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

no real cohesive topic here.

if i was found carousing about the web at my last job, wannabe intimidating bossman would have chopped my hands off and subsequently beaten me with them, using me as an example for other workers to comply with office policy.."or else." big R.C., if you're reading this (and at this hour, you shouldn't be according to your aforementioned policy), snack on it..cuz i'm coming to you live from T H & T in beayooooootifully frigid downtown boston. mmmm yum..tastes like i win.

while i can't get enough of putting on my grown-up clothes, jumping on the T and playing a little game we call "work" every day (including, but not limited to, the thrice daily objectification rituals courtesy of the guys in the mail room), the past few weeks laden with holiday breaks have been, per usual, a delightful time shared with the people i love. christmas, as predicted, involved not only yards of crumpled wrapping paper and bottomless drinkies, but also bursting with dramatic flavor. for the record, if you like how the way your head happens to rest just-so on your neck and shoulders, don't mention weddings, politics, or pork fried rice within a seven-mile radius of my kin. they will hear you..and you will pay..dearly.

less deadly (depending on how you look at it) was the new year's celebration at el apartmento de mikey klein. who's the asshole who brought the noisemakers, leis, and tiaras that pretty much guaranteed an ungodly mess and temple-throbbing migraines the next morn? why weren't they denied entry based on simple common sense? because it was me..that's why..and everyone who played along in the fashion show/jam fest looked and sounded fabulous. to the host du jour: good show old chap..nothing like a night of alcohol and substance abuse amongst amigos to ring in the '04..except the door kicker and the champagne monsoon. definitely not in the forecast..more proof why meteorologists are worse liars than republicans.

on that sure-to-anger-some-GOPers note, i have to go file some ridiculously important accounts. and they put me in charge of this why?

..now privy to the fact that champagne is NOT a beauty secret,
lex

ho ho, ho.

after battling some kind of reject flu during finals week (it's on, uconn), i pulled into the driveway of a familiar residence on december 13, 2003 at approximately 7:34 p.m. i shimmied out of the overpacked backseat, breathed in the crisp wintry air, had a coughing attack, and caught the tail end of a drug deal going on next door. ahhhh yes..home for the holidays in good ol' revere.

the fact that i had spent 18 years and 3 months in this toxic waste heap had never fazed me all that much until i had my diploma in a death grip rivaling that of any wwe "superstar." no more gossiping. no more judgements. nothing. i did it. i was done. i was free. i had a feeling that these things would never disappear completely (this kind of genius logic is why i'm in college), and they haven't..but after removing myself from this atmosphere for months at a time, there are still two words that have, and will always have, the uncanny ability to make my collegiate toes curl: christmas break.

don't get me wrong, being away from my family so much has made me appreciate them more. i have come to enjoy their company rather than loathe/dread/avoid it at all costs. guess the 'rents weren't just reading from the manual when they said they "really weren't trying to ruin my life" and that they "cared about me." so sweet..tear! until the holidays officially begin, however, it would be just me and the sandwich hanging around the house and watching unhealthy amounts of television for the majority of the day. and you know what they say about idle hands, or idle anything for that matter: they are the devil's playground. using those higher learning skills of mine, i decided that it would be in my best interest to get off my kiester and work it like it ain't no thang. if not, it would only be a matter of time until the words "breakfast" and "martini" could be used interchangeably in my vocabulary.

enter the fantabulous innovation called temporary employment. yep, despite my horrid primary foray in the temping world this past summer (bmc = chain gang member for $12/hr), i have once again volunteered to whore myself to the corporate world in exchange for monetary incentives and minimal respect. tempting, i know, but curb your salivation. seriously, you're staining the carpet and my mother has a nasty left cross.

this job, however, is a little slice of pie heaven compared to the nightmare i lived to tell about. then: carpal tunnel-inducing keyboard labor/go online and we cane you/uttering any kind of sound warrants certain death; now: talk on phone/go online without fear of a beating/schmooze with any and all attorneys who happen to pass by my desk/masquerading as a bubbly and helpful receptionist from 9 to 5. i'll just assume that my oscar is in the mail..along with my fatass check..yo.

sounds good in theory..let's just hope i get it before i get ddt-ed by the reverian lifestyle yet again.

