i just want you to know…

…that I caught the mouse.

The last time I blogged, I wrote that I checked all four of my mouse traps for weeks without ever catching anything. My landlord has an exterminator come to the building once a month, so I assumed I was probably in the clear. One Saturday I’m cleaning my kitchen, and there behind the kitchen trash can is a dead mouse in a trap.

Forget everything I ever said about being a single independent woman. Ladies, if you don’t want to clean up a mouse corpse, there should be no shame in texting every man you know and offering to buy him a steak if he comes and handles your deceased rodent disposal.

I have to give myself a little credit though–Shaheen may have picked up the body but I scrubbed the blood off the floor. Plus, we took our friendship to a whole new level! How many friends can you say you’ve cleaned up a dead body with

…if you ever find yourself in the outdoor DC Sculpture Garden…

…there’s a statue that has my exact boobs.

img_3029No joke. You’ve now basically seen my boobs.

…that among my many talents, I’m excellent at coming up with monologues

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I’m also great at roasts and figuring out who would play you in a movie. Just know you might not like the answer. Bailey will never forgive me for telling her that she’d be played by Kathy Bates.

…my natural reaction when I realize I’m starting to have feelings for someone.

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But that I secretly (or I guess not so secretly) crave a love so deep it would make the ocean jealous. And yes, I stole that from Khloe Kardashian’s Instagram bio.

…if you’ve ever purchased a family size bag of Doritos from Costco and it wasn’t for a party…

…you’ve probably given up on life.

…secret single behavior is making a comeback.

For the first time in three years, I’m living alone again and therefore, secret single behavior is making a comeback. Again, my life is an open blog, so nothing with me is really a secret. Like, yes I like to do squats in my stilettos in front of a mirror to work my leg muscles in different ways. And yes, I will leave my clothes in the dryer and use it as a second closet to get dressed out of the mornings instead of hanging clothes up. And no, it’s not weird to eat pickles for dinner when you live alone.

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…you might be old if…

…you are at the pool on a Sunday afternoon and you are tempted to tell the girls next to you to turn down their Drake music because you’re trying to read Hemingway.

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…but you’re not that old if…

…you woke up completely topless on a Sunday at midnight a few weeks prior, see a vomit stain on your floor, look through your phone and realize you ubered back from brunch at 3 but that 15 minutes prior to that you called someone in your phone named “Plan B” and have no idea who it is.

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lately i’m…

1….thinking cute strappy front bathing suits are best left for night swims:

2. …expecting to wake up with a mouse in my hair.

It was my first week in my new apartment living alone. I had just gotten back from a fun weekend in Myrtle Beach with my crew. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it run past the wall nearest my TV–a mouse. I saw it three more times that night and briefly considered downloading Tinder just to see if anyone within a mile radius wanted to come over and handle my mouse. I only imagine this would be slightly misleading when they showed up and I handed them mouse-catching tools.

I set 4 mouse traps, shutting my own hand in the trap no less than four times. The traps remain empty to this day. So I’ve decided to reframe the situation. I don’t have a mouse problem. I have pet mice.

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3. …sporting a new whip.

Last November, I rear ended an SUV on 495 hard enough to push it into the pick up truck in front of it. RIP Phillip Smartcar Hoffman. The nice thing about totaling a smart car and living to blog about it is that it gives you an optimistic new outlook on life… and it drives you straight into the arms of a bigger, safer vehicle. Meet my Honda HRV, which I’ve lovingly named HRV Positive.

I feel like the new whip says “I’m almost 30 but I’m still fun.” Which is probably better than what the smart car said, which was, “I’m almost 30 and I have a death wish.”

4… chasing waterfalls. Literally.

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(Catoctin Mountain Park. This is Brandon’s shirt I stole. Sorry Brandon.)

Four years ago when Brandon told me to “get a hobby,” I think my two strongest ideas were hard drugs and smart car ubers. Someone could have told me that hiking was just taking long walks in the woods. This might be the only healthy hobby I’ve ever had.

5. …convinced that the older I get, the more I look like a Hanson brother.

6. …wondering how many more pictures of myself I can fit into this blog post before Carley Simon starts playing. Maybe just one more good one.

7. …getting around to doing the things I always said I was going to do.

