Yeah, that was me. Or so I thought.

Turns out I was wrong. Mostly…

I am laid back, and I will do whatever is thrown at me, and I am up to trying new things… just as long as I can fit those things nicely into my daily routine.

There. I’ve said it. It’s something I’ve been in denial of for the last few years. I haven’t even been able to admit it to myself, in my own brain. This week, however, I have had no choice because it has been repeating itself in my head like a big snare drum or my mother’s pet cockatoo.

I am a creature of habit. I must abide by the routine.

I haven’t always been this way. There was a time in my life when I was ok without a routine because my life required me to be. One day I would come home and eat and early dinner, and the next I wouldn’t eat until eleven at night. One morning I would have class at eight am and the next morning I would sleep until one.

I’m not sure if it was work, or starting to exercise  and drastically changing my diet, or just taking a little bit more control over my life that influenced it- but at some point in the last few years I became a habitual person.

Every week day, I wake up around 7am:15am and head to work at 7:30. I eat every day at 11:45. I leave work at 5:00 and head straight to the gym. After I work out, I come home, eat dinner, take a shower, spend at least an hour writing something and then either play on the internet or watch a movie. Every so often I forgo the gym and eating dinner at home, and will meet friends for drinks or go to the movie theater, but not often enough to where I feel out of control.

The last few days as I’ve been preparing to move, things have gotten crazy. I know for most people it probably wouldn’t be such a big ordeal, but for those of you who know me or have been following me for a while- let’s all think for a moment about the “hurricane” that is my life.

I know I just admitted here to all the internets that I do, in fact, have to have a routine- but there is practically nothing else in my life that is in order. When I say that my life is a mess, I’m not speaking metaphorically. I mean that the things in my life are a fucking mess. I promised myself that with this move, I would finally attempt to organize my “tangible” life, which is no easy task.

My car is a disaster. My jewelery is in knots. There are receipts, letters, keepsakes, and pieces of paper with random thoughts and ideas jotted on them- stuffed in drawers and piled in stacks around my room. I have had to do about 30 loads of laundry, and half of those clothes are 8 sizes too big and have been in the back of my closet for the last year and a half. I have at least 30 half-pairs of socks, which I just don’t understand.

I’m starting to feel a little better with each task that I complete, but at the same time peeps- I’m going freaking crazy!!! I’ve had to make several  trips to the store to get boxes or trash bags or cleaning supplies. I am extremely ADD so I’ve started a million different tasks that I haven’t yet finished, which just makes everything feel chaotic. Even when I’m not staying on task, I’m thinking about what I need to be doing- or most often, what I’m not doing that I would like to be doing.

I haven’t worked out in nearly a week, and I have eaten out (and off my diet) for nearly every meal.  I haven’t gotten to read or write much, and I have the opportunity to start writing for a really cool site and it really sucks that I haven’t yet been able to put the time into it that I would like.

I have been getting to bed even later than usual and I haven’t been sleeping very well. And now I have this pressure that I have put on myself to get my entire life organized- and I ONLY HAVE 2 MORE DAYS TO DO SO!!!

I know I’m not going to be able to finish everything, and that’s OK. I do want to make this move a new beginning of sorts. The last couple of weeks I have decided to step out of my “box”  and try new things and I want to continue to do so. But at the same time, I want to try to adapt to a more orderly “tangible” lifestyle.

I’ve realized that I’ve become immune to messiness, especially when I’m in good spirits. But when I am down, the disorder begins to suffocate me. I think this change could do wonders for my mentality. I want to take a little more time concentrating on the little things, and not so much time skipping over things just so I can live the way I’m used to.  Maybe instead of a “hurricane,” my friends will start to call me “tornado“… or “thunder shower.”

Yet here I am, venting to you guys in this non-though-out, probably incredibly grammatically incorrect post, because I HAD TO. I feel much better now, though I do feel slightly guilty that I have spent nearly twenty-five minutes sitting here in front of my computer writing utter nonsense.

Thanks for lending an ear, good people of the inter-web.

