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Friday, December 25, 2009

Dream a Dream

First off, Merry Christmas!!!!

And now, I'd like to debut my own version of the classic Christmas song of gold-digging women everywhere, "Twelve Days of Christmas". Enjoy.


On the first day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:

A bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey.

On the second day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:

A pair of Christian Louboutins...

On the third day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:
A day with Lady Gaga.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:

A pair of black sequined leggings.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:

A rather fetching statue of Lief Erikson.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:A gift card to iTunes.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:
An Aston Martin Vantage.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:
A book of Shakespearean poetry.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:


A box of oh-so-delish peppermint bark.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:

A bottle of Miss Dior Cherie.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:
A ticket to Manhattan.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my occasional hook-up gave to me:


A fantasy bra from Victoria's Secret.


Thursday, December 24, 2009

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Who Says

So...Last week was a bad week. I got the apartment on Sunday night, and then I went into work Monday and found out that the Lakewood store was closing. They closed Friday, costing me ten hours, or roughly one hundred dollars per week. My boss gave me back two hours, but I was still down eighty bucks. I had to call and tell them I couldn't take the apartment.

My birthday is Thursday! I'm excited. I'm having a party Saturday night, which should be fun!


And since I haven't done this in a while, a lovely playlist for you:

"Sugarcane", Missy Higgins, (On a Clear Night)

"Hard", Rihanna featuring Jeezy, (Rated R)

"Already Gone", Kelly Clarkson, (All I Ever Wanted)

"Paper Gangsta", Lady Gaga, (The Fame)

"Atlantic", Keane, (Under The Iron Sea)

"Riot Gear", Regina Spektor, (Far)

"Who Says", John Mayer, (Battle Studies)

"New Slang", The Shins, (Oh, Inverted World)

"Farewell", Rosie Thomas, (When We Were Small)

"Happier", A Fine Frenzy, (Bomb In a Birdcage)

"The Chain", Ingrid Michaelson, (Everybody)

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Me and Mr. Jones

Ahh...What a week. Full of frustrations, stupid boys and the feelings they give me, and drama, real and imagined.

I'll recap.

Okay. This has been a week chock full of baby daddy issues and the sheer ineptitude of the Cuyahoga County Child Support Enforcement Agency. Last Friday (Black Friday, coincidentally), Le Douche Extraordinaire (also known as Douchebag McGee, or Nicky's dad) calls my house, wanting to speak to yours truly. I, however, am not home, seeing as it's Friday and I'm exiled at Lakewood for ten hours. My mom calls me and gives me the run down. I'll share a brief summary of our call.

Me: Hello?
Mom: Lashawn?
Me: Hi, Mom. What's up?
Mom: Asshole called. (Doesn't she have a way with words, that mother of mine?)
Me: What the hell did he want?
Mom: He wanted to know if you were home today. He wants to bring the papers by for you to sign.
("The papers" meaning the papers I'm supposed to sign so that he gets out of paying child support. Dirty bastard.)
Me: Hell fucking no. I'm not signing shit. I already told him that. Several times.
Mom: He wants to come by Monday.
Me: I'm not signing shit, dude.
Mom: I told him he could come by but I wasn't guaranteeing that you'd sign anything.
Me: Stupid douchebag fucker.

Okay, so I can't call CSEA because those lazy bastards are on holiday for Thanksgiving. Because, you know, they're so busy not finding deadbeat dads who skip out on paying their support. Naturally. So I sit in a perpetual fit of rage all weekend long. Ruins my weekend.

Monday comes. I call CSEA and talk to this call representative guy, who turns out to be quite possibly the most brilliant man I've encountered yet over my three years of dealing with the bumbling CSEA. He tells me they sent a letter out ot his place of employment a month ago telling them to start payroll deducting the support from his checks. They got no response, so they sent another letter out ten days before I called. I'm slightly excited because I figure that maybe they have the bastard cornered. So I tell him I'm worried Douche may skip out and run to Tennessee. Awesome CSEA Guy pulls up info on Douche's wife's dad (who lives in Tennessee) and flags it in my report so that my newest case person can pursue that lead. When I hang up the phone a half hour later, I feel cautiously optimistic. The ball is finally rolling.

And then Tuesday comes. I'm in a glowing state of a good mood, and then I get a call from CSEA. Apparently, "Mr. Serrano's employer is not on file." Screeeeech. Ball comes to an abrupt stop. I ask how is that possible when they sent a letter to his job, and I'm told that "often in these situations, the father is receiving cash payment." Well...I hang up and I try calling my new case woman, whom I find out is on vacation until December 7th. Well fan-fucking-tastic. Splendid.

And the week drags on. I slog through work, feeling like God, life just about sucks right now. I look at that apartment, and I'm happy. Overjoyed. But then my best friend's husband ruins it. The guy I like and mess with from time to time (it's a long and gahhh kind of story) lives next door to the building, and he's the one who told me about said apartment for rent. Innocent enough, right? Well, my best friend mentions it to her husband, but she tells him it's in the same building, which leads him to say "She needs to quit fucking stalking him and get a life." Whoa dog. I don't stalk people. I have never stalked a dude in my life. Nonetheless, he says all this harsh and unnecessary shit which totally depresses me and makes me feel like shit.

The next few days go by without a problem. I'm thinking that perhaps the week will end nicely.

Right. I go to the grocery store with Nicky and my mom today, and just guess who I happen to be two checkout lanes away from? Just guess. Douchebag McGee and his woman. By this point I'm pretty much like are you fucking kidding me, and he glances in my direction and she glares at me repeatedly. Seriously. I haven't seen that fucker in almost four years, and suddenly I have this uncontrollable urge to smack the shit out of him. He's lucky there were no scissors nearby, or else he'd have a pair sticking out from his jaw. I, however, would like to reassure you that I am an adult and did not stab him in the jaw or smack him or even confront him. Him and his skank are the kind of people who will file a police report against you, so I did the next best thing. I talked shit about him really loudly so that he could hear me. I'm not sure if he did hear me, but it made me feel good, so that's all that matters.

I'm going to call the tragically inept CSEA tomorrow and demand some answers. I'm tired of him getting away with this crap. I also got the apartment, but I told the landlord I won't have money to put down on it until after Christmas. That doesn't work. I have to put money down on it now or he'll show it to this other girl. Ughhh. Now I have to try and borrow some money from God knows who this week or the apartment will go to someone else. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Here's to hoping this week goes the tiniest bit better.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Circus

Happy Thursday!

I am currently eating a sizable piece of pumpkin roll, leftover from last week's Thanksgiving festivities. It is delish. I slathered it in Cool Whip, which adds to the yum factor.

Yummm.

So...I went and saw the apartment by my job yesterday. It's nice. It's a one bedroom, which is cool, especially since the living room is huge. I could throw a futon in there and call it a day. Rent is $525 for two people, which I can definitely do. Hopefully no one rents it out before I can move in. But considering my luck, I'll probably be stuck at my parents' house a bit longer.

I kept Nicky home from school today. He's sick. Again. Honestly, his classroom is like a little germ factory! He also used up his deductable on my medical insurance, which means he can't get seriously sick until March--that's when my insurance starts over.

