children of the 80s, unite!

two posts in two days?! i must be going MAD. mad..or bored..or horny as hell..take your pick..

do you guys remember mash? you know..mansion apartment shack house? that you and all your little friends used to cramp your fingers up feverishly writing at the lunch table..only to find out you would be married to harold with the stinky breath, have 43 children, drive a purple tricycle, and live in a shack in guadalajara? as we left , mash became shelved in the back of our tiny prepubescent minds, in between hypercolor t-shirts and jem..tear!

apparently though..someone was smart enough (or mad..or bored..or horny as hell..take your pick) to initiate the MASH COMEBACK! i kid you not..www.playmash.com is the ish. and if it is accurate (and why wouldn't it be seeing as though it was created by second graders?)..i am going to be married to the afrolicious philosophosophizer himself john raus (don't mess..he'll go brandon lee style on yo' ass!), have one kid, drive a yellow pony (and i don't mean mustang..but probably in dire need of an air-freshener), and live in a mansion in storrs, connecticut. this would of course mean that i would have to end my long-term relationship with my television set, a lively combination of tv and vcr..but it's for the best. mash has created me a life where i can look out into the backyard of my mansion in the busy and bustling town (laugh it up if ya know..shut it if ya don't) of storrs and see my one adorable and quick-witted child riding a yellow pony..and that child has a 'fro so big that it could potentially eclipse the sun. with tv, that dream could never be a reality..not even on cable. sorry tv..it's over. my people will be in touch.

so give it a go and revel in your childhood once more..however i am waiving all responsibility if you get stuck with harold. don't give me that look..i'll tell.

..all mashed up,
lex

tide can't help my mess of a life.

i'd been feeling a tad too cracker-like here at the 'conn (although i'm sure you are wondering just how that's possible with friends like mine)..so i thought it was high time to ghetto myself up. that's right kiddies..(dramatic pause)..i went home for the weekend.

even though the thought of my hometown has been known to cause the chunks to rise in my throat because of a select few ignorant assholes who shall remain nameless, i don't mind going home so much anymore. i can do my laundry for free (take that mac-gray!), get some quality eats courtesy of mama mattera, and have everyone fall all over themselves to appease me. in short (much like the collective height home on the range), my family rocks. don't be jealous. we'll adopt you.

that being said, i think that my washing machine and dryer are out to get me..for serious. every time i try to save a few bucks by bringing my laundry home, these devil appliances sense that i am taking business away from their quarter-filled counterparts back at the 'conn, have a quick intervention, and *mysteriously* something always gets ruined. first it was my blue sweater, which now is a wardrobe staple of my pygmy 12-year-old sister. then it was demise of, as big mike playfully calls them, my pink "hot pants" with a big black ink stain on the left bumcheek (thanks to the aforementioned pygmy 12 year old). which brings us to the most recent addition to the cute clothes cemetery: my monster slippers. one minute, silky smooth..the next, a-callin' for some afro sheen. please observe a moment of silence.

aaaaaaaaaaaaand done.

so guys at uconn are really gross. i just wanna put that out there. before y'all get all up in arms about it, i'll give you my reasoning. not all uconn guys are skeezy mofos..just those with the staring problems and enormous rods that have been confined to the gym since the beginning of the semester. a new addition to my workout routine (which has FINALLY gotten back to normal after the spring break gym whores returned to their ass-grooved futons, d.p. dough in hand..and i'll bet all over their faces) has been doing laps in the pool instead of on the track a few times a week. just so happens that the pool is located smack dibbity-dab in the middle of the gym, in full view for treadmill enthusiasts and iron-pumping 'roid-heads alike. i SWEAR..it's like these people have never seen a soaking wet, bathing suit clad gal with a bangin' ass in their entire lives. and contrary to popular beliefs, having about 84758465 pairs of eyes boring holes into your speedo isn't the most pleasant feeling. if i want to feel like a piece of meat, i'll go to the outback. gentlemen..you are truly "upstanding"..now watch out before you drop a dumbbell and render yourself useless in the baby-making process. it's for your own good.

one more thing before i call it a night (aka park it on the couch and veg like it's my J-O-B), i am NOT INTERESTED in "adding a few inches to my penis." hey internet porn industry, grey's anatomy called. girls don't have penises..except for hilary swank. make a mental note.

..wondering if anyone else feels like a steak right now,
lex