ouch..my ego aches.

when i was two and a half years old, my family (which then consisted of me, my father, and my very pregnant mother) moved from a small apartment near the beach to a modest-sized house on a tree-lined street..the house i still reside in when not away at school. the first day we moved in, i decided that it would be a great idea to explore my new environment with my dog, vito, who was a year younger than me and three times my size (if that wasn't blatant foreshadowing to the life of midgetry that awaited me, i don't know what would have been).

with my fluffy, k-9 companion in tow, i toddled through the sunporch and into the kitchen, hung a right into the soon-to-be playroom, a left into the bathroom, and wandered across the living room until i reached the stairs heading to the second floor. my dad, a school teacher and part-time carpenter, had just finished ripping up the old carpet, leaving the aforementioned stairs a mess of glue residue and potential splinters. bored with what i had seen up until that point, i embarked up the steep flight, making it about halfway up before i tumbled, ass over elbows, back to my starting point. as i sat there in disbelief and bleeding from the shin, any and all adults persons in the vicinity that had up until that point been completely neglecting me rushed to my side. my diapered ass was subsequently scooped up and rushed to the bathroom for repair via neosporin and band-aids. despite the certain pain i was in, i didn't shed a single tear, for somehow i was aware that this was not the last time i would wind up injured as a result of my own devices. i have the scars to prove it.

many of my more painful moments started out much like that day had, when i was looking for an adventure or attempting an experiment or contest. there was the time my brother and i were pretending we were race car drivers and i stuck my mother's car keys into a make-shift ignition (an electrical outlet), causing my bowl haircut to stand up on end before i passed out onto my screaming sibling. there was the day that i was outside with jimmy luiso and thought it would be a good idea to sprint down the street wearing a dress, stupid hat, and patent-leather maryjanes..a good idea that led to a skinned knee and me sulking on a couch all easter sunday. i stepped on a bee in my bare feet to see if it would sting me (it did). in my very first t-ball game down mcmackin field, i got hit in the face with a line drive because i wanted to see just how far "in" the infield really was. a marcia brady-style encounter with a football occurred the week before my 8th grade social, all because i wanted to be one of the boys for a hot minute. two car accidents, countless phalanges slammed in windows and doors, close encounters with gym equipment and frothed milk (separately, surprisingly enough), even pulled muscles and bite marks from a particularly rowdy roll in the hay and a heart that has been tap danced on more than the parquet floor of michael flatley's private studio, the list goes on..each new entry that teensy bit more embarrassing than the one preceding it.

it was only natural that my klutziness was bound to follow me into the workplace like a stray kitten..looking nothing but cute and innocent until it turns the new sofa into its own personal scratching post. though my years in retail did heed their fair share of calamities, sooner or later i would jeopardize my own safety and the well-being of others in a corporate setting. today was that day when, approximately 7 minutes after i arrived at the office, i dropped a 20-plus pound box on my flip-flopped foot (business casual, fools..shut up), rendering me clumsy mcgimp until the swelling and throbbing ceases. apparently, the powers that be thought that i hadn't suffered enough from both pain and embarrassment and commanded me to trip over a bump in the carpet and skid into the refrigerator on the way to the first aid kit. continuing the journey down my shame spiral, my bosses, all three of them, continued to check up on me throughout the day, making sure that i wasn't engaging in any activity that could harm myself or those around me. i kid you not..i wasn't even allowed to use the stapler.

i had a point when i began typing this, but, like my sense of coordination and good judgement, it is long gone. however, the next time you see me atop a balance beam or holding a small child, make sure an ambulance is standing by. it's scary what i am capable of.

