Why I Cried

I cried today.

I cried because I'm tired. I cried because I'm hungry. I cried because I got into two "fights" with Sports Editor about not being able to do my job. I want to do my job well, so I cried because he thinks I can't. I cried because of course females cry when arguing with males in the workplace, right? I cried because females can't cry when arguing with males in the workplace. I cried because I have papers due. I cried because I'm not weak or incapable, I'm just busy. I cried because the only lady to ask me why I cried was the parking attendant. I cried because an old friend hugged me when he saw me cry. I cried because on my iPod, Lloyd cried that he wanted to "Treat U Good," and no one was there to treat me good. I cried because I was afraid of crying while driving on a dark freeway. I cried when I called my mother because she could tell that I was crying.

I cried today.

Worth Looking at NASCAR Footage All Day For

Work wasn't bad today. Don't you hate it when someone teaches you a process, and you think you understand it until you have to do the whole thing by yourself and you're all, "Derrr...wha?" That's how it was today. I was in the corner of the room, silently freaking out that I couldn't get the stupid machine to work and hoping that someone, anyone, would notice me sitting there like a dumbass and save me. Then I swivel around in my chair, and in walks Hot Boss. I swear I saw a halo of light surround him when he walked through the door. He comes over, pushes a few buttons, and boom, we're in business. The best part is, he didn't know just how much I had no idea what I was doing! Whew. I can't keep having close calls like that. Hopefully Boy Intern can break it down to me Monday morning...

You know how sometimes you think that even though you're in a room full of people, you haven't really interacted with anyone all day so you figure that when it's time to leave you can just slink out unnoticed? Well, that's what I thought today at work, too, until I actually got up to leave for school and sweet dulcet tones caressed my ears:

Hot Worker: "Ah, [Lucky], you're taking off?"
Me: "Yeeahh, I have to go to class..."
My head: "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD HE IS SPEAKING TO ME! HE KNOWS MY NAME!"
Hot Worker: (Laughing slightly) "Sorry you had to hear us argue about baseball all day!"
Me: (Attempting relaxed chuckle that hopefully doesn't sound like Fran Drescher) "Oh, it's ok, when basketball season starts I'm going to be all up in it, too, so get ready!"
My head: "Complete sentences! Way to go, L!"
Hot Worker and other guys: (Laughing in agreement) "Sounds good! Have a good one!"
Me: (Walking in what I pray is a graceful manner) "Byee!"
My head: "Must get out before you faint or trip on your kitten heels. Walk with a purpose!"

5 minutes later:
Car radio: "My mind's telling me noooo/but my body/my body's telling me yessss..."

Yes, yes, and three times YES!

Later that evening, as I left Brother College, a girl passed by me wearing a Pistons sweatshirt. Eager to fellowship with another fan, I said, "I like your sweatshirt." And she said, "Oh, it's my boyfriend's. He's from [same city as me] and he really likes the Pistons." After a little small talk, I got in my car and thought: Hold the HELL on. There is a boy somewhere at Brother College who's from my state and is a Pistons fan? Such a creature exists? And more importantly, why isn't he with ME?!!?!?

If for no other reason than for the sake of the team.

Dipping My Nib in the Company Ink...I Wish

HAHAHAHAHAHA, those piteous souls.

While my fellow countrymen are droning on and on about The Wasteland, the boringest piece of crap "poetry" on the face of the Earth, I am reading...THE OVER EDUCATED NYMPHO!! And guess what her new boyfriend's name is?

TEX. He must be sexy, then. You can't not be with a name like Tex. Trust me.

Yum: I've been surrounded by hot guys all day. At work, while the super-duper fine man who works there (besides my boss--he's cute too) spoke to me (for once), here's what happened in my head:

Him: "Blah blah press this button blah entry point blah video..."
My dirty mind: "What nice hands you have! Better to throw me around the bedroom with, my dear."
Him: "Yaddy yaddah tape deck yaddah timecode..."
My dirty mind: "Let's make a baby/let's do something crazy/let's reach out/and love one another..."
Him: (bending over to get something under the table--not a FOOT away from me)
My head: "Lucky, do NOT caress his back and/or ass. You will get FIRED."
Him: "Did [my boss] teach you how to [complicated video thing]?"
My dirty mind: "I bet you could teach me a lot."

