Beyonce, you are misleading.

Being a single lady so far has looked absolutely nothing like me dancing around in a black leotard.

In fact, it actually looks a lot more like this:

After an extremely hellish weekend, I called my bestie Liz for some perspective.

“As much as I think being single was the right choice for me, it hasn’t been all that fun.”

And then Liz said one of the smartest things I’ve ever heard anyone say:

“Before you can make someone else happy, you have to make yourself happy.”

I, of course, responded with the dumbest thing I could think of:

“Well sure, but you can’t say ‘happiness’ without saying ‘penis.’”

Ok. I didn’t really respond with that.

But Liz’s statement caused me to do some evaluation. I make a lot of my decisions lately on what I think is the “adult” thing to do. But before I can behave like an adult, I really need to lower my standards and start behaving like a human being.

For instance, after taking a bubble bath with a glass of champagne (normal), I had a little accident:

This was probably a week ago. I’ve yet to clean it up. What normal human being just leaves broken glass all over her bathroom floor like that?

In another example, you’ll see my refrigerator:

How are you alive??? WTF do you eat? Oh yeah that’s right—mini ‘nilla wafers dipped in nutella. Nutritious.

So my first step to becoming a human being again is to start eating like one.

I mostly loaded up on veggies in hopes that the nutrients will help my nails stop peeling and my hair stop falling out. Again, totally normal.

Now maybe tomorrow I’ll clean up that broken glass…

This morning I was reading the October 2011 issue of Shape while enjoying a bowl of oatmeal with chia seeds and Nutella.

The enjoyment stopped abruptly when I came across an educational little quip about dirty laundry:

The average pair of underwear has about one-tenth of a gram of fecal matter.

(Yes. This is just what I want to be reading when I’m eating a bowl of mushy oats with melted chocolate hazelnut spread.)

And apparently, your poo-infested panties can spread E. coli and salmonella to the rest of your laundry.

The article recommends washing your scivs separate from your other clothes.

Fuck.

I don’t even separate colors.

Fuck.

I don’t know why I read food blogs.

I mean really.

Why do I care about what a complete stranger eats day after day?

It’s not even like I copy the recipes because, I mean really, I can’t cook.

Nonetheless, I follow a considerable amount of food blogs. And this got me thinking—if I care about what complete strangers eat, do my readers maybe care about what I eat?

And then I thought, readers? Hah. What readers?

The point of the babbling is,

today I considered just how random and disturbing my diet is. Take a look.

6 a.m. to 12 p.m.:

-Green Monster Smoothie: 8 oz vanilla soy milk, handful of Romaine lettuce, chia seeds, vanilla whey protein powder, frozen strawberries

-Calcium, Vitamin C, and Magnesium supplements

-One piece toasted Ezekiel bread with Nutella (I bought Nutella in bulk at Sam’s Club yesterday…not the smartest idea I ever had)

-water, water, water, water

-Trident White, Trident White, Trident White

-12 p.m. to 5 p.m.:

-Chipotle Steak Fajita Burrito with guacamole and salsa (no beans, no cheese, no sour cream)

-Coke Zero

-a fun size package of Hot Tamales (thanks Bailey!!!)

-water, water, water, water

-Trident White, Trident White, Trident White

-2 servings Ben and Jerry’s Boston Cream Pie ice-cream

5 p.m. to bed:

-Passion Fruit Green Tea with Honey

-a disturbing amount of broccoli (steamed and tossed with stir fry sauce)

-a grapefruit

-water, water, water, water

Conclusion,

I will never pretend to be normal.

Things I remembered to wear on my run this morning:

*iPod and iPod arm band
*Garmin Forerunner + heart rate monitor
*Spibelt for car keys

Things I forget to wear on my run this morning:

*Underwear

Whoops.

**I drafted this blog the day after this incident happened. But like the title says, I’m just not sure how to say it. At this point, I’m settling for the following.**

I frequently blog about how not to pick up guys as I attempt to avoid awkward pick up attempts at bars.

I also frequently make jokes about how “it isn’t harassment if you like it.”

But with all my experience and all my stupid jokes, I wasn’t even prepared for what went down recently.

