I’m glad that you can’t see the time stamps on my blog posts. Otherwise you’d know this post is going up at 5:30 a.m. on a Saturday. And then you’d think I was weird.

Last night my company got us tickets to the Orioles game and I took my Trashy as my plus one. This was my first time at Camden Yards.

I have no idea whose shirt I was wearing yesterday (I’m from Pittsburgh and don’t own an O’s shirt). But it smelled bad. Or maybe that was me.

The chicken head made it through security and operation “chicken dance on the Jumbotron” became my goal. Like most of my goals–which include training my body to not be lactose intolerant, convincing my coworker Emily Light to change her first name to Crystal, and teaching the chinchilla to walk on a treadmill–I failed miserably and had diarrhea in the process.

Speaking of diarrhea (Oh Miss Bond, your writing transitions are only getting better with age), I realized that when I’m at the beach with my mom’s family this week, it will be the perfect time to finally use and blog about that colon cleansing kit that John got me.

John and I have the worst friendship you can ever imagine. It involves colon cleansing kits and me tricking him into going on picnics with false promises of day drinking. He’ll also tell me I have a nonexistent ass on the occasion and every so often I’ll ignore his gchats where he sends me YouTube videos of emo music. Okay so sometimes he sends me something good:

Jill and I watched this on repeat for hours one day at work. And by that I mean we did our work and all our clients were happy and then we did extra work and even cleaned up the coffee spills by the Keurig (HEYYYY BEN!).

One last thing about the Orioles game. If you ever find yourself at Camden Yards and you have to put a bikini on the very next day, you should probably get a hotdog covered with crab and mac and cheese anyway. Also get this even if you’re lactose intolerant. It’s  worth it.

Months later, I will deem this unflattering and delete it. So save it to your hard drives, jump drives, and food drives now.

OMG one last thing. Natasha and I took a very big step in our friendship last night. When we were driving home from Baltimore and Natasha was DJing our ride, she asked me if I knew who Tracy Chapman was.

Duh.

We then proceeded to sing every word to “Fast Car” while going 90 mph down 95 in my Smart Car. Mom, you didn’t read that.

See you at the beach.

A few months ago, I had a mildly traumatizing experience at a party and decided to make myself feel better by buying a TV, going horseback riding with Nina,  and getting holes punched in my back.

Since then, I’ve hardly thought about my dermal piercings–that is–until they get caught on my pants. Fortunately, I hardly ever wear pants. But yesterday, I happened to bend over in a pair of jean shorts (JORTS YOU GUYS!) and my left dermal got caught on them. It hurt a little, but I didn’t think much of it. A few hours later, I noticed the implanted part of the dermal (the anchor) was sticking out on one side.

There really is only one type of reaction for that sort of thing:

One of the biggest downsides to living alone and 200+ miles from your entire family is that you really don’t have many people to call in a situation like this. Finally, I decided to make Ryan Janes fix it, because he’s a janitor so I figure he’s seen much grosser things.

He even cleaned it with peroxide and put a bandaid on it. He’s going to make a great wife someday.

Emails with Strangers

I got a gem of an email yesterday from someone that stumbled upon my train wreck of a blog–Lex and the Shitty City. I will take out most of his details except for his last name, because it’s the best part of the story:

I randomly found your blog today.  You are hilarious.  I’d love to take you out for a drink sometime and get the backstory.  You can check me out to ensure that I’m not  a freak.  I’m a lawyer at _________________ here in DC.  My pic is up there on the firm’s website, along with a list of my general lawyerly awesomeness.

(First name removed because I’m not a complete bitch) McNutt

I’m not feeling so great. But that picture reminds me of something else–after turning 24 last month, I did something I thought I would never do; I bought a pair of bright yellow flats and was excited about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll probably someday be a 60 old lady in my stilettos, but I think with my age has come an appreciation for a sensible (ok so maybe bright yellow isn’t super sensible) pair of flats.

