The devil is a republican June 16, 2007

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

An exerpt from the party conversation this Friday, which for some reason centered around illegal stimulants: Will: “That’s a class two narcotic.” Oscar: “Huh? How do you know? What do you do, man?” Will: “I’m a meat inspector.” Oscar whips down his pants to reveal the perfectly-positioned ass-tattoo that looks like a stamp and says “USDA Prime.” Classic. For those of you who made it out to Summer Bash v. 1.0, thanks for coming and I hope you had an awesome time. For those of you who missed it, you not only missed out on seeing my roomie’s ass-tattoo, but you also missed out many other hilarious moments, some damn good sangria, and a bunch of cool people. Never fear, though. There will most definitely be a repeat performance – we have a ton of liquor left over. Next time I say we break out the kiddie pool in the driveway – either that or slip ‘n slide. On a totally unrelated matter, I went to the dentist on Monday. That dentist is a pill-popping, crack-smoking Republican bastard. The majority of the time there was spent sitting in the chair while he’s digging into my gums with his little pokey-metal devilstick, making me wish I had dentures just so I wouldn’t ever have to go to the dentist again. But that’s not all. While my mouth is open wider than Miss Hilton’s as she makes a new porn entitled, “Paris: In the Hole,” I am forced to endure his political take on everything from the peak oil crisis to the upcoming presidential elections. Of course, I can’t say anything. Even if I could though, is it really a good idea to argue with someone who has a tool that I refer to as a “devilstick?” I think not.

Look, Ma – I’m famous June 16, 2007

Look, Ma, I’m famous

I wasn’t going to write about this, because I usually don’t write about things that are personal, but this one is just too good to pass up. You all know how much I love kickball. I even told one of my program directors the other day that I had to leave work by a certain time because I had a game. He asked what sport I played and when I told him kickball he laughed and said, “Yeah, my first-grader plays that too.” Well, I’m sure his first grader doesn’t play it quite the same way we do. Otherwise they’d need a liver transplant by the time they were legal. That’s beside the point though.

Every week WAKA puts out a weekly newsletter with various notes and news, most of it quite funny. Every week they also have a picture contest; the person who submits the winning photo gets a free pitcher of beer. Well, ladies and gentlemen – my mother always asks me what I do with my free time. Now I can show her. A pic of me sucking face with one of guys from the blue team made the newsletter. I vaguely recall seeing flashbulbs go off at the time, but I was a bit too wrapped up in the moment to care. High-five. It’s not a bad angle either. What can I say? That’s just how I roll with it. This is going to be a great summer…

Wearing plaid to a party is never a good idea June 16, 2007

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Wearing plaid to a party is never a good idea What do we want? Ice cream! When do we want it? Now! How’re we going to get it? Umm… Yeah… apparently Ben & Jerry’s free cone day is today. Unfortunately, the closest shop is in Georgetown. You can punch me in the face and call me Sally if you think I’m going set foot in that part of town without a better incentive than that. Seriously, I’m not a fan of the area. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it (other than the fact that it’s full of pretentious yuppies who think they’re better than everybody else) and nothing traumatizing happened to me there (other than being blinded by the sight of multiple men in pink polos with popped collars on multiple occasions). I just don’t like the place. Honestly, I’ve never had anything good come from my infrequent forays there and the overall impression I get of the people gives me all the more reason to argue for mass sterilization. No one who wears leggings over a baggy hippie shirt with sunglasses that look like they could devour their face should be allowed to procreate. I know it may be in fashion, but there’s a big difference between having fashion and having style. Fashion is when you pay $100+ for the latest trend just so that you can flash your name-brand, ugly-ass bauble around and proclaim your yuppie entitlement to the world. Style, on the other hand, is a bit different. Style is when you can take your Target-boutique jewelry, pair it with a hand-me-dwon dress that used to belong to your friend, and show up to a party with more class than anyone else.  In the words of my friend, Johnny, whose party I had the pleasure of attending this weekend, “Who is this guy wearing a plaid shirt at my cocktail party?” That guy obviously had neither style, nor fashion. Maybe he was from my hometown. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to hate on the good people of the midwest. I don’t hate, I stimulate.  Plaid shirts aside, there are several important points you should take away from this blogging: - Georgetown sucks. I don’t care how much free ice cream they have – I’m not going. - Plaid is never a good idea, no matter where in the country you live. - Leggings are also never a good idea unless you’re me at age 8 and you don’t know any better. - People should throw more parties and invite me because, as we all know, I am awesome. (btw – I’m throwing one of my own either the last weekend of May or the first weekend of June, so mark your calendars)