I have to go now. I'm blogging in a semi-public place and can't risk my cover being blown...

I Date Above the Mason-Dixie Line, Thanks

Dear God. I feel like I have the mother of coke-bloats. I think my hectic schedule is starting to take a toll on my body, because I haven't been feeling too hot in the past few days. And by that I mean I woke up last night feverish with a headache and stomach pains. I was up a whole HOUR before I had to be awake because it hurt too much to lay down. That should just not happen. Urgh. I'm exhausted.

Thank goodness: a bunch of frat boys registered me to vote last week, and I got my voter's registration card in the mail the other day. One less thing I have to stress over. Hur-rah.

Bet: I wonder if I can find a boy by Thanksgiving? Talking it over with Motown Lover this afternoon about my staying in Southern State for Turkey Day instead of going home led me to place a hedge bet with myself.

"Maybe you'll yourself somebody and y'all can have some turkey. And dressing," he said, voice dripping comically with innuendo.

Eh, we'll see. It's all for fun, not a big deal (smirk). After all, I "had" (and I use that term very, very loosely) somebody last Easter and it was whatever.

At Paper Meeting today, Sports Editor took it upon himself to tease me about, oh, I dunno, everything. During practically the entire meeting we flipped each other the bird, whispered obscenities, and drew signs of the all capital letters on notebook paper variety. He was especially perturbed when I informed him of my "no dating Southerners" rule. A rule that I strongly abide by but he thinks is, in defense of his home region (he's from North Carolina), batshit insane:

Me: "I mean it. I'm over Southern boys."
Him: "You shouldn't take it out on all Southern boys just because the last one you talked to--"
Me: "The last THREE I talked to."

That, in my opinion, says it all.

Call Me So I Can Make it Juicy For Ya

Yes, Lil' Wayne. Yes.

I just downloaded Weezy's Tha Carter III and Lloyd's Lessons in Love last night and WOWZA. I'm not that big of a Wayne fan, but both of them are already on the Ipod. Lloyd's album is, simply put, that hot, HOT shit. "Year of the Lover" is like Chris Brown's "Take You Down" to the next level of sexayness:

I'm a catch you in the shower while you dripping wet.
I'm a come and kiss your neck, you gon' kiss mine back.
How sexy is that?
Rub your 'til you're dry, put your body on the counter.
You gone say, "Do that daddy." I'm gon' say, "Okay Mama."
Wrap you in a towel and bring you over to the bed.
I'll watch you spread and get in between your legs.
Now, I know that you won't give my loving to no other man.
We on top of the covers...

Boy, stop! And that's just one verse! It's official. Mr. Long Hair Don't Care could definitely have it if he so chose.**

**Hell, Chris Brown could, too, now that I think about it. Ok, ok, I always think about it. I bet they both could put it down...sorry, I'm stopping. I can't help it. Honest. It's like I have dirty-mind Tourette's Syndrome or something.

I can only say so much in this post because this song clouds my mind and turns me into a puddle on the floor and that amount of viscosity is not conducive to typing. Also, I have other non-sex song related things to do. For example, I have a paper due tomorrow which I am TERRIFIED to turn in (let's just say I didn't do so hot on the last one. Or two). So any and all good vibes tuned my way would be greatly appreciated.

Quotes from The Weekend

"Ok...that was a red light..."
"My body is a vessel for pleasure!"
"I need a club outfit."
"What is he drinking?" "Liquor. Straight liquor."
"I thought we were going to the sex shop!"
"I was gonna order from there but the lady has something on her lip. It looks like herpes. I had to walk away."
"I just had a fake panic attack."
"What did you order?" "A Big and Tasty." "Ew. You mean a Big and Nasty."
"Do you feel sexy?"
"If I had to injure myself I'm glad I did it dancing to Beyonce."
"He's too much for me. Smoke...sex...drugs...scandal...fame..."
"He said I was talking mess about him yesterday. The gag is, I was."
"Those two guys are fucking. I can tell."

