A Thief is Among Us

Today I learned that someone stole packages from my front door. New hiking boots for me and a much coveted dress for my roommate.  The only other time that I have every been wronged in the form of petty theft was when I was in the 5th grade and took an after school pottery class. There was another girl name Lauren in the class so I was riddled with as much anxiety a 10-year-old could be riddled with in regards to our pieces getting mixed up. I’d write in huge letters “LAUREN C. 5th GRADE” and yet Lauren from the 6th grade would always take my coil bowls by accident. Thankfully, my kind, loving, art teacher would right the wrong and I’d go home with the brown little dung bowl I made my mother.

HOWEVER, in the case of the hiking boot/dress dilemma, the wrongs have not been righted, YET.

Despite the kooky things I post online, I’m very mild mannered in person. I do get riled up and it all comes pouring out with lots of hand gestures and weird noises, but normally I’m shy and quiet due to being an habitual over-observer. I’m sure when I’m doing this the other people in the room imagine tumble weeds blowing around in the desert landscape of my mind but c’est faux, you bimbo.  I also do not get angered easily. I’ve somehow gotten to the point in my life (thankfully) that I understand the situations that would make me angry in the past simply do not matter. The last time I was truly angry was almost four years ago, if that gives you any indication of my calmness. I may act fired up, concerned, or perturbed, but it’s never been angry.With that being said,  hell hath no fury like a nice-former-pottery-making-calm-girl scorned.


On Friday before noon, our packages were delivered to our building. Our LOVELY neighbor tends to bring our packages in so they aren’t sitting out in the open. She did so around 5pm. That means they were locked inside our building. I didn’t get home until midnight. Hm, no packages. WEIRD. I thought maybe she took them to her house figuring we left for a weekend (again, she’s a DOLL). The next morning came but we were out and about and again, came home to no packages. ALRIGHT FINE.

Sunday morning, we get up and we hear our lovely doll neighbor outside. I rip our door off its hinges to inquire about the packages. Sure enough, she confirms she left them there. I don’t remember anything in between us making and posting signs on every single door in the building but I do recall at one point chasing one of my neighbors into their apartment interrogating them and also stopping to say hello to their nice kitties. Mind you, I’ve never met this person or these nice kitties. All boundaries were lost. It’s like when you get broken up with via text but you’re in the middle of class and you go into zombie tunnel vision and stand up, palm the face of your teacher when he asks what you are doing, and walk out without any of your things and withdraw from school and never return again.


After meeting the kitties, nice neighbor doll lady came down and offered to help us, MEANING going through the trash to look for evidence. We tipped all the recycle bins looking for boxes while she literally fucking CLIMBED INTO THE DUMPSTER WITH A BROOM AND GARDENING GLOVES FOR PROTECTION. She’s what people a year ago would’ve referred to as “a bad bitch.”

No luck though.

We’ve had leads from other neighbors saying they saw the boxes at our door around 7pm. The time frame narrows. 

I’ve been checking eBay and craigslist for possible leads in the meantime.

I don’t even care about the boots (alright maybe a smoocheroo worth because they were ADORABLE AND PRACTICAL) but I think I’m more sad that this is something that a human being did. I know the atrocities of the world but I still find it unfathomable that someone walking by saw a package and thought “hm, mine now!” I felt guilty for taking a dime off the ground of an office that wasn’t mine. I found a few dollar bills dropped underneath a table at a bar and stuck it in the tip cup because IT WASN’T MINE. This is coming from a girl who brought her Lion King pop-up book into kindergarten show and tell and found all the animals ripped out when she got it back from the Share Bin after recess.  It’s as if I’ve never learned what the X-Files has been preaching this whole time.


But, I don’t believe that. If this is a spectrum then I’m on the “I’m sure they will materialize in front of our door soon” end. Sigh.

In all our sleuthing though, we  found out we have a really huge backyard to hang out in. Who knew?


In joyous news, I realized I’ve lost 30lbs in the past year and a half. I guess when you hit the back half of your twenties your metabolism moves to a retirement community. It also didn’t help that my quality of life plummeted during the passing of one of my immediate family members. For anyone dealing with hardships and not feeling good, IT’S OKAY! Sometimes you have to eat a whole box of poptarts within 24 hours.  I wouldn’t recommend it long term but then again goddammit those babies are nice when you’re laying on the couch in the dark marathoning whatever show you’re addicted to.

Anyways, my secret to success? MOVING. As in, not sitting and having my muscles atrophy. Also, eating food that isn’t poptarts. Brussel sprouts are cool. I also use products on my body that don’t have chemicals in them because it makes me feel less shitty. I literally tasted body scrub I bought because the ingredients were sugar, orange oil, and lemon oil. It was delicious and I don’t regret it. The deodorant I have is cocoa butter, coconut oil, and peppermint so it smells like a peppermint patty. I don’t eat that though. I do have standards and limitations, surprisingly.


                          OR DO I?




I finally finished Six Feet Under and now I’m depressed.

