I Have A Blog?

I have a blog? Well, this is certainly news to me! Imagine that…

Yes, I have been neglecting this poor little blog. I think I’m far past the point of blaming this on writer’s block. I mean, it’s been like, what, a year since I’ve actually put any effort into this?! That is so far beyond the allowed blockage period. What a disgrace! But really, who am I to have a blog? Once upon a time, I tried to be funny. Once in a blue moon, it worked out well. But let me be honest with myself…my life is soooo boring! I don’t have any funny, sad, scary, weird, awesome stories to share. I wish! I’m not some secret spy on a top secret mission, constantly in the throes of danger. I wish! Actually no, no I don’t. I’m recently engaged, but do you think I have any stories about that or the wedding that I’m supposed to be planning? Haha!

There’s still a small part of me (approximately 10.0067801%) that would love to wake up one day, inspired, and go, “AH HA! That’s what I will write, and it will be epic…EPIC!” That’s probably not going to happen, says the other 89.9932199% percent of me. So you might be asking yourself if there’s a point to this blog post. I might be asking myself that same question. I guess for the negative three remaining people who read this, I wanted to let you know that I’m still alive. Still alive and as uninspired as ever. But maybe some day! But maybe not.

And there you have it, the most pointless blog post ever written, by the blogger who often forgets she even has a blog.



Talking To Yourself

Talking to yourself doesn’t make you crazy. We are all guilty of this. And if you think you’re not, then you’re a liar. I don’t necessarily talk to myself (out loud) but I definitely think to myself. Or sometimes whisper. Usually I’m home alone when I do this, so I’m not embarrassing myself. Not that there’s anything to be ashamed of, because talking to yourself does not make you crazy. (Just keep telling yourself that…out loud.) HOWEVER, when you talk/whisper/think to yourself in a foreign accent, now THAT’S crazy. I don’t know how this little habit of mine got started. It’s never just one accent either. It can be British, French, Southern, or some unknown and completely made-up accent. Maybe I’ve always done it, or maybe I only just started losing my marbles. I didn’t realize until just last week, and once I noticed, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. Talking and laughing to myself. Nope, definitely no crazy genes here.

I also tend to make funny faces at myself in the mirror. It amuses me. You’re judging me, aren’t you? It’s not like I do this every day. Just when I’m really bored and standing in front of a mirror. (Basically, every day.) Tell me, do you think I’m crazy? Do you do talk to yourself in different accents or make funny faces? Please say yes, it’ll make me feel SO much better. Or don’t, whatever. I wouldn’t have a public blog full of stupid random things if I was afraid of being judged. So ha! Poor little blog. I used to fill it with semi-amusing thoughts or semi-decent poems, and now it’s not even semi anything. It’s okay though, because at least I can laugh about it…to myself…in a British accent…while making funny faces in the mirror.


Note: Lily’s brain can no longer handle the responsibility of writing a blog. It’s become too much. This is the kind of crap you’re gonna have to put up with until someone can figure out how to fix Lily’s brain. It’s a very risky procedure, so don’t hold your breath.

Help, I’m Trapped In My Shirt

Can someone please explain how it’s possible to put on a shirt, and then not know how the hell you’re supposed to take it OFF? I can’t be alone here. It was a day like any other day. (Pretending to sound dramatic.) I received my online order, and was excited to try everything on. In hindsight, that was very naïve of me. I grabbed the first blouse, but hesitated putting it on because of the lack of stretch. I should’ve known not to take the risk, but what the hell, what’s life without a little risk? Trying on clothes is fun! Well, it was easy enough getting into. While it was on, it looked fine. A little loose, but in a good way, because who needs to see my love handles?

But then…THEN…I decided I should take it off and try on the next top. Makes sense, because when you try something on, you’ll eventually need to take it off. Easier said than done. Maybe I never learned how to properly remove my clothing. Maybe I’m just totally clueless. Or maybe there needs to be a law about all tops having at least 5% elasticity in the waist and shoulder areas, for those of us who are, you know…NOT PERFECT. Because maybe some people have broader shoulders than others, and can’t just gracefully remove the top over their head. Maybe some people can’t bend their elbows awkwardly enough in order to find their way out of the arm-hole. Maybe, asshole, it shouldn’t be so damn complicated to take off a fucking shirt.

Attention, clothes-maker. The removal of one’s clothing should not cause one to sweat, you hear me? Absolutely not. Removal of one’s clothing should also not cause slight to moderate panic attacks at the thought of being trapped in the garment forever, or the thought of having to scissor your way through a brand new shirt. None of these things should happen. EVER. Maybe if I had a perfectly proportional body, it wouldn’t be such a workout to get in and out of non-stretchy tops. Perhaps the clothes were being intentionally difficult, so as to inspire me to work out or chop off my love handles and shoulders. Or maybe none of that should matter, because who the hell are you to judge? Just make your clothes stretchy and forgiving, would you? I should hope this incident will not soon repeat itself. You’ve been warned, evil clothes-makers. So beware. Because, yeah. There’s jack shit I can do about it.