..knowing full well 911 will always occupy numero uno on my speed dial,
lex

it's boner time..or not.

it really doesn't matter where you are on this crazy blue marble we call earth, one thing holds true regardless of where you call home. africa, australia, even antarctica or india..where nary a square of skin can be seen beneath snowsuit or burqa, respectively. take a gander downwards. does your chest protrude? if so, be prepared for skeezeballs to flock at a moment's notice. if not, you are the one a-flockin'.

while all you gents (and i use that term verrrrry lightly) in the crowd are shaking your head in "what choo talkin' bout, willis?" disbelief, please direct your attention a la derecha where an explosion of "hell yeas" "woopWOOPs" and "mmmmhmmmmmmms" have just exploded in the exact location where the group of mild-mannered young ladies stood in the not-so-distant past. could YOU be one of those abominations that makes our glistening, moisturized, lightly-scented flesh crawl? are YOU one of those mutations that we bag on when we go to the bathroom in herds? to be honest, with a dash of tact for flavor..abso-friggin'-loutely.

though outbreaks have been reported throughout the year, a full-blown epidemic sweeps the globe every summer. like locusts, overzealous charcoal-happy grillmasters and one-day doorbuster sale seekers, the second the weather warms, the moment turtlenecks and corduroys become unbearable, a hybrid of all that is nastiness is unleashed on the female population. this is clockwork..more accurate than the trains under mussolini or your monthly craving for chocolate and soap operas. walk to the bank instead of driving? that's a negative. forego the gym for an al fresco workout? think again. they are waiting for you.

the first time it happened to me was when i was roughly 14 years old. my friend whitney had just paged me (haha remember those?) and asked me to come over her house so we could sneak and hang out with some older boys we met from east boston. not wanting to miss the opportunity of getting felt up in the back of an '77 cutlass supreme, i laced up my nikes, kicked up my heels, and scurried to her house as fast as my prepubescent legs could go. i was so intent on reaching my destination in the least amount of time that i failed to notice the pick-up truck trailing me. when i finally stopped to take a breath, i heard it. the lip smacking. the wolf-whistling. and my very first "hey mami..where YOU headed in such a hurry?" i whipped my head around to see three (tres) rico-not-so-suaves, all easily old enough to be my father (and i don't mean papi), leering at me from the window. naturally, i looked around to see who they were addressing (more like mentally undressing now that i think about it) and realized that i was the only person on the sidewalk that their gaze was fixed on. i looked myself up and down: tank top, shorts, sneakers. made of fabric and other assorted textiles..though the way six eyes were boring through me i could have sworn i was clothed in saran wrap. for the first time in my life, i was at a loss for words..though my facial expressions did enough gymnastics to warrant an invite to the summer olympics. the shock. the horror. the nerve.

was that my last encounter with a creature from skeezeball lagoon? hardly. i'm not saying that i bounce along like vintage pam anderson as i go for my evening runs. far from it actually. but no matter how plain jane i think i may look as i go about my business, there is always that one tool that will slow down, beep the horn, and shout something gross with a capital OH MY GOD I'M GONNA PUKE. though i do enjoy the occasional lewd comment or sexual innuendo (my outgoing voicemail messages can always attest to that), there's a time and a place. that place is not when i am trying to burn calories, nor is it when i am sitting in traffic on the way to pick up my mother from a mammogram. the t may seem like an ideal location, what with all the crowding and the rubbing up on and whatnot that will only be intensified by the impending dnc (well hellooOOO mr. senator. is that the constitution in your pocket?), but try to bust any game and i can guarantee you your manhood/ego won't be what it used to be (not that it was much in the first place..).

and now for my aesop moment: spare us the lines, guys. have they ever gotten you anything besides a pity laugh, eyeroll, or knee to the groin? didn't think so. there is a reason gerardo was a one-hit wonder.

..really glad that loss for words thing was a passing phase,
lex

ps..how YOU doin'? ;)

the anti mary kay letourneau.

the thought of having children has never particularly appealed to me. first, there is the massive weight gain and the constantly full bladder. second, the uberpainful birthing process. third, the inevitable saggy boobs, stretch marks, and struggle to shed the aforementioned massive weight gain. lastly, the mere thought of having to deal with a miniature version of yours truly until safely dead and buried. i barely play well with children my own age.

that being said, it may seem a tad odd that someone as offspringaphobic as myself would knowingly sign up to substitute teach..but it was the week after moving home for the summer, i had an "in" in the school department, and i thought making fifty bucks for playing seven-up all day sounded like F-U-N.

yeah..no.

