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

snoozebars, snowfall and stds..oh MY.

if i went outside right now and just stood there, within approximately 4.3 seconds, all 5 foot 2 of me (stop laughing..that's my real height..on a good day..meaning today i am closer to 3' 7"..) would be completely covered with a semi-thick layer of snow. god really needs to start using head and shoulders..cuz these flakes are the size of carpet squares (remember those?! naptime rules!).

after a slapfest with my snooze bar that lasted close to 45 minutes (not even close to my previously set record of 3 hours and 17 minutes but whatev), i rolled over and mumbled to my roomie, "hey can i see that stupid article for.." those 8 words were all that i said..because it was only then that i realized that my roommate (and the stupid article) were nowhere to be found. so yeah..i was talking to myself. please bust out the straight jacket and escort me to a padded cell as soon as possible.

on tuesdays and thursdays, i have about an hour between women's studies and lit class, so i usually come back to the dorm, grab some grub, and veg for a while until i have to get back on the shuttle and ship off to heinous blond bitch on wheels 127..i mean english. as i mentioned earlier (just scroll up if the ahlzies is kickin' in), the white stuff was coming down pretty heavy and i was debating whether or not to subject myself to the elements just to learn a few useless facts that would be erased from my memory as soon as the tv is flipped on later. i DO have a midterm on tuesday in lit, so i said to myself, "self..you really should go to class..even though a mere glimpse of your teacher could turn you to stone." being the ever conscientious student i am (again, stifle the laughter), i pack up my "learning appliances" (i.e., backpack, notebook, juicebox, rice krispie treat, etc) and trek my sweet ass downstairs and onto the shuttle. we were in i-lot when the loud girl on the cell phone (there's always one) announced to the entire shuttle that classes from 12:30 on were cancelled because of the weather, prompting everyone and their mother, brother, and second cousin's hamster to whip out their respective wireless devices and call anyone who could potentially be effected by this revelation. of course i'm doing the happy dance because i don't have class..but i am too far from my dorm to walk back without risking losing a limb from frostbite. so i did what any self-respecting, lazy-ass, i'd-rather-be-sleeping college student would do: take the shuttle all the way back around campus back to the dorm, where a pair of sweatpants and spongebob blanket were anxiously awaiting my return. the problem was (now try to contain your surprise) everyone else (and their mother, brother, and second cousin's hamster) had the same damn idea. lots of inappropriate closeness and crotches to the facial region ensued.

i may have a slight (ok..excessive) tendency to think the worst of people..but when people deserve their props..i give 'em. in the closing moments of the longest shuttle ride in modern history, where people were packed in so tightly that several restraining orders were implemented upon departure, several of my fellow shuttle buddies kept me laughing so hard my eyes started to tear. anecdote worthy of repeating: "hey..what if this was a friday night and we were all cocked as hell? that would be awesome." the mental picture in itself was enough that the sheer thought of it now is still making me giggle.

in a related story, i would like to express my sincere gratitude to judy m for honoring my request to have a sharp object ready for me to jab into my eye upon my return to the dorm. a graphic depiction will be displayed on the whiteboard until for-ev-er.

i would also like to inform those who expressed concern (aka my moms) that since my last post, i have yet to encounter another slipperooo. the plastic bubble has since been moved into the abandoned warehouse where all stupid and short-lived ideas i have had since age fetus now reside in useless peace and harmony.

apparently, there is a chlamydia epidemic sweeping the population of downtown storrs. shield your genitals kiddies..this could get messy. also, ewwwwwwwwwwww.

..off to make snow angels and stock up on contraceptives,
lex

i am the mayor of pain.

i fell thrice times in under 24 hours. i should be outlawed from walking and quarantined to a plastic bubble for the remainder of my existence.

..in dire need of a full-body bandage,
lex

a fringed leather jacket would have made this day perfection.

i'm attempting to think of an analogy to accurately describe my current state of being..and all that seems to fit is UUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH. to quote the man, the myth, the legend jesse chisholm: "i feel like a big bag of mess..and i don't think i like it."

picture the carefree antics and wild shenanigans of one mr. ferris bueller on his very famous day off. and seeing as though it was on approximately 845874857 times on friday (big ups to the new TNN) and i am now even more well versed in everything bueller, i can conclude beyond a shadow of a doubt that my day was the exact polar opposite of that. join me, will you, for a quick trip down memory lane.

so i wake up rockin' a pretty lethal hangover (no need to lick my palms here..this was for serious) and realize very quickly that i have to move the civic (not a ferrari california that i never drive, but instead rub with a diaper) from x-lot and gas it up, the least i could do for it after the obscene amount of driving i did this weekend (driving? in a car? who DOES that?). so me and jeff (my very own version of cameron frye) scamper down the hill in the torrential rain (it never rained on ferris..jeanie maybe..but never ferris), hop in the civic, and start it up. now is the time where i will dazzle y'all with my impression of what my car then did just to bust my nonexistent balls (although it would be better if this could be done, in song, atop a parade float in downtown chicago): sputter-sputter-eeee-eeee-eeee-shakey-shakey-haha-lex-this-is-what-you-get-i-hate-you-peace-out-mofo-kersplat-caput-stall. so of course i did the only logical thing i could think of: scream forever and go into a catatonic trance that could only be remedied by falling off a diving board.

when once again able to function properly, i called the roomie (definitely playing the role of "mom") and she picks my, by that point, completely drenched self up and we go to the gas station to revive poor, poor blue. the attendant, strangely reminiscent of one of the sketchy guys at the parking garage..accent and all, hooks me up with one of those little red emergency gas caddies. i once again scamper back outside and we zoom back to x-lot (cue star wars music and slow-mo video footage) where i proceeded to dribble gas all over my frostbitten hands whilst trying to quench the thirsty tank. after i was done (read: 7 years later), me and ol' blue zipped back to the gas station for round 2 with the sketchball foreign guy. i filled my tank, got even more soaked by the subsiding rain, and peaced out of the piece like it was my job.

i would have gotten away with this whole thing scot-free..if my moms (mr. rooney for SURE) asked me the inevitable question "so honey..how is your car running?". what i should have done was ask her to make me some soup and then squeal in satisfaction, but i elected to tell her the whole damn story, and was once again made privy to the fact that honesty isn't always the best policy..because my ass got screamed at for a good 5 minutes about "responsibility" and what a "dumbass" i was for "letting it go too far" because "the e is there for a reason." and all this time i thought it was just for decoration. excuse me while i blush and grin sheepishly.

and THAT, my friends, is the crapfest that is my life. i will gladly accept your sympathy..in addition to cash, check, and all major credit cards.

..pucker up buttercup,
lex

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