I most likely will not be back until Tuesday, and let’s all hope that by then- I’m a little more organized, a little more sane, and back into my (slightly adjusted) daily routine.

I think John Cusack (My boyfriend) will approve.

WORD.

And completely unrelated, there are quite a few of my lovah’s out there who have recently given me awards. Don’t think I have forgotten about you. One day, in the not so distant future, I WILL do an award post,

Anyway, it really got me to start thinking once again about my own blog, and whether or not I really feel comfortable sharing my thoughts with everyone that I know in “real life.”

Although there are some days that I really wish I had a private blog that I could spill all of my secrets to, I think that I am pretty happy being able to share my most of my secrets to anyone who cares to read.  In fact, it does feel pretty damn good to just put most of that shit out there. I’ve said it before, but sometimes it sucks that I have no idea who knows what about me, but for the most part… you’re eventually gonna find these things out, so I might as well tell you off the bat, right? I have a constant case of word-vom anyway, and within five minutes of being in my company I’m likely to share everything I write here anyways. I can sometimes be a freak, and if you’re gonna judge me- you might as well do it soon.

In fact, sometimes I wish that everyone I knew kept a blog.

It got me thinking about all the people that I have met, that I wished that I could have instantly known everything about them…

For example.

Nearly a year ago,  a friend and I were out for a night of karaoke when I spotted an attractive gentlemen at a booth across the way.

I sat talking to my friend about nonsense, all the while, making crazy eye contact and “bedroom eyes” with said gentleman as he held his own conversation with his own friends (a boy and a girl) at his own booth, that just happened to be in perfect view from my own.

After a while, the “gentleman” (lets call him Corey, because that was his name) came over to my booth and asked if he could sit down.

“Of course,” I said.

We got to talking, and I immediately started really liking this fellow. He was extremely personable and we had a lot in common. (meaning that he too, knew all the words to Meatloaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light.)

Eventually, the girl from his booth came over and introduced herself as Jenny. Corey explained that they had been best friends since high school. She seemed nice enough, though a little on the edge- and said that they were about to leave but that my friend and I should accompany them to another karaoke bar nearby. My friend and I didn’t really have anything better to do, (and I practically got on my knees and begged her) so we agreed to go.

We do, and the night starts to turn into a damn romantic comedy. Corey and I sing several songs together, and share  a few kisses at our table not caring that his friends are watching. Eventually, the bar is closing and we reluctantly said our goodbyes.

After we left, Corey and I continue a heated text conversation, and I was down right smitten.

The next morning I woke my friend up and made her listen to all of the details of my late night conversation with Corey, prompting my questions…

“Do you think he’ll call??” “What do you think he meant when he said he doesn’t always know when his free time will come about.” “Did you think that girl was a bit creepy?”

I swear, if I had known his last name, I would have googled that shit.

Corey did call. We talked for a few days, and I thought he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.

Eventually, the conversation came around to my living situation…

Me: “Yeah, I basically live with a bunch of people. Some of them are gay… It’s like a constant party…”

Corey: “Well… my living situation is way more unique than yours…”

Really? Ohholyshitthisisfuckingsarcasticallyawesome.

I prepared myself for him to tell me that he lived with his parents, both sets of grandparents and his 12 cats.

Nope.

Corey: “Yeah… I live with my wife and our child…”

OPEN MOUTH GUFFAW

Corey: “Soooo… I probably should have told you earlier… you actually met my wife. She was the girl…. at the bar with me… I guess we’re in what you would call…  an open relationship .. BUT I reallllly like you. And she did to… and I wanna hang out!!!”

Me:  “You’re wife… being the girl who pulled you away from me as we were leaving the bar???”

Fucking swingers.

If that’s you’re style, more power to you…  I’m not one to judge. But I quickly came to the conclusion that I don’t want to date a guy whose wife witnessed our first kiss.

I never saw him again, but I totally talked to the dude a few more times. Not because I still wanted something to happen, but because I had a million questions about their life style and how it worked. I’m curious! What can I say? (I eventually told this story on the radio while he was listening which swiftly ended our interview-like relationship.)