You Know I'm No Good

Not dead. Tired but still here.

I really want a chicken pot pie but in progress downstairs is a cozy dinner for two. So I am upstairs with Cheez-Its. If that is not the life of a singleton then I don't know what is.

Confession: I am an extraordinarily embarrassingly bad driver, especially at night. Like, wrong side of the road, accidentally ran a red light kind of bad. Me and my girls were lucky to make it home in one piece last night with me at the helm. It kind of scares me.

One of the most perplexing questions in the world of Facebook flirting/caking has to be: WHY are you messaging me when you are very CLEARLY listed as being in a relationship? I am not in the homewrecking business. Anymore. Intentionally. Plus, I saw The Women this weekend and as depicted in plot the effects of homewrecking are none too pretty for anyone involved. About the movie: not bad, but still disposable. Jada Pinkett Smith=overactor.

And now for something a little more transcendant: TODAY IS AMY JADE WINEHOUSE'S 25th BIRTHDAY!!! If I could listen to "Get Me Bodied" for Beyaki's birthday (9...4...8...1...B-Day), then you'd better believe I have Ms. Winehouse blasting in honor of this glorious occasion.

Methinks I need to get out of this house--whatever's cooking downstairs smells sadistically delicious and I am up here wasting away.

World: A Lot; Lucky: A Small but Mighty Few

Ha! World, you thought you'd succeeded, huh?

Thought you'd trip me up by placing him squarely in my path on a day where I was in no mood to fake niceties with anyone, let alone his ass?

He had a cigarette in his mouth-a cigarette! Is there no greater evil?-therefore rendering him powerless and icky. And having him call me "sweetheart"? World, you must know he forfeited all privileges to call me any term of endearment other than Queen Lucky, governor of Sexy Town (D-Mich.) and Ruler of All That is Totally Awesome.

It was you who made sure I heard my roommate and her boyfriend making out, wasn't it? Actually, having it happen twice was a little rude of you, Universe, but hey, I understand you have a job to do. Whatever keeps the lights on, hon.

And anyway I took one of her delicious breakfast bars the next morning as compensation for pain and suffering and emotional anguish (I can be paid in food, natch).

Hoped to throw a wrench in my plans by causing horrendous traffic on the freeway to work?

I was still 10 minutes EARLY for work/internship (to be used interchangeably to fool myself into thinking I have a paying job). And having me get lost in the huge campus? Please, how tritely Dickensonian of you.

Attempted to throw me for a loop by having the Runner and Science Guy wave to me at the same time, from the same car?

Let me school you on why they both could be appeased with a few air kisses and a wave: at the end of the day, neither of them tickle my fancy. Not even poke it a little in a fun way. Plus, I have no phone so any awkward "let's hang out" texts are avoided without me having to duck-and-cover. So boo-yah.

By Jove, you even tried to take my hair from me with that almost (I said ALMOST) mullet-esque haircut with blondey bits! Well, you almost succeeded there. But how's this for a newsflash: everyone likes it.

Keep your chin up, you fought a good fight.

PS-Roommate is back now, so could you tell Satan's printer to stop turning on and off randomly? I'd hate to be forced to throw the freaky thing out of the window.

Thank Goodness

I think my internship at Huge Broadcasting Company might just be my dream job. I get to watch hours and hours of basketball footage, work with hot sports-fanatic menfolk, and when we walked into the "Sports Library," a huge action-shot poster of Ben Wallace greeted us! I almost fell out. Plus my boss is, ahem, attractive.

I will tell more later 'cause along with this super-cool internship means buttcrack-early hours, and I needs my beauty sleep and I want to do this post justice.

Rave on.

PS: did anyone catch Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill, or The Hills this evening? Madness, I say. Pure madness.

Preparing for the Circus

In the interest of getting to bed at a reasonable hour, let's make this quick and dirty. Not having a phone, I spent the weekend on my own island (You should really get one. They are awesome. There is ice cream) doing homework, eating, and watching Grey's Anatomy. For once I turned in my article waaaay before deadline. So yeah, go me. Now, of course, I need to go grocery shopping to replenish my dwindling supply of foodstuffs, no doubt a direct result of my solitary weekend.

