here to stay.

newsflash: i am not dead.

i'm sure that all 12 (ok..3) of you have been worried sick because of my recent lack of entries. i know i should have called first..or at least given the special hand signal..but i have just been too stressed the fuckout from school and finals and people and such to let y'all know until now (right now..when i should be utilizing my time to finish a paper instead of talking to you schmucks..but i digress).

so cancel the search party. call the milk carton people. tell oprah to back the hell up. i'm alive. i'm kickin'. i'm losing my hair from school-induced anxiety..and i still look better than you.

..counting down the days til summaaaahhhhhh,
lex

catholicism wow.

behold! jesus christ has died for our sins and we are rewarded not only with eternal salvation and deliverance from evil (amen)..but also with candy-coated chocolate eggs and marshmallow peeps from an fluffy, oversized rodent in a pink pastel bowtie! can life get much better? i submit that it CANNOT! thanks j.c. you are truly the ish.

over the past few years, i have realized that celebrating easter with my family is not leisurely by any stretch of the imagination. it is a full-contact sport. scenario: it is a pristine spring day in the ghetto they call revere. the sun is shining and a light, cool breeze is blowing from the west. my extended family is gathered on the deck behind my aunt and uncle's house, enjoying the beautiful (its about damn time!) weather and each other's company. my uncle then announces that the now yearly tradition of the easter egg hunt will commence in approximately 5 minutes.

uh oh.

that seemingly innocent declaration draws the same reaction every year. the kiddies begin scheming with each other, but all the while plotting their individual domination in their devious little minds. the dogs sniff their respective no-no places. the adults jockey for a good position with their cameras, because, hey, capturing your loved ones engage in hand-to-hand combat over cheap plastic is a memory worthy of savoring for always. then, the three words known to cause all hell to break loose bellow from my uncle's throat: "ready. set. go."

a shove-and-slapfest between young and old alike rapidly ensues. scandal! sabotage! snacks! (mmmm..snacks..). it's every man for himself..and trust me..the aftermath ain't pretty. skinned knees, eye gouging, and temper tantrums are all standard features. in-your-face victory squeals/taunts from my 25 year old cousin are available with the deluxe model. mastercard's got nuthin' on my kin. they are PRICELESS.

man..i love the holidays.

..nursing a compound fracture to the fibula and a severely bruised ego,
lex

some people make me sad.

regardless of what friends, strangers or your company policy may say, harassment is pretty dang fun.

unless you are residing in an ice-covered shanty on the northwest quadrant of antarctica, you've probably realized that spring has sprung like a 12-year-old boy after sneaking a peak at his dad's stash of playboys. so, much like the beginning of second semester (spring break gym whores whatWHAT!), the majority of the uconn campus is once again out, about, and lookin' pretty flippin' stupid, all on the (often unattainable) quest to look good nekid. of course, this means that even the most unkempt and portly are strutting their (excessive) stuff around campus that have been known to warrant many a what-the-HELL-are-you-THINKING double take.

what's a gal to do in a situation like this? that's right kiddies..sling insults from a fourth floor window with the help of an equally acid-tongued accomplice, one mr. jeff houle. among the numerous cornea cinging abominations witnessed this afternoon from 404 chandler were half-lobster woman, leap year mack truck face, bad booty brigades, countless runners closely resembling various species of sloth and supersoaker toting assailants in wife beaters with sad looking afros. without your dysfunction, the going-ons of jeff and my tuesday afternoon would have been strictly relegated to homework and reality television. uconn, i thank you.

one thing that i do NOT thank uconn for is the 8374589475987 pounds of stress and annoyance it dumps on its students as the academic year draws to a close. irritable tempers and roommate sabotage have ensued..meaning that housing selection has reared its ugly head once again. can someone please explain to me how all seniors get housing and totally screw the rest of us into the ground when they aren't even guaranteed housing in the first place? poor little me, on the brink of upperclassman status, is currently stuck living in a regular ol' dorm room when i really should be livin' the life of luxury in the suites. honestly, i think that the only feasible solution to this little problem is for me to go down to reslife and throw down wwe style. i'm more than just a plucky brunette with an ass that won't quit. plus..i wear rings. be prepared for an ass-whoopin', drl. for serious.

..always the polite pretty princess,
lex

shmexis brings the pain.

i think i may just have to reinstate the big plastic bubble idea..because i just can't be left to my own devices for more than five minutes without bringing harm upon myself or others. for example: walking. putting one foot in front of the other at a slow to moderate pace meant to get a person from point A to point B..sometimes to point C for a quick snack or bathroom break (even though both should have been taken care of before leaving the house like moms said). it's a fairly easy task, yet i somehow manage to mess it up on a daily basis by trying to complete another task in the process. today, i left my room to grab a newspaper and take out the trash. after disposing of the garbage, i embarked on the 5 to 7 second walk back to my room when an exceptionally large headline caught my eye. i glanced down for one hot minute and BAM..the right side of my body got real intimate with a sweet (but not really my type) piece of wall. hell, i can jump rope and juggle several watermelons while spinning 18 plates on sticks and tap dance michael flatley style without breaking a sweat..but walking and reading? amateurs need not apply..cuz this is OBVIOUSLY only for the experts.