It was harassment.

And I didn’t like it.

And it wasn’t funny.

Ok so it was a little bit funny.

Basically, a guy pulled up to me in a parking lot and offered me $100 to see my underwear. He offered me an additional $40 to watch me “rub it” or let him do it. Ew.

Luckily, I know I’m over it at this point as I’m starting to see the hilariousness in the situation. Here are the lessons I learned from being sexually harassed in a dollar store parking lot.

Lesson learned 1: Apparently shopping at the dollar store gives off the message that you are broke as fuck and will do anything for money.

Lesson learned 2: Apparently the apparel that I was considering work attire is easily mistakable for hooker attire.

Lesson learned 3: Apparently my “front bum” is valued at approximately $140.

Glad we could put a value on such things.

Everyone has somewhat of an expertise in something.

There is always a topic that you will know more about than your friends and family that they will come to you with questions about.

The following text message from an anonymous relative should sum up what my expertise is in:

Yes, apparently I have become the poop expert.

For this very important question, I decide I should consult the bible.

(Yes, I call the “What is Your Poo Telling You?” book the bible. Margaret Thatcher calls it a snack as you can see by the chewed up binding.)

Here’s what Dr. Stool says about floaters:

• Two components can cause stool to float: gas and fat
• Most commonly, floaters are due to the fourth burrito or second helping of chili from the day before
• If gas is the culprit, you’ll notice your fart levels increase above normal levels
• Floaters are only worrisome is they are foul-smelling and greasy—this indicates presence of fat and a possible GI tract problem
• “The pancreas, liver, and gall bladder normally team up to help the body digest the fat we consume. When these organs become diseased, dietary fat passes through our GI tract largely undigested and results in the formation of floating, “oil-slick” stool.”

So there you go anonymous relative. You’re either gassy or have a GI tract problem.

You’re welc!

This post may come as a surprise to some of you.

I know most of you view me as a class act in professional business attire…

..but believe it or not I used to have a wild side.

So much so that I owned a stripper pole.

What can I say? I was a sophomore in college and wanted a plan b if the whole ‘get a degree thing’ didn’t work out.

I was enrolled in a class called “Writing the Review” at the time and needed to write a product review. The most recent product I had purchased was the Carmen Electra Professional Pole Kit. I’ve always been proud of the review (I got an A-), and I think it’s too precious to not share with my three blog readers (hello siblings!).

Once just for the whore house, now it’s for your house—it’s the stripper pole. And who better to trust in the name of home stripper pole than Carmen Electra?

Anyone can purchase “Carmen Electra’s Electra Pole Professional Pole Pole Kit at a Spencer’s in the mall for $129.99. Unlike the "Peekaboo Pole Dancing Kit, which is also sold at Spencer’s but for only $79.99, Carmen’s pole is “professional” because it is supposed to support the full body weight of its user: even during upside down moves. Trust me, don’t even try to jump, spin, or even lean too hard on a Peekaboo pole. You’ll end up falling backwards onto the chair you used to put the pole up and almost die. Not that that happened to me or anything.

In addition, the skank rod is also portable. The kit even includes a back carrying bag with large lettering that says “Carmen Electra’s Stripper Pole” so the owner can discreetly take her pole with her wherever she goes. And don’t worry about drilling holes in your company ceiling when you take your pole to the office, because the pole can be used without being screwed in.

The pole comes in three pieces and can be assembled simply by putting the pieces together and tightening the two nuts on the bottom of the pole until it is wedged tightly between the floor and the ceiling. The major downfall of the pole coming in multiple pieces is that it never really feels secure and wobbles at the joints no matter how tightly it’s screwed. Obviously the three pieces allow the pole to be easily transported, but really, I’m not going to take it to my grandmother’s for our annual family Christmas party, or probably anywhere for that matter. I’d much rather have a pole that’s secure than one that’s portable. For those that have residences where drilling things into the ceiling is permitted, the pole is able to be screwed into the ceiling for extra stability. If you’re not planning on doing this, my advice is to have a strong man (or woman) tighten he pole for you, or else it might fall on top of you and narrowly miss smashing your TV when you hook your leg around it and just lean back. Not that that happened to me either.