I can't really think of anything to rant about today...Life's been sucking a lot lately, so I'm just trying to get through each day without having an emotional meltdown. I have an overwhelming desire to stab Nicky's dad in the jaw with a pair of rusty scissors and then not let him get a tetanus shot afterwards. I'm tired of this child support drama. I'm tired of people who can't mind their business and think they can form opinions about my life--when you do that, usually you're wrong, so I'm going to just suggest that nosy people should keep out. It's been a crappy two weeks, and I'm just hoping that my life brightens up soon.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Bad Romance

I think of you
Far much than I really should
My thoughts linger too long on the curve of your lips
And the way your eyes light up when you smile

I cannot explain the way I feel
This sudden rush of emotion
That accompanies thoughts of you
I cannot even begin to explain
Why

I long to feel your fingers
Your touch against my bare skin
I am dying to feel your lips crushed against my own
Caught up in the heat of the moment
Our bodies pressed together
Breathing harsh and fast
Fingers scrabbling at flesh,
Limbs twined
I long to feel that rush,
Like a snort of carnal cocaine
I feel as though I’m already addicted to you
And will not be able to get enough

My stupid heart
Hopes achingly
Wondering if we are destined to be
That I found you for a reason
My brain is telling my heart to shut the hell up
I don’t need the confusion
I just want to live in the moment and let go
Is that too much for me to ask?


--"Untitled", Lashawn Chillious
(Written 6/20/2008)

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Beautiful Dirty Rich

It's late, so I thought I'd share with you guys that today is November 17th. Why is this date important? It's the day I was supposed to be born, and one month away from my real birthday.

Yay!!!!

I will be 24. One year away from 25, which hails the beginning of my quarterlife crisis. That should be a fun installation in my blog.

And now it's time for bed, since I have to get up at the asscrack of dawn to take Nicky to school. More tomorrow!

XO

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Where I Stood

Ugh. My jaw looks as though someone just decided to haul off and punch me. I had a really bad experience with Percoset yesterday, resulting in severe nausea and dizziness. I had my mouth assaulted by an oral surgeon, resulting in one less wisdom tooth cramping my jaw's style.

Hurray.

In other news, my job blocked blogging sites, so I'll have to save funny work shit for when I get home. On the positive side, I'll be doing a lot more blogging in my pajamas. Rowrrr. It'll be The Nighttime Confessions of a Crazed and Oppressed Receptionist. Or the mid-morning. You get the idea. It'll be scandalous, racy, a tad sexy, and as always, absolutely insane. I promise it'll be better than Sarah Palin's memoir. And all my -ing words will end with a "g".

Hmm...As some of you know, I have an irrational fear of squirrels. Why, I'm not entirely sure, though I think it has something to do with my dad telling me that if I got bitten by one I'd have to get ten shots in my stomach or I'd die of rabies. That could explain me avoiding them like The Plague. Well, usually I just go about my day and stomp my foot if a rogue squirrel is doing his/her squirrel thing in my general vicinity. Now...I will cross the street if they don't run away. The other day I actually felt a twinge of panic when I walked past one eating an acorn on my street. Panic. Like actual fear. I'd recommend therapy, but I'm sure the psychiatrist would either laugh at me or tell me my fear of the squirrel is a metaphor for how I hate my mother.

But I love my mom. I just have a weird, completely illogical phobia of squirrels. Thank God it's nearly winter and those nefarious critters will be off in their trees, jacking off or sleeping or watching NHL or whatever the hell it is that squirrels do in their spare time.

Any suggestions on how to get over this insanity are welcome.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Paparazzi

(Note: There is no real point to today's post. I'm in a silly mood and started typing.)

I know I've said it before, but I think I'm pretty awesome.

Clarification. I know I am pretty awesome. Quite possibly the epitome of awesomeness. Who's gonna argue against that? (I'll karate chop you in the throat if you do. Be warned, friend.) I've lived a life chock full of awesomeness and kickass things. Being born, circa 1985. Selling my brother for a brief period of time in 1991. The Lashawn Fan Club, circa 1997. Taping toilet paper to my shoe in 8th grade and taking off down the hall. Falling down the stairs so many times at St. Joe's and making it look cool. Breaking Jesus and putting him back together with Sticky-Tac. Getting suspended six times in a Catholic high school. Taping a picture of MC Hammer on the back wall of my Honors English 11 class. Jumping over a box at Burger King and missing the other side and falling in the box, in front of a full restaurant of people. Walking like a really crappy drag queen when I wear high heels. Organizing a Miss America pageant in grade school and getting the boys in my class to do the "Here she is, Miss America" wave. Writing a play in 7th grade that we never performed but everyone was psyched about (the writing wasn't that awesome, but the concept was). Sitting on the floor in Honors English 12 when I really was supposed to sit in my chair.

You can't really plan or be taught these things, no. You just have to let them come to you, just let them happen. You have to be born with that kind of raw excellence.

I'm an iconoclast. I do awe inspiring things daily, whether it be saying something dazzlingly witty or making people roll their eyes or tripping over nothing or muttering to myself...I can always be counted on to jazz things up, to be the cilantro in the spice rack of life. I'm a one-woman production. I'm F-ing awesome, dude. You don't mess with that Nobel Prize winning formula. Nay. (Apparently, I'm also quite the Narcissist.)

I mean, I like to sit in my pajamas on a Friday night (when I'm broke, holla) and eat ice cream and watch Law and Order DVDs with my dad. Why? Because it's badass, that's why. No one who wasn't in touch with their awesomeness would dare admit to such a thing, but since I am the Chuck Norris of Awesomeness, I can and will admit to it. I'm secure in my awesomeness.

I'm scared of squirrels. How many people confident enough with their supreme coolness would reveal such a potentially embarrassing factoid to the world? (That particular fear is getting a bit out of control, actually. We'll address that later on, in another post.) How many people can say they had dreams about being best friends with David Beckham, called him Becks, and drank a most likely vile concoction of vodka and Gatorade? Not too many, I'm sure. How many people wrote wondrous little ditties about Erik the Red and his son, Leif Erikson? Exactly.

It takes a special person to carry the torch of insanity.

Friday, November 6, 2009

The Sound of White

I want a guitar for Christmas.

No, I don't know how to play the guitar. Yes, I used to play my friend Katie's like a stand-up bass back in high school because I thought it was funny. Why, you ask, why would I want a guitar? Because. I want to be an artsy singer/songwriter with a cool guitar case and a cup of latte from Starbucks, who looks at the world through poetic eyes and thinks all of life is a song. I want to jam out like John Mayer does on his electric guitar. I want even more people to think that I am kickass and cool. Naturally, part of me thinks I'll get frustrated with learning to play after a week and just put said guitar in a corner somewhere and forget about it. The other part insists that I will become a stellar guitarist.

Right. Because I really nailed the recorder back in high school. I still cringe when I hear "Mary Had A Little Lamb"...I screeched through that one quite nicely, thank you. I'll keep you posted.


Ugh. My shoulder hurts. I have like the worst posture ever at my desk. I start out sitting all normal and upright, but somewhere during my day I morph into the hunchback of Notre Dame. I have long voiced to the girls in the office my desire of keeping a geisha in the closet to give me hot tea and massages when the stabbing pain in my muscles begins, but it usually gets laughed off in that "oh that Lashawn is such a silly girl" way. What can a girl do to get taken seriously? I'm thinking about getting one of those things you throw over the back of your chair and it massages your back and adds heat to "relax the pain away." Those are kind of pricey though, so I'm leaning more towards just bitching about the pain and rubbing my shoulder in a melodramatic fashion. Or I could have Nicky give me a massage. He's not really that awesome at it, but it's really cute when he rubs my shoulders. Plus, it's free. You can't argue with that.

