Thursday, December 31, 2009

Auld Lang Syne

I just can't keep up with how fast this year has gone by. As it is now, I barely have 3 minutes to write my end of the year blog. Somewhere I have a list of all the things that I did, saw, learned, drove, flew, and experienced that I had all good intents of putting here, but I don't even have the time to do that. Man, what a year. What a busy, busy year.

As for next year (AKA 15 1/2 hours away), I'm going to start things off right. Tomorrow, I'm jumping in a car and driving to Maryland as quickly as possible. Buckle up kiddies, 2010 is going to be another good year!

Happy, safe, sane, New year to everyone!

Thank you for reading and being a part of my life...especially to Carly for so many awesome laughs. I can't wait to hear the account of the New Year's party sheanigans!

Friday, December 25, 2009

so this is Christmas...

Merry Christmas!

(that's all I got)

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

fark me

I can't take it anymore. I nodded off on the freeway twice in the last week. On the freeway! I drifted into the carpool lane. Drifted. into. the. carpool lane. I fell asleep while I was working the radio and missed a traffic stop. Last night I fell asleep with false eyelashes on. I found one partially stuck to my eyebrow this morning. This weekend during wedding madness, someone asked me if there was anything that I didn't do. Sleep. I don't sleep. I don't think narcolepsy is this bad.

Fark me, I'm tired.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

I should have gone to bed

You know sometimes that inner voice that speaks to you is trying to save you from yourself?

I should listen.

Sometimes you should just pay attention before it's 5am and you're walking down your own hallway, topless, covered in glitter and teal paint, with glass stuck in your thumb, wondering when the burning smell will leave the bathroom.

I am a tweaker - minus the injection marks and missing teeth. I'm up when the world is asleep and most productive when the sun is on the other side of the Earth.

I should have gone to bed when I spilled a big box of seed beads on the floor of the spare bedroom. It sounded like that one time I went straight from the beach on North Shore to Chili's and used the ladies room only to dump half of the beach out of my bathing suit and out under the stall door. Whooosh! Who knew that much sand could hide in bathing suit lining?

I should have gone to bed when I tipped the green glitter all over the stovetop in the kitchen. It looked like Tinkerbell got beat to death.

I should have gone to sleep when I almost lit the acrylic ornament paint on fire in the front bathroom.

I should have gone to sleep when I got the tiny sliver of glass broken off in my finger tip.

Finally, sparkly and glass pricked, I should have gone to bed before I accidentally squeezed half a bottle of bright teal acrylic paint on to my light grey fleece $60, work sweater sleeve. Not only the sleeve, but the opening where the paint could slowly run down my left arm, the only part of my body not covered in green glitter.

As I managed to shimmy out of my sweater without streaking my body in paint like a Carnivale performer and soaked my virgin sweater sleeve in hot water in the bathroom sink next to the smoldering ornament, I had to realize.....besides my bathroom at 5am, the only other place you could find a topless, glitter, and paint covered woman playing with water is a strip joint.

It's 5am, do you know where your stripper is?

Saturday, December 12, 2009

sound it out

I saw Precious this weekend. I knew I was in for a few tears, but this one really got to me. It was heavy and graphic, but not distasteful. I think the part of it that really pulled at my heart was knowing that people, women, girls live lives like that everyday. Knowing the basic premise of the movie, I expected to see some of the scenes, but the scene that started the flood of tears was the one where Precious wasn't able to read outloud the title of a children's book. You could see the frustration and self-doubt (amazing acting by the way!). I cannot imagine what it must be like to not be able to read the words that are all around you - to feel lost trying to decipher basic directions in everyday life.

I can read. I write. In fact, I know the power of both so much, I share my life and my feelings in words with all you. I can read at the speed of pursuits, structure fires, baby's not breathing, shots fired, pedestrians hit by vehicles...but more importantly I can read when I'm at the grocery store, I can read when I have to get somewhere new, I can read when I need to find someone to help me. I CANNOT imagine having those basic life skills stripped away from me.

