can you believe she showed up wearing THAT?

fact: though i had every intention of eliminating world hunger and patching the ozone layer today, i’ve spent the past fiveish hours on my couch entranced by e!’s oscar coverage. now that my mind has been sufficiently numbed by talk of sparkles and spanx, i can dive head first into another pint of ben and jerry's knowing one thing is abundantly clear: i am never allowed to be famous.

so yeah. i've never really been one to get all orgasmified about dressing up. much to my mother's chagrin, prom dress shopping was always done in one day. despite my elfin proportions, i will never prefer choos to chucks. i refuse to work at a job where every day isn't casual friday even though i'm well aware it limits my career options and my idea of nice jewelry is black rope and silver as opposed to platinum and diamonds. to round out the list, i always opt for my black-framed librarian glasses over contacts, perfume makes me feel pukey and i can count the times i've worn makeup in the past month on one hand (three, in case you were wondering). shit, man..i even loathe the word “diet” and i've never been to rehab. even before the swag bags are all gone and the glare of the flashbulbs has subsided, i know the public eye will never be my home.

it's not that i couldn't hold my own against the joan riverses and perez hiltons of the world. if this blog is any indication, i definitely could, lambasting my own shoddy sense of style to ryan seacrest and kimora lee simmons before j and p could even let out their first cackling wisecrack or scrawl jizz on my face, respectively. who am i wearing, you ask? sorry, jame gumb i am not. and my shoes? most likely $2 flip flops from old navy, complete with unpedicured tootsies. while my peers spent the last two weeks subsisting on cayenne pepper and maple syrup, i probably just scarfed down some mickey d’s on the way over. if your blood sugar wasn’t so low, i’m pretty sure you’d be overcome with jealousy. come to think of it, who do i really have to answer to? didn't our rubber-faced septuagenarian friend and her equally scalpel-obsessed daughter get canned? and p-nasty? oh, he's far too busy chronicling britney's every move – choreographed or not – to give my faux pas a second thought. guess i'm in the clear..for now. being a nobody kind of rules sometimes.

..comfortable in my own skin isn’t even the half of it,
lex

all up in the family.

whenever i read about a bitter custody battle at the end of a loveless marriage, an unruly teen being granted emancipation from his or her parents or even the prom queen that leaves her newborn baby in the toilet, the knot tightens in my stomach almost immediately. though i have been in my fair share of grudge matches, ruffled countless parental feathers and would opt for beading and organza over diapers and drool any day, it's always difficult hearing that, to some people, family is dispensable.


maybe i am a bit biased since my family unit resembles a small village rather than the modular status quo. if necessary, we could field two baseball teams - with pinch hitters and plenty of relief in the bullpens - while sporting enough body hair to make steinbrenner cringe (gotta love those italian genes, right?). i'll admit that there was a time when i didn't quite value the network i had, a few years where i made the lives of those around me less than savory. i can still replay the most memorable exchanges in my head, down to the very last snide comment and empty threat. it all sounded totally relevant and badass at the time but, in retrospect, the underbelly is exposed - an angry little girl oblivious to the treasure she'd been afforded. alexis shmexis: grade-a chump.


despite living away at college for four years, i never did experience that all-by-my-onesies feeling because that safety net of kin was a mere 100 miles away. when things got too intense or boring at home, i just hopped in the civvy (r.i.p., old blue) and hauled ass down 84 and, conversely, free laundry and food devoid of laxative could be found in the other direction. without getting all dickensian on y'all, it was the best of times, but once again i didn't realize it until long after i donned my cap and gown and reluctantly joined the real world. i never though i would remain in the boston area long after college but the chain of events leading up to my departure still kind of makes my head spin. one day, i'm temping at mass eye and ear and looking for a job which wouldn't brand me a sellout and the next, i'm driving a moving van at excessive speeds towards middle america - chicago, to be precise. why, people asked? why not, i replied. in my then 22 years, i'd never been the type that required handholding and coddling..might as well keep that streak alive. what i didn't anticipate, however, was just how thin the security blanket i'd downplayed for years would be stretched. basically, the threadbaredness of it fucking sucks sometimes.


they say distance makes the heart grow fonder. while i'm convinced that "they" is hallmark, i'll bob my head in agreement when those words play out like the events of this past weekend: getting the rare opportunity to see my entire family together in one room to celebrate a milestone in one of our lives. true, the cost of the plane ticket set me back a tad but it was well worth helping my favorite uncle ring in his 60th birthday. also, seeing my not yet two-year-old cousin flash the entire ballroom her huggies or my not yet thirty-year-old cousin shatter a glass while doing the white girl dance (jazz hands up and screaming "wooooooooooOOOOO!") was the icing on the proverbial cake; they had cannolis, durr.