I don’t know where to go from here. I finished the X-Files, Twin Peaks, The Sopranos, and now I’m just sitting here just me and my acid reflux gurgling at the blank TV screen. I started the L Word but I think I accidentally ruined the series for myself by, you know, being on the internet. WAH. I’ve watched a few True Detective episodes but they fricken mumble everything so I have to watch it on full volume with the closed captioning on. I’m also caught up on the Walking Dead.

If you have any suggestions for my next big adventure, please LET ME KNOW.

In other news, I got a pH strip put under my tongue and it nearly disintegrated in my mouth. With a diet of coffee and onion bagels, I can’t imagine why. I’m told if I eat more “vegetables” than it would even out. I might just eat more pH strips and see what happens.

In other, other news, I finally got into my alma maters literary journal. I think it might have been a pity publish but I’ll take it. I’ll link it once it comes out officially. You could totally buy a hard copy too and have it as a treasure forever and think about me and kiss it and stroke its spine.

Okay, I’m tired, I’ve been sitting in the same spot for 4 hours.


My Eyeballs are Flaking Off

Hello Children of the Corn!

I’m an idiot. This may not come as a surprise to some of you (most of you [all of you]) but I’ve nearly burnt my eyes off my face. Some would say it’s a rash but I’d describe it more as a “severe, grotesque, chemical burn from Satan himself.”

It’s not really my eyeballs but my eyelids have grown reptilian. A cross between the X-Files “Office Monster” and a hot shedding snake. Every time I blink it feels like my eyelids are little window shades made of sunburns.

Being the medical GENIUS that I am, I decided to prescribe myself generous doses of GoldBond Anti-Itch Cream to be applied directly to my broken and dry eyelids. To really ease the pain of burning and irritated skin, add menthol and hydrocortisone directly to the infected area and put your head between your legs. You’ll be fine and great*.


A lovely lady at Nordstrom slapped some $300 La Mer cream on my face in order to heal my self-inflicted 3rd degree burns. Apparently it was made by a mad scientist who had a kelp fetish and liked to heat it up in his microwave and rub it on his burns. Now Jennifer Anniston rubs it on her face so she can no longer age because the cream has a time-halting curse on it. I’m really into facts about important things.

I ended up accepting a doctor’s appointment at 8:15AM which I always seem to do because I am afraid to tell the receptionist that I need 14 hours of sleep and can’t possibly be up any time before brunch. I always make time for brunch. I did not make take for brunch at 8:15AM when the doctor was telling me to avoid any heavy creams with menthol and hydrocortisone in them. Whoops. Now I’m smearing lactic acid on my eyes and in a shocking turn of events it’s supposed to burn the dry burnt skin away.

Well, it’s time to go put some acidic moo-juice on my eyes and rest peacefully in my slumber. Pray for me.


Today begins my first full week at my new job! HOORAY.

I’m currently sleeping on a blow-up mattress in the apartment BUT I’m getting a brand new mattress on SATURDAY.  ALSO HOORAY. The blow-up mattress isn’t too bad but I’ll take a knife to it if it means I can get my new mattress quicker.

Speaking of news changes, we also got a new TV package. Instead of a ton of  channels now we only get E! and HBO. At my previous job, I listened to a lot of WTF with Marc Maron in my down time. I loved the episode with Mike White and his show Enlightened that ran for two seasons. After having a psychological episode some years ago, I fucking love Enlightened and has been a crutch for me in this time of change. Along with Game of Thrones. And David Lynch movies. And talking about the X-Files. And eating pretzel m&m’s on my couch.

I think change is great but it can be overwhelming when you’re learning a lot of new things. I have to remind myself to be in the moment as opposed to worrying about what may or may not happen in the next. Like possibly saying the wrong thing and then the building explodes. Or me not entering in something correctly and having to jump through the plate glass window and run away. I guess if that happens that just means I wasn’t suited for the job and the job wasn’t suited for me, right?  *pushes down TNT plunger detonator* I had to look up what a plunger detonator was because I wasn’t sure what it was called. I’ve added a picture for you. Image

Well kids, only 4 more days left until my new mattress comes the holiday weekend!

ciao my dolph lundgrens!

Fake Face, Day 30

Hey Kling-dongs. 

That’s my new brand of plastic wrap with cartoon dicks all over it. To be used to cover the left over deviled eggs at your bachelorette party. 

Do people like deviled eggs? They seem like a staple at family parties. You see them arrive in their special little caddy but you never actually see people eating them. BUT, the mystery–there are never any left over because Uncle Marty throws his hands in the air and goes “awww who ate all the deviled eggs?!” and everyone laughs, except for Aunt Edy because she and Uncle Marty had a falling out years ago, in which Marty forgot about, but Edy still shoots stingy remarks about Marty under her breath to any female relative in near proximity. No one likes Edy, she should just let it go. 

But I digress. 

DAY 30.


QUESTION: What’s in your makeup bag? (revs blow torch, lowers mask)

As a person who dumps more money into Sephora than should be legally allowed, you’d think I’d be able to talk about all the super great things I have in my 5 different makeup bags that turn me from 8 year-old boy to 40-something drag superstar. But alas, I’m still trying to pull off  the “She’s All That” look before she actually turns “All That.”