I'm looking out the garage window, and it looks beautiful outside. One of those super nice, sunny and brisk quintessential kind of Autumn days we get in Ohio. The air has a brisk chill in it, along with the faint smell of the falling leaves. Of course, I get out at 6, so by the time I leave work it will be dark and blah outside. Makes me want to go home, curl up with a comfy blanket, and take a nap.

Sounds good. I'll leave you with a Friday afternoon quote from one of my personal heroes, Ricky Bobby (of Talledega Nights fame):

"I wake up in the morning and I piss excellence."





Monday, October 19, 2009

When The Stars Go Blue

I am blogging in my pajamas. Some could call me racy, although I doubt a pair of Victoria's Secret sweats and a Cleveland Cavs tee shirt could be called racy. Eh.

Sorry I've been away. Life has been hectic and chaotic, and I needed some time to sort out my mind and get back to the little bit of sanity I have. We can go into that later.

Hmmm...What is new? It snowed for the briefest moment on Friday, which sent me into a state of weather denial. Dude, it's October, and we haven't had a single day above 66 degrees. Where is my Indian summer? Where? It's been sunny and "warm" (meaning above 45) since yesterday, so maybe, just maybe there's a 70 degree day in my near future. I'm hoping it saves itself for Halloween. Nicky's going to be Optimus Prime (of Transformers fame), and he won't look cute with a bulky winter coat beneath his costume. I also bought my Lady GaGa costume over the weekend. I look like a fool in my GaGa wig, because I am naturally a brunette, and platinum blonde isn't too flattering on a chalky white brunette. I'm thinking some bronzer would work wonders. We'll see, but my costume is soooo kickass. I'm excited.

I was supposed to see Paranormal Activity this past weekend, but the tickets were sold out, so I settled on some tacos de papa at Mi Pueblo with Katherine instead. The tacos were definitely yummm. Nothing fixes missing a movie like Mexican cuisine.

I got a wisdom tooth pulled Wednesday. It didn't hurt too bad, just this annoying twinge every now and then. I think it's funny they call it pulling a tooth, when in my case they just pushed it out with this crazy metal shoehorn tooth thing. My dentist called it "liberating the tooth", like my tooth was an oppressed soul yearning to break free of its governmental chains. I have to get another one yanked in November--this one is impacted, so I have to have oral surgery. What a party that will be. I think after this is all said and done, I have earned myself a very yummy and very strong alcoholic beverage of some sort. I'm open to any suggestions.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Mountain And The Sea

It's Friday. Yay.

Today is Leif Erikson Day, a day dedicated to that crazy Viking guy who sailed over from Norway to America. I'd like to think he was slightly impressed with what he saw, though I do believe he landed in Newfoundland...I'm thinking he was like "Hmm...This looks a hell of a lot like Europe."

I even wrote a little ditty about his good old dad, Erik the Red. I want a cool name like that. Maybe Lashawn the Loud. Or Lashawn the Pasty. Something that would strike fear into the hearts of my fellow man. But anyway, the song goes a bit like this:

Erik the Red
Erik the Red

Dum dum dum

Sailing to Greenland in a Viking boat
In a Viking boat

Dum dum dum

Drinking mead
Drinking mead in a Viking boat

Dum dum dum

Erik the Red
Drinking mead in a Viking boat
With his kid

Dum dum dum

Leif Erikson
Was Erik's son

Dum dum dum

He sailed to America in a Viking boat
In a Viking boat

Dum dum dum

He made it to Canada
And he built a Viking settlement

Dum dum dum

Erik the Red
Didn't go to America

Dum dum dum

He stayed in Greenland instead
And by the time Leif got home
His ginger dad was dead

Dum dum dum


That is songwriting at its best, my friends. Not only is it a catchy tune, it is educational. Very educational. It makes Viking history fun. It also helps to kill time in a 10 hour workday.

Tonight is going to be a night rife with excitement. Nicky and I are going to Tricia's to paint pumpkins. Nicky is psyched. I'll post a picture of his pumpkin in my next entry.

And the whole apartment thing...I have decided to use that old adage, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." I'm just going to suck it up until I get my leftover grant money, and then after that I'm moving. I was told by a friend that there's like 2 or 3 apartments for rent, so I'm not worried. Every time I call the number on the apartment building, I get the dude's voicemail. I'm thinking the rent shouldn't be more than $600. I hope.

And I'm debating whether I should get the H1N1 vaccine for Nicky and myself. The side effects don't sound too bad, nothing unlike the regular flu shot...I'm thinking maybe we will, especially with the loopy parents in Head Start.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Criminal

Ah...I think I'll write about my current moving predicament today.

If you didn't read my last post about my David Beckham BFF dream, then you may not know that I was alerted to a wonderful apartment two buildings down from my job. You also may not know that my dad rivals Kim Jong-Il and Fidel Castro for the title of World's Most Uber-Evil Evil Dictator. My dad charges me $100 a week to live at home. I decide that I want to move into said apartment building because hey, I'm 23 and like 3/4 years old, I think it's about time for little Lashawn to spread her wings and leave the zany, aggravating nest. My son will be 5 years old in February, and I don't think he should have to share his mom's childhood bedroom. I've had the same bedroom since I was 10. It's pretty sad.

At first I thought this whole living-at-home thing was a good deal. Then I started thinking about it, and realized how evil my dad actually is. Our rent is $450 a month, and I pay them about $400 a month. All they have to do is add in $50 of their own money and the rent's covered. Only I don't think they do that. My dad has a gambling addiction, and plays the lottery like a horny teenage boy let loose in an all girls Catholic high school. I'm not retarded, I know that that's where my money is going.

So...I try to work out an agreement where I pay him like $50 a week so I can save up to move out. Mr. Evil Dictator won't budge. He calls my wanting to move out "bullshit" and says "he doesn't want to hear it". Ugh. We got into quite a nasty row after that one, and he's acting all stupid now.

But here's the thing I don't get: Why is me moving out being viewed as something as horrible as the French Revolution? I'm an adult, so what is the big deal? Most parents would be prepping for their "Thank God My Kid Is Moving Out" party. I already knew my parents were a strange bunch, but whose parents are normal?

I guess I have to wait til school in January, when I get my grant. Hopefully there'll be enough money left over for the rent and deposit. If not, I'll have to wait til income tax time. Either way, odds are that my dream apartment will be gone. Gah...My dad is so unreasonable, but this might be the most idiotic thing he's done--all I can think of is that he'll miss that $400 a month. Maybe he doesn't want me to move out, but this is a bad way to do it, especially when I want to do my own thing now.

My mom is trying to figure something out. She says if she gets this job she's applying for, then she's going to tell him that he can only take $25 a week. But we'll see. We'll see.

It just makes me want to scream...

Friday, October 2, 2009

If There's A Rocket Tie Me To It

It's raining. We had one day of sunshine this week, and not one day over 60. Gah. This is going to be a shitty fall. Sweet.

The other night I had a strange dream. I dreamt that I was best friends forever with none other than Mr. David Beckham of soccery fame. Mind you, I know very little about Senor Beckham. All I know is that he is 1.) married to Miss Skinny Posh Spice, 2.) plays soccer, 3.) had a movie made about him with Keira Knightly, and 4.) is not generally liked by the U.S. soccer fans because he failed to deliver when he played for the LA Galaxy.