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I did my first stand up set last week with Underground DC at the Big Hunt. The video is most likely soon to follow. Putting it online means accepting the fact that I’ll probably never be able to run for office but I think that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I don’t compliment myself often, but I was super impressed with my ability to achieve the perfect level of intoxication to deliver the set with maximum confidence while not forgetting or screwing up the punchlines.

how i get over breakups (then and now)

Then: Change my hair color.

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Now: Out of curiosity, I looked to see the last time I had my hair done. De-fucking-cember. Two things I’ve actually decided aren’t compliments when it comes to hair:

  1. Your hair is so long! This is tricky because it almost sounds like a compliment but notice that the person said “long” and not “beautiful/pretty/pure sex.” I’m pretty convinced this is just a nice way to say “It’s time for a haircut, bitch.”
  2. You have mermaid hair! Oh cool. I look like I’ve been swimming in the ocean all day. Thanks.

Then: Get tattoos of sea life with facial hair.

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Now: This is not a reasonable way to cope with a broken heart. If I keep getting tattoos every time I go through a break up, I will look like Kat Von D by the time I’m 35.

I will tell you a funny story about my last tattoo though. My first tattoo, for those who don’t know, was a white ink tattoo on my left wrist that says “Never Again.” Eight years later, I’ve pretty much done everything again that I said I would never do again. So when my friend Shaheen and I got drunk in Adams Morgan and ended up at the tattoo place on 18th, I think it’s pretty obvious what I decided to do. I got a white ink tattoo on my right wrist that says “Never Mind.”

And yes. That’s how you spell it, but thank you Nirvana for popularizing the one word spelling so that I can get in constant arguments with people who think I’m one the same level as the “no ragrets” guy.

Then: Do weird things with sleep aids (NyQuil brownies come to mind).

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Now: I need sleep aids about as much as John Goodman needs a deep-fried Twinkie. I’m starting to think I might have narcolepsy. I feel asleep THREE TIMES yesterday during the middle of the fucking day. Now that I think about it, it might have been that entire bottle of Pinot I drank by the pool and not narcolepsy.

Then: Contemplate becoming a lesbian.

Now: Let’s be a little more open minded here. Why limit myself to a gender? You see that TLC special about the guy who dates pool inflatables? He might have the right idea.

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Then: Experiment with hard drugs.

Now: Experiment with vitamins. What is it about being almost 30 that has me popping vitamin bottles like they’re Moet bottles? Probiotics changed my life and I’m so amped that I found collagen in chew form.

Then: Eat cheesecake.

Now: Bribe myself to work out. Every time I work out, I put money into a special bank account for my boob job. Working out 4x a week for a year could get me out of the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee by next summer.

Then: Watch more Internet porn than usual.

Now: Wonder if it’s inappropriate to watch Internet porn in a coffee shop because my new apartment still doesn’t have Internet.

Reframing.

One final note on the topic. I was telling one of my coworkers that I’ll be forever alone. He corrected me said that I’ll be forever free. Isn’t it funny how reframing something can completely change your narrative?

who am I and what do I want out of life

This blog post was repurposed from a Readers Are Leaders segment I wrote for my company email newsletter. It was inspired by this article, shared by the lovely Lauryn Evarts.

Do you ever wonder what the difference is between the people who get what they want and the people who don’t? Luck? Destiny? Hard work and drive? Money (assuming that’s not what you want to begin with!)?

I’m sure all those things play a role, but a concept that I dare say changed my life is that the people who get what they want get it because they actually want it.

Wait what?

Let’s take a step back for a second.

This blog, at it’s very root, is me trying to figure out this whole “adulting” thing. Sure, I don’t make my bed and I sometimes eat freeze pops for breakfast, but I also pay my bills on time and attend my bi-annual dental cleanings. Progress never perfection, my friends.

Of course one of the biggest parts of “adulting” is that quarter life crisis you have where you question “Who am I and what do I want out of life?”

This question isn’t super helpful because the core of our answers is probably the same—

–to be happy.

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So if you really want to figure out what you want out of life, don’t ask yourself what you want out of life. Instead, ask yourself,

“What pain do I want in life.”

Why? Because happiness requires struggle.

It’s not enough just to want something—you have to want to sustain the pain necessary to get it.