So with New Year's to-do's coming upon us, I think I'm going to volunteer at the local library to teach someone how to read. What a skill to share with someone...what an impact to have on someone's life. I may not be able to remove a child from a dangerous home or keep someone from being abused, but damnit, I can teach someone to read.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

I've been struck...

by crafting genius! I wish I could say that it was ultimatley cheaper to make people presents rather than buy them, but in all actuality, it's not so much. Time costs after all, not couting the million little chockies that get purchased and put to use. But, that hasn't stopped me from checking the majority of the recent birthday, Christmas, baby shower, and thank you gifts off the "made with love" list. I even was told the other night that I should do this kind of stuff professionally and quit my job. Ha! Fat chance, but there's always a dream of doing something like that. I wish I could...I'd do it in a heartbeat. But alas, I'll have to continue to make scrappy camp out of my front room (and kitchen and bathroom and actual "scrapbook" room) until then. The "room" is like a minature store - I pick a theme, grab and empty box, and start shopping for all the odds and ends of things that I'm going to put in my new creation. I could literally go to the hardware store and find stuff to make a scrapbook or altered creation. It's an obession and one I've been happy to feed for the last few years. Merry Christmas, may you be a good enough friend that you get a homemade creation from me someday. :)

My living room is buried somewhere under there.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

sweaty balls

Today, it doesn't take much to piss me off. I guess it was a long time coming after my 65-hour work week, including a 14-hour shift on Thanksgiving at minimum with no break. After 4 hours of marginally good sleep today, through the barage of mass texting and a few unneccesary phone calls, I woke up to a house full of 20-year old teenagers gathered in the hallway talking shit about whoever the target is for the week. Oh yeah, thanks for even asking if I wanted to go do something with you since we didn't go see Kelly Clarkson tonight because you couldn't afford to buy the tickets even though you just went out and bought and iphone the next day.

Yeah, being awake is awesome. Oh look, the dishes from Thanksgiving are still stacked on the counter and in the sink. Nice, and what was that you were saying, Baby Sister who isn't going to school and doesn't pay rent in my house? You have so much extra time on your hands, you want to volunteer at the hospital or senior center because it makes you feel good. How about you volunteer to wash the fucking dishes since you don't pay rent.

Well here's one for you. Dishes that sit and fester in the sink for 4 days after Thanksgiving, which by the way we had salmon and not turkey cause no one wanted to make a big bird, smell like ball cheese. Yeah, ball cheese. Ok. You ok with that? Sweaty ball sac. As if the rotting dishes weren't enough, it was time to cook the pre-marinated tri-tip that you literally pull out of the package and put in the oven, which my father who has lived 70 years on this earth, cannot seem to cook on his own:

preheat oven to 425*
remove tri-tip from packaging
place fat side up
cook for 1 hour

Degree of difficulty: -1

Fine, I'll cook, I'll clean, I'll pay the rent, and I'll do it all in the 2 hours I have before I go back to work again cause someone else is sick again on her Monday.

7:24pm, leaves me with 16 minutes to take a shower, change, make gravy, and throw dinner in tupperware so I can rush off with it to the batcave for another night of incompetence in epic proportions and political demands.

7:31pm, while getting dressed and blow-drying my hair simultaneously, I hear the rattle of a pan hitting the floor. The roast. If the roast is sitting on the floor with the dog pacing in circles while my father tries to both hold on to his walker and save his dinner, I am going to hit something with a rolling pin. Luckily it isn't. It is my father, picking up the crusty salmon ball cheese smelling teflon baking sheet that was supposed to soaking. Apparently he flung it sideways while scraping it with a spatula while insiting that the gouges in it are from cleaning and that's how you clean a pan. With a metal spatula. That was the last straw, people had better be tiptoeing on eggshells while wearing kid gloves and sporting skates for the layer of thin ice that is coating my house right now.

In hindsight, and now that I write this all out, I guess it actually does take a LOT to piss me off. I knew this was coming. I've been too entirely in a good mood lately.