But anyway. Me and Becks (that's what I called him) were BFFs, and it was kind of funny, in a weird '80s montage from a cheesy Brat Pack movie kind of way. He had that pretty careless hair and I had my insanely nutty hair and we drove around in a red Ferrari convertable. We hung out and drank Gatorade and vodka (it probably tastes gross in real life, but in my dream it was mine and Becks' drink of choice). Nicky played with his boys and he offered to teach Nicky how to play soccer. I think Little Poshie hated me, but I'm not sure because she always looked angry and hungry. He even sent me an email while I was at work. It went a bit like this:

Hello there best friend! How are you? I'm good, at home. God, Victoria is such a bitch! I'm reading your blog at the moment. Very funny stuff, mate.
As always, Becks

I don't really know what would cause me to have a weird David Beckham dream. I'm not a huge soccer enthusiast--I prefer basketball and American football. All I can think of is that I've been sick all week and I lost my voice Wednesday and I drank nothing but tea all day. Tea is from England, all that "tea time" stuff, so maybe all that tea led me to dreaming about Brits? That's what I'm going with.

And...Argent left me a question last week, but in the insanity of my naughty former high school music teacher and his inability to leave certain students (no, not me...thank god!) alone and my crazy weird cold that isn't really a cold but I'm sick nonetheless, I didn't blog. Here's the question:
If you could commit one crime with no chance of geting caught, what crime would you commit right now?

Good question. I'm dying to move out of my parents' house, but due to their unreasonable amounts of money I pay for rent, I cannot save up my money to get my dream apartment. It's two buildings from my job. It's perfect. Perfect.

My dad, however, rivals several evil dictators on our planet for the title of #1 Evil Dictator, and refuses to lower the amount I pay so I can save up and move into said dream apartment. He acts like me moving out at 23 is unheard of. I'll be 24 in December, and I'm just so frustrated with all of it, so I'd say I'd steal a huge diamond worth hundreds of millions of dollars. I'd move out and be happy.


And on a final note, it's still raining. And it's 48 degrees. XO

Monday, September 21, 2009

In My Head

I am hungry.

How many of my posts have that general theme? That's sad. I need to learn to bring a snack with me to work.

But anyway. I am at work, and I am bored. Rumor has it that they laid off another service writer, and it's cloudy outside, with a looming threat of rain. It's 5:37 PM here in cloudy, muggy Cleveland, on the last day of summer. My day has been a slow one, and I'm kinda tired. Nicky's sick again. Again. Gahhh.

What to write about, what to write about...hmmm...Well, I'm hungry, and my mom is making homemade spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and that's pretty much all I'm thinking about right now. Hunger gives me a one-track mind, ha ha. I think I'll share with you the things that have gone through my mind quite randomly today.

A Random List:

*I am hungry.

*Wow. It's getting cloudy out there. I wonder if it's going to rain.

*I have to pee.

*Ugh. Why did I spend my dollar on a bottle of water? I could have gotten a donut from Dunkin' Donuts.

*No, you have one month to get into short shorts for your GaGa costume. Now is not the time for donuts. Willpower, woman!

*Hmm...Should I stay late tonight??? I am starving...

*No, I need to suck it up. Money is more important than food right now. I can stick it through for two extra hours.

*God, I am bored.

*What's on TV tonight? Maybe I'll just read after I eat...What books do I want to look at?

*I hope Nicky's cough is getting better.

*That's enough, John Mayer.

*Ugh, I don't know what Kim had for lunch, but our garbage can STINKS. I'm not feeling it.

*What the hell is chicken marsala? I hate chicken. Dude, the trash can stinks SO bad. Ugh.

*It's only 5:58? Shit...


And the list could go on til I clock out, but I won't bore you with the unnecessariousness of it all, so...I will continue to stare mindlessly at the clock at the corner of the screen and think about how hungry and bored I am.
XO

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Fake Is The New Real

So. It seems as though I have lost a follower. Let me apologize to that person. I am sorry if I did not meet your expectations of a great blogger. I am sorry if I offended you in any way by the type of language I used, or the style of writing I have. I'm also sorry if I haven't visited your blog and commented on your witty or insightful posts. I'm pretty bad at sitting down and going through all the blogs. Hopefully you'll come back.

I missed Wednesday's questions. Let me get to those.

Do you karaoke?

I did it a few times when I was younger, like waaay back in grade school. I used to perform with my choir in high school and do vocal competitions (which I won). I haven't done anything public since high school, but I sing all the time--at home, at work when I'm alone in the office, etcetera.

A stranger in a bar offers you a life-changing sum of money if you will just slap your grandmother. Would you do it? Why/Why not?

Hell yes I would! I don't like my grandma too much.


Can I ask you a question? What is it with guys who think it's hot to leer at you from their car window as they drive by? It creeps me out, truth to be told. It's pretty unsettling to be walking down the street and glance up and see a random guy leering at you as he slowly drives down the street. Guys, take note. Not attractive.

Today looks as though it's going to be a dull, boring day. I go home early (1 pm) and will undoubtably spend the day in my sweats because I am A.) boring, B.) broke, C.) slightly tired, seeing as I loathe mornings, and D.) broke. Perhaps I'll go for a jog if I can motivate myself to get sweaty. Perhaps I'll take some artsy photographs if my mood so moves me. I don't know.

I'll leave you with a deep quote to ponder for the weekend! XO

"When life gives you lemons, just say 'Fuck the lemons,' and bail.", Koonu the Surfing Instructor, Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Friday, September 18, 2009

Acid Tongue

This has been a week of shit-tastic proportions.

So...Monday, they laid off two people at the dealership. Not in my department, but in Parts and Service. They also cut my hours down, and there is absolutely no overtime allowed. Gah. I hate money. I do. I never ever seem to have enough...I think I'm destined to live at home forever. Forever.

And then it gets even shittier. Nicky's dad, aka Douchebag Extraordinaire, is moving to Tennessee. His sister told me like two weeks ago, but I figured he was bluffing because I refuse to sign the papers to give up his parental rights--he owes me $3047.64 in back child support, and there is no way in hell that he's getting out of it that easily. In fact, I told him that in so many words when he called me in June to see how "the kid" was doing. My best friend drove past his house and saw one of his cars has Tennessee plates.

Stupid fucker.

Ohio is notoriously fucktastic when it comes to getting money from delinquent fathers. The Cuyahoga County CSEA claimed they couldn't find him for over three years. My best friend found his house on two occasions: once while driving her minivan of dreams and eating an Arby's sandwich and actually driving past the house, and twice, when our sluthy duo looked him up on the voter registration site (it's a good thing I talked him into registering to vote, ha ha). It was simple. I didn't even have access to all the crafty and expensive stuff that the CSEA supposedly uses to track these deadbeat dirtbags down. Call me Nancy Drew.

But anyway, I looked up the Ohio rules on interstate child support cases and was kind of pissed. Like the Hulk about to bust out of his clothes in a verdant rage pissed. You need to know the address of the "non-custodial parent" (which I don't) in order to start the collections process. They have his current address but have done nothing really constructive. I know he works under the goddamn table so that they can't take his money. I know he works because my best friend saw a 62-inch flat screen TV in his living room. (Grrr...) But anyway. If you lack the address (which I do), it takes about 3-6 months to get it (which translates to "we'll take your name and just throw it in a pile of unimportant papers somewhere"). Once they get the address or whatever, it takes 9-12 months or MORE to establish the interstate support order.