Let me give you an example. I could list a thousand reasons why I’m not a size 2, but the crux of the problem is that I don’t really want it. Would it be nice to be a size 2? Sure. But I don’t want it enough to make it happen—to always leave work at a reasonable hour to get to my gym class, to say “no” to pizza every Free Lunch Friday, to stop drinking half my calories…

So how do you choose to suffer?

This question just might change your life because it forces you to move past what you desire (high paying job, nice car, house with a white picket fence, Tom Hardy, etc.) to what you actually want. Because at the end of the day:

  • You can’t want the reward without wanting the struggle.
  • You can’t want the result without wanting the process.
  • You can’t want the victory without wanting the fight.

The next time you wonder why your coworker was promoted before you, know that she’s at the office at 10:25 p.m. while you’re pounding margaritas at Alero. The next time you wonder why your sister looks better in her jeans than you do, understand that she’s willing to get up every morning to run before work while you abuse the shit out of your snooze button.

Unlike me, life isn’t easy. You don’t get to go through life pain-free. So choose your pain.

8 reasons why i’m not looking forward to dating again and 2 reasons why i am

  1. Speed dating isn’t what it sounds like. Screen Shot 2015-04-20 at 10.04.12 PM
  2. As if always looking your best isn’t hard enough, always being on the lookout while always looking your best is downright dangerous. Screen Shot 2015-04-20 at 10.04.31 PM
  3. More often than not, men mistake my humor for honesty and my honesty for humor. photo-2 copy photo
  4. Dry spells.
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  5. The inevitable lowering of expectations.
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  6. Some guys might want to date you but most just want to reenact the movie Fear Dot Com and kill you.
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  7. Unsolicited dick pics (if you haven’t seen the Bye Felipe Instagram, you’ll quickly get the point).
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  8. I’d rather die alone than go on another Internet date (see this post).

And now for a much shorter list, reasons why I am looking forward to dating again:

  1. Blog material.
  2. This.

a thin line

We all have that friend who–when drunk–requires a babysitter on the occasion. Except me. Because I am that friend.

I feel like a big part of “adulting” is trying to navigate–when out drinking with friends–that thin line between happy drunk and oh-god-lexie-took-her-pants-off-again.

I’m not proud. Just honest.

In the name of honesty, almost every social occasion in your twenties involves drinking. Dinner with clients? Here comes the wine. Your cousin Rita is getting married? Hello open bar! A long day at the office? Let’s go to happy hour! Even breakfast in your twenties is a boozy event (so many of my Sundays have involved bottomless mimosas that I’m pretty sure I have diabetes from all the OJ but hey at least I don’t have to worry about getting scurvy.).

You’d think that at 27 I’d be a pretty experienced drinker at this point. I’d have a handle of vodka on how many is too many and always remember to eat dinner and drink a glass of water between cocktails and I’d certainly never run away from my family in New Orleans and eat Popeyes with a homeless man.

Okay maybe I ran away from my family in New Orleans and went on a date with a homeless guy to Popeyes (I paid…in case you are wondering #feminism).

It all started innocently enough. It was our first afternoon in New Orleans and my dad wanted to get Hurricanes from O’Brien’s. First of all, those Hurricanes taste like cough syrup. I quickly switched to mint juleps which were on special because of the upcoming Kentucky Derby. This feels nice.

Leave O’Brien’s.

Dance with street performer dressed up as vampire. Dad tells me not to talk to weirdos.

Next bar.

“Try our famous resurrection. It comes in a flashing skull cup!”

Sold.

Back to the streets.

Dad buys me a hotdog from a vendor. I take a few bites but I’m too drunk to chew things. Throw away rest of hotdog.

See topless lady in streets with tits painted purple. Wish my dad wasn’t there so I could walk around the streets of New Orleans topless with my tits painted purple. Remember that I have the tits of a chubby fifth grade boy. Get sad. Go to next bar. Do the responsible thing and order a beer instead of another $15 flashing skull cup. Convince every old lady in the bar to dance with me. It’s still light outside.

Back outside. Talk to more street performers. Dad doesn’t yell at me this time.

Stepmom picks restaurant for dinner. Get bored waiting for our table. Leave the restaurant. Dad tells Brian to follow me. A half hour later Brian taps my dad on the shoulder. Dad inquires where I am.

“I couldn’t find her. When are we eating?”

Meanwhile.

Walking around Canal street by myself. See a homeless man who looks familiar.

“You said you were going to buy me dinner.”