If Time Were Human, He’d Be An Asshole

I have a little time to kill (at work, shh, don’t tell anyone), so I thought, “Why not type to myself?” Why not, because sane people do that all the time. In fact, typing to oneself might be considered healthy. Haha. Okay. So, it’s September. It took me a couple of weeks to face that hard fact, and now all of a sudden, it’s about to be October. Do you know what that means? That it’s officially not summer anymore. It’s officially allowed to be cold in October. Didn’t we JUST do this, like, a couple of months ago? Didn’t I JUST escape to Puerto Rico to avoid part of the winter? Well, here we are again. Welcome to the concept of time…it fucking sucks.

I’m already 25. Shut up. I know you’re gonna say that 25 is very young, but guess what? It’s not. You know why? Because Britney Spears is 31. And I remember buying her first album when she was 16. SHE WAS 16 AND NOW SHE’S 31. That means that 15 years have gone by since then. How have I lived long enough for 15 years to have gone by just like that? A decade and a half. What the hell?! Sometimes I still feel like the 90’s weren’t that long ago, but OH NO, hold up, that was over 20 years ago. WHAT THE HELL?! What have I done with my life in those 20 years? Nothing, because life just keeps going on while I sit here trying to keep track of what year it is. Hey Time, what’s your rush? Slow the fuck down. Some of us want to stay alive for a few more years. And at this rate, I’ll be 50 before I can wrap my head around the fact that I’m no longer 20. Seriously, this isn’t funny anymore. It was cool when I was 12, and I wanted time to fly so that school would end. But guess what, I’m not in school anymore! Because I’m an old fart now. My eggs are drying up inside of me, and I’m still not married, so you’re kind of working against me. Do you think it’s funny that my eggs are rotting? HAHAHA! No, it’s not funny. What did I ever do to you, Mr. Asshole Time? What do you have against eggs?

You know what makes you even more of an asshole? The fact that an individual day (specifically, a day in the office) can go very slowly, but somehow, you still manage to make the years just fly by as if they never happened. AMAZING. I’m beginning to question if all these years did in fact happen. We’re all being robbed. You, my unfriend, are a vicious little thief. I want to grow old with my boyfriend, but I don’t want to grow old tomorrow, so take a chill-pill, Mr. Time! Maybe you should take up reading. There are more important things to do than to ensure that we all die, and die quickly. ASSHOLE.

Hey, look at that. I started off randomly typing to myself, and I ended up yelling at Mr. Time. Clearly, I am perfectly sane. It’s not like I talk to myself out loud like this all the time. Because, psshh, I totally don’t. Psshh…



Not Even Trying

Wow. Talk about lack of trying. I have never gone so long without posting. Two whole weeks with nothing to say. Or more accurately, no energy to bother saying a single thing. To say I’ve felt disconnected from my blog is an understatement. Exactly one year ago, I was addicted to WordPress, and was slowly becoming more popular, which only made me want to blog more. I neglected housework so that I could dedicate more time to writing posts and reading other people’s blogs. At times, I professed my undying love to my computer more often than to my boyfriend. I also occasionally exaggerate. Anyway, the point is, I don’t feel that way anymore. Which would be fine, healthy even, except that I went from one extreme to the other. I don’t care anymore. It started as a serious case of writer’s block, but now, it’s just…who knows. Don’t get me wrong. I still very much enjoy reading other people’s blogs. I just don’t enjoy my own. Maybe inspiration will strike, and I’ll write something interesting that will make me proud. Maybe. Some day. I won’t hold my breath.

How do you cure this thing that goes far beyond writer’s block? How can I force myself to write, and not care how it’s received? I want to write just to write, but I can’t. I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have a public blog if I was just writing for myself. I want to interact, maybe get a laugh or two out of someone. It’s been ages since I’ve written something that could be considered funny. I want to write something that can touch people, something that might even make you cry. Sometimes I read other people’s blogs and I’m in awe of their talent. Maybe just a little jealous. But see, that’s my problem. I want to do and say all these things, but how can I, if I’m not making any effort? How can you accomplish something if you don’t even try? What a hypocrite. What a lazy little hypocrite. As if a blog post is supposed to just write itself! Silly Lily. I need to go to a writer’s therapy group or something. In the mean time, I’ll just keep not trying. I seem to do that pretty well.

Have a lovely rest of the week. Unless it’s raining where you are too, in which case…BLECH!!


Sir, Did You Just Touch Your Penis?