Seriously. That is ridiculous. He only has to pay $132 a month as it is. Here's an idea: instead of skipping out on your responsiblities, why not just pay the damn money and man up???? I guess that's not an option, so Douchebag McGee, his bitch-tacular wife, and their trashy kids are just gonna run off and live with her daddy in Tennessee and figure that I'll never find them and that they won. Oh my god, I am just soooo frustrated. Like this is a neverending nightmare and really, all I want is Nicky's money. I think we're owed at least that.

And I know if the situation was reversed, the dirty bastard would be trying to squeeze me for every penny I have. That's the fucked up part. Grrr.

Sorry for the vent...I know I'm not my usual sunshiny self, but I am just a bit stressed out now. I'll answer those questions tomorrow and grace you guys with a nugget of Chuck Norris wisdom.

XO

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Mediocre Bad Guys

Hmm. Interesting title for today's post.

Today I'm going to blog about all the mediocre bad guys that impact me on a daily basis. I may have interacted with bad guy once and never seen him again. It may be a repeat offender.

Okay. My biggest mediocre bad guy would be the crazy guy who craps in the bus stop almost weekly. It's like oh my god, dude, are you serious??? I can't figure that guy out, nor do I really want to.

Then there's the guys at Dunkin' Donuts who take waay too long to get my order together. I really don't want to hear your undoubtably engaging and entertaining story about how you forgot to turn your Chem homework in. I just want my vanilla chai so I can go suffer five hours at work. Ditto to the guys at various fast food establishments who screw up my seemingly simple order of a cheeseburger with ketchup only. Or forget my ranch for my fries. Bastards.

I also have to mention the people on the bus who feel the need to give their purse or backpack its own seat. Dude, the bus is crowded and probably most likely late. I don't think your carry-on accessory will mind if it has to sit in your lap. Kudos to the people who seem to think they have to lounge across two seats. Does that really seem necessary? It's a bus, not a Laz-E-Boy. Sit the fuck up.

There's the people who feel the need to get gangster with me on the phone at work. I know you feel hardcore because the odds of seeing me are pretty slim, but you're on the phone getting smart with a receptionist. How gangster can you actually be, homes?

And I can't forget my fellow parents at Head Start. What a bunch of idiots. How does it make any sense to bring your sick child to school when they have a fever? I don't care if they want to go to school or not. Have you heard of the swine flu? Ugh. I had to keep Nicky home today because he got sick from another kid who had stupid parents.

I'd like to dedicate this post to all the mediocre idiots who unseemingly conspire to make my day hell. Keep up the good work. I tip my hat to you.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Extraordinary Machine

Ooookay. It's our first trial run of "You Ask Me Anything" Wednesday. I have a few questions, and I will do my best to answer them.

How did you decide what to name your son and what would have been his name if he were a girl?

This is actually a pretty decent story! Okay, if Nicky had been a girl, I loved the name Kiera Rose. But, as it was, I found out I was having a boy, so...His dad wanted to name him after himself, which I quickly shot down because A.) He has a stupid name, B.) I didn't want to name him after him just in case we broke up, and C.) I was right about both down the road, so D.) I win.

This is roughly the conversation:

Douchebag McGee: I want to name him Teddie Jr.
Me: No.
DBMG: Why not?
Me: No offense, but you have a pretty stupid name. Just Teddie, not Theodore or whatever. Just Teddie. Not even a middle name--
DBMG: We could call him Junie--
Me: No way, dude. I want my son to have a name that sounds good no matter what he grows up to be. Your name is really all a person has.
DBMG: ...
Me: So...What do you think of Alexander?
DBMG: No. I don't like it.
Me: Why not?
DBMG: I just don't.
Me: Whatever.
(Me thinking in frustration)
Me: Justin.
DBMG: No.
Me: Joshua.
DBMG: No.
Me: Joseph.
DBMG: No.
Me: Seriously? Jesus...Christopher.
DBMG: I like Christopher.
Me: Good. Hmm...Okay. Brian?
DBMG: No.
Me: James.
DBMG: No.
Me: Nicholas.
DBMG: I like that.

So, he had no idea that I named his son after Nick Carter (from the Backstreet Boys) and Chris Kirkpatrick (of 'Nsync). I just ran through all the boy bands until he agreed on something.

Thus...Nicholas Christopher.

What would your dream job be?

I have always wanted to be a singer. Ever since I was a little girl!

What is your favorite memory?

I have so many! I have Disney World with my four besties my junior year at St. Joe's...Having Nicky...just random little memories that add up to awesome experiences I'll always remember.

I'm gonna have to think about that one and get back to you later.

If you were a candy bar, which one would you be?

I would be a Reese's cup. I'm a mix of so many things (Cherokee, African-American, German, Irish, Italian) that I'm like the best of both worlds, just like a Reese's cup. Chocolate and peanut butter. And, it tastes soooo good.

Or I'd be a Milky Way. I looove caramel.

If you got run over by two asians on a tandum, what would your reaction be?

I would be stunned, then angered, and then I'd laugh because, shit, it's two Asians on a tandum bike. Just something about that idea is funny.

I'd also probably yell at the Asians, and then dust myself off and amble away in bewilderment.

One could only be bewildered after an experience like that.


Thanks to everyone who gave me questions, and I'd also like a lot more questions for next week's installment!
XO!

Friday, September 4, 2009

Banana Pancakes

I could really go for some pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon right now. Oh my Lord, I really could...A huge pile of pancakes with a big dollop of butter on top (and between each pancake layer--that is the ONLY way to put butter on your pancakes) and smothered in maple syrup. Oh, yum. Yumyumyumyum.

Can you tell I didn't pack an adequate lunch today? I grabbed a yogurt and a juice box of Juicy Juice (courtesy of Nicky) on my way out the door. I was also late, if you wondering.

Ah, story of my life.

But anyway. I know you're all dying (well, maybe not dying, but pretty excited) to know how Nicky's first day of school went. It was great. He loved it! And in other news, no, I did not cry. Sorry. (Ha, ha Nashe^!) My mom took him today and said he didn't want to leave. He's already made friends, which takes care of the irrational fear that my son would be a friendless loser. I'm glad he likes it, I mean I figured it was a good sign when I came upstairs and he was by the play kitchen in a hard hat holding a whisk. He also served me tea in a Cheer detergent bottle cap, which in real life undoubtably would have killed me, but in pretend Head Start world, people drink tea out of laundry soap caps and trounce about their kitchens in hard hats.

Whatever works for him.

On a slightly related note, all this talk about school and Nicky and learning got me to thinking about college. I hounded my mom to find my tax return from this year and I went online and filled out my FAFSA. I'm eligible for a Pell Grant (yay!), which means I can get up to $5350 for school for a year or whatever. I was psyched. I'm going to start classes at the crazy community college in Downtown Cleveland (read: deep in the heart of the Cleveland ghetto, across the street from the projects), for like either a year or however long it takes to get a GPA high enough to kiss Case Western's ass and get in. It's gonna be an adventure, my blogging buddies. An urban adventure. I promise to write all about it when I start in January.

Hmm... so the questions I got so far are interesting (and in Juan's case, insanely humorous), and I can't wait to answer them on Wednesday. Keep 'em coming! You ask it, I'll answer it. And I promise to bring Chuck Norris Thursday back--it's just been a bit hectic in the crazy life of Lashawn, but once things slow down and get sort of settled, my entries will be more regular and more in the realm of hilarium. (I don't know if that's a word, but I love it. I use it all the time.)