Crazy monkey sex noises June 16, 2007

What? What was that? Did I hear you correctly? Did you just say ROAD TRIP?! Yeeaahhh, that’s right. I would’ve blogged about this sooner, but the little science gremlins at the office had me sequestered for most of the week in what shall herein be referred to as WFH 1.0 (Week From Hell, part I) and I actually had to work while I was at work. Go figure. But, last weekend’s festivities were just too good to let pass without a word, so a-blogging we go. I got invited to be a wedding date at the last minute. My friend, Kevin, had been having some relationship difficulties with the now ex-gf and I subbed in because, really, I am the most fun person to have around for road trips. The wedding was down in Fredericksburg. It very well could have been back in IL, considering all of the plaid shirts, jeans, and southern twangs. I’m suprised there wasn’t anyone there with a can of Skoal. It was not the most back-country wedding I’ve ever been to, but it certainly came close. Here’s the running commentary of what I was thinking as the day progressed: Wow, this thing sure is out in the boonies. What? It’s in the backyard? What yard? All I see is a mud pit with a pvc pipe running from underneath the house. Why, oh why did I wear heels? Everyone else is in jeans or very poorly fitting Wal-Mart garb. I should really have listened when Kevin said to dress down. Damn, there are a lot of kids here. Baby mama drama. How many of those belong to the bride-to-be? Only 2? Hmm… Wait, the pastor dude’s an hour late. This is beginning to suck. Oh, good. He’s here. No chairs, where should I stand? Doesn’t matter, huh. Guess not since they’ve already started. Is that a prom dress she’s wearing? Why does her smile look so pained? Well, if I was marrying that  guy, I’d probably be in pain too. Wait, did that kid just run out in the middle of the ceremony? There goes another one. That’s what kid leashes are for. Seriously, if they’re not going to close the gate, they should at least tie them up to keep them from interrupting this sorry excuse for a wedding. I know, I know. Some people like it low-key, but this is more than low-key. This is low-class. Okay, it’s over. Can we leave now? No, wait… the bride’s going to take a trip around the yard in her ATV. Yeah, that’s classy. I might understand if it were before the ceremony and she was trying to run away, but who ever heard of taking a celebratory lap on a four-wheeler after a wedding? Time for food. Oh no they did not. Someone put bbq sauce in the potatoe salad. I need to leave. Now. Needless to say, it was not the most romantic or enjoyable get-together I’ve ever been too, but it was interesting to see how other people do things. It also adds to my list of things not to do when I get marrried. All-in-all, it really wasn’t that bad. It was cool to meet some of Kevin’s pals and get out of town. After it was through we decided to head down to Richmond to visit our friend, Char. No road trip would be complete without a peremptory stop at the ABC store and the WaWa. Good stuff. Made it down to Richmond and hung out. It was a lot of fun. I think Char’s giant gallon-sized bottle of wine may have made it even moreso. A few things that may or may not have happened that evening: -someone repeating that they’re “warm and fuzzy” – Kevin mentioning, “I’ve got something warm and fuzzy”, crazy monkey-sex noises, lots of hilarity, apples2apples, the police being called, getting in trouble by the po’s for being too loud (not to mention warm and fuzzy), good times. So yeah… my weekends always turn out pretty damn good. How could it not be good when there’s road-trippin’ involved? Ten-four, over and out.

Tucker Max is going to hell… and so am I June 16, 2007

And we now return to our regularly scheduled program. When we last left our heroine she was dealing with some serious BS. Like all episodic dilemmas in this, your most favorite blog, it’s all smiles and sunshine in the end.

I went to HH on Friday. Saturday afternoon I woke up in my room, still fully clothed, with my giant metal hair-thingy firmly indented into my skull (from sleeping on it all night). I guess it’s better than waking up without your clothes and a metal implement wedged somewhere else. Although, I do believe I’ve heard that story from someone before and they didn’t sound as traumatized as I might have imagined. Hmmm…  So, I later had a conversation with one of my good friends about that night. It went something like this:

Me: Lord, I don’t know why I feel so asstastic this morning. I only had four! (This was over a period of about 6 hours)

Friend: Yeah, but then you had that shot with me.