i should have known the day would be a little slice of hell when the first student came barrel-assing through the door, took one look at me, and barrel-assed right back out, shrieking, "SUB! SUB! SUB!" at the top of his lungs all the way back down to the foyer. when the rest of the childrens came in, they congregated in the back of the classroom near the closets, sizing me up as i wrote the lesson plan on the board. a few of them, sure to someday be "yes" men and women, left their cronies to point out the bad kids and identify themselves as the good ones. then, they asked if they could pass out some papers, which is something second-graders are completely addicted to and obsessed with. it's the cocaine of the elementary school world..and i was their druglord.

we started about 10 minutes late because apparently bells are a thing of the past. i took attendance and did the lunch count, they pledged their allegiance (to the flag) and sang some stupid song, then i announced that we had some math worksheets to do. i quickly learned that the word "work," when emitted from the mouth of a substitute, is like poison to an 8-year-old's ears. they groaned and whined the whole way through the lesson (which i actually understood..thanks to the teacher's manual..) and continued their vocal gymnastics when i suggested reading worksheets. did you know second-graders are learning words like "leisure?" i didn't. they didn't. i think we all just wanted to color or something.

snacktime was, 1.) NOT recess (the kids schooled me) and 2.) just as i had remembered it, a sweet 10 a.m. reprieve from anything valuable to my future. i sat at my desk in my cushy chair, eating my dry cereal and watching the class kick the crap out of each other. after twenty minutes, 7 of them went to the nurse..which they couldn't go to unless they brought a buddy..upping the 7 to 14. after snack/hospitalization time, i let the kiddies work together on some make-shift (read: please just shut the fuck up so my migraine ceases) art projects. some of the little kiss asses actually made "best teacher ever" cards..which they addressed to a "mrs. mattera." i brought them home to my mother. she liked them.

lunchtime = thank buddah those little satan spawns were out of my sight. i reveled in the half-hour of solitude, literally skipping around the empty classroom and calculating the nanoseconds until dismissal. when i went down to pick the crapweasels up from the caf, i was greeted with several "hey! he loves you and wants to marry you!'s" and a plethora of tiny hands wanting to style my hair. no thanks, especially not after eating a fluffernutter. after a pee break and coat grab, it was time for recess (NOT snack, the kids schooled me again), where some woman from a nearby zoo entertained the kids with parrots and opossums and cockroaches (oh MY..). i didn't have to do anything. i smiled to myself and contemplated what kind of cocktail i would mix myself when i got home.

back into the classroom, where i screamed at the hellions to keep it down until the librarian came to pick them up for, what else, library time. ah yes..another half-hour of blissful silence as the youngins struggled to pronounce three-syllable words. when they returned, my father had the bright idea to bring down a tank of garden snakes from his classroom. pretty dim, pops. those damn reptiles started more fights and induced more tears than could ever be found anywhere on the planet..except maybe at a european futbol match or the daytime emmys. another temple-throbbing episode, followed by more screaming and threats of leaving a bad note for the teacher until it was time to go home..all this without playing even one game of seven up. dag, yo.

now here i sit, not even two hours after leaving that temple of doom and already dreading my reprise role on monday morning. as my age climbs closer and closer to that plateau we call "mid-life," the mere thought of procreation still makes me a little queasy..and no, it's not morning sickness. i think that until children to be born as fully-developed 18-year-olds ready to go off to college instead of the squirmy, pink annoyances they currently enter this world as, this gal will not be contributing to the globe's overpopulation any time soon. you'll thank me.