So...To recap. I'm hungry. I have a dollar left until pay day. I get out of work at 6. I want pancakes and eggs and bacon. Rod Stewart is on the soft rock/easy listening station that I'm listening to. I'm bored. I'm hungry. Nicky likes school. I'm going back to school. Juan Pablo was run over by a pair of Asians on a tandem bicycle. (I always wanted one of those. I don't know why. I'm too clumsy for a single rider bicycle. Eh. It makes me think of Doublemint gum.) And I want more questions to answer for Wednesday.

Sounds fab.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

You and I

Hey kids.

What to talk about, what to talk about...Okay. My son starts Head Start tomorrow. I'm okay with it now, though a lot of people are warning me I'm going to get all teary. I don't really think I will, seeing as I work all freaking day anyway and I'm used to being away from him. I promise I'll post pics ASAP!

How are things on the diet front? Hmm...pretty good. I have been working out all week, and have been watching what I eat, with the exception of some kickass tiramisu I had on Sunday. Dude, it was delicious. Changed my life for just a few moments.

I have a new idea...Let's make this "You Ask Me Anything" Wednesdays from now on. You send me some questions in your comments and I will answer them on Wednesday. They can be crazy questions, deep questions, anything! I will answer them, guaranteed. It's a fun way to get to know everyone and well, naturally ME.

XO

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Sort Of

I am attempting to go on a diet.

Why, you may ask? Oh, because I went to put on my favorite pair of jeans and had to do a pants dance because they got stuck halfway up my ass. I was in denial for a few days, until I decided that I need to get back into a routine with my running and Pilates and all that not-so-fun exercise crap.

I just need to find TIME. I think the whole Cash for Clunkers thing was when I gained weight--think about it. I'd wake up, eat, go to work, get home late, eat, then pass out by midnight. I was virtually drained. But now that Clunkers is over, I have more time for me, and I can try to get back into the swing of things.

Only it's not as easy as it sounds in my head. I tried some exercises last night and didn't feel the burn or anything. I was a tad discouraged, but I refuse to let the jeans win. They're actually in a crumpled pile in the same spot I threw them in disgust on Friday night. I know they're mocking me, the stuck up bastards that they are. It's my fault, though. I gave up drinking soda pop, but I didn't give up fast food, which is my downfall. I'd grab a double cheeseburger from McDonald's on the way to work or run next door to Baskin Robbins for a cup of ice cream or a milk shake. I feel like shaking my fist across the parking lot and screaming, "Damn you, Baskin Robbins! Damn you for having such delicious ice cream..."


I have always been curvy, even though I've always been on the small side. I love having curves, and my problem is that I don't realize how much weight I may or may not have put on until I go to put on an article of clothing that used to be either loose or tight and is no longer what it used to be. I'm not naturally athletic, but I have a fast metabolism...I think I only weigh around 138 pounds, but I'm only 5'1", which squeezes all that into a small frame. Damn me for being short. Damn Baskin Robbins and their delicious ice cream. Damn all the stupid girls in their skinny jeans. Damn my lack of dietary willpower. Damn, damn, damn.

I'm thinking about going for a run tonight when I get home. Just throw the iPod on and go. I'm pretty fit, just bad at throwing on the brakes when I'm eating.

Blahhhhhh.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Mouthwash

Okay. I feel a bit of blog lovin' right now.
A few weeks ago, Yankee Girl (Adventures of a Yankee Girl) sent me a very lovely award, called the Honest Scrap Award. Yay!!! (Collective rounds of applause, please) Due to the insanity of Cash for Clunkers, I didn't have the precious time to indulge in my award...Nonetheless, I am muy flattered, seeing as this is my first award, and so, I'd like to thank the Academy and everyone out there who gave this little blog a chance...

Ha, ha.

Here are the rules:

1. “The Honest Scrap” award is not one to hold all to your self but it must be shared!
2. The recipient has to tell 10 true things about themselves in their blog that no one else knows.
3. The recipient has to pass along this prestigious award to 10 more bloggers.
4. Those 10 bloggers all have to be notified they have been given this award.
5. Those 10 bloggers should link back to the blog that awarded them.


Hmm...Ten true things about me that no one knows...

1. I am deathly afraid of squirrels. I know I've hinted at my dislike of these furry hounds of hell, but I am, in all honesty, terrified of them. They're so jumpy. I'm scared I'm going to get bit and then have to get rabies shots.

2. In sixth grade, I had my own fan club. I made it up, and the only people in it were me and my best friend from grade school. We had membership cards made of notebook paper, laminated with contact paper. It was both unbelievably badass, and looking back, hilarious.

3. The title to nearly every post I have written is a song title, in homage to my insane love of music. I don't know how many of you caught that beforehand, but kudos to the ones that did!

4. My first crush was Jonathan Taylor Thomas, of Home Improvement fame. I think nearly every girl at the age of 11 (back in 1996) had a JTT poster hanging on their wall.

5. I blew out the microphone during my song in the talent show in 8th grade. I won second place, and learned a valuable lesson: When singing Christina Aguilera, one should keep the mic at least five inches from their mouth. Always. At all times.

6. I was in Who's Who Among American High School Students my sophomore and junior years at St. Joe's.

7. I learned to read when I was three and a half.

8. I have never driven an automobile. Well, I drove a Go-Kart, but I don't think that counts.

9. I got a 26 out of 36 on my ACT. I surprised my guidance counselor with that one my senior year. Stupid skank. I still don't really know how to do a quadratic equation, so there. That's what she gets for calling me to her office during Intro to College Algebra just to tell me I'm failing.

10. I like to read the Little House books. I know I'm 23, but there's just something about Laura Ingalls Wilder that I love! I've read them all at least five times. (I know. I'm a nerd.)


I'm going to pass this on to the mahhhhvelous blogs I've been following that I enjoy...Check them out and show 'em some love!








Sunday, August 16, 2009

Clint Eastwood

So...Last night was the MMA fight. Dude, it sucked. Unbelievably sucked.

Just kidding! It was AWESOME. Like Jesus walking on water awesome. I had to sell tickets, so I missed the first 3 matches, but...I never knew I'd like watching two guys beat the crap out of each other in a cage so much!

One of the fights (sponsored by our dealership) started out great. The one opponent was from Chicago (blue team), the other from Akron (red team). I wanted the guy from Chicago to win, and it looked just like maybe he would, until the dude from Akron pushed up against the cage and grappled (I think that's what it's called) with him. I personally thought it looked like they were hugging. Turns out that hugging is the Akron guy's favorite move, when he isn't "accidentally" kicking the guy in the crotch. My table was screaming and booing and yelling at the referee (myself included) to break the two up. The red guy won, much to a lot of people in the audience's chagrin.

The rest of the fights were awesome, the awesomeness amplified by the drinks I had. The best fight in my opinion was Bobby Jones, this ex-NFL player who lives in Wadsworth. He was part of the heavyweight match, and his opponent tapped out in like four minutes in the first round. It was badass! I stood on a chair for that one. They also had their first title match last night, and this welterweight from Cleveland (you know I was really loud for that one) won the belt.


It's really hard to put all the fun into words. I had a great time, and it was kind of cool to be the only girl at our table. It was even cooler to be the only girl at the table and to be louder than most of the guys! (My favorite line was "fuck him up!") I definitely plan on going to the next one in October, and I definitely plan to tell you guys all about it!

Saturday, August 15, 2009

You Haven't Told Me Anything

What is it with "serious" artists being assholes?

