my life as the consolation prize.

a few weeks ago, i was assigned a task. very dangerous, very covert, uncharted territory if you will. toppling an underground cock fighting operation? negative. assassinating pygmy aborigines using only mind bullets? again, no. my mission, if i chose to accept it, was to turn a gay guy, well, un-gay.

this past weekend, the aforementioned task was to be completed. "it's for the good of mankind," i was told by an unnamed party (dave), "plus, i'm tired of him hitting on me!" while i can always be counted on to help a friend in need (and by "always" i mean if just the right amount of begging, pleading, and sincere ass-kissing/monetary bribes come into play), i was torn on this one, wrestling with the pros and cons at great length. why, you ask? because i am suffering from a severe disorder, one that could potentially kill me if rejected by a gay (or any) guy. this disorder is the "cool girl complex," and i have been at it's mercy my entire life.

the "cool girl complex" is both simple and mind-fucking-boggling at the same time. it generally targets olive-toned, dark-haired, shorter-than-your-average girls named lex at birth and sticks with them like glue until they're sleepin' with the fishes. girls like this are the first-born child of middle-class parents from a ghetto suburb of boston called revere and, when aged to perfection (or 18), move to connecticut to attend college for journalism. the sweeter the ass, the more potent a punch the complex packs. as you can see, it is very rare, and a cure has not yet been found. i have the most advanced form and i'm fading..fast.

symptoms of "the complex," as it will now be referred to as, are overall attractive physical features, paired with an easy-going-but-not-standing-for-bullshit personality, razor sharp wit, and the alcohol tolerance of a salty old sea captain. those individuals diagnosed with the complex can meet someone new and within minutes be that stranger's new best friend. perfect, right? but wait..there's more. if this stranger is of the opposite sex though, this of course means that a blinking, neon sign lights up above the complexed one's head that says "please Please PUHLEEZ tell me about any and all problems/thoughts/general wonderings about that girl over there with the monster cleavage that you've been checking out all night..and spare NO detail!" the cool girl can feign genuine interest quite well in this kind of scenario and will even offer up suggestions as to how to win the checked out girl over from the female perspective. they are then told that they are "so great" and "the best person ever" as the aforementioned male scampers over to implement the cool girl's plan to win over the checked out girl and ultimately leave the cool girl dumbfounded and alone..all the while wondering, "what the..?"

if the cool girl is lucky, she may (rarely) steal a kiss or other token of affection, though it is usually the result of a mighty thick pair of beer goggles. she has grown accustomed to pats on the back and playful tousles of the hair. she is the top romantic councilor and advice-giver-outer in her circle of friends (who are all paired up and ducky with love), yet she remains the kid sister that you don't really notice until she makes you laugh or kicks you in the shins. she's a total pain in the ass..but you keep her around for those rainy nights when you can't have your first choice.

the thing that always gets me though is that when asked what kind of girl they would prefer to be with, most guys will say "dude, i have to be able to carry on a conversation with her; if she can tell a good joke, even better. oh yeah..and she has to be somewhat cute." helloooooOOOOOOOO! i'm right here, you schmuck. no..behind the blond in the low-cut shirt and the redhead with legs for days. i'm right here..oh..and there you go. i'll be the shoulder to complain on when she dumps you..like i always am. welcome to my life as the consolation prize.

the cool girl will always be the cool girl..because she is too stubborn and proud to change her ways, despite the ever-present lovin' drought. the cool girl is never phony and will never back down just to please a crowd. she is genuine and brutally honest. this is her greatest strength as well as her downfall. "the complex" may very well go without a cure forever..but maybe one day (hopefully before i am old, gray, and sagging in all the wrong places) someone will take the cool girl for who she is. he is the cool guy..and i know he's out there somewhere.

..not only the president but also a client,
lex

ps..a certain tennis pro that shall remain nameless likes horses in a prison movie kind of way..talk amongst yourselves.

i love you, eye crispies and all.

hi my name is lex..i have an addiction. i'm a dick..i'm addicted..to sleepies.

i don't view naps as a leisurely activity. i view them as a sport, a competition if you will. and we all know the goal of a competition: to win..by any means necessary (morals are out the window..kinda like politics). it started innocently enough: i would come back from a particularly grueling (read: starting before 10 a.m.) class, feel a bit drowsy, and decided a good remedy would be to catch a few quick zzzs to refresh and reenergize myself, hence warding off all unnecessary bitchiness for the remainder of the day. what started as a 20 minute jaunt now has the tendency to stretch into several hours..escalating from a mere "nap" to the more advanced (and illegal in 32 states, including connecticut) "snoozefest of death 2003." the sad part is that, no matter how hard i try, no matter how much sleep i get the night before, no matter if i have kicked the nyquil bottle to the curb, i cannot stop. someone please help me..for sleepies have taken over my existence. all messages can be relayed to the top bunk, both my accomplice and ultimate demise.

moving right along, i am not greek. i never was greek. most likely, there will never be any greek in me in my entire life (unless, of course, that tall dark fellow over there is a friend of socrates if yaknowwhatimsayin..). although this is a heritage that alludes me, it's still pretty damn fun to pretend. that being said, i can surely say that i can rock the toga like no other. move over zeus. sit yo' ass down aphrodite. there's a new goddess in town..and her name is ME..actually it's lex, but you get the idea (if you don't then you are real unsmart). my get-up was waaaaaay better than yours anyhow..and i don't even have magic powers. canyoudealwithTHAT? didn't think so..but bring it just the same. i'll be waiting..cardboard lightning bolt in hand.

so yeah..i turn 20 in six days. this rapidly approaching deadline has caused me to ponder one of life's most burning questions: are the days of watching spongebob in my underwear whilst eating a huge bowl of cinnamon toast crunch really numbered? i submit that they are NOT! if people expect me to act all grown-uppy just because i am out of the "teens" then they are sorely mistaken. i will not only reject that unwanted status, but i will revel in my childhood for as long as possible. revel with me, if you'd like. i'll tell you now though..try to take my my little ponies, especially the flutter ponies with the detachable iridescent wings, and you will be dining at the sandbox buffet for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next few weeks. you thought i would go house on those mount olympus mofos? oh..you ain't seen nuthin' yet. the ties between a girl and her playthings last a lifetime. plus, you'll mess up their hair.

..reppin' mattel to the fullest,
lex