So why do you need 3 different gold eyeliners for all those New Year’s parties you’re not going to? BECAUSE.

What about this $50 smokey eye palette? I NEEDED it and Pinterest gave me a vague idea of how to use it, so leave me alone I just want to rock the two black eyes that gorilla gave me when he punched me at the zoo. 

I enjoy makeup, but anything above “you don’t look completely dead” makes me feel like a clown. Everything in moderation. Except for things with sugar in them. You can have extra of that. 

Anyways, new topic, I have half an episode left of the X-Files and the last movie before that chapter of my life comes to a close. It’s bittersweet because X-Files was a crutch for me, BUT I mentioned that I would be starting some new (relative term) shows like Twin Peaks, The Sopranos, The Wire, etc. AND GUESS WHAT? I got a request from a lo-lite (my nickname for anyone who has ever enjoyed any of my humor in any capacity) to live-tweet my thoughts on Twin Peaks. The idea that anyone would want my opinion or reaction to anything is extraordinarily flattering. SO THANK YOU!


Lolo signing off.

Until next time, my Quispy Queens.

Bucket List


Half way through the Blog Challenge!

Today’s questions is…

What’s at the top of your bucket list?

Right now I’m working on one of my top goals which was “watch every episode of the X-Files.” 

I’m almost done with it! 

Some others include “go on vacation (to white sand beach/luxury hotel)” and “become famous.” There’s also something on there about patting an elephant. They seem nice.

My stand-up class is almost over! 

I’m going to be sad once it’s over, but it’s been a lot of fun taking it. 

My showcase is coming up next week, so I’ve been mumbling to myself a lot, trying to remember lines. 

Well, I can’t stick around, I’ve got to shampoo my hair and burn it straight.

Until next time, my little shartdonays!

Blog Challenge: Day 1

Yay Inner-nets!

Finally found a spot where I can get internet to talk to you precious babies.

I wanted to do that blog challenge. So DAY ONE.

A recent photo and introduction.

I don’t take pictures of myself often, but I did take this one to show off my super great new shoes. I’ll attach a picture of them too.

I’ll give you the basics for an introduction. I’m a lady. I’m 23. I like to wear a lot of oddball things (like the shoes). One of my reasons for living is to watch the X-Files. I have a passion for stand-up comedy and would watch or do it every single day for forever.

I don’t want to give TOO much away in case I need to say something fun and interesting for a future blog challenge post.

Okay, time for Mulder and dinner.

Until next time my sweet pickle dicks!



As I’m waiting for my hair straightener to reach white dwarf temperature levels, I’ll tell you a tale about how me and my cat were handcuffed together. This is our story.

Okay, so we weren’t “handcuffed” per say, but let me paint this rolling landscape for you. When I got home from work today, I wanted nothing more than to face plant onto my couch and recover from the last 9 hours spent without break (and without feeding my kitty faces). I walked in, turned off the alarm, and  saw Litty, my 14 year-old princess tabby, sitting like an angel from Kitten Heaven. Before I even had time to dive underneath the couch cushions, I was distracted by her soft fur, her big whiskers, and her cute meow-face. Naturally, I cooed at her and slung her over my left shoulder. She gripped her furry fingers into my shoulder blade as I scooped her bum in my hand. I was Rafiki and she was my Simba. That went on for about 30 seconds until the music stopped and  I hunched forward so she could help herself down.

Then disaster struck. One of her  jagged little claws snagged  in my H&M nine dollar pullover. A familiar tale that has only ended in peril.

I set my elbow on the arm of the couch, so she didn’t have to dangle from my shoulder, like Rose on the back of the Titanic. I knelt, she sat, staring at each other like arm wrestlers do before the match starts. Now normally, a stuck claw can be relieved by simply holding the kitty’s paw and pulling the shirt away from it. But your cat isn’t Litty. What should have been a quick fix was a seven minute foray in a Chinese finger trap hell. She pulled, I pulled, she pulled, I pulled. An intense tug-of-war. The minutes passed and I began to wonder who would die first. Would my mom come home to me laying lifeless on the floor, Litty sitting on my dead face?  I tried desperately to grab her paw to release us, but when I touched her tangled foot, she slapped me with the other one.

I contemplated taking my shirt off and  letting her keep it, but we were in front of a open window and my neighbor was out standing by his mailbox.

Then came the moment of clarity, I draped myself on the arm of the chair. Litty sat staring at me like it was somehow all my fault. I looked up at the clock, 7 minutes. “We can’t stay here forever, Litty. One of us has to make a sacrifice.”

She looked at me as if to say “Whatever, bitch” and turned to look out the window.

It was my only chance. She had looked away, and I took things into my own hands.

I grabbed her paw and ripped my shirt away and screeched, “WE’RE FREE!”

Her ears went flat and she whipped her head around, staring at me wide-eyed. I did a few victory kicks and said “What? No ‘thank you’?”

She stared at me, farted, and jumped down.

So there you have it. My straightener is sufficiently hot enough to murder curls and you’ve now heard my tale of woe for the day. Did you learn anything from it? Hopefully that love conquers all,the good guy always wins in the end, and that cat farts are the worst.