Of and Related to Elizabeth Litvitskiy

"A blog that is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea." -Douglas Adams in a dream i made up

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An Episode of Lost, As Watched by Elizabeth Litvitskiy,


Elizabeth Litvitskiy Watches “Lost” Now, Specifically Lost: Season 1, Ep. 7 - The Moth from 00:00 to 43:20 though she’ll probably watch slightly less than the whole thing because she doesn’t really want to see all the credits

Whoa Charlie had black nail polish this whole time?

Kate’s hair is making a point of being beachy and windswept

Ewwww sawyer

Dimples is my nickname for Sawyer

So Sawyer Nicknames I recall: Doctor (does that count as a nickname is he really is a doctor?), Captain Falafel, Freckles, Sticks

I think/hope Sawyer would call me “Red.”

Wooo subjective camera movement


The slow mo into the sound bridge

WHOAH Charlie is so clean

Music Slut? That’s a dumb shirt.

EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW is that a boar? I think so? Still, EW.

"I’m glad I could oblige. Now give me my bloody drugs."



Choice is so not the only thing that separates Charlie from that boar. That boar does not play guitar. I’m not funny.

This camera movement is so German and spinny

Just got a text from Solomon, who knows PERFECTLY WELL that I am watching. Tsk.

Maybe Kate’s hair is to associate her with Sayid? Like, it’s distractingly beach-tastic.

SEXUAL TENSION (?) Kate: Sawyer. (it’s when the tension is SEXUAL…or maybe the SEX is TENSE!)

Drugs! Drugs! Drugs! All of the drugs!

How is Jack not getting it AT ALL?!


Charlie in the scarf and the corduroy jacket.

Sun in the sexy cami-sole. Hahaha “sol” is like “sun.” Language is fun. That was probably intentional on the part of the writers.


HAHAHAHA Steve and Scott. Classic. I love the extras.

Pineapple Express ruined “triangulating” for me.

sound bridge.

Charlie seems not ok with the way the singing is happening. Solo dramas?

Solo dramas confirmed.

Oooooooooooohhhhhhhh SNAP. Drugs and sex and rock and also roll.

SAWYER! Just fucking tell her! Just fucking tell her about Jack!

EW EW EW EW is that a boar carcass? I think so? Super ew. I am the opposite of hungry. I love peanut butter.

OK, moths are a lot uglier than butterflies, Locke, but I am glad that your weird metaphor/analogy thingy is providing the name of the episode.


Kate is such a sexual tension epicenter.

Charlie, you forgot to mention that Hurley is alone on the island too. Are you trying to say that Hurley wouldn’t fit into that tiny crack leading into the cave? I’m not funny.

OOOOOOOOHHHHH sexy tracking shots. I mean, tragedy-revealing tracking shots.

sound bridge

Charlie in that very different sort of scarf! Gold and sparkly-like!

The hell is bloody.

My inner feminist is kicking and screaming. Charlie’s brother SUCKS.

OF COURSE his name is Liam.

I want my nail painted that color blueish green!

He keeps the drugs in containers for film?

Netflix = bastard. Time of death, 28:32.

Make that Internet = bastard.

***passage of time***

OK. Back. It’s 11:32 the next morning and I have fixed the Internet (the whole Internet?!). There’s this thing I did last night in an attempt to fix the Internet that was just so boss (it didn’t work, but it was basically the dictionary definition of creative problem solving and I am now working it into my resume): I had a floppy wire that I need to stick straight up so I could pass it behind my desk, so I taped two colored pencils to it and it worked.

Anyway. Back to the episode, beginning with 28:32.

Very convincing coughing.

"I’m here to rescue you."

Why are they not answering her? Didn’t they make sure that she was told? Cool thanks Hurley. Never mind.

It’s like Jack is giving birth! With the shoulder dislocation and everything!

Sound bridge!

Is that the outfit Charlie has been wearing this whole time? Yes! Yes! Yes! This is absolutely what happened right before he left for the plane.

Liam/his child/his place/his lemonade is really really pushing the point. SO CLEAN.

Drive Shaft ring!

Reflection of the lemonade in Charlie’s glasses. I am thirsty. 

He has a plane to catch OMG OMG OMG OMG. Slow mo.

OK, so was Jack pretending not to know about the drugs or what? Cute how much confidence he speaks with now.