If he would have had an open blog, I’m sure I could have found out all the answers by myself without wasting several weeks of his (and my own) time, and could have simply read about all the details on my own.

And this is why I have come to the conclusion that keeping an open blog is a good thing, and everyone else should too.

So if you have a freak-flag, wear it proudly… some people may be into that shiz.

And also, if you are a swinger/have more than 1 spouse/have 18 children/are a midget/have decided to change you skin color (I’m talking to you Sammy Sosa)/have appeared on the reality show “Obsessed” or in one of the more interesting episodes of “Intervention”/are in a cult/ have 2 sets of genitals/have an addiction to something outlandish… you should definitely start a blog and send me the link, pronto. I want to read all about your sordid lives.

Make sure you check back to Lilu’s Archives… they are the best things you’ll read all week!

I’m not usually the type of girl who likes to kiss and tell. O.K., that’s a lie. But I’m not the type of girl who likes to talk about sexual experiences all over internets, especially on a site that my parents frequent. So today I’m going to tell you a story that happened to a, ahem, friend of mine.

Once upon a time there was a girl named… lets call her “Cari.”

She was young and naive and only a Sophomore in college.  Although she was not quite twenty-one, Cari had just began to get the full extent of how crazy night life in college could really be.

One night, Cari went to a bar with some friends. She had been kind of talking to a guy (lets call him Dave) who worked at a local bar, which was kind of awesome because he could sneak her drinks. By kind of talking, I mean that they had made out once or twice, but had yet to take it beyond first base.

At the time, Cari was still pretty naive when it came to sexual experiences. She had kissed her share of boys, but was not the kind of girl to go home with almost strangers.

This night, because of the ridiculous amount of drinks that she sneakily inhaled, she decided to make an exception.

Dave was quite a bit older and willing to take the drunken Cari back to his house to take care of her. He was quite the gentleman and even stopped to get Cari lemon lime Gatorade on the way to his house.

Once they got there, things got a little hot and heavy. Not to the point of actual intercourse, but to the point where clothes were taken off.

It was around this point that Cari passed out into a dark and dreamless sleep.

She woke up very early in the morning with a horrible cramp in her stomach. It was not the type of cramp that could be mistaken. She really had to take a shit.

At this point, Cari was still laying on her side under the covers. She wanted to try to sneak out of bed and into the bathroom so that Dave wouldn’t wake up to the sound of her using the restroom. She could feel his presence right behind her, and hear the sounds of his heavy snoring behind her head. She shifted to try to move without disturbing the hairy man next to her.

As she did, she noticed something very strange.

“What in the hell is that!?” she thought as she started to panic. It seemed to Cari, that there was something lightly resting upon her butt cheek.

“Nononononononono! This cannot be happening!” Cari thought as she tried to figure out a game plan.

You see, the pain in Cari’s stomach was so intense, that she had come to the conclusion that she must have laid a turd in this strange harry man’s bed. What else would be resting gently against her butt cheek?

She thought maybe she should just run out of the door, hitchhike back to her apartment, then convince her parents to let her transfer schools.

Tears came to poor Cari’s eyes as she realized that she had really done it. Her life was over. She was about to leave all of her new friends, and all because she decided to get drunk and poop in a well known bartender’s bed.

“There has to be another way,” Cari thought…. “AHA! Maybe I can just scoop it up and throw it in the trash without him noticing!”

Cari knew that this would be very difficult. From what she could tell, it was still in it’s solid form. She had been very careful not to lean back and damage it in anyway.

She finally gathered up the courage to very carefully reach behind her back and scoop it up.

Very slowly and carefully, Cari scooted her hand underneath the poop, hoping with all of her heart that she would not leave any remains  behind.

It was in that moment that Cari made the best discovery of her life.

What she held in her hand was not in fact a turd… it was in fact, just Dave’s penis.

Cari quickly woke Dave up and made him drive her home, where she was able to use the restroom in the privacy of her own bathroom.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end.