Saturday, November 28, 2009

PEACE is easy

All you need is some paint, a glue gun, a ribbon or two, a streak of creativity, and some caffiene. I made PEACE in my kitchen. If PEACE always looked this good, there would never be any war. The only black Friday stop I made today was to Michael's. I could spend a lifetime there wandering aimlessly with my shopping cart full of glittery things and spools of dollar ribbon. That place is the crafty girl's Mecca. Ohshamalamamaooohhmmm = my crafter's chant. I LOVE nights like tonight, locked inside while the wind blows, with the XM country station playing, the smell of hot glue gun in the air, creativity oozing out of my veins. It's no wonder I made peace. I was at peace.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Gobble, gobble

Happy Thanksgiving.

Happy 14 hours of shift trade and overtime Thanksgiving.

Here's to drinking too much nog and going off on an in-law with a chair, but only after biting their ear off.
Here's to eating so much food, you get heartburn masked as angina but only after suffering for it for hours and hours and finally deciding you want to go to hospital via ambulance even though you had a house full of family all night and you live .3 miles away from the hospital.
Here's to leaving Aunt Sally alone with the unlocked liquor cabinet. PS, not good for anyone.
Here's to locking your car keys in your car on Black Friday at 1am and getting angry that the police department doens't carry slim jims like they did back in the 80's.
Happy 12 more hours still to go in the shift.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

I am in love...

with this wedding blog (click that title up there ^yeah that one^). It is super-fab, but not ultra frilly. There are no dresses in the shapes of cupcakes or overstuffed Kleenex boxes or trains that go on for days, wrapping around chairs and small, unsuspecting children. There are no cliche, over-the-top bouquets of pink roses enveloped in yards of tule, or cheesy towering tier cakes with fake Romanesque pillars and lame hollow plastic figures of the bride and groom.

It is chic and quirky celebration of unique happy people that make you want to be happy too. The photos (!) are just a visual smorgasbord for my eyes! I have been surfing this site for hours now (shhh, don't tell my boss), in between brandishings, attempted burglaries, dog-bites, and prowlers, I cannot stop looking at all things wedding on this site. I know, how un-Lauren like of me!!!

Well, I guess in all my "s/h-appiest-day-of-my-life" visual feasting, I have decided these things:

I want a reception in barn with lots of little lights
I want a red velvet cake
I want lots of colors and a wedding weekend that goes on for days...
I want my guests to sign a cool guitar in lieu of a guest book
I want to take my own wedding pictures yet be in them at the same time (I know, I know...there's now way to do that!)

I want to win the lottery, quit my job, and start an event's planning business hiring all my friends and family who will love to work for me because we will be in the business of making people happy and we will only work with happy people. Bridezillas, cheapskates, and overbearing mother-in-laws need not apply.

But...despite all that, I do not want these things just for the sake of wanting them and that IS very Lauren-like of me.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Meet the Girls

Otherwise known as, Lauren does yoga.

The class requirements are very minimal:

pay the fee
sign the the waiver
bring your own mat
wear comfortable clothing

In the last couple of weeks, I've stretched my chi, found my balance, and learned about the asanas. I've posed like a dog, a cat, a cow, and a serpent, but not a camel. Apparently, that's for the advanced class...oh, how I can't wait.

Yoga is so the opposite of me. It's calm, balanced, and routine. I don't love it and I don't hate it. The teacher is the epitome of yoga teachers. She is petite and bubbly, she can hold her body up bent like a pretezel on one arm, and she breaths like Darth Vader.

My favorite part of the class is the beginning stretch and the ending stretch. Who would not want to calmly sit cross legged in a slightly warmish room with such soothing instructions, "find your place of calm, a place of safety, let your thoughts wander to the physical realm, feel spots of tension, and release them."

Well, apparently, my physical realm took that too seriously. As we sat like Indians and centered ourselves, rocking our hips to a more balanced place on the mat, listening to soft chants and faint bells tolling, I happened to open my eyes just slightly with my head bent down to notice...half an aeriola hanging out of my comfort clothing. The method to my dressing madness was that a stretchable tube top under my tank top would be better suited than a constricting sports bra. Uhhh, think again.

Luckily, everyone else was in their place of calm (probably hoping that they wouldn't fart or queef when we launced into downward-dog-seprent-half-sun-docked-boat pose) and didn't notice that I was half nude sitting in the room.