I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me backtrack.

Last night I went to the Feast of the Assumption festival of shenanigans with Tricia and Josh. It's an annual event they hold in Little Italy, off Mayfield Road...It's been going on for like 111 years, so it's a cultural thing in Cleveland.

So, we roll into the parking lot over by the Case Western, and I see a security guard guy chilling on the curb. He's got this crazy looking Elvis meets Superman 'do, complete with the lone curl in the center of the forehead. I take this as a good sign, as does Tricia. When we pull into the spot where we're supposed to park, there's this parking attendant who obviously is a starving actor/college student reading The Pelican Brief. We have a few laughs amongst ourselves about that, and go on our merry way.

We go past a procession of parked motorcycles, parked police cruisers, and under a bridge that had this really foul smelling mud, then...I smell fried deliciousness, and Nirvana. There's a street that has the delightful name of Random, which I took as the ultimate sign that it was going to be a crazy, interesting night.

We wandered casually up the hill to Murray Hill, taking in all the Italian and non-Italian people chowing down on yummy Italian cuisine and perusing the art galleries that seem to be on every corner. I see this one gallery that is having a moving sale and everything is like 20 to 50% off. I casually mention this to Tricia, since her and Josh just bought a house and need some classy art to hang up for potentially awkward conversation starters. We look in the window at this one painting that we know Tricia most likely will not afford. I joke with her that we should take a picture of it and give it to Tiffany, her younger sister who is very artsy, and have her copy it. We open the door, and are greeted by a surly-looking Italian guy and his equally friendly-looking family sitting on a couch.

Turns out he heard my joke and thought I was serious, though mind you, I was not. He made a smart remark about us taking pictures and stealing people's art, which just wasn't true. We're not exactly art pirates. He goes on to say that if he catches us taking any pictures, he'll throw us out. We roll our eyes and go over to look at some of his art, which wasn't actually all that very good and naturally very overpriced. We whisper about Signor Asshole and are on our way to the back of the shop when we hear him still talking about us, the "girls who take pictures and make copies". Tricia is starting to get upset, and I think he is being a bit melodramatic and a lot asshole.

We are studying a collage of the Cavaliers and LeBron James when we hear the door open and some other customers stroll on in. Art Asshole Extraordinaire tells them to look around and that he'd let them go upstairs but not now because there were "these girls who take pictures of paintings and copy them", like we're professional counterfeiters. Tricia decides she's had enough and tersely informs him that we're taking our money elsewhere, and we roll out like some badass gangsters in a mobster movie, only without the guns.

We vent our anger to Josh, who suggests we let it go and go eat. We go to this Italian restaurant that looks straight out of The Godfather or Goodfellas, and promptly sit down at the bar. Wine is ordered, and I discover a few things about myself and wine: 1.)I don't like red wine, 2.)I shouldn't hold it in my mouth, no matter how untasty I think it is, and 3.)I'm thinking that perhaps wine is an acquired taste and that I don't see myself as a wine lover in the near future. I also discover that I have a knack for insulting Italian-Americans. I guess I'm a freak in the Italian world because I was eating bread and taking off the crust. I thought I was doing all right, dipping my bread in olive oil just as Josh and Tricia were doing, although I was doing more sipping of water than of wine, but NOOOO. I'm an aberration to Little Italy because I don't like the crust on their bread. Jesus.

I come to the conclusion that I do not like wine, and give it to Tricia. She drinks mine, and I want to go back out on the street because I think that I can't make an ass of myself if we're in the crush of people outside. Outside we go, and I go buy some cheese ravioli (verry good, by the way), and sit on the sidewalk and eat. We joke that we should run by that stupid shop and take a picture just to piss that guy off, but Josh quickly shot that brilliant idea down. After we ate, we went to the Holy Rosary Church to get our gamble on (that's how us Catholics roll). After losing our money to the church, we went back outside and wandered the streets aimlessly. I bought some yummy tiramisu and while I'm eating, Tricia sees a Ferris Wheel and offers up the idea that we should go ride some rides.

We buy some tickets and Tricia sees this crazy ride that spins you upside down and looks altogether dangerous and unsafe, and she immediately wants to ride it. We have only enough tickets for one ride, but Tricia has a way with people, and we get a free ride out of the guy. It was like cheating death...I hate carnival rides. They're just screaming of potential disaster.

Before we leave, we manage to piss off another person. Tricia saw this ride operator who looked like Li'l Jon, from the hair to the glasses to the cap, and she yells "Oookaaaayyy" in true Li'l Jon fashion. He was not impressed.

All in all it was a good night. Tonight is the MMA fight, and like I said earlier, I hope it does not disappoint.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Untitled 1

Hmm. It's been a while, eh?

Not too much has gone down. I registered Nicky for Head Start. I fell up the stairs and bruised my leg up pretty good. I got locked in after closing at work. I bought a badass Michael Jackson tee shirt.

I've decided that I am indeed pretty awesome. I'd like to make or buy a tee shirt that reaffirms that sentiment. I have not drank soda in like three months, which is pretty damn impressive. I'd like to say that I rock.

I have a touch of writer's block, which may or may not be due to the fact that nothing funny has really happened this week. I'm going to a MMA (mixed martial arts) fight tomorrow night, which should inspire a humorous post in the upcoming days. Just think about it, okay? Angry, sweaty guys in a cage. Fighting. In a cage. There's humor written all over it.

Til then, as always...XO

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Playing Along

I got my ass kicked by a 4 year old this morning. Seriously. How many people can say that?

Lashawn (1:36 PM): nicky kicked my ass in his sleep
Tricia (1:36 PM): hahaha!!
Lashawn (1:36 PM): no seriously
Lashawn (1:37 PM): I went to give him a kiss this morning when i got up n he like jolted up n busted me in my lip
Tricia (1:37 PM): ohhh no!!!
Tricia (1:37 PM): I thought like he kicked u in the rear while u were sleeping
Lashawn (1:37 PM): my tooth went thru my lip
Lashawn (1:38 PM): my lip was bleeding n was swelled
Tricia (1:38 PM): ouch!!! I'm sorry!!
Lashawn (1:38 PM): I had to hold ice on it for 2 hours
Lashawn (1:38 PM): it's ok
Tricia (1:39 PM): u poor thing!!
Tricia (1:39 PM): kids are stinkers

Tricia (1:44 PM): Didn't think of u as a "ultimate fighter"

Yeah, so that was an interesting beginning to an interesting day.

I also discovered that I am a popcorn gangsta and a coffee maverick. I made popcorn out in the showroom (we have one of those crazy movie theater popcorn machines) and coffee for like the first time ever. (I have never made coffee once in my entire life. Seriously.) I also got hopped up on a chocolate milkshake from Baskin Robbins.

It was a good day, aside from the busted lip. I was enjoying myself. I thought I was, in fact, pretty awesome. I had made some kickass popcorn and coffee (I think it probably tasted like trucker coffee...I put like 10 scoops of coffee in the top of the machine.), I had drank a tasty shake, and I was feeling pretty badass.