As much as I love Mindy Kalig, I’m kind of “meh” about her show The Mindy Project. I am, however, digging her style. That, my friends, is a pearl tie. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it for Tie Day Friday at work. Ok, so I’ve only ever successfully had two Tie Day Fridays at work. But I still need this in my wardrobe ASAP.

It’s almost that time of year again–time for the Jazz Age Lawn Party on Governor’s Island. While my trip to New York is not set in stone by any means, I would never forgive myself for missing this event–especially since I think The Great Gatsby will spur an even bigger interest in this event. As if all you can drink champagne cocktails wasn’t motivation enough?

I might even try to dress the right era this year!

Alright, one last fashion item on today’s agenda:

How cool do I look in my grandpa’s Air Force jacket? Let me rephrase–how cool do I look in my grandpa’s Air Force jacket despite the fact that I’m trying not to “skinny arm” and I therefore have no idea what to do with my arm? Also, those random lawn chairs aren’t normally set up in the foyer like that.

As John Hartnett would say, “what the hell’s a foyer?”

Check out more Lex and the City fashion posts here.

Every once in a while, a producer at the HuffPost Live finds your year old blog post on tanning addictions and decides they want to interview you–live–for a segment called “I Can’t Stop Tanning.” They did not know what they were getting themselves into.

At least I behaved myself a little bit more than I did during my interview on The Sports Junkies.

Here’s the video–looking back, I wish I had gotten a spray tan before it. And brushed my hair. And lost 10 pounds. It was kind of short notice.

Things I won’t ever do: sound smart during an interview.

Things I will do more than I should: promote taco bell, smart cars, and shoes.

By this time, you’ve probably seen all the Ryan Gosling won’t eat his cereal GIFs.

As funny as the GIFs are, I think my friend Nick’s response to them is even funnier (and so incredibly true):

nick: someone…had to make this
which means they watched a bunch of ryan gosling movies
and at various, two second clips realized

WHOA

if someone attempted to feed him cereal

at this exact moment

the internet would love it

so then this person went

and found the clips online

or made them from scratch

found a picture of a spoon full of cereal

timed it perfectly

and uploaded them all to imgur

.
.

The rest of this post is brought to you by the black and white filter on Instagram with a special contribution from my giant nose and a small donation from my armpit fat:

.

Yesterday, I met my cousin Melissa’s daughter, Lilyann. Seriously though. I shook her hand and introduced myself and told her it was nice to meet her. And then I prolonged holding her until the last possible minute. In fact, I even held the cat like a baby. What can I say? I’ve never been a huge baby person.

But with that said, the above picture is a snapshot my mom took while I was telling Lily about The Great Gatsby. I explained to her that I thought Leonardo Decaprio was the absolute perfect Gatsby, although a friend of mine thought Arnold Schwarzenegger would make a better Gatsby. ”Can you imagine?” I asked her. And then, in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, I said “Dai-zee.”

And wouldn’t you know it, but the kid smiled at me, and basically everything changed. I was a baby person.

Damnit.

Last night my sister and my aunts insisted that we go out for a belated birthday drink for me. Naturally, that turned into four drinks. Notice my one drunk eye above.

A woman at the bar approached me a few drinks in and said, “Me and the rest of the bar are all wondering–are you wearing underwear?”

Um. Yes.

“Oh so are you wearing a thong?”

Um. No.

“So you have big old granny panties on?”

Yes.

“Sweet.”

She then flashed her boobs to the bartender and most of the people sitting at the bar.

BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING, SCROLL DOWN AND READ YESTERDAY’S BLOG POST. IT INVOLVES THIS:

YER WELCOME. Proceeeeeed with the chlorofyl.

Sometimes I get in really mad moods and all I want to do is sit at my house and watch reruns of The Hills and eat Chinese food in my underwear.

This isn’t always a practical solution.