*Big Sigh*

Prayer for enlightment:



Lead us from darkness to light
From ignorance to truth
And from death to eternity
Let peace prevail everywhere

(unspoken) Let Lauren's breasts not hang out in the rec room at the downtown senior center on Thursday nights

Wednesday, November 18, 2009


Sometimes I think I'm fooling myself when I say that I never think about being single all the time.
Sometimes I really believe myself.
Sometimes, like tonight, it feels like too much to admit, which is why I need to type it out to see it in writing for myself.
Sometimes I write just for me.
This is not a sometime, this song gets me every time.
I'm not completley brave.
If I was, I would put the lyrics here too.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

beautiful mess

What do you see?

A mess probably.

I see the result of a fabulous dinner, a good family get together, and a solid "remember that time?"

If left to his own devices, my father would eat himself into a fast food/salami & cheese coma. I think that might be his ultimate exit plan. So, about once a week, I try and cook something. This week it was tri-tip tacos with all the fixins, homemade beans and rice, fresh grilled tortillas, and pumkin cake with cream cheese frosting. Enough to feed an army...

In the background was about 10 of my family members and the fight. Yeah, you know, that one with the Filipino and the Puerto Rican. Considering the Aquino family was well represented in my living room, you can guess who we were cheering for. This won't happen often, but we made the effort to make it happen tonight.

What a beautiful mess this is.

Monday, November 2, 2009

1-way ticket to Fantasyland

I got sucked into a Fantasy Football league and now I got the foozeball fever.

"Foozeball is the Devil Bobby Boucher!" ~ Mama Boucher

I barely have enough time for reality somedays, yet I find myself searching for top of the league scoring Tight Ends at 3am and praying that groin and thumb injuries heal before Friday practice. Damn you Brett Favre and your healed might have cost me this week's score and my dignity!

No doubt, there is some hot spandexed man ass in the NFL, but as far as I'm concerned, the treasure of the league and the entire fantasy world is THE SMACK BOARD!!!

"Smack that, all on the board, Smack that, gimme some more, smack that, ooooh-oooo-ooooohh!"

Hmm...ain't no surprise that I am the league leader when it comes to the smack board. The smack highlights:

Welcome to The Week 8 Smack Board

Lauren (Oct 30 4:24 AM): Alright beyatches! We're more than halfway into this thing...let's start with some good early morning Friday smack talk!
Lauren : KC, are you ready to rumble!? I'm paying attention and I'm not going to let your primal screams intimidate me!
Lauren : Booooyaaaah!!!
Casey (Oct 30 1:22 PM): bwwwwhhhhhhaaaaa!!!
Casey : KC is serious business ... you should've seen her last nite with her print outs and highligthers!
Lauren (Oct 30 2:09 PM): oh my jezus
Lauren : highlighters
Lauren : we're highlighting stuff in fantasy land
Lauren : is that why she traded somebody with bostigan?
Lauren : farkle...y'all some of you need to simmah down nah!
KC (Oct 31 12:25 AM): I traded for the week for a good QB, not some piece of crap from the waivers...We will see. All my good players have byes this week. Talk about FRAKLE!!!
Casey (Oct 31 12:41 PM): ....or FARKLE! haha
Lauren(Oct 31 3:59 PM): I'm ready for you KC...I just switched out the hot guys on my starting line up for real players! Bring it on!
KC (Oct 31 9:05 PM): You suck...we will see
Lauren (Nov 1 4:50 AM): whoever told you I suck is telling lies.
Lauren : LiES!
Lauren (Nov 1 4:51 AM): Uh, game Monday, you, me, and some makeup remover to take off the highlighter L I'm gonna write on your forehead
Lauren : oh we're talking some smack!
Lauren : in fact I'll even let you, blue, pink, purple, orange, or old school yellow!!!
Kristin (Nov 1 5:40 AM): lauren u suck?? lol hmmmm
KC: (Nov 1 5:47 AM): If my trade for QB (Farve) ever goes thru I will be in business...Keep talking. You will be picking the highlighter color for your forehead
Lauren (Nov 1 8:46 AM): someone's got to use this smack board!
Lauren :'s gonna be close with your borrowed ass QB
Lauren (Nov 1 8:47 AM): me and Drew Brees say suck it
Lauren : suck it long
Lauren : suck it hard

And so the stage was set.