..leaving a trail of breadcrumbs so i can find my way back down memory lane,
lex

hopefully it won't end up in britney's next weave.

since coming into this world kicking, screaming and covered in amniotic goo nearly a quarter century ago, i have been called many a name. i know for a fact that the bulk of you are flashing on a nickname or two as you read these words but honestly, "sexy lexy" barely scratches the surface.

the first was "furry," as i was born with enough fringe that my own mother mistook me for a small labrador, thus forcing her to recount the events of the night of my conception with painstaking detail. "cutthroat" came next, the adjective of choice from my preschool teachers each time my parents were called in to discuss why i felt it necessary to bodyslam any student that dared to cut in front of me in the lunch/recess/bathroom line. it's hard to pinpoint the first occurrence of "hellion" but the time cousin nick and i convinced little mike that the bowl of mayonnaise on the condiment table at the family barbecue was vanilla pudding is a pretty good guess. "potty-mouth" is a bit more difficult, however, as i was most likely a sailor or truck driver in a past life and that shit (there i go again) is ingrained in my dna. guess i'm just the bad seed your parents warned you about, minus the motorcycle, five o'clock shadow and pocket full of roofies.

truth be told, i don't strive to be a crappy person. i have never been one to kick puppies or pick off pigeons with a slingshot. while my taste for red meat will never be fully curbed, the thought of wearing fur - real or faux - kinda creeps me out (not to mention makes me feel a little prostitutey). for godsakes, i even get mad when i see parents putting their kids on leashes..and i fucking HATE kids. see, friends, i'm not a total asshole. despite that affirmation, i needed to prove to myself that i was indeed capable of being truly selfless. how so, you ask? in the form of follicles.

aside from an asymmetrical dorothy hamill in grade three and an equally ill-advised pixie cut in grade four, i have always had long, brown locks flowing from my scalp. sleek and shiny, my hair resembled those obnoxiously perfect, light-reflecting strands blown about by a wind machine in every pantene commercial ever made. now? still ad-worthy..but more so in a mussed, choppy bedhead sort of way. not a posh spice/katie holmes love child 'do or a get the carpool to soccer practice before whipping up a three-course meal coif..just a lex looks freakin' sweet bob, as 10 inches of chocolate-colored locks are now in a padded envelope on their way to florida to become part of a wig for a child with cancer. stylish and sensitive? yes, i do exist and no i will not make out with you.

..i may look cute but waking up an extra 20 minutes early to fight with my blowdryer is so not cool,
lex

doopity doo.

at first glance, many have struggled to pinpoint my nationality. with my almond-shaped eyes, olive complexion and eyebrows rivaling those of peter gallagher (no worries..i don't share his love for show tunes), i have heard everything from spanish to lebanese to thai. however, once a few choice four-letter words escape from my lips or it's revealed that my weapon of choice is not a .44 or prison-issue shank but a shoe, my secret is revealed: i am so italian, my last name may as well be corleone. i'll take the cannoli every damn time.

since my people are known as much for their ability to tan as much as they are for their tiramisu, it may seem a bit precarious that i would seek out a bronzing from a bottle or booth but let me explain: 1. i'm in chicago in the middle of one of its infamous cold-as-fuck winters; 2. my ability to get time off to venture to an exotic locale is downright laughable and 3. my friend sam convinced me it was a great idea. said friendship is currently under review.

i knew the error of my ways the moment i walked into the salon and my nostrils were filled with the aroma of coconuts and burnt flesh. the face of the gal behind the counter resembled the shade of a mixed citrus smoothie. the classy establishment was named after a land filled with fake tits and even faker personalities. still, if two minutes standing ass-naked in an icy blue box getting sprayed with a concoction of god only knows what would rid me of the winter blahs, i was so freaking there. unfortunately, now i could be mistaken for the help at willie wonka's factory.

my sister, a true fake-and-bake junkie by the age of 13, was horrified when i told her the news. "what are you, retarded?" she said when i revealed my faux pas. "spray tanning is for the micks..respect your roots, ho!" ah, to be 17 and obnoxiously politically incorrect again! mini-me then proceeded - for the next eternity or so - to dispense the rationale her tried-and-true regimen of how she keeps her pelt resembling a balenciaga bag. though i nodded off sometime between exfoliation and moisturization, i know one thing for certain: i will never treat my body as a paint-by-number again.