Keep saying the name of the episode! Say it again! What was the name of the episode? Oh, right! That!

He sees the light!

Hand! Nail polish! Jealous.

I literally laughed OUT LOUD when they just showed up. “Hey, it’s the doctor!”

The guys in Malibu ARE “such idiots.” Oh, Sticks. At least you got the rocket going on time. Hahaha oblivious extra.


Charlie has the flu? Yeah, the withdrawal flu! I’m not funny!

Awkward glances between Sun and He Who I Call “Dad.” It’s the cami.

Charlie, why why why why why why why why why why why why why please destroy it YES! SATISFACTION.

Locke is such a nice unconventional daddy type.

Oh look a moth.

I have stopped at 42:41! Do not wish to view credits.


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Fauver Girl Problems

Back in September, a Twitter account by the name of @fauvergrlprblms was brought to my attention, which it captured for the entire three minutes that it took to read through the feed. This short-lived* list of the woes of the female-identifying folk in my residence hall, while well-equipped to evoke the inherent struggles of the first month of a party grl’s college life, was in no way prepared to deal with the latest obstacle to the hygienic first floor Fauver femme. That’s right; I am referring to:


Choosing a shower in our lovely bathroom always reminds me of the Frank Stockton story, “The Lady or the Tiger,” in that both involve doors. There is also the shared quality of danger lurking behind these doors, but in this respect, the real-life situation is much worse in that it is a LOSE-LOSE-LOSE situation. The short story (psychological test?) at least offers the possibility of a sexy lady instead of a deadly beast**, but despite the notable and pleasant reversal in which it will always be a sexy lady who walks through the bathroom door, there is really no satisfactory alternative in terms of the shower itself. So each time I wish to clean my nooks and also my crannies, I have to choose between three quite equally unappealing options (presented in the style of Friends episode titles):

1.            "The One with the Broken Showerhead"

The handicap-accessible shower, ideal for room to dance/shave, is suddenly stricken with an inability to be turned on without spraying water in horizontal ways.

2.            "The One with All the Flooding"

The option with a ledge for Shower Things, as well as an excellent sense of temperature, develops the nasty habit of turning into a footbath.

3.            "The One with the Temperature Control Issues"

Like that Katy Perry song. Plus no ledge for Shower Things.

A fortunate turn of events has recently rendered “The One with the Broken Showerhead” inclined to much more vertical flow, in turn rendering this blog post an outdated and possibly overdramatic complaint. I regret nothing.

* SEPT. 16, 2011 - SEPT. 16, 2011

**Note that “sexy lady” and “deadly beast” are sometimes interchangeable terms.

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Tone in Text(s)

If you just love:

  • crying during movies
  • movies that make you cry
  • talking about crying during movies
  • talking about how much you love movies that make you cry,

then here are two of the less-obvious True Things about you:

  1. you are either a lot like me, or you are me (the latter is likely in that I may be my only (daily*) reader)
  2. you are going to “just love”:


Clearly, you’re one of those souls who just needs to feel, and you might just find that one of the best feelings is that which can be expressed with passive aggression!! What better way to find a reason to be vaguely mean to someone you care about than by reading an angry/annoyed/assholeish tone into a text message that most of you is pretty sure is harmless?!

So, got a reply you weren’t thrilled with (even though you have no real reason to get upset)? Don’t just sulk, sulk actively! Find an issue with the tone of the message, and call your friend/Mom out on it. You’ll have started a fight that could last for days, and even have brought up deep-rooted issues once thought to be long since resolved!

Try it today! If you’re not 100% satisfied with your results, I have an issue with the way you phrased that, you bitch.

*Yes, I read my entire blog daily. I have seen that trailer upwards of thirty-nine times.

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For Hire

There are several jobs for which I am thoroughly convinced I would be perfect: Hollywood star, Internet star, Super star, Death Star, celebrity. But there is no work out there that could be better for me (and, if you hire me, for you!) than the fabulous/nonexistent position of Adorable Email Composer. Enjoy the official advertisement for my services below! I can improve your life by many folds!

Is something lacking in your life? I am The Doctor*, I am in, and it is my professional opinion that there is nothing** that improving your online activity can’t fix!