***********POST GAME WRAP UP****************
That was just the most intense football game ever. I need a smoke and I don't smoke. I broke up with Drew Brees but now we're back together...I can't say no to gold shoes or Texas boys.

It's fantasy. It can happen.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

50 questions

Happy November!

How did the entire month of October go by so fast? I worked like a mad woman, I helped plan a fundraiser, I was on vacation for 3 weeks, I was in 3 states in the course of 3 days, took the baby sis and friends on their maiden voyage to Sin City, ate BBQ at Stubbs in Austin and Mexican at Chuys before we got on the flight home...and now I'm back at work, which means...I am also back at blogging since all my distractions have been taken away.

I found these questions emailed to me at 3:30 am just a few days ago, which is just about the best time to do some self-reflecting. Self-reflection is good. So is stretching. I will ponder some of these more complex ponderings while I downward dog and upward cat and whatever the hell else I do in the yoga class that starts on Thursday while praying that no one queefs or shards, which could very possibly be the case since the class is a the downtown Senior Center. Old people farts just might be the death of me.

These are good questions, not the run-of-the-mill "Describe your personality in 5 words or less". I read them, I thought about them, I went as far as to print them out and write out some of my answers - with old school ink and all.

Oh, happy, happy November...welcome, with your bright, sunshiney, 80 degree weather. What kind of shenanigans are we going to get into this month, huh?


1. Copy and paste the questions to a word document or grab a pen and paper.
2. Breathe.
3. Do this quickly, go with the first answer that comes to your mind.
4. Don’t think too hard and have fun.

1. How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

2. Which is worse, failing or never trying?

3. If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?

4. When it’s all said and done, will you have said more than you’ve done?

5. What is the one thing you’d most like to change about the world?

6. If happiness was the national currency, what kind of work would make you rich?

7. Are you doing what you believe in, or are you settling for what you are doing?

8. If the average human life span was 40 years, how would you live your life differently?

9. To what degree have you actually controlled the course your life has taken?

10. Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things?

11. You’re having lunch with three people you respect and admire. They all start criticizing a close friend of yours, not knowing she is your friend. The criticism is distasteful and unjustified. What do you do?

12. If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?

13. Would you break the law to save a loved one?

14. Have you ever seen insanity where you later saw creativity?

15. What’s something you know you do differently than most people?

16. How come the things that make you happy don’t make everyone happy?

17. What one thing have you not done that you really want to do? What’s holding you back?

18. Are you holding onto something you need to let go of?
19. If you had to move to a state or country besides the one you currently live in, where would you move and why?

20. Do you push the elevator button more than once? Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?

21. Would you rather be a worried genius or a joyful simpleton?

22. Why are you, you?

23. Have you been the kind of friend you want as a friend?

24. Which is worse, when a good friend moves away, or losing touch with a good friend who lives right near you?

25. What are you most grateful for?

26. Would you rather lose all of your old memories, or never be able to make new ones?

27. Is it possible to know the truth without challenging it first?

28. Has your greatest fear ever come true?

29. Do you remember that time 5 years ago when you were extremely upset? Does it really matter now?
30. What is your happiest childhood memory? What makes it so special?

31. At what time in your recent past have you felt most passionate and alive?

32. If not now, then when?

33. If you haven’t achieved it yet, what do you have to lose?

34. Have you ever been with someone, said nothing, and walked away feeling like you just had the best conversation ever?

35. Why do religions that support love cause so many wars?

36. Is it possible to know, without a doubt, what is good and what is evil?

37. If you just won a million dollars, would you quit your job?

38. Would you rather have less work to do, or more work you actually enjoy doing?

39. Do you feel like you’ve lived this day a hundred times before?

40. When was the last time you marched into the dark with only the soft glow of an idea you strongly believed in?

41. If you knew that everyone you know was going to die tomorrow, who would you visit today?

42. Would you be willing to reduce your life expectancy by 10 years to become extremely attractive or famous?

43. What is the difference between being alive and truly living?

44. When is it time to stop calculating risk and rewards, and just go ahead and do what you know is right?

45. If we learn from our mistakes, why are we always so afraid to make a mistake?

46. What would you do differently if you knew nobody would judge you?

47. When was the last time you noticed the sound of your own breathing?

48. What do you love? Have any of your recent actions openly expressed this love?

49. In 5 years from now, will you remember what you did yesterday? What about the day before that? Or the day before that?