..ask me which way to the fizzy lifting drinks and i'll punch you in the mouth in front of your friends,
lex

oh yeah..hi.

in tvland, they call it a hiatus. horticulturists refer to it as dormancy. pseudo-professors say it's a sabbatical. yogi and boo boo know it as hibernation. i am neither a sitcom star with a paparazzi problem, nor rocking a green thumb and magenta crocs. my passport is nonexistent, as is my furry underbelly and penchant for bow-ties and picnic baskets. well, i guess that last one depends on the menu..i have always been a sucker for potato salad.

since my last entry, a whopping three (that's tres for our spanish speaking friends) years ago, i have sat down countless times before this very screen with every intention of updating the next chapter in the saga that is my life. each venture started strong but quickly weakened, much like a jager-fueled potential hook-up who slurs sweet nothings in your ear and a trail of sloppy smooches on your neck but ultimately ends up passed out on your bathroom floor sporting a liquor dick and flailing about in a pool of what not long ago was lining his stomach. essentially, what once seemed like a good idea began looking pretty craptastic and i elected to shut the door and make with the sleepies instead of cleaning up the lackluster word vomit that would likely ensue.

"ok lex," you say. "enough with the wordsmithery." "fine," i reply, outwardly dejected but inwardly plotting your imminent and untimely end. "onward we go."

try as i may to suppress it, i find myself drawn back to this site every now and again (which i now need a google id to log into..like i need another password to remember) and think about the long, late hours i spent toiling away on it for the better part of two years. there were some high points (see: the cool girl complex and misadventures in molding young minds), the low points (see: excuses for lack of entries and shoutouts to people i no longer consider friends) and everything in between (see: everything in between)..each one holding a special place in the hole where my heart should be. as i review my old entries, laughing at some and cringing at others, i feel two things: amazed at the body of work before me and utterly disgusted that i have gone so long without adding to it.

don't think of this as a new year's resolution, as those are for fatties, uglies and - let's face it - quitters. being none of those things, take this entry as anything you like..save for a marriage proposal, admission of guilt in a punishable crime or that i even know who you are. oh stop whining..you know you love the thrill of the chase.

..definitely not the end,
lex

nice pixels..wanna fuck?

before y'all begin pelting me with hard, jagged objects and shooting dirty looks in my general direction with the precision and accuracy of a vietnam vet in his heyday, give me a paragraph or so to explain my phantom-like status since august 15th. hold up..i see you with the ninja star in hand. we will all have our turn. just wait for yours. atta boy.
i'm not a big fan of lying. fibbing, maybe. misleading, perhaps. embellishing, only when it's necessary for the sake of the children. nonetheless, here goes. when i first entered this fine institution way back in 2001, my parents and i went shopping for computers. i was all about the laptop, going from display model to display model fidgeting with each computer's amenities. my parents, however, winced at the thought, citing more than one example of my chronic absent-mindedness to back up their notion that i would lose this pricey piece of machinery within a fortnight. "get the desktop!" they said in cult-like unison. "just look at how much more memory it has..and there's no way you could leave it anywhere where someone could take it." i didn't want to burst their broke-college-kids-are-indeed-moral-and-wouldn't-steal-electronics-to-afford-books-and-or-drugs notion, but when i pictured myself tippy-tapping out a paper in the wee hours of the morning hopped up on red bull and pixie stix, i just couldn't forsee my academic career advancing sitting before a device weighing more than i did. so i held fast, presented my argument, pouted a bit, and left the store with a sony viao notebook. who wins? do you even have to ask?

though i promised my mother that i would shut down and lock up my new toy whenever i exited my dorm room, i decided that putting up a snarky away message alluding to my whereabouts was a lot more adventageous than not pissing away her and my father's dinero. caped crusaders never did run off with my compy, and the viao has served me better than those b2k baby-thugs ever dreamed. while all those fools with hps and compaqs were crying over their fried motherboards and virus-infested pop-ups, the viao was like a well-behaved lapdog, minus the annoying yipping and pooping in handbags. each assignment saved without backtalk, advertisments were minimal, connection speed untouchable. could a desktop do that? maybe..but my friends were too busy kicking and cursing theirs to see if it was possible.