Me: (smacking my head in realization) Holy shit – the shots! That’s what did it.

So, yes. I did in fact have a valid reason for being extremely hungover. Multiple shots of tequilla will tend to do that. I know it was a good night because I didn’t puke - not in a red plastic solo cup or anywhere else for that matter. And… though I’d pretty much given up on meeting guys at bars, I ended up giving out my number to one guy. My thought was, “It doesn’t matter – he won’t call anyway.” But surprise, surprise – he did, and I just may be meeting up with him later on this week. Good times, indeed.

Once I finally dragged my ass out of bed on Saturday afternoon it was a mad dash to get ready for my lil shindig I was hosting that night. Normally, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but the previous evening I had arrived home from work to a plundered apartment. The roomie, apparently in an attempt to win the award for All Supreme Bitch, decided to raid the apartment. Even though she’s not moving out until May, she took all of her furniture out of the place without telling me she was going to. Granted, it’s her ugly-ass shit and she can do what she wants with it, but it would be nice to have a friggin’ couch for people to sit on at my party. No worries, though. Liz is not only a superhero, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now (because, really, could a normal person put up with all this crap without stabbing someone?), she is also able to make the best of a bad situation. So, yes. Got a few pieces of furniture and was finally able to decorate the apartment and make it my own. No more hideous candleabras. It finally feels like I live there and I love it. My only fear is that I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning and the shower curtain will be missing. Now, that would be bitchy.   

Anyway, on to the party. It was a wine thing. Someone brought beer. Ha. It was definitely fun times. As the evening wore on, one of the things that came up in conversation was Mr. Tucker Max, author of “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.” Now, many of you may not have heard of this dude. Those of you who have either love him or hate him. I think he’s absolutely hilarious – the biggest douchbag on the planet, but a funny one. This guy is also a genius. He had a blog, and it got turned into a book. In this way, he’s my hero. Not because of his douchbaggery, but because he was able to get people to pay money for what would otherwise be free. So, if Tucker Max is going to hell, I probably am too. I have a shitload of stories that may not be quite on-par with TM, but they certainly do make a valient effort.

All in all, it was a lovely evening and one that I’ll probably be repeating fairly shortly. Til then, keep it real.

Mondays may not be the best way to spend 1/7 of your life, but this one’s not too bad at all.

Cake fairies June 16, 2007

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Material. I’d like to write a book, but I lack material. ”But, Liz, ” you argue. “You’re hilarious. All your stories are full of depth and wit. I read your blog religiously because it’s the highlight of my week.” Yes, yes. I know. But it’s a lot more difficult to come up with a long, cohesive storyline than these short blurbs on the day-to-day hilarity. Nonetheless, if I were going to write a book, I think it would most definitely have to be an autobiography or a memior of sorts. Some of this shit is just too good not to make known. Like that one time a few weeks ago when I was propositioned for a four-some. Or the more recent versions of my “dating at its finest” (read version 1.0 from 9/1/06)  series which I’m currently working on. Even some of  the shenanigans at the office are worthy of writing about. Only in government would you start off a meeting by discussing the order of discussion. (Pass out the agenda and get on with it, please.) So, while I may lack the creativity to come up with something completely ficticious to entertain the masses, I don’t really need to because – as you may have noticed -  my life really is this awesome. A recent case in point: Every first Friday of the month I and about a hundred of my closest pals (okay… maybe only 20-30 are close) get together for a monthly happy hour in the city which lasts well into the evening. It’s always a good time and last night was no exception. Though it lacks the energy of the kickball flipcup mania and the molestering that accompanies, there’s no lack of good drinks and good times. Usually after the HH, a few of the crew head out to go dancing at a nearby club/bar. They play awesome 80’s music mixed in with some of the more recent club tunes. It’s jammin’. Last night we got there a little early, so I ended up chatting around the bar and having various beverages bought for me. Buzzing, I noticed a perfectly good cake left sitting on the railing behind my companion. My eyes lit up and I mouthed, “Cake!” It was like the little cake fairies had noticed that I hadn’t eaten much that day, realized my imbibing was getting the best of me, and floated down a big-ass confetti cake with white frosting just for me. Thank-you cake fairies. So, I go for the cake, right? And the people I’m chatting with are like, “What’re you doing?”  Well, I thought it was pretty obvious what I was doing, especially since by the time they asked the question, I already had a little bit of frosting on the side of my mouth from scooping some of the deliciousness. Someone referred to it as heroine cake because it was so damn good.  Well… after I had a few bites I took a break from my cake thievery just in time. Some dude (I guess it was his birthday?) walked by, saw his half-eaten cake, and declared, “Someone’s been eating my cake.” No shit, Goldilocks. He moved it across the bar to a table, and later that night, after a bit of dancing and some more imbibing, I went on a reconaissance mission and reclaimed the heroine cake. I pilfered it some more at the bar and offered some to my pals. There’s a lot to be said about a girl at a bar with a cake. I was even more popular than usual and it  was awesome. The evening ended with a frantic search for my coat (because someone had moved it all the way across the bar)  a free ride back to the Metro with a cool guy (though I doubt he’ll call), and a couple of great stories for my book. Peace out, my party people.