“Well I’m here all week.”

“Why don’t we go now?”

Fine.

Take homeless man to McDonalds.

“But I want chicken!!”

Fiiiiine.

Take homeless man to Popeyes. He gets me a coke. AKA I get me a coke.

Sit outside of casino because Dad is panicking at me walking around New Orleans by myself and wants to come get me. Dad can’t find the casino. I keep telling him I dropped him a pin. Too bad my dad has a flip phone not an iPhone and can’t get the pin.

Eventually reunite with family. Dad tells me if I’m going to act like this the rest of the trip I can just go home now.

Eat cheeseburgers from somewhere. Walk back to hotel. Trip. Toe is bleeding. Blame Brian. Repeatedly tell Brian my dad thinks he’s a douche. Dad insists on making sure I get in my hotel room. Tells me under no circumstances to leave the hotel room the rest of the night.

Sleep. Have vivid dreams about the devil and human sacrifice rituals. Wake up. Is hotel haunted? Sleep. Is it the next day yet? Don’t know hotel doesn’t have windows. Sleep. How am I not hungover? Shower. Probably shouldn’t drink today. Have first drink by 2 p.m.

New Orleans <3.

 

 

lex lately

Lately I’m…

Older, but Feeling the Same

One of the big perks to my SE apartment is that it’s walking distance to Nats stadium (by walking distance I mean it’s about a mile and half but at least it helps me justify having a big old beer and some popcorn while I’m there). I got carded when purchasing said beer and upon viewing my ID, the woman behind the counter said “coulda fooled me.” Trust me ma’am, I fool myself every day.

It’s basically the same story every year, isn’t it? Prior to turning 26 last year, I remember writing:

I’m continuously shocked by how little I change despite getting older. I mean obviously my looks and figure are on a steep decline (jk kind of sort of not really), but I still do that thing where when I drink too much, I run away and hide from my friends. I chose to do this at a St. Patrick’s Day bar crawl in Baltimore, which is probably one of the most dangerous things I’ve ever decided to do. After a few blocks of running, I looked up and saw I was on Leakin Street, which reminded me of Leakin Park (where the body was found in the podcast, Serial). I called my friends to let them know I had somehow made my way into the podcast and was very scared. Normal stuff, you know? Oh and I fell off a bench.

Alright. So I guess I’ve changed a little. I told myself “no more bar crawls.” So over them.

Visiting My Favorite DC Monument

I’ve been trying to convince myself that there’s more to DC than just drinking. And eating.

So last night instead of going out, I took Brian for a late night visit to my favorite monument in DC–the FDR monument.

I feel like this monument doesn’t get as much love as some of the others, which is truly a shame. Unlike the other monuments, I feel like this one really tells you a story as you walk through the different rooms that represent FDR’s terms as President. And for some reason, I’ve only ever seen the monument at night but it’s probably even better during the day.

Becoming a Regular at Eastern Market

Eastern Market was a favorite DC destination for me even before I only lived 4 blocks away from it. Now I’m there pretty much every Saturday and Sunday. I don’t always buy something, but there’s just such a great vibe there and it feels good for my soul. Does that make sense? No. Not surprised.

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Reading All the Things

Katie over at a Touch of Teal basically changed the game for me when she shared on her blog that she’d been saving money by getting free Kindle downloads from the DC library. Realistically, I fugging love reading but it can become an expensive hobby when you read as much as I do.

I’ve been reading AT LEAST two books a month for all of 2016, but another thing I’ve discovered is that through DC library, you can also get free magazine downloads through Zinio.

Screen Shot 2016-04-24 at 9.17.10 AMThese are basically life savers when it comes to trying to get me to do 30 full minutes of cardio.

Snapping My Life Away

I HATE to tell you that my snapchat name is ilikey0u2. I’m sorry. It’s so spammy but I never thought snapchat was going to become cool and I of course made my username is homage to my tattoo of a whale that says “I like you”.

in hindsight i wish i had…

never tried internet dating

I was thinking about this recently and I can safely say that the only good thing that came out of internet dating was blog material. Maybe I’m bad at screening dates. Maybe my LEXpectations are too low. Maybe I just didn’t try it long enough?