..temporarily and soberly yours (but not yours..ew),
lex

i gots boogers.

hey. hi. hello there. nice shirt. no..puce really IS the new black.

i know it's been a while since our last little tryst (still wondering why you haven't you returned my calls *sniffle sniffle crazy eyes*) and things have changed..but knowing that the mere though of many of you churns my stomach like a tuna sandwich gone wrong hasn't faded a bit gives me that special feeling. three cheers for monotony, habituation, and potential hospitalization! woopWOOP!

yeah yeah..sure you were too busy. what's that? dead grandma? pinky amputation? dog ate your cell phone? whatev..save if for someone who gives a care..or 2..or 3 ('tis the season after all!) truth be told, i haven't been feeling myself lately..but that was a bad habit anyway (baddum psssshhhh! a-thank you.). i've actually been moonlighting as the poster girl for kleenex enterprises since "get fat and plastered with the family" day (aka: thanksgiving). if i wasn't attempting to dam the leaky snot reservoir aka the artist formally known as my nasal cavity, i was toting my kleenex caddy alllllllllll around campus like the husky ambassador i strive to be (and this is gampel..and that is the co-op..and there is a cop ticketing a legally parked vehicle..). i blame uconn for their non-existent supply of tropicana and 80 degree days. if i'm still sickly for finals you best saddle up the legal team for a hot little holiday ride..fools.

on a disgustingly nostalgic note, i can't believe the semester is drawing to a close. it feels like it just started yesterday. i've learned a lot..not just schooly stuff either. i've been high on life, down in the dumps, and any variation in between..but i've always had people by my side to cheer me on or mop up my tears. to those impressive lads and lassies: iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou! and ps..before you get all hoity-toity with me about originality or lack there of, i'm well aware that it's the mother of all cliches to say anything even remotely close to what has been presented in this paragraph..but then again..so is your life. go reevaluate your place in the universe. immediately.

..i may be contagious..but at least i'm not you,
lex

the usual debauchery..only this time it's in costume.

historically, all hallows eve is the one night of the year when the disembodied spirits of those who died that year return to earth from beyond the grave to find a living body to possess. all laws of space and time are suspended..allowing the dead to intermingle with the living because this was, of course, their only chance to prosper in the afterlife. hmmmm..sounds a wee bit far-fetched if you ask me (which you clearly did..don't deny). let's try this on for size:

a bunch of nearly nekid uconners got frighteningly F-ed up at alicia's place on friday night. dag, yo..how's THAT for accuracy? the new york times could benefit from my talents for serious.

we had sparkly fairies..we had sexy bunnies. we had sun-kissed hula girls..we had exotic egyptian deities. one lone yankee even came out of world series regret/shame-induced hiding to throw back a few. skanky pop stars, skeezy truckers, and favorite bedtime snuggle buddies were all in attendance in addition to rugged action heroes, catholic sisters, and aquaphobic ladybugs (bullwhips, rosary beads, and inflatable unicorn swimmies included, respectively). though the costumage was more diverse than the clientele at a weekend flea market, the drama was far from real world-esque due in large part to the pleasantly potent (read: semi-lethal if ingested) vat o' jungle juice and continuous games of pong. a prelude to the puke olympics of november 1st? oh you know it was.

yes? you there..did you have a question? was there booty shaking, you ask? oh you poor, POOR child..of course there was. you must have been the torch carrier in the puke olympics..leading your team to victory. but yes, there was bootyshaking..an abundance of it to be exact. thank buddah we got this ish on video..and for just three easy payments of $29.95 it can be yours..por siempre.