But, as always, what goes up must inevitably come down. And so it did. Let me share another excerpt of my conversation with Tricia:

Lashawn (5:14 PM): HOMESLICE!
Lashawn (5:15 PM): where have u been all my life?
Lashawn (5:15 PM): well...the past half-hour
Tricia (5:15 PM): LOL!!
Tricia (5:15 PM): Trying to close up this day!!
Lashawn (5:15 PM): I'm feeling a bit blue
Tricia (5:15 PM): oh no why???
Tricia (5:16 PM): I'm blue dabbity dabbitaaaa...
Lashawn (5:16 PM): so my boss's niece is working all week @ lakewood
Lashawn (5:16 PM): n I have bee working there for nearly a year
Lashawn (5:16 PM): but she's been there 2 days n she's like their new BFF
Lashawn (5:16 PM): n they don't show me that kind of love
Lashawn (5:17 PM): so I think it's b/c she is like a freaking d cup
Lashawn (5:17 PM): n I'm not
Lashawn (5:17 PM): I feel like I don't have a good enough rack or something
Lashawn (5:17 PM): lol
Lashawn (5:17 PM): but seriously
Lashawn (5:17 PM): I do
Tricia (5:18 PM): OMGOSH!
Tricia (5:18 PM): u so have a rack... forget about that bimbo hoochy
Lashawn (5:18 PM): I feel like my rack is subpar
Tricia (5:18 PM): she's related that's why they are kissing ass!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tricia (5:18 PM): LOL...
Lashawn (5:18 PM): she made them wristbands
Tricia (5:19 PM): WHAT???
Lashawn (5:19 PM): n they bought her lunch
Lashawn (5:19 PM): they NEVER buy me lunch
Lashawn (5:19 PM): I eat crackers n jello
Tricia (5:19 PM): DUDE!! ITS BECAUSE SHE IS RELATED TO THE BOSS... look, if they are mean, she will tell the boss and they will get yelled at
Tricia (5:19 PM): bunch of brown nosed kiss asses!!
Lashawn (5:20 PM): n she's a d cup
Lashawn (5:20 PM): don't forget that
Lashawn (5:20 PM): n she's 18
Lashawn (5:20 PM): n I'm pushing my expiration date
Lashawn (5:24 PM): I need a better push-up
Lashawn (5:24 PM): and some new v-necks
Tricia (5:25 PM): Your not pushing your experation date LMAO LMAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tricia (5:25 PM): that shit was funny!!


It shouldn't bother me, but it does. I have worked at that store every (well, almost every) Friday for practically a year. No one offers to buy me lunch. I don't make anyone wristbands, because, well, they're selling cars. What do they need wristbands for? They're not at a concert or at a gym. I'm actually a bit upset. And a tad jealous. I vented for about half an hour because I feel like I am entitled to, damn it. I'm sure no one wanted to hear it, but I felt like bitching like a two year old, because I forgot that Nicky had violently attacked me and I chewed on my upper lip, which made it hurt. And I have a headache, which I have had since yesterday morning.

Eh. It's nice to be appreciated.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Summer Breezes

I'm melting. No, not really. I'm in a nice, air-conditioned office at the moment, but I will most certainly be melting later this evening. My dad, crazy old man that he is, doesn't believe in AC. He thinks it saps electricity. That may be true enough, but it's our first 90 degree day ALL summer, and the humidity and heat index and whatever is making it feel as if it were 99 outside.

Supercalifragilistic. My hair is preparing the rebellion now. Vive la revolution.

I can't stand it when the mercury climbs above 85 degrees. I get all sluggish and throw myself all dramatic across our couch, complaining that it is way too hot and I can't wait until winter. I think most Clevelanders do this, although the average Clevelander loathes our winters. A Cleveland winter is chock full of snow, wind, subzero-ish temperatures, snow, puffy coats that don't exactly cover your ass (I, however, own a L.L. Bean parka that covers my ass quite adequately--being warm doesn't mean being all cutesy and shit...you have to get a bit shapeless amd frumpy in order to stay nice and toasty), and snow. Talk to me from mid-November to late March, and I'm either threatening anarchy or moving to Hawaii, or both.

This type of weather calls for sand, surf, flip-flops, and a nice, big strawberry banana margarita. No salt, extra liquor. Yum.

But the beaches in Cleveland are questionable, I can't swim, and I'm broke til payday. So...I guess I can just put some flip-flops on and call it a day. Good enough.


So here's our muggy, 90 degree Sunday playlist. Enjoy.

"Summerboy", Lady Gaga, (The Fame)

"Call n' Return", Hellogoodbye, (Hellogoodbye--EP)

"I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked", Ida Maria, (Fortress 'round My Heart)

"I'm Ready", Jack's Mannequin, (Everything In Transit)

"Blame It (Feat. T-Pain)", Jamie Foxx, (Intuition)

"Gasolina", Daddy Yankee, (Barrio Fino)

"Sunday Best", Augustana, (All The Stars And Boulevards)

"Good Girls Go Bad (Feat. Leighton Meester)", Cobra Starship, (Hot Mess)

"It's Amazing", Jem, (Down to Earth)

"My Love (Feat. T.I.)", Justin Timberlake, (FutureSex/LoveSounds)

"What You Know", T.I., (King)

"I'm In Miami Bitch", LMAFO, (Party Rock)

"Make Her Say (Feat. Kanye West, Common, and Lady Gaga)", Kid Cudi, (Make Her Say--Single)

And, as a shoutout to my girl Tricia, "Whoomp! (There It Is)", Tag Team, (Whoomp! There It Is--Single)


Friday, August 7, 2009

My Own Two Hands

I'm listening to the radio. I'm pretty bored.

I wish I was wastin' away in Margaritaville.

Jimmy Buffet is a lucky bastard.

No, instead of wastin' away in my flip-flops and sitting in a chair on the beach, I am here at work with this annoying pain between my shoulder blades because I don't sit right. I've been here since this morning (8 am-ish, to be precise), and the sky was all blue and pretty, but now it's getting all cloudy. Bleeeecccch. I'm supposed to go to a fair with Nicky, so I'm really hoping the rain holds off til tonight.


Eh. I've decided to share some crazy eco-facts I read in a nifty little book I bought (The Green Book by Elizabeth Rogers and Thomas Kostigen) at the zoo on Wednesday. It inspired me to start washing my hair with Burt's Bees shampoo and conditioner and to try to shave at least a minute off my shower time every week.

Here's a few:
*On average, you create 4.5 pounds of trash every day. Over the course of your life, that will total 600 times your average adult weight. In the end, we will each leave a 90,000 pound legacy of trash for our grandchildren. (Kinda makes me think of the trash cities in Wall-E)

*Americans use at least twice as much water and energy per person as anyone else in the world.

*If all American households reduced their food waste by 25 grams per day, the savings would be enough to provide three meals per day for a whole year to each of the 1.35 million children who are homeless.

*Each American consumes an average of 2,200 standard two-ply napkins per year, or about a little over six of these napkins per day. If everyone in the United States used an average of one napkin less per day, more than a billion pounds of napkins would be saved from landfills per year. A stack of napkins this size could fill the entire Empire State Building.

*About three billion new books are sold per year, requiring 400,000 trees to be chopped down.


I was kind of surprised by some of the things I read (according to a "green" article by Jennifer Aniston, every two minutes in the shower uses as much water as a person in Africa uses for everything in their life for a whole day--drinking, bathing, cooking, and cleaning), and it made me think of all the wasteful habits I'm guilty of. I always forget to turn the light off when I leave the room, I hold the refrigerator door open longer than necessary, I take half-hour showers...It all adds up.

It's like that Jack Johnson song..."I can change the world, with my own two hands...Make it a better place, with my own two hands." It takes just one person to start making small changes to inspire others to make a huge difference.