While stripper poles have been recently marketed as a fun way to exercise, I don’t feel that the Electra Pole could handle a vigorous workout. And the pole is no good for spin moves due to the weakness at the joints. Honestly, I don’t trust it to do much more than a short climb into a pole sit, but I might feel better if I were able to screw it into the ceiling in my university owned apartment. Ultimately, you’re better off spending an extra $100 to get a one piece pole online. These poles may not have Carmen’s name on them, but most pole dancing instructors recommend them over the lesser expensive poles at Spencer’s. Finally, PLEASE follow the instructions and do not use or let other people use the Electra Pole while under the influence of alcohol. It may result in the pole falling onto your laptop and cracking the screen. Thank god for extended warranties. And yes, that actually did happen.

The pole was eventually broken at the party that the following video clip takes place at:

That obnoxious voice behind the camera would be mine.

Anyway, what brought on this whole discussion was this picture of me from the metro:

You can break my stripper pole, but not my stripper spirit.

The traffic in Maryland sucks. But everyone that lives here/works here already knows that. Except for me.

No no no I didn’t understand the extent of the traffic until trying to drive back up to Pittsburgh over the holiday weekend.

My car has no AC and I was sitting on the parking lot that is 270 with the sun beating down on my dark wash skinny jeans enclosed thighs. “I can’t do this for 4 hours,” I thought. “My thighs will literally burst into flames.” I think you know where this is going…

It’s a good thing I took my pants off, too. Because instead of the 3 and a half to 4 hours the drive was supposed to take, it took 5 and a half hours.

Of course part of that was my fault for missing the Pittsburgh exit on the PA turnpike. What can I say? I was rocking out to Justin Timerberlake.

Luckily I was wearing a dress today and didn’t need to undress in the traffic that was unusually ridiculous for only 3 pm. As it turns out there was an accident. Nonetheless, the 50 minutes it took to go 10 miles in 97 degree weather was not pleasant.

The second thing I did when I came home was make a cocktail.

The first thing I did was poop. Didn’t want to know that did you? Well whatever. According to Amanda, everybody poops. Although that’s not what I’ve read..

Oh heads up, I dyed my hair dark brown. I kept getting mistaken for a ginger.

This post is all kinds of disturbing.

As you read this, my mom surely has disowned me. Again.

I’m kind of an idiot when it comes to the sun and tanning beds.

In the past, I wrote about why I stopped tanning and recovering from tanorexia. I even wrote a column about the addictive qualities of tanning.

But when I went to the Jersey Shore a few weeks back, I wasn’t about to sit in the shade.

My sisters boyfriend ended up putting a big blob of sunscreen in the middle of my stomach. Like an idiot, I didn’t apply sunscreen to the rest of my stomach. But of course my stomach ended up burning. All but in that blob. As the burn faded to tan, I’m still left with an awkward looking white patch.

But it gets worse.

I at least kept up with my facial application of sunscreen, but I forgot one little area. ABOVE MY LIP.

The result?

A sunburn mustache.

And it gets worse still

Admittedly, I started using a tanning bed again now that it’s free with my gym membership.

Of course certain areas don’t get tan out doors and are more sensitive than others.

Yep.

I burnt my ass and titties.

Twice.

I have no excuse. I’m an idiot.

It hurts to wear a bra.

And to scratch my ass.

And I deserve it.

In conclusion,

Thanks for being my free stylists, guys. Dress number 2 won unanimously.

Which is probably good because I broke the belt on dress number 1.

Admittedly, I also debuted another new little gift to myself.

I need help.

If we’re not careful, Lex and the City might turn into a makeup blog. Which would be disastrous because having a blog actually focused on a specific topic is just way lamer than writing about random things like how I was born without genitals. Yeah, my mom dropped that bomb on me today. Don’t think too much into it—I’m fully functioning now.

Well now things are awkward. Too bad I already typed it and can’t take it back.

Time to distract you with something even more disturbing.

Ke$ha came to Pitt recently and someone snapped this picture of her.

Notice the naked old guy in the window in the background.

You’re welcome.

Thanks Dana for showing this to me.