So here are some other things that cheer me up:

John is the worst friend you can have and the best friend you can have–all at the same damn time. Surprisingly, that one simple correction of my grammar made me feel so much better.

Pat Stansik is a YouTube celebrity who I absolutely love, bringing you such gems as “I’m 24,” and “Tall Blonde Girl.” His Twitter feed is also golden. When I turned 24 last month, I quoted his song, and he left a happy birthday comment on my blog post–prompting the Tweet above, which he then favorited. (That last sentence was an absolute train wreck but it’s early in the morning and I don’t feel like fixing it. Blogger of the year.)

This is the birthday card that Jill got me this year. It makes absolutely no sense and I’m obsessed with it. It hangs in my cubical (which actually isn’t a cube at all. It’s just a desk against the wall. A deskical?) and reminds me that everything is going to be okay. Well, until you can’t hear the bats.

I should probably say something really sweet about how much I love my friends or something, but that’s not why this picture cheers me up. It cheers me up because I have a vodka tonic and vodka tonics are delicious, and also because my eye makeup was spot on that night. Sorry Nina. Sorry Natasha. Vodka wins.

No words necessary.

Happy Friday.

Ryan Janes has always been obsessed with my blog. Even before I knew him. When people tell me that they like my blog, I openly judge them because they must have really terrible taste–I’m no Allie Brosh over here.

So although Ryan Janes clearly has terrible taste in blogs and I’ve more than once heard him use the phrase “(fill in the blank) is the tits,” Ryan Janes has surprised me on more than one occasion with his sensitivity, intellect, and for lack of a better phrase, strong moral fiber. I told Ryan Janes he needs to start a blog of his own–and call it Ryan Janes Addiction.

In the past, I’ve joked with Ryan Janes that he was going to make a great wife some day. By day, Ryan is the director of facilities for a private school, but he also once mentioned to me that he cleans buildings for his friend’s dad on the side. Since then, I’ve lovingly referred to him as a janitor.

But he’s a smart janitor. “How many janitors do you know that read The Great Gatsby on their kindle?” Ryan Janes once asked me. He also referenced Jared Diamonds’ book Guns, Germs, & Steel at happy hour this evening. And just so you know? He didn’t have to read it for school. He read it on his own. If there is ever a Good Will Hunting 2, Ryan Janes will star in it, I’m certain.

When I once decided that I would try to fit a 46 in. TV in my Smart Car and failed miserably, Ryan Janes asked me why I didn’t ask him to come pick it up in his truck. Ryan Janes and I had only ever hung out once, really, so I didn’t know we were even on that level of friendship that I could use him for his truck. But Ryan Janes’ friends will tell you that’s just his nature.

“Ryan Janes would do anything for anybody,” his friend/Realtor Katie told me at happy hour today.

And I believe her.

There’s a point to this blog post. I promise. Tonight when I was talking to Ryan Janes, he told me that he was having a hard time finding a girl who was “legit” and who could keep up with him.

“Girls talk such a huge game,” he said, “and then when they realize I am not just trying to pwn them, they freak out and get insecure.”

In addition to being a homeowner and having a truck that he offers to pick up his friends’ TVs with, Ryan Janes also has a convertible, a small boat, and every Direct TV channel you can buy. If all of that weren’t enough, Ryan Janes looks like this:

Ryan Janes is not afraid to admit that he likes the latest Selena Gomez song, or that he’s looking for more than just a hook up. He thinks that women should be respected, and he’s hoping to find the right girl to take fishing, golfing, four wheeling, or to the Montgomery County Fair to eat corn dogs. If you think you could be that girl, hit up Ryan Janes on Twitter @ryanwjanes.

If you’re single and would like to be featured on Lex and the City, email me at lexluthorbond {at} gmail {dot} com. It’s like being on The Bachelor, except with much less exposure and fame and potential for a spin off. 

