movie she’s doing, and the wheels in my head started turning.  What if I dye it black?  And not with permanent dye, which would ravage the hair that I’ve worked so hard to keep healthy, but with a temporary dye that washes out in 24 shampoos and is supposed to be good for my hair?  I might do it.  I’ve never had black hair, so I figure this is a good way to test drive it.  If I like it, I’ll just keep using temporary dye until I chop this all off!

XOXO

Obsession of the Moment

I want to try this so bad!!!!

I am infatuated with this stuff! I have to try it, I've heard nothing but great reviews.

I am a self-admitted LUSH-aholic, so I am kinda biased, but I’ve read that R&B is supposed to be amazing for angry, distressed, curly hair.  My hair oftentimes can get angry.  It is sometimes distressed.  And it most certainly is curly.  I need something that can keep my hair from drying out in the harsh winters we have here in Cleveland, and I like that LUSH doesn’t use any animal products in their stuff, so even though I’m not a member of PETA or anything, I still feel like I’m doing my little bit to help the rainforests and all that.  I think I’m going to buy some with my next check, and if I do, I’ll be sure to share what I think of it!