everything was kosher til, in the middle of typing a paper for gender and sexuality worth 40 percent of my grade that was due in less than 8 hours, the words on my monitor began to dance. a waltz this was not, but more like an extacy-induced writhing displayed primarily by rave kids sucking pacifiers and twirling glowsticks. i screamed, hit save repeatedly..first to the hard drive and then to disk, screamed some more, and watched in horror as the screen went from hi-def to no-def. zip. zilch. black as the night itself. i calmly got up from my chair and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, but even my clean and clear couldn't wipe the disbelief from my face. i had been betrayed by more two-faced hizzos and unfaithful boyfriends countless times, but this was a different kind of bond. it was deeper. it was meaningful. it was going to be fucking expensive to repair.

luckily i was able to complete my paper the next morning at work, but i still couldn't shake the proverbial slap in the face i received from the viao. when i arrived home, there it sat on my desk, cold and motionless, like an oyster stubbornly refusing to relinquish custody of its treasured pearl. i called the parentals with my tale of woe, and after mooching off my roommates' equipment for the next few excruciatingly long days, i packed it up and in and headed home, where i became the proud mama of a sweet-ass samsung flat-panel to get me through the rest of the year. it was on that fateful trip, however, that i left a disk containing quite a few blog entries on my nightstand. though this was in early october and i have been home subsequent times since then, that godbefrigged disk always seems to allude my "remember to bring this crap back to school" list. i swear the thing's even jumped out of my backpack twice. clearly, this is not my fault. technology is a bitch.

so there you have it, the very much roundabout explanation for the lack of hahas, teehees, and countless i totally know how you feels for these past few months. try to find it in your blackened hearts to forgive. you can start throwing stuff now if there's an i.o.u. where your soul should be. helmet, on.

..soooOOOOOO glad that's off my non-existant chest,
lex

make sure you wipe that down, mmkay?

i'll be the first to admit it: i am one of the biggest spazzoids i know. whether i am tearing through residential neighborhoods at excessive speeds, hauling ass down the crowded sidewalks of boston to make it to work on time, or struggling to keep my keep it together whilst living at home this summer, my sanity always has one foot out the door. i know it's just waiting for the perfect moment to peace out on me, rendering me a sobbing, twitching mess for the public's scrutinizing eye to fall upon and judge the shit out of. god only knows what my fate would be if i drank coffee.

after about a month of schlubbing around the house, i decided that i needed to do something about my far-from-normal state of mind. i enlisted my good friend and fellow shaws alum jeff to plunk down the plastic and join a nearby gym. i figured that a few days a week sweating to (and with, as the case so often was) the oldies would be just what i needed to stabilize and eliminate my all too frequent brainfarts. also, the protrusion of my gut was starting to rival that of my chest. and while the size of my funbags aren't something to brag about, the fact that my six-pack from days of yore had vanished irritated me like the impending hanson comeback. yeah..mmmbop this.

it wasn't until halfway through the second week of my workout regime that i realized that my gym offered (gasp!) free-of-charge yoga classes in addition to the plethora of ellipticals and free weights housed within its walls. though i am a big fan of pilates, i had always been skeptical of its equally flexible cousin. i didn't want to turn into a tree-hugging, granola-eating, peace-and-love, i-don't-believe-in-razors kinda lady..but the thought of an entire hour of solitude and potential incense burning appealed to my frazzled nerves. armed with my squishy pink mat and icy poland springs, i semi-openmindedly entered the studio.

the next thing i knew, i was downward-facing doging all over the place (your mind = in the gutter..get it out..pronto). i was all about the warrior 2 and was known to rock out a pretty nasty reverse triangle at a moment's notice. this curious venture soon became a mini-obsession. if i didn't harness my chi at least three times a week, i just didn't feel right. it didn't matter if i was sun salutationing, bridge-posing, or attempting the nearly impossible crane, the artist formerly known as my strung-out self had become just another one-hit wonder instead of multi-platinum legend hall of fame inductee. after a semester of more downs than ups and questions than answers, i felt more like myself than i think i ever have. plus, how many people do you know that can put both feet behind their head without needing medical assistance to reverse the same action? think about it and report back. i'll wait.

now as i sit here, munching on a nature's valley and contemplating how i can help the starving orphans in calcutta, i am actually embracing the fact that i've become kind of crunchy. key words: kind of. i still step on ants with no fear of karma biting back and hock the occasional flavorless piece of gum out the window. i can't curb my potty mouth and don't always bless people when they sneeze. i also can't bear much more than a quarter inch of stubble. regardless of those trivial diffs, i think we can all agree on one thing: my ass looks great in yoga pants. ch-check it out. ok, enough..no need to leer.

..namaste..or whatever,
lex