Lizaster #782

Signing up for a 10K and then proceeding to not train for the aforementioned 10K.

Two blog posts down and I feel like I haven’t properly introduced myself. I believe you will find it’s easier to think of Lizaster as more of a way of life.

A Lizaster is when you finally recognize that your shacker instincts and kleptomaniac ways have left your boyfriend shorts-less. Poor guy, legs deserve to breathe too. So being the caring wonderful partner you are, you kindly wash and return the impressive collection of basketball shorts. Later, while beaming with pride over your selflessness (best girlfriend ever!), you watch as he excitedly looks through the stack of folded shorts, still warm from the dryer. As his excited smile (the kind you can only get when something old feels new again) begins to fade, you realize the pair he is currently holding up to examine are in fact someone else’s shorts.

Oppies.

#tribulationsofashacker

Not everyone could have found the humor in Shortsgate 2011. If I hadn’t already figured it out prior to that moment, I would say this is when I realized just how lucky I really am to have him in my life. I definitely found the one for my Lizaster lifestyle.

It is important to note that with these happenings there is typically an opportunity for something great, and usually like the one above it comes in the form of an amusing story. Life is too short to not be amused by it all. In the case of Lizaster #782 it’s an opportunity to reconnect with the ex-wife (AKA former roommate). Life and other bullshit can sometimes muddy the waters when it comes to the important stuff like friendships, it will be nice to catch-up with her and get back to those Lizaster basics, laughter over life’s innocent mishaps. And that's one department The Dollhouse always excelled in... that, and shorts collection.

Plus, nothing bonds two people more than feeling like your body is falling apart limb-by-limb, piece-by-piece, right?

But in the words of G-Unit, Get Rich or Die Trying, it takes a Hustler's Ambition, and I am ready to hustle... or die trying.

Juices...

I think I may have uncovered one of the great questions of the blog ages... when you can discuss anything you want, how do you choose?

Turns out, in my case, you just don't. I have been wrestling with what to blog about since the BANG BANG incident a few weeks ago. At first I just figured it was blog bashfulness, but now I fear it is full-on writer’s block. And truly I don’t think the blog has much to do with it, just an unexpected causality in an underlying personal battle. I guess I shouldn’t throw around casual BANG BANGS without expecting a few to ricochet.

I recently found out that my position could be landing on the chopping block soon. At this point it is hard to say for sure what is happening, as the story changes from person-to-person, day-to-day, but needless to say, I have been an application machine. Screw dreaming in color, I dream in cover letters now. Who knew so much could ride on a few little paragraphs? But no pressure really, it’s just your livelihood. I think my dear friend Steve might have the right of it.

“To Whom it May Concern,

My name is Liz. I will rock your shit. Feel free to contact me with any questions you have.

Regards,

Liz Murray”

Who knows, it could work. Who could forget a cover letter like that? I know I wouldn’t… and with ten applications submitted to no real avail, I just might hit that “shock value” point soon. Watch out Champaign-Urbana search committees, you are in for a treat.

Either way, “they” say you should write something… anything to get the juices flowing-- and you know “they” are never wrong -- so welcome to the juices portion of the presentation.

Also, welcome back to the skimmers out there.

As you no doubt have noticed by now, I chose a radio as my background. That was no coincidence. It has been officially a year since I left full-time radio. I never knew I could miss something so incredibly much, it’s like a part of me is missing. Now, don't get me wrong, as with anything in life, there are certainly aspects that I do not miss about the job, but at the base of it I could always count on a few things to be true. I loved the people I worked with (funny bastards), I loved the feeling of being behind that microphone (exhilarating), and I knew I was good at my job (most days). That feeling of pride and consequently confidence in myself is what I miss the most of all.

It was also a safe bet that no day would be without a good belly laugh or two, tears and all. Who knew humor was the key to good mental health? Another question for the ages unearthed. MAN, I am on a roll today, someone buy me a lottery ticket stat! No seriously, hooking could be in my future. Jokes! Maybe.

Hard to say if humor has anything to do with my writer’s block, I would actually probably say it doesn’t at all. Outside of work, I am very lucky to be surrounded by some hilarious characters who keep me cracking jokes daily. I think the real issue is my seemingly misplaced confidence, but I will find it. It’s just hiding in that new exciting opportunity yet to be discovered and I think we both can see I am acquiring quite a knack for uncovering things!

And if I am truly at risk of losing my chops, that is simply a loss I refuse to accept. Instead I am fighting back, blogs up! And I AM from Decatur. Decatur, where it is greater baby.

I know that to be true because a rap song told me so. Thank you Lloyd and Weezy.

So this is happening...

I have been playing around with the idea of starting a blog for years now, but never could seem to pull the theoretical trigger. But I guess since I am typing this, and you are reading it, consider trigger pulled... BANG BANG bitches!

So about five minutes ago when I decided that I was actually going to do this whole babbling about what is on my mind if for nothing else but a sanity check, possibly an ego pet, my first question to myself was "what the hell am I going to call this thing?" Nicknames seemed like the first logical choice, and unlike some people I know, I am the glue to life's rubber.

I have had many a nickname in my 27-year lifetime. Starting off with the big sister crowning of "Lil Bit." I guess I never really asked her where that came from, or maybe she told me, my memory sucks like that, but I can only assume that it has something to do with her name being Mary Elizabeth, and her overwhelming desire to kick the ball-and-chain middle name of hers to the curb. The announcement of my conception was her moment to strike. What better way to drop the Elizabeth of her title than to convince Mom and Dad to name their second daughter that very name? And honestly, not a long shot really, the only other name as popular as Mary in our family is Elizabeth. If you haven't already put two and two together, we are Catholic. Turns out, it only granted her a five letter break, but hey Mary Beth ain't bad, right? Maybe she was giving me a two letter break due to my irresistible cuteness when I was younger... Lil Bitch fits just as well though, depending on the day.

Skipping all the usual playground jabs, the other big nickname contenders of my life so far are Lizaster and Liz 2.0. After the cautionary Google search, I found that "A Beautiful Lizaster" isn't as original as one might lead themselves to believe; dare I say, "Lizaster" as a blog title in general is what some would call cliche.

Damn you, Liz Lemon! **fists shaking in the air**

I will go to my grave saying that I was awarded that nickname first; thanks to a radio ranch brainstorming session where one very clever Michelle Ryan had a light bulb moment when picking my on-air name for my new afternoon gig. Definitely a winner, but what wouldn't in comparison to Liz Hitler? Don't ask. But turns out we aren't on a sitcom and the moment was not captured on film... until one week later on 30 Rock, of course. Truly, a beautiful Lizaster. But no worries, I am no stranger to being the second of this name... some might even say the better of the two. But you know how people can talk.

So there you have it, welcome to Lizaster 2.0, kids. As far as pulling triggers go, I am bustin caps in this bitch!