The biggest shout-out in the world goes to Vixen Chick: her life is as crazy as crazy can be right now and she is thugging it out fabulously. As the song goes, You betta WORK! :)

My internship starts bright and early tomorrow morning at 9am. Sheesh. I'm excited, though, I guess. Nervous trumps excited, though. In case you're wondering I am going for on-the-safe-side professionalism so I will leave all things "leopardian" in my closet. For the time being.

[Current] Roommate just returned from her long business trip accompanied by her loving boy toy. After enjoying my nice stint of being alone, it seemed like nothing had changed because once again I had to sulk to my bedroom (that has no cable or internet, mind) because he had selfishly perched himself on MY (ok, Roomate's) couch during MY America's Next Top Model premiere. Roommate would no doubt follow suit and three is, so I've heard, a crowd, so I bolted. Shouldn't that be enough to experience in my fragile state? The answer you are looking for is "no, it is not." Because when I finally reclaimed the couch later, they came downstairs to share a passionate kiss in the doorway for the world, namely me, to see. Oh, did I say "see"? Impossible because the lights were off. I meant "hear." As in, I could HEAR them KISSING: giggle, kiss, slurp (dear God), giggle, smack, kiss. Never harder had mine eyes been glued to something as they had been to those low-budget Video Music Awards in that very moment.

World, I get it. I am single. Thank you for reminding me yet again. At least you're thorough.

The Ice Cream Wasn't Even That Good

In my 19 years of living, I have lost many things. Money, my favorite gray sweatshirt, a new pair of jeans, a flatiron, my dignity, what have you. Some of these, thankfully, were found (the flatiron, sometimes the money), some still come and go (my dignity), and some are never to be found (that sweatshirt, those jeans, and yes, sometimes the money). Now I can add another "gone forever" thing to that list: my beloved Blackberry Curve.

That's right. My practically BRAND-NEW Blackberry with the adorable blue skin, is now sitting in the hands of some theiving asshole who must have scooped it up at the outdoor ice cream joint where I probably left it. As Cali Girl put it, "I hope whoever took it gets cancer from the phone's rays." This is why we are friends.

Firstly, it's my cell phone. My email. My lifeline. My instant connection to Dlisted. But aside from that, we all know how badly I wanted that phone. I worked lo-o-ong hours at VS, including two grueling graveyard shifts, to save up for it. And now my nicely laid-out plan to keep that phone until it turned to dust has been rudely thwarted by some jackass who will probably sell it because he is too lazy to find a respectable form of income and has to resort to stealing phones from innocently absent-minded college students. And I don't think I have insurance so you know the parentals were not pleased, to say the least.

My long day spent in high heels, tight jeans, 1,000-degree weather, and various annoyances was already going sour and I should have just gone home but I didn't. And now I'm phoneless. Maybe this is God's way of telling me not to be materialistic or to follow my instincts more often (if I'd listened to my gut and went straight home like I'd wanted to, this post would be upbeat twitter about my new semi-haircut).

Can I just say that yes I know it is just a phone and I may be exaggerating. But it was MY phone. MINE. That I helped PAY for. And also I am possessive.

Fare thee well, my little Blackberry. No, scratch that. Unless whoever took you turned you off for the night but intends on returning you to your rightful owner (ie, me) first thing in the morning, I hope you combust and explode violently in his or her very hands.

You know, in solidarity to me.

One Step at a Time

All in one day, I deleted Homeboy's number and turned down a potential date from the Runner ("let's hang out around 8 tomorrow").

In the past I would have asked, What's wrong with me? Now I'm finally starting to think that there's something right with me.


Not to mention, I'm armed with The Beauty Myth, Smith Jared, and Will from Day 26. No boy I've met so far has a fighting chance.

PS-I kind of hate Charlotte York.

PPS-I seem to be missing half a carton of Double Chocolate Chunk ice cream and I think it might be resting comfortably in my tummy. Oy. Delicious, but oy.