..heads up, seven-up you little bitches!
lex

life's big questions: answered. well..kinda.

there are many things in this life that puzzle me. why has a monkey been running our country for the past 3.4-ish years? who invented the bouffant? does a hooker charge her significant other for services others pay for hourly? with the right seasoning, can liver pass as a desirable entree? these are questions that take up the bulk of my thinking space..space that could be used to further my academic success..but alas, my thoughts tend to stray to these unsolvable mysteries. makes me wonder how i haven't gotten kicked out of school yet.

last year, i decided to put some questions like this out there for the world to see in this particular forum. the way i wrote was the way i played these scenarios out in my mind countless times per day..and the way it came out just happened to be humorous enough to garner the attention of anyone with opposable thumbs and access to my AIM profile. i would get ims from friends, enemies and complete strangers (a la "i'm a friend of so-and-so..") within hours of publishing, all saying the same thing: you are one funny chick..when's the next installment? what began as a form of therapy to ease my ever-wandering mind at odd hours of the night when sleepies were playing hard to get (ps..no one likes a tease) turned into some kind of cult. i was the one stirring the kool-aid..and you were all salivating in anticipation, eager to savor the first sip.

after perusing my last few (and far between) entries, i had another one of my many mental fender benders..and for the first time in a long time, i had the answer. the query: "why do people read this?" you can be honest, you don't give a good god damn about what's going on at my school or how i spend my workday. my birthday? my friends? my spastic family? you lean back and yawn..scrolling for something of interest. it was only after i had delved into the archives that it became abundantly clear: y'all get pleasure from my pain. last year, i was one angry little girl, and, despite the significant upturn my life has taken since then, there are still those times that something pisses me off so badly that i just want to beat the motherfucker causing it within an inch of their life. however, such actions are deemed incarcerationable in 48 of the 50 states (assuming, of course, that alaska and hawaii are daring to be different), so i opt for a verbal ego-bashing instead of the unusually high likelihood of sharing a cell with martha stewart. i'm really not down for arts and crafts whilst bubbling with contempt.

fret not, my parched disciples, your thirst will soon be quenched.

..the bitter bitch is BACK,
lex

ncAA.

monday started out like any other day. i woke up a shade before noon (god bless the invention of the once a week night class), got scalded by my demonized shower, and walked around in my underoos for the better part of an hour whilst trying to plan out the rest of my day. despite the fact that it was about 4 pm at that point, there was still much to be done. tv and beer won't watch and drink themselves you know.

we students at uconn are not commonly referred to as a mild-mannered bunch. regardless of where you go to school, you know what x-lot is and that, despite the ick factor of the name, the rape trail is the path most travelled on campus. however, someone started spreading a rumor that uconn had lost its edge, a bunch of second-seed pansies, so we had no choice but to squelch the bejesus out of that falsity. and squelch we did.

at approximately 11:34 pm, after several hours of hardcore boozing and lighthearted commentary (big ups to alicia b and her zero bullshit tolerance), we ventured..ok stumbled..outdoors into celeron square to celebrate uconn's just-acquired national championship. this wasn't some quaint affair. we forewent the cheese and crackers for leaping flames and ritualistic chanting. little known fact: the main function of a couch is to be sacrificed to a victory blaze and a keystone light shower is almost as effective as its soapy cousin. also, school property makes excellent kindling and boys with tattoos and/or muscles will never miss an opportunity to deshirt. for those of you with cars on campus, i highly recommend you check their status..pronto.

if you don't go, you don't know..but fortunately i'm here to tell you: we party like we play ball..hard and to win. this, my friends, was clearly a huge W..evident from the glazed-over eyes and frequent whiffs of vomit courtesy of the 8 people who attended class the next morning.

..wondering why i have yet to be tapped to write promotional brochures,
lex

ps..the women won last night. woop woop..but you didn't have to be one of the psychic friends to predict that ish.

it's twelve o'clock somewhere.

"where is it?" a raspy voice crackled into my right ear.

"it? what is it ? what are you talking about, mister?" i responded, still groggy from a delicious, but interrupted, nap.

"oh you KNOW what IT is," the voice persisted, more menacing than before. "if i don't get it soon, you'll be sorry."