wincing in a mixture of pain and where-the-hell-did-that-wall-come-from, i gimped the rest of the way back to the room and closed the door, wondering when this seemingly endless bout of clumsiness began (maybe following that black cat under a ladder on a sidewalk covered in cracks last week wasn't the best idea..). apparently thinking and walking is something else that cannot successfully do, because at that very moment i slipped on a notebook and banged my right knee, the same knee that was still reeling from a chance encounter with a concrete wall several seconds prior, into my desk chair. i'm not even going to try walking and chewing gum at the same time. it just may prove fatal considering my current track record.

in the few minutes left in the day when i am not laid up because of my latest injury, i have been busy slaving away to my major (journalism if y'all haven't guessed by now). even though writing is something that i love to do (evidence: helloooOO blogger!) and am pretty damn good at (thankyouverymuch), it's definitely something that's going to put my already short temper to the test. for serious, being a journalist is like going on an episode of "blind date"..minus those nifty thought bubbles. at first, people are all excited to meet you, but as soon as they realize who you are and what your intentions could potentially be, the "date" quickly begins to resemble an episode of "cops:" dodging questions left and right and occasionally involving high-speed car chases and liberal use of mace. and then they have the nerve to say they will call you back..but NEVER DO. those little evasion tactics may have worked for you in the past..but not anymore. there's a new sheriff in town..and she's gonna take you down. i have a badge and everything yo.

..laying down the law (then needing medical attention after tripping over it),
lex

rawk with me, won't you?

while suffering from an extreme case of boredom and procrastination a few nights back, i began scouring the profile of every person on my buddy list (you know you do it too..don't deny) and found a quote so accurate that i was half expecting guy smiley and his massive chompers to show up and shriek, "alexisshmexis..this is your life!"

guy never showed up (a honker fight at mr. hooper's store took precedence, i'm sure)..but the quote went a little somethin' like this: always avoid drama..keep things easy..forget the future..be yourself..never give a fuck..and bite your tongue for NO ONE. if those few words didn't sum up the mess that i fondly refer to as my life then i don't know what will. i mean really..biting your tongue is probably one of the most unfun things that you can do, including getting a red-hot poker in the eye or a knee to the groin..discluding slip 'n slides.

also rivaling the aforementioned tortures is getting roughed up by middle-schoolers..when you are in college. regardless of what you may hear or think, 12 year olds in large numbers are a force to be reckoned with. scenario: me and big mike go to woooostahhh for a night of some much needed rockin' out courtesy of those lovable canucks, simple plan. imagine my surprise when we arrived at the venue and saw glitter, safety pins, and parental chaperones as far as the eye could see. seeing as though the collective height of the prepubescent crowd towered over my teeny fivefoottwo frame, i was the proud owner of a baker's dozen new bumps and bruises by the time the show let out. definitely worth the pain..but i'm still telling my mom.

not much else to report/comment on/kick to the curb this time around..it's been a pretty uneventful week. our regularly scheduled idiocy will resume momentarily.

here's a great joke..YOUR FACE! ahhhh yes..there it is.

..seriously reconsidering picking on someone my own size,
lex

spring breakdown.

after a short hiatus, muchos drinkies, and far too many hours flying the "friendly" skies on the delta express, *cue drumroll, strobe lights, and midgets on unicycles* i am BACK for your viewing pleasure. peep these tan lines! no not you..you're gross. backupoffme.

spring break was sweet. me and judy doin' it up for serious. lots o' sun..lots o' skin..but my question (but not a complaint by ANY means) is why was everyone down in ft. lauderdale from indiana? not just like one or two people..three at the most..but even people on the street were all like "how y'all ladies doing tonight?" with that lazy, midwestern, cornfed accent prominent their voices. without a doubt some of the most laid-back dudes i have ever met despite the hick-like drawl emitting from their mouths. they definitely made our stint in florida all the better..aside from informing us we were the worst frisbee players on the eastern seaboard and the ongoing grabass tournament we were unwittingly roped into. maybe we'll see the good ol' boys again next year..but don't expect to see me flashin' my goodies on girls gone wild. EVER.

in a related story, why do all the wrong people choose to wear thongs on the beach? and people with chest hair rivaling that of a woolly mammoth insist on going topless? discuss amongst yourselves.

turning and being 20 is a weird thing. i expected something crazy to happen..growing a horn or sprouting a third nipple perhaps..but i woke up on the ides of march to the same ol' lex staring right back at me in the mirror. same long, silky brown hair. same fabulous abs. same rockin' ass. while these attributes are all well and good and sexy as hell, i was still the same silly gal i was they day before (remember my policy about growing up?). i think (and shout me a holla if you agree) that 19 and 20 should be abolished. just wiped the hell out. el fin. kaput. there's nothing eventful that one can do on these birthdays except count down the days until they are 21..and probably partake in the same activities that would occur on that momentous day anyway. my suggestion is either 1. skip from 18 to 21 like it ain't no thang, or 2. bring on the weird body mumbo-jumbo. it's a bummer about not growing a horn. it would have been great for fighting evil.

lastly, would the owner of the beige 1979 vista cruiser please approach the podium? your lights are on.

..saving the world before bedtime,
lex

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.