And I didn’t just do the free ones either! I once paid for an online dating service called “How About We,” where you propose dates you want to go on and see if anyone responds:

I got 76 responses and convinced myself to go on at least one date, which ended up being the worst date I’ve ever been on. Let me put this into perspective for you: one of the first things the guy said to me was, “So what are you, a C cup?” 

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Of course How About Me is not nearly as bad as OkCupid. One of my all-time favorite messages? “You’d be perfect if you didn’t live up Satan’s ass crack.”

never asked my cousin Devin if he thought I was fat

“No you’re not fat, Lexie. You’re just a little husky.”

And I don’t think he meant like this:

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never stayed in a 2.5 star hotel in the “bad” part of Charlotte, NC

Brian wanted to go see comedian Doug Stanhope perform at the Chop House in Charlotte one time, but I wasn’t totally sold on the idea. Seven hours was a lot to drive for a 48 hour trip, and I never seem to have much PTO stored up despite the fact that I’m too broke for a real vacation.

But at the end of the day, homeboy offered to drive and get the hotel, and even agreed to put us up for two nights in NC if we could find a cheap enough hotel.

Man oh man did he ever find a cheap hotel.

I should have known after our experience planning our weekend in NYC that Brian couldn’t be trusted picking hotels (when I googled the hotel he recommended, the first suggested searches included hotel murder, hotel bed bugs, and hotel haunted. Now lay your weary head to rest, tourist.).

We got to Charlotte around 4 p.m. and I had a blast surprising my unsuspecting coworkers at my company’s Charlotte office.

When they asked where I was staying, my response was met with trepidation, to say the least.

“Well if you want to buy drugs or hookers, that’s the place to do it,” my coworker Ryan told me. He later compared that area of Charlotte to the NE area of D.C. No bruno–which is of course what my Mac autocorrects “no bueno” to.

Nonetheless, we checked into the hotel, which clearly some people choose to live in because it’s cheaper than paying rent. The first thing I noticed was the smell of smoke, which isn’t a particular turn off for me in most scenarios because it reminds me of my Grammy’s house. The difference being Grammy’s house doesn’t usually have blood and other questionable bodily secretions on the wall.

Whatever, I thought. It’s not like we’ll be in the room much this weekend anyway.

After a few $3 sangrias from Brazwell’s, my 8 hours on the road caught up to me and we called it a night relatively early.

As I crawled into the bed at my 2.5 star hotel, I started to…itch.

“Brian, are you itchy?”

“No it’s in your head.”

“Are you sure? I think it’s on my head, not in my head.”

We checked the bed for bugs, but didn’t find anything. He covered my pillow with his tshirt, and I managed to fall asleep for about a half hour. My $40-a-night hotel slumber was forcefully disrupted by a loud slamming of the door to the room beside us.

“Ohhhhh helllllllll naw,” the neighbor next door yelled down the highway.

“Aaaaaaron!!! Aaaaaaron!!!” she called.

“We aint stayin’ here,” she told Aaron. “There’s bugs ‘n’ shit. Aw hell no. We’ll go stay down the street.”

Let me tell you, no words have ever spawned more fear in me than that simple proclamation. If the hotel wasn’t good enough for her, it certainly wasn’t good enough for me.

Brian and I managed to pack all of our stuff in 10 minutes and left the hotel, the Rodeway Inn, around 1:30 a.m. We were checked into the Holiday Inn 30 minutes later. I showered for what felt like an hour and strongly considered burning my clothes and my luggage.

While I don’t think the hotel actually had bed bugs, I did see some reviews that mentioned cockroaches. Either way, I’m pretty sure Brian learned that budget shopping for hotels isn’t always worth it. In this situation, it ended up costing him $90 and will probably cost me years of therapy.

And by therapy, I do mean bacon bloody marys from Terrace Cafe.

Is it a bad sign when your brunch costs more than your hotel? Probably.

never gotten dermal piercings in my back

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Enough said.

the struggle

I often struggle between being myself and being professional. Just this week, the director of my department told me he needed to ask me a favor and my immediate response was “Fine. I’ll start dressing nicer to work.” (That’s not actually the favor he wanted so I’m going to keep wearing ripped jeans to work).

More importantly.

In 2011 when I really felt like I started to find my voice on the blog (PS: my voice was extra raunchy at the time), I was also looking for my first job out of college. I remember my mom sending me an email saying no one was ever going to hire me because of my blog and that she was exactly hanging “proud parent of a girl who blogs about masturbating” stickers on the back of her Envoy either.