"seriously lisa, i'm trying to sleep. i'll blog it up later i promise. now go get yourself some chloroseptic..you sound like my brother when he was going through puberty," i said as i slipped back into my slumber, knowing full well that there was a better chance of my sociology professor showing up to class in a sequined thong and boobie tassels than there was for me to keep my promise of a blog-filled evening. fingers crossed..never fails. suckaaaaaaaaaz.

that exact conversation, or something like it (read: "lex..do a blog." "eh..not now."), occurred almost two months ago. apparently, my roomie isn't the only one perceptive enough to notice the lack of action up in this piece. what was once a pretty hoppin' brothel has become a chaste convent. jay nice had some choice words ("you gotta do one..i got my boys hooked on it!"), as did my asian twin pauly ("that shit is hysterical girl..do it up."), and even my own brother ("what? no one's been pissing you off lately?"), who will undoubtedly have something to say about the throwback to his not-so-distant past ("you're such a bitch."). the hate mail did begin to wain for a while..but the queries came back full-force this evening as i innocently poisoned my mind with reality television. even as i type these words, deven smith-clarke himself imed me with a demand of his own. it's a sweeping epidemic..and NO ONE is vaccinated. you best drop your pants.

exuses are for homewreckers and politicians (a bit repetitive, i know), so i will spare you a movie of the week worthy tale of woe. i attribute most to laziness and busyness, some to nekidness, even less to soberness. school has been playing a hot little game of "kick-my-can," the debaucherous week known as spring break has come and gone and stripped me of checking funds, braincells, maybe a pair or two of panties, and the day i had been waiting for for the past eternity finally arrived.

the rumors are true..aside from my dwarf-like proportions and childlike sense of wonder, this gal right here has joined the ranks of that scary species known as "grown-up." i'm not saying that i've traded in the civvy for a minivan and my whore boots for orthopedic mules, but it's probably in your best interest to take a whiff before taking a swigg of any drink in my grasp. ahhhhh 21: it's a beautiful thing. my liver, on the other hand, has seen better days. sorry ol' gal..i truly am. i'll make it up to you..meet my friend. his name is mr. cuervo. not your type, eh? well maybe you'd you prefer that red-headed slut at the end of the bar? menagetrois? SCANDALOUS!

..OH the possibilities that lie ahead!
lex

no means no..unless it means yes.

when i was a little lex and did something bad (i.e. pinching my newborn brother til he began to wail, pushing kids out of line in preschool because i had to be first, and dropping the F-bomb whilst pulling my mother towards toys r us to get the newest my little pony), a myriad of punishment options awaited me. first came the yelling (and you thought my dad just had a beautiful telephone voice), then maybe a light spanking, followed by the punisher pointing to the stairs. as i sulked and scowled up the thirteen steps to my bedroom, i always heard the token "i hope you learned your lesson" or "take this time to think about what you've done" quietly behind me. i'm sure i would have done a lot more thinking if my parents had disconnected my television.

that being said, MAN have these last couple of days felt like a stroll down memory lane..not once..but TWICE (two, dos, deux). after waking up at 7ish o'clock, battling for the shower, and readying myself for the better part of an hour, i set out on my commute. i park my car, pay the wrinkly little foreign man behind the partition, grab a paper (crosswords = very hot this season), and scamper through the train station turnstiles for a half-hour of mbta bliss (smelly people, cellphone enthusiasts, the occasional ass in the face..score!).

"are we there yet?" you begin to whine. "no," i respond, "now shut up before i backhand you in the mouth." you begin to cry. i laugh at you and point, drawing a crowd that does the same.

a sexy little jaunt down the street and elevator ride later i am on the 22nd floor. this is where the punishment aspect ensues, because after freezing my sweet little arse off, there i stand, being told that there is "absolutely nothing" for me to do and that i can "just go home." and wouldn't you know it, i have a whole empty train to myself to think about it! guess it's time that i send around a little intraoffice memo saying that phone calls, like the daily crossword, botox, and a comfy pair of uggs, are also an "it" item. tres chic. tres buy a brain.

it wasn't a complete loss. by getting the proverbial boot on friday made it possible for me to give lis and aleesh a proper reverian welcome instead of sending them out into the city like deer caught in headlights. nothing to crazy..just a weekend of lounging in, dining out, and having pillow fights in our underoos while watching football and drinking bud light. regardless, a good time was had by all..even you male readers, as i have single-handedly given you a mental picture of one of your biggest fantasies. enjoy.

in other news, a 12 year old boy tried to talk dirty to me on the phone tonight. join me as i vomit up dinner.

..goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow,
lex