Pasties, not just fro strippers anymore June 16, 2007

Monday, December 18, 2006

How dumb is this? I’m taking a break from ‘helping’ my brother with his paper to blog about it. Sure, I could be doing other things with my time than writing a high-school paper, but I’m not b/c a) I’m a good sister, b) my degree is in both biology and english, so I can definitely write a decent science paper, c) it’s actually an interesting topic and I feel the need to flex my mental abilities on something other than Sudoku, d) It’s almost xmas and I’m feeling generous, and e) he said he’d pay me (though I don’t really expect it). So yeah. Fun times. And please don’t lecture me on the moral implications of this. We all have had certain instances of ethical ineptitude and this is a drop in the bucket compared to some things that some of my comrades have done for friends/family. I’m just glad he finally asked me to help out with something, since I feel like I don’t really get a chance to do much for him. I wish I could do more. In other news… this weekend was great! Long, but great. Went to the birthday barcrawl on Friday. A few folks who I was hoping to come along decided not to, but there were still a ton of people. The pics from that night are hilarious. If you want them, msg me with your email addy and I’ll give you the snapfish album. One of the best parts of the night – some random guy (not in MeetIn) came up to me just to tell me that I looked fabulous. And, no – he wasn’t hitting on me. He made a point to mention that he had a gf – he just wanted to tell me. How great is that? I think the attention-getter was my Santa hat. Instead of a white rim of fluff and ball, it’s black. And it looks damn good on me. Not only did that random dude take notice, but I noted that people in the group have now started to differentiate me from the other two Liz’s – instead of Liz #3, I’m now known as either well-dressed Liz or good-looking Liz. Not that the other two aren’t, but I like the differentiation nonetheless. Saturday, the only notable mention goes to my coworker’s festive holiday party. No drinking for me (I don’t drink 2 nights in a row), but it was still a lot of fun. Sunday I hosted my thing at Magianno’s. Memorable quote from the convo (said by Megan, btw – not me): ” Yeah, whenever I’m at home on a Saturday night and I’m like ‘damn, I’ve run out of pasties,’ I know who to call.” If you don’t get it then you obviously haven’t looked at Kevin’s new myspace pic yet. I strongly urge you to check it out. I wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or strangely turned on. Ha. Well… back to the dirge of the day. Four left to go until break. Peace out