Guinea Pigs

john: hey i have a joke for you

john: what the fuck is wrong with you

Squatting

There’s a product out called the Squatty Potty Toilet Stool that’s supposed to “elevate your elimination.”

According to the Squatty Potty website, “There is empirical evidence that suggests that elevating your feet during elimination is healthier. While sitting to do our business may be considered “civilized”, studies show the natural squat position improves our ability to eliminate. Better elimination may decrease many modern day ailments including bloating, straining, hemorrhoids and constipation.”

I’m not saying I’m going to buy a Squatty Potty, but I’m also not saying I’m not going to try to rig up one of my own…

Wrong Number

I took the absolute douchiest picture of myself the other day and decided I should send it as a group text to my mom and sisters as a joke. Jill told me to write “whoops wrong number” after I sent the picture. Well, three wrong numbers.

I sent that screenshot to Brandon and he had an opinion as well:

brandon: that picture

you could show a little more skin

Lexie: it’s all in the eyes, baby boy

you don’t need to see skin to know that i’m DTF in that picture

brandon: hahahaha

i dont have eyes, so i had to show the bod

Lexie: haha you do the finger on the lip move

i’ve seen it

i have a photo of it

leah sent it to me

brandon: thats my go to

I feel like a part of me died.

Let me explain.

Yesterday I went to grab my iPod before heading out to the gym. I turned it on to make sure it was charged and it said “no music.” I bought my iPod my freshman year of college. Six years of music—gone. And more importantly, more than 70 Backstreet Boys songs—gone.

This situation calls for a picture of Dawson Leary’s ugly crying face.

In the past, when I was sad about something, I could just put on my “Songs to Cut My Wrists To” playlist. But along with the rest of my thoughtfully crafted playlists, that too is gone.

So I guess the healthy thing to do is to turn to alcohol. I think I’m going to put a few twists on the Irish Car Bomb recipe and invent a shot called a “Smart Car Bomb.” I don’t know what will be in it just yet, but it will be half the size of a regular shot and still get me where I need to go. Which in this case, is Blackoutville.

I thought I worked in a weird place. For example, on Friday, I found a churro in my Betsy Johnson.

“Alright. Which one of you fuckers put a churro in my purse?” I asked the office.

“Oh you know. Just your standard purse churro,” my coworker Sean said, as if everyone carries a churro in their purse at all times. You know—just in case.

But admittedly, my friend from high school has even better stories from her place of employment than I do. When I saw the following status she posted on Facebook the other day, I knew I had to interview her for Lex and the City:

“I might start a blog on the crazy things people say to me at the strip club.. Insanity.”

G (I won’t revel her name because I don’t want her to get in trouble at work) works as a server in at a strip club in Pittsburgh. For your reading pleasure, here’s the Facebook chat that G and I had tonight:

Lexie: Alright G. I’m dying to know some of the things guys say to you in the strip club.

G: Haha I hear the craziest things. I worked for Cinco de Mayo last night. Mexicans are perverts.

Lexie: Ew. I didn’t even know they had Mexicans in PA.* 

G: I mean I don’t blame them I wear corsets, shorts and fishnets to work and ask guys to be respectful of me.. so I’m asking for it. I wear three bras and get mad when guys ask if my boobs are real.

Lexie: haha so they ask you if your boobs are real. what else.

G: I worked in the “private rooms” on Friday night and a guy paid me $500 dollars to let a stripper lick my tits... Im not going to lie I made a deal 350 she could lick them with my bra on he took the deal and I made out with 360 because he was so drunk he gave me too much

Lexie: now that’s just smart on your part

G: In these private rooms I was asked if ecstasy was illegal to give the girls. My response was its just illegal in general. but if he was handing it out… I was so taking some.

Lexie: well now i’m just jealous**

G: he didn’t give me any that girl was a lucky bitch got all the drugs to herself

Lexie: so you just bartend there? but you easily make out as well as the dancers?