I don’t particularly like shaking people’s hands. Especially people of the masculine, penis-wielding persuasion. See, believe it or not, there are still people who find it unnecessary to wash their hands after using the bathroom. Can’t fathom how anyone could be that ignorant/disgusting/stupid. Not washing your hands is never okay, but it’s somewhat forgivable for a woman. Usually, there is no need for a woman to actually touch her vagina during urination; that’s what toilet paper is for. And if a woman gets splash-back on her hands, surely good hand-washing would ensue, as women are generally disgusted by splash-back. Men, on the other hand, must always grasp their penis. Not properly grasping their penis would result in an inconceivable amount of splash-back. So, considering that men must always touch their penis, and factoring in how many men couldn’t care less about hygiene, how can one be comfortable shaking their penis-ridden hand? “Excuse me, sir, but did you just touch your penis? You’ll have to excuse me, but I would rather not shake your penis until I’ve gotten the chance to know you.” And truthfully, after getting to know the guy, you’d probably be even less inclined to shake their penis. Heaven knows where it’s been. That’s the truth, from my brain to your fortunate eyes.

P.S. I wanted to see how many times I could mention the word “penis” while still raising a valid point. I think I rose to the occasion. Pun intended. (I hope I didn’t offend any of you. I’ve been having so much trouble writing, that when this thought popped into my head, there was no way I could turn it down.)



Oh Friday, I Love You

Dear Friday,

Words cannot express how much I love you. How can I put into words all the wonderful things you make me feel? This sense of elation, this feeling of pure and unparalleled happiness. It’s a feeling that takes me from morning to night. And as impossible as it may seem, it’s a feeling that gets even stronger with every hour that passes. How do you make 5 o’clock the best time in the world? All my woes from days prior are completely forgotten in your presence. It’s like I can conquer the world. How do you do it? How do you make me feel so euphoric? It doesn’t matter, just don’t stop. A week without Friday would be like a week without food. You make life worth living. Thank you, Friday. Thank you for being the best thing that’s happened to me all week, the best part of every week. Thank you for curbing my desire to slit my wrists in frustration. Not that I would ever do that. Unless you went away. But you’d never do that to me, right? I love you, Friday. You make me whole again.

With Much Love,
Friday Fanatic


P.S. No, I’m not crazy. But yes, I do love Fridays. I feel so unbelievably happy after 5pm, when I get home, sit on the couch, and realize that I have nowhere else to be for the next few days. It’s AMAZING. I wish it could be Friday every day. You know you love Friday just as much as I do. TGIF.


Shopping, Working, And Other Things

Hello lovelies…I hope everyone had a nice Father’s Day weekend. We never do anything fancy, just a family dinner, but that’s good enough for us. We’re a simple people. On Saturday, mom and I went shopping. It works to my benefit that my boyfriend usually works on Saturdays. I had two coupons from DSW, one for $5 off (those cheapskates) and one for $20 off. I usually go to DSW, walk around, and leave empty-handed and disappointed. Not this time! I walked out of there with 5 pairs of shoes. AND…there were several other pairs that I really wanted too, but I contained myself. (I easily could have purchased at least 8 shoes.)  I’ve never been the girl with tons and tons of shoes. My shoe selection was always pretty sparse. So I think I deserved to buy 5 new pairs. Although, about a month ago, I did buy 4 pairs of shoes…but not all at the same time, so that doesn’t count. And one pair is for a wedding. You can’t judge me! Some women buy shoes every week, even though they can’t afford it. I can afford it, but I’m not that crazy.

This was me at DSW.
This was me at DSW.

Later that day, we decided to go to Kohl’s to return a few things, from several different orders. Yes, that may sound like I do a lot of shopping, but one of the orders was from March, and the other two were back to back because I earned Kohl’s cash, and I HAD to use it. I didn’t plan on returning anything (because then you lose the Kohl’s cash), but why keep something that I don’t absolutely love? Plus, two of the things were shoes, and I figured if I bought 5 new pairs of shoes that day, I should probably return the 2 pairs I bought at Kohl’s that really weren’t very cute. So we leave the house, we get to Kohl’s and for the first time, we get a really good spot. (Kohl’s is always so packed.) Then two things happened. First, my mom asked me if my things were in the trunk. At this point, I had a laughing fit, because that’s when I realized I left the bag of returns at home. I don’t know how I missed it, since it was a large bag with two boxes of shoes, among other things. Apparently, I was so distracted debating what shoes to put on, that I forgot to bring the bag with me. Genius. The next thing that happened was that my mom’s shoe broke. The top part came apart, making it impossible to walk in. It was like a flip-flop without the flip, so it was just a flop. We were both laughing hysterically. So even if I hadn’t forgotten my bag of returns, we had to go back home anyway to grab another pair of shoes for my mom. Good times.