50. Decisions are being made right now. The question is: Are you making them for yourself, or are you letting others make them for you?

Are you expecting to get a personality analysis from this? The only thing you will learn about yourself is right in the answers; now go after your dream already.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Oh I wish I was...

an Oscar Meyer wiener!!!

Today, I'm in Houston, TX. Actually, I'm in a hotel room in Houston, TX. I didn't leave the hotel until 6pm when we decided to get up and eat something other than candy corn and cough drops. How much fun shit can happen in 30 minutes? Well let me tell you...a lot.

Destination Hard Rock Cafe pin collector took us about 15 minutes away to the Theatre District of this fine Texas city, but no sooner than before we got past the corner of our hotel.....we came upon a sight to behold - the WienerMobile.
"Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh, I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener!" could not have been sung with more gusto from two women approaching their 30's if you paid us to. What an incredible fucking ride. What I wouldn't give to steer that giant penis shaped mobile down the sprawling sidewalk or across the open highway. I guess my picture with my booty backed up against it at the corner of Hidalgo and Sage will have to do.

Arrival dinner time - public parking garage at the Hard Rock Cafe complex. We parked in section orange, which I only know because of Paul Blaart Motorized Mall Cop who quizzed us upon exiting the parking complex. He asked us where we were going before we even had the car doors hindsight, he was a little odd.

"You're going the wrong way. Hop on." Those words will go down in infamy some day, I know it! Tonight was not the night for that though. Tonight two hefty girls hopped on the backwards facing golf cart seat, putting a strain on the shocks and minature horse power and zipped along the parking garage to our underground stairwell. It was walkable, but who can really say no to motorized mall security. Not me. Not me.

As we bid our security farewell and began our ascent up into San Juan Capistrano, the greeting of a thousand tree dwelling birds rang in our ears, second only to the mass quantity of bird shit covering the stairwell, steps, and handrails. "We're gonna get shit on ," I declared as if it were one of the commandments itself.

Of course what would a big city be without a wayward transient citizen milling about the only open dining establishment on the block? Not a big city, that's what. Just then as a waft of urine and booze hit us, our neighborhood hobo frustrated with the garbage selection, threw a glass bottle back into the can which was just as effective as shooting the birds out of the tree with a pellet gun. Two words = shit storm. Somehow in the chaos, I managed to avoid the white rain falling down from the sky, but my dinner date was not as lucky.

Angry with disgust and disbelief she demanded to know..."is. there. shit. in. my. hair?"
"Uhhh...(stifle), no, just a bit of a streak right there on your sweater."
"I knew I was going to get shit on today."

(long pause) "So then I'm guessing you don't want to sit outside on the patio then?"

Today was more fun than a circus.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Viva Las Vegas p. 2, 3, 4, shit...I give up

Yeah, barely enough time to sleep = no time at all to blog. But there are picture. Oh there will be pictures for days to come. I hurt. I ache. I think I have a sinus infection. I have blisters on all my toes from hooker heels and my head wants to explode right here at McCarren International. Plane, please arrive soon. Please? Please.

Blogger friends, I survived. Barely. I'll be back with pictures soon. I promise.


Friday, October 16, 2009

Viva Las Vegas p. 1

Blogger, I've been thinking about you. I have all these thoughts and only you can keep them all recorded for me. This weekend, you are my notepad and I will try to update you every day. You and I have been apart far too long.

I'm laying here at 8:45pm with the A/C and fan blowing on me exploding with excitment and sticky all over with spray on self tanner. In my living room there is a small colony of shopping bags and an entire suitcase full of high heeled shoes. Yes, 1 suitcase full of shoes. I am Filipino, it happens. The phrase uttered most in my house today was "that's not a dress, that's a shirt" and visa versa. Along with the shoes, there is a tripod, 12 strands of long Hawaiian beads, and a gold glitter covered costume top hat decorated with poker chips and dice. Pray, do tell what you have in store... Oh the pictures will not lie. They can't. They simply won't.