despite the security detail on hand, a few bad apples were able to sneak by our army boys (who were most likely admiring their jackboots, dog tags, and camo booty shorts in any and all reflective surfaces) and pilfer us, the adorable and accommodating deluxe hostesses, of two cameras, a cell phone, and full bottle of alcohol. while angymar DID go juan valdez colombian on those amaretto stealing mofos ("mira ese..") and our handy dandy blackmailfest revealed one camera crook, we are still unable to locate the culprit in the case of the missing cell phone. if you happen to be keeping track, this last incident puts us among some of the unhappiest campers you have ever seen since canteen boy. dammit..where is nancy drew when you need her? give me a hot minute to get serious. wait for it. wait for it. ok..ready. i want that phone in my pretty little hand by sundown..else someone's bout to have a little run-in with a two-by-four, bag of prickly pears, and a string of christmas lights. i'll let that certain punishment speak for itself..just know that i'm not playin'. i'll be waiting for your arrival..whenever those boots of yours stop a-shakin'. grrrRRRRRR. ah revenge..it is a dish best served cold (insert maniacal laughter and head toss with whiplash potential HERE).

aside from petty thieves and acute alcohol intoxication, a good time was had by all. my *deepest condolences* go out to those weren't able to make it. you were *sorely missed.*

..noting that recovery..like myself..is a total bitch,
lex

*deepest condolences*: definition = nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!

*sorely missed*: definition = i would rather get a lapdance from an aging transvestite with a 5 o'clock shadow and bad teeth than be you right now.

baseballin' and bitchery.

my crim class consists of a bunch of babies that are in dire need of a huggie change.

here at the 'conn, we have this dandy little invention called webct. you sign on using one of 84758475 usernames and passwords the school requires you change every 2.7 seconds, check your grades, see what the prof has to say, and, in this case, get ripped a new asshole if you express any shred of doubt or concern. i don't know about you..but when i see a thread titled "review for exam" and i have an exam in that very class in less than 24 hours, i think it's safe to assume that the content is going to be somewhat beneficial to my studying. it's only logical.

too bad yesterday was opposite day.

i click. i scroll. i cringe. what began as an innocent question regarding the rapidly approaching exam quickly turned into a junior high meet-me-at-the-jungle-gym-at-3-oooOOOOOOO verbal ass kicking contest. the best part? no one had the huevos enough to own up to their own comments. i was half expecting the next post to say something along the "my cousin's friend's brother's nephew's sister-in-law's half niece's gerbil said you are a stupid head" or some other asinine comment that should be strictly relegated to recess. so being the shameless biatch that i am, i decide it's my warren g given right to regulate the situation. don't mean to toot my own horn or anything (though i could obtain a parking cone or two if need be), but i tidied that mess up faster than an OCD victim afterhours at a dollar store.

connecticut is a weird place to be in october..especially when the bosox are playing the bombers during midterms. school work is not an option, lectures are often interrupted by the flip of a phone for a quick score check (big ups to mr. maclean), and any kind of work ethic is the furthest thing from ones mind. there are other factors to consider as well if one of your closest friends is one ms. alicia bordonaro. while five girls sitting around watching the ball game is pretty much every man's fantasy (place notebook over lap now, please. thank you.), death and dismemberment are not very up there on the sexxxy ohbabyohbabyOH scale for either gender. after watching several games of the ALCS with ms. b, i have realized how precious life really is..because mine was damn near ended at least 7, maybe even 8 times. slipper throwing, projectile pencils, and screams that leave my eardrums throbbing and bleeding are all part of the fun. if i ever busted out a nice little "yankees suck" chant, despite the validity of the statement, i think that i would be beheaded..fo sho. i'm just gonna keep that puppy under wraps til after we trounce the marlins in the world series (sorry cubbies!)..awwww shizzy awww..oh HIIIIII aleesh. no i wasn't talkin' smack 'bout your boys. why would i be checking out jeter's ass..i know he's your husband. wait a tick..what's with the machete and mischievous glint in your eye? uh ohhhhhhh.

..cowering in a dark corner til spring training,
lex