On an unrelated note, I am no longer a freelancer at my current/old job. They rehired me, so now I get to make less money than I was making a few weeks ago. Yay me! (Freelancing salary is higher since there are no benefits or taxes taken out. Le sigh.) But yes, I am very grateful that they hired me again. This was such a lucky break for me. In other more irritating news, the office is moving. I currently have a 5 minute commute to work, opposite side of traffic, so it’s AWESOME. We have a garage, so I don’t have to worry about my car getting too hot in the sun, or having to clean snow off my car in the winter. We have a nice cafeteria with plenty of choices. WELL NOT ANYMORE! Our new office is further away, there is NO garage, and they have a tiny, practically non-existent cafeteria. And as if it wasn’t already annoying enough, they’re taking our current cubicles to the new building, so my team had to relocate to another area of the office. As of last Friday, four of us are crammed into one room, with no privacy, all talking over each other on the phone until the end of next week. So we’re lucky enough to be inconvenienced with two moves! I know, you’re so jealous right now. It’s really hard to work in my temporary location. The desks here are MUCH smaller, and I feel all out of whack and unorganized. Not a good feeling for a meeting planner. Oh well, such is life. I’ve been meaning to get a post out for days now, but it’s been so hectic. I can’t believe I used to have time to blog at work. I mean, shhh, don’t tell anyone that. (On a serious note, I take my job seriously, and I am not a slacker.) Have a great rest of the week!


25 Years Later…

TGIF!! It’s Friday, the happiest day of the work week! AND…tomorrow is my 25th BIRTHDAY!! I’ll hold for applause and confetti. Gifts are welcome too. Kidding, obviously. I’m usually not very big on birthdays. Birthdays are super fun when you’re a kid, but as you get older, you’re kind of like, “Yeah, so what? One year older, whoop-dee-doo!” However, I’ve decided that I’m going to be in a good mood today and tomorrow. I have many things in life to be grateful for, so there’s no need for me to be down. I mean sure, we all have those days. I’ve been feeling kind of BLAH recently, but enough is enough. Life’s too short! And I’m one year closer to dying! Just kidding. I mean it’s true, but I’m trying to be positive here. I don’t have any major plans for tomorrow, but that’s okay. I never have plans! As long as I’m with people I love, then it’s all good. And if they buy me amazing things, then it’s even better. Kidding, kidding. (I know, there’s a lot of kidding going on in just one paragraph. Jeez.)

I don’t have much to say. I just felt the need to announce my birthday. Not that I’m conceited or anything. Also, my blog will be 1 year old on June 12th…a whole year! What the hell? Where did the time go? Is it seriously already June? Basically half-way through the year? SLOW YOUR ROLL!! Although I haven’t been writing as often as I used to, I still adore this blog and all you lovely people. Thanks for being awesome! Anyway, I hope you all have a great Friday and a wonderful weekend. Enjoy!


Things I Can’t Stand – Part 6


Okay, ABC. I bet you think your shows are awesome. They probably make you tons of money too. Well, I just wanted to thank you for creating The Bachelor and all those wonderful spin-off shows that make me ashamed to be human. Nicely done! It’s kind of weird, because I’m sure the people are real, but everything just seems so….fake. Hmm. I guess that’s a prerequisite for reality TV shows. You can’t have reality without a little bullshit fiction, am I right?

It’s amazing how natural you make everything look. I almost believe that I should have a row of guys waiting for me, dressed in nice suits…or armor, sweating it out for the sake of a rose. Every guy’s dream come true. It looks so natural when the bachelor(ette) is standing there, sighing heavily, looking down a lot, building the tension before giving away the final rose. Epic. Just look at all those men fighting for one women’s attention. Do you see how excited they get when she walks away, and comes back with a little rose for them? So natural. Real life should totally work that way. Tell me, is there a script? There has to be, because I can’t believe the shit that comes out of those people’s mouths. Priceless, really. Or better yet, it’s epic. Because the word epic is totally appropriate for a bullshit TV show. I’ve even come to forget what that word actually means. I showered all by myself this morning and it was epic.

Young girls everywhere used to dream of falling in love with their high school sweetheart and getting married. Now young girls get to dream of growing up and being on The Bachelor. Better yet, they can aim higher and dream of being on The Bachelorette. Why fight for one guy when 25 guys can fight for YOU? Talk about a dream come true. Honestly, America owes you so much, ABC. I don’t even want to think about falling in love with a guy unless 25 other women are competing for his love, or 25 men are lining up for me in the hopes of building a collection of tiny roses. And if that doesn’t work out, because, let’s face it, it never does, then I can join a whole bunch of other lonely castmates for a chance to bring shame to my family win $250,000. Righteous! Normal relationships are just so boring. Thanks for that. No, really, thank you. You make this world a better place.



What it all comes down to...
What it all comes down to…

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