I have years of personal experience in composing exceedingly cute online correspondence to such types as: friends, teachers. I am proficient with letters, punctuation, and emoticons—automatic and otherwise. And my work extends beyond electronic mail: tweets, Facebook comments and up/down voting on Reddit are just three (or four, if you count it the better way) of my Extraordinarily Marketable Skills. I am also very pretty, which is helpful, though not in this regard.

foto kred Grace Nix

So if you desperately need or just strongly desire to have people think you’re not so bad (“I like zer better on the Internet”), which could lead to being kept around or retweets or Facebook notifications or karma or an email reply or a text or a phone call or a romantic meal or a passionate night of Parcheesi or a passionate night of Parcheesi in which “Parcheesi” is a euphemism for “lovemaking,” do not hesitate to contact me. Rates are negotiable.

References are available upon request! See an example of my abilities at work*** below. Note that my humor and adorableness made a male person get crumbs all over his computer in a good way. You probably don’t even want a reference any more.

*not a doctor, not Matt Smith

**not nothing


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The Last Six Days

As a General Rule, I have a hard time sleeping before something big happens. Restlessness preceded every first day of anything; every performance, every tournament, and many a serious exam (not the SATs, though. CURIOUS.). I couldn’t sleep the night before coming back to school this past week. This doesn’t fit too well with the General Rule because nothing much was actually going to take place on Tuesday—it was the day I returned to school physically, and things-wise (SO MUCH STUFF), but classes weren’t starting up again until Thursday. I came back that early wanting some time to settle back in, get in the right mindset, get the few things I needed and lacked, and spend time with the people I’d been missing while the time was free/cheap. I was apprehensive but excited about the fast-approaching academic aspect of school (remember when “school” was uni-faceted?) though I was only to have one class in this first “week” back. And I spent Tuesday and Wednesday quite ideally—using the men’s bathroom in the Music Studios (though the women’s bathroom differs only in that it has a skirt Sharpied on to the International Symbol for MAN), learning some music (thank you Cade and Michael!), getting somewhere in ukulele (thank you Michael and Internet!), getting the books I needed, seeing a movie (for free!) because it was free (!).

On Wednesday, the day before school really started, I: 1. went to bed at a reasonable time, 2. set my alarm for a reasonable time, 3. fell asleep relatively quickly, and 4. had a mildly unsettling dream that I now remember so poorly that if I tried my very hardest to guess what happened/why it was unsettling at all, it would be either exactly or not at all like being pretty sure that the word you’ve forgotten starts with an “M” though it actually starts with a “C” (where did that “M” come from, ya silly person?! Aren’t I great at insults?!). That, to me, is sleeping well. Thursday morning, I woke up to my alarm and enacted my Morning Routine: 1. check Facebook, 2. check my email. My email included one from the professor I was supposed to meet within an hour to learn about women in a transnational way! Class was cancelled. I’d be free for the next four days. No class-type learning, no homework, no perusing the syllabus and creating a soon-to-be-abandoned plan of attack that included doing work weeks in advance. No responsibilities that I didn’t create for myself (and I am not really really ridiculously responsible). This was not part of the plan.

3 Facebook notifications, by the way. As we might put it on the Better Social Networking site, #popular

It’s just become Monday now and the past few days have had their highs and lows: I continued practicing ukulele, I helped Lovely Haley Friend celebrate her birthday and the gift only came a day late, I spent extremely high-quality time with Other Lovely Friends (improvised a cappella on the kitchen floor may have been involved, and it is possible that I merely listened, seething with jealousy over the ability to improvise a cappella, meanwhile strumming some chords on the uke occasionally), food is good, I saw Bringing Up Baby and it was wonderful (Katherine Hepburn is indisputably/indubitably the BEST EVER), I caught up on Parks and Rec. I also auditioned and was not called back for two plays (UPDATE: suddenly have been called back for one of them so I get another chance to be rejected!!), and learned upon opening the newly-released application that the internship I was most interested in pursuing is not available to me as a freshman (information that would have been useful before I fell in love with the idea of spending my summer this way, Museum That Shall Not Be Named! This was a low point.). Cue sobfests (thanks, Lovely Solomon Man for supportiveness). But, as Lovely Cade Friend likes to say, OVER IT. Besides, I have figured out how to avoid the cancellation of big events in my life: DO NOT SLEEP WELL.