The birthday weekend… of death June 16, 2007

Monday, December 11, 2006

Ha – not really. I just put that title in there to make you want to read it. Surprise, surprise. I survived my birthday weekend ski trip… and I have only a few bruises and a ton of great memories (and pics) to show for it. There was more skiing than falling, more powder on the slopes than up Kate Moss’s nose, and definitely more good times on this annual reminder that I’m one year closer to old than there has been in a long, long while. I’m not going to give you a minute-by-minute account of the festivities, at the risk of making it seem less awesome than it actually was. Because, really - who wants to hear about one of my friend’s ridiculously foul ass emanations or the rousing game of three-letter word Scrabble? I will, however, give you a play-by-play of a few highlights of the weekend: 1) I learned how to ski. Despite falling on my ass quite a few times, somehow getting snow up my back despite the layers of clothes and ski pants/jacket, plowing into some people at the bottom of the slope (why do they make that bottom slope the steepest part if you’re supposed to be slowing down?), and by the end of the day feeling like someone had beat my body with a stick bigger than the one stuck up the roomie’s ass, I had an amazing time. Seriously. It was absolutely exhilarating. Better than rollerblading, even, because falling on snow hurts a lot less than the gravel. I think for a first timer, I did pretty well. Who’s up for seconds? 2) I thoroughly enjoyed the company. My three favorite people from DC were there to share in the fun and we definitely made the most of it. Honestly, there’s nothing like modeling swimsuits when you’re drunk, hot-tubbing outside in the winter, or roadtripping with no worries to make for a fabulous weekend. It wouldn’t have been the same without any of them and I only hope that everyone had as wonderful a time as I did. 3) Not leaving until the late afternoon. Since when am I one to throw in the towel early? No way. Check-out may have been at 11, but we didn’t leave until after 3. Though the pool was a little too public (is that even possible?) for afternoon escapades, it was still a lot of fun  The weather outside was too beautiful to pass up a chance for a few photos, and the drive back afforded me the opportunity to jam out to my tunes without the usual accompanying embarrassment (I am definitely not the next American Idol). A great weekend… And I couldn’t end this without giving a shoutout to the people who made it all possible – you guys are great! Kevin – Thanks for pulling it together and making the dream a reality. It wouldn’t have been able to happen without you, and you’ve totally repaid me for the RedSkins puke-fest. I owe you one. Em  – You are always so much fun to be around! I love having someone around who I can be totally uninhibited with and joke and laugh about everything. I’m sooo glad you were able to come. We may not be the best at the winter sports, but we can look good trying. Scott – Have I told you how wonderful you are? Yeah…you are. You definitely made my birthday weekend one of the best, in more ways than one. And, I love the fact that you didn’t criticize my driving, skiing, or singing skills (because I know they all leave a lot to be desired). I’d like to say a few other things, but I’ll save that for a more appropriate venue. Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you to everybody for making it such a great time!

There’s this thing – what’s it called? Oh yeah…life June 16, 2007

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Ok, kiddies – I realize I haven’t been too good about keeping up with the posting. My apologies. I’ve been a bit preoccupied with… what do you call it? oh yeah… life. No offense. - My mom emailed me this week. She’s feeling left out since I forgot my weekly call. I don’t think she’s gotten over worrying about me getting stabbed now that I live in DC. She wanted to know if I had a blog or something where she could keep more up-to-date. After consulting with a few peeps and briefly considering the ramipercussions, I’ve decided that sometimes it’s just better to not to give up the ol’ myspace URL quite yet. I just don’t think she would get it. Case in point: I told her one time about the Halloween party I had gone to recently and she asked if we had played any party games. I asked what she meant, and instead of referencing drinking games or card games or something with some indication that I’m no longer 5 years-old, she asked if we had bobbed for apples or played pin the tail on the donkey. I laughed so hard that I almost had to sit down. But seriously, wouldn’t that be a bad idea? - I dress nicely for work. In fact, I look damn good in a non-slutty kind of way for a government employee most days. It’s nice when people notice the effort and comment. It happens sometimes and I appreciate it. However, it’s a totally different thing when I walk to the bus stop in the morning and a truck-cab full of Mexicans start honking and making lewd gestures. This is what happened this past Wednesday. It was most definitely not appreciated, considering that it was barely 7 in the morning and I almost spilled my morning caffiene from the surprise of the abrupt noise. What do people expect when they do this? Do they think that I’m going to hop in with them and have a wild tag-team orgy? Perhaps they confused me with the roomie. I dunno, but that was the second morning drive-by in the past couple weeks I’ve been privy to and it’s kind of discomfitting (yet slightly cool too – I never thought I’d be one of those chicks that guys honk at). - I find out tomorrow at work if my yearly expenditure estimates for this coming fiscal year got approved. If so, it means I can start my Master’s work in the fall, subsidized by your tax dollars of course. If not, it means I’ll be taking out massive student loans and probably postponing until Spring, ‘08. Actually, the Liz Lawrence Fund for Excellence is still accepting donations. Contribute today and make the Liz of tomorrow a better, more educated person. I live in DC, damnit – enough money gets funneled in contributions to undeserving people on a regular basis; I should be able to skim off some for myself. - And on one last note, some weekends are better than others. It’s going to be tough to top this past one. There may or may not be random pics of my cleavage floating around somewhere. There may or may not have been some theater-hopping makeout sessions. There may or may not have been someone getting their balls handed to them at mini golf. There most definitely were some memorable moments. ‘Nuf said.