But get hired I did. And then my blog actually HELPED me get my job at Blue Corona:

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So admittedly, in the past, when it came time to choosing between being myself and being professional, well, you see the path I chose. And it all worked out!

But now I’m faced with a new conundrum. Now, I have clients. So I figured maybe the least thing that I could do is finally take down my LinkedIn summary. I actually don’t even think it’s funny anymore anyway:

Miss Bond is a website project manager at Blue Corona, an Internet marketing company in Gaithersburg, MD.

Prior to her role as resident alcoholic at Blue Corona, Miss Bond served as a research analyst at RainKing Solutions. (She always knew her first job out of college would have the word “anal” in it.) At RainKing, Miss Bond picked up a ridiculous amount of online and phone stalking skills that will undoubtedly be used on all of her future ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands.

Miss Bond graduated from the University of Pittsburgh in 2011 with degrees in English writing (journalism concentration) and political science (she still knows nothing about politics). While at Pitt, Miss Bond served as the Assistant Opinions Editor at the University’s daily student newspaper, The Pitt News, where she also wrote a weekly health and fitness blog called Get it Right, Get it Tight and a column called Lex and the City. While at Pitt, she also served a brief internship with mtl Mt. Lebanon Magazine, which she will always remember as “the internship where I farted during a yoga class I was researching for an article.” She hasn’t done yoga since the incident.

In addition to writing and blogging, she loves chinchillas, Smart Cars, Doritos, Crest White Strips, Steve Madden shoes, getting tattoos of whales with mustaches, and emailing strangers. Miss Bond hopes to someday write a book, be a stand up comedian, and be on an episode of MTV’s True Life (she is flexible on the show topic).

To contact Miss Bond, please send her an email at lexluthorbond {at} gmail {dot} com.

But I’m keeping all my endorsements for wife skills:

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And I’m also keeping “Family Guy” as one of the languages I speak:

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Want to connect? I like to think I bring a lot to the table (mostly family-size bags of Doritos now that I finally have a Costco membership).

Lexie Bond on [fill in the blank]

Lexie Bond on Relationships

When I was 8 years old (two short years after my parents’ divorce), I very vividly remember my dad telling me that marriage was the worst financial decision he’s ever made. At age 15, I watched my mom go through her third divorce.

For these reasons, I convinced myself that divorce was probably guaranteed by my DNA. Hell, even my Twitter bio says I’m going to make a great ex-wife someday (which is probably why almost all of my Twitter followers are divorce attorneys, now that I think about it).

But for the past few years I’ve been considering skipping the whole marriage step altogether–which has resulted in a super laissez-faire attitude on relationships that I’m not convinced is all that healthy. I mean, “life isn’t easy; fortunately I am” used to be my motto.

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Lexie Bond on Irony

I once traveled to Charlotte, NC and met a gentleman who works for Land O’ Lakes. We talked for a few hours and afterwards he promised to send me some cheese. For some reason, this is one of the most charming things a man has ever offered to do for me, despite my lactose intolerance. How funny would it be if I fell for dairy manager at Land O’Lakes? We’d be like Romeo and Juliet, except with a lot more diarrhea.

Lexie Bond on Fiber One Brownies

Have you ever bought a box of Fiber One brownies, tried one, realized they were absolutely delicious, proceeded to eat the entire box of them (which adds up to 30 grams of fiber in one sitting) and then spent the rest of the evening watching Teen Mom 2 reruns on your Macbook in the bathroom because you’re glued to your toilet?

No?

Me either…

Lexie Bond on Venmo

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Lexie Bond on Dentists

“How often do you floss?” my dentist once asked me.

“I usually just floss before my dates….But I hardly ever go on dates.”

At the same visit, my dentist told me that I have what’s called a torus mandibularis–which basically means a random bone growth in my mouth.

“Well, it’s not the first time I’ve had a random bone in my mouth,” I responded.

“Since the bone growth is only on one side of my mouth, it’s not really causing any problems and there’s no need to have surgery to get it removed. If one grows on the other side, however, it could potentially limit the movement of your tongue.”

“Well that’s really going to cramp my make out style.”

Lexie Bond on Self Awareness

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Lexie Bond on Instagram

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Lexie Bond in Real Life

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