G: No, lol I cocktail waitress and don’t even come close to the dancers. Last night a dancer made 700 working from 3-11 I worked 9-2 and only made 310 or something. Im walking around which is dangerous…

Lexie: so tell me some of the things the Mexicans said

G: They barely spoke English, they were soooo touchy. A guy brushed my hair with his fingers for a good half hour, which was painful because I curled it last night. Everytime I would go check to see if he needed a beer 6.00 he would pay with a 20 and I kept the change. He was weird. Asked me to dance and insisted on getting his change back in his hand so he could stuff it in one of my bras.. probably the only time I was happy I was wearing so many.

I had three men from texas last night that were buying a dancer drinks and til she was pretty tanked… looked at me and asked if the “rooms” upstairs were available to sleep in over night for they wanted to have their way with her. Like we were at an old time brothel..

Lexie: woowww

G: We have features there almost every weekend. Which is awesome I befriended one of the features body guards and she has her own dildo line.. I got naked pictures with her and dildos every night I worked. I also got a nice collection of porn going. My boyfriend is pleased.

I have seen more vaginas then most men in their lives.

Lexie: yeah goddamn

G: I honestly still haven’t figured out why I appeal to big black men. i’m tiny.

Lexie: haha you appeal to everyone, i’m sure

i want a friend with a dildo line.

G: no. no. thats a good one. I wear enough glitter that epileptic kids would go into seizures if I moved fast enough around them, my face is black and I am white from my neck down, and my eyes look like one of those big black men punched me… in the very very dim lights I must say I look hot however bring me to daylight or hell any light and I look like a circus clown one man even gasped and said that he was disappointed I wasn’t that pretty

when you’re naked and you have all of ulta on your face everyone is attractive

Lexie: wow that’s harsh

G: My favorite is when people ask if my eyelashes are real… like first off why are you staring at my eyelashes?!

a guy wanted me to tickle him with them.. I did. He was a good tipper

Lexie: that’s kind of nice!

G: I’m becoming a spoiled brat though working at this club. Money wise. I can pick out a poor kid and a big spender in the club by the time they walk to the bar. Friday when I worked upstairs this guy hired a dancer for a half hour to give you an idea its about 220 dollars without tip to the dancer. Then I come in and ask the man if he wants to by the “lady” drinks or wants a drink for himself. Most cheap asses say yes because Im standing in front of him looking all like dick I walked up 200 stairs while you took the elevator you better get a drink

however, this guy said no he was from butler… why did that matter? Not everyone from butler is broke? What are butler people not thirsty?

Lexie: haha Butler.***

G: So, I go in five minutes before the half hour is over and warn them and see if they want to add more time to this experience. He said no. BUT he did want to vodka redbulls and a gingerale… a hefty 22.00 I asked him if he would like to tip the dancer… he said no. I went down stairs paid for the drinks and ran back up to find out he only had a whole 15.00 and could only afford one drink. AHHHH how did you expect to tip me for running up the stairs? He didn’t have an answer. I told him he could have one drink 8 told him it was 15 and kept all the money once I returned the drinks to the bar… he was a dick. I hope butler never comes back to pittsburgh

back to the eyelash guy what grown man wants to be tickled in public

Lexie: haha you make a good point

G: a guy last night put my hand on his pocket and said it was a pocket full of 100s I told him that didn’t impress me… stuck his hand on my hip and told him I had a pocket full of hundreds, stuck his hand on my tits and said full of hundreds.. he laughed and put my hand above his penis and asked if I was impressed… he won that contest.

Lexie: aggressive!

i don’t hate it

so do you get a lot of good looking guys in there?

G: drop dead gorgeous.. and they all tell you the same line. “I’m not a pig… my friend wanted to come in here.” yeah, your friend named willy… who resides in your pants.

Lexie: meh all guys go to strip clubs

I’ve never been to one, surprisingly

G: really?! females there are even worse then guys.

Lexie: lol how so