Soon the packing will commence and in the morning, four girls will make their way to Sin City where the adventures will begin on the plane via re-redeemed drink coupons before the plane even reaches the NV state line. In the immortal words of the King himself:




Saturday, October 3, 2009

Dear Blogger

I love you. I do. No, really I do.
What? No, I'm not lying.
It's not you. It's me.
I've just been busy with life and things and work.
I can't keep up with it all. I promise you that I will make time for you soon. Just you and me and some quality time to catch up.
I have good stories that I've been making for you.
Really. I do.


Wednesday, September 23, 2009

its all the rave

I have a best friend. She has a brother. He is a DJ and a promoter of all things...well, rave. This is a few weeks overdue, but let's say that I've just been busy.

Prior to a few weekends ago, I had never been to a rave, but I was prepared for just about anything. The pictures made it look more posh than reality would turn out. Lack of fancy phone since my iphone-chocola-palooza, I drafted some texts about the sights and sounds and saved the ones that made my friends LOL and LMAO and LMFAO. I don't know that I really need to elaborate much about my 3-day rave in LA. These texts speak for themselves. Enjoy.

"This beat is so hard it's like sitting in one of those massage chairs at the nail place. Lots of pelvic thrusting going on. And Asians. There's lots of Asians pelvic thrusting."

"There's this guy named Robbie who keeps introducing himself to us over and over like a record. He's the one who brought the midget over to ask me to dance. Go figure a midget would find me in a Hollywood club."

"Shit, I almost just got kicked by a schoolgirl."


"There's some drunk DJ saying "dont be a white pigeon be a dove" What the fuck does that even mean? I think I have to be on E to get this shit."

1-minute later: "There's another guy next to him smoking a cigarette in a Jason mask.. There's smoke coming out of the eye holes. How much does that guy smell and why does the screen keep flashing CUNT in big red letters? Where the fuck am I?"

"Back in the barrio and I've discovered that I can spot shirts with wings on them from a mile away. Winged shirts are for assholes."

"Are they linedancing? Do they linedance at raves?"

"There's a lot of skinny jeans and supportive shoes here. I thought there would be more glowsticks."



"Fuck Robbie and his purple sweat headband and his midget. Why are there always midgets everywhere I go?"

"I imagine that ninjas and faries probably go to a lot of raves. That's how they get so spry and light on their feet."

"OMG. Zena the Warrior Princess just walked in. She's standing next to a girl in short shorts that looked like they were painted by Monet. There's a guy next to Monet wearing all black with with a black bowtie. Point Dexter is standing next to Zena. This just keeps getting better." <<< response: "Tell me you have a camera. I have to see this."


"I'm on the rooftop of the Standard in downtown LA now...there's a pool up here. On the roof. This roof could never be on fire."

"Some guy in a Superman cape just rubbed his head in my boobs. I just got motorboated by Superman. On a roof. In downtown LA."

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Quite a few of my girlfriends are into internet dating. I was. Once. I was occasionally successful, but I was mostly unsuccessful. That was about 10 years ago. 10 years later, not much has changed. Maybe it's because nothing impresses me. Maybe it's because I'm just getting too weak and I lack the willpower to internet date anymore. Maybe it's because of this:

I realize that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, there are plenty of fish in the sea, to each his/her own......but I also strongly believe that you only get one chance to make a first impression. So far, I've found that most of you guys suck at selling yourselves and some of you just suck. With that, men of the internet dating community, ponder these things:

- There is nothing like the stench of desperation. I throw up a little in my mouth when the first thing I see on your profile is : "I want you to want me" "I dont have an 80’s van with primer LOL" "Willing to lie about how we met" "Look no further I have arrived" .......*gag*
- User name, screen names, handles, whatever they're called...choose a good one. They're important. This is going to be the first nickname that your potential mate knows you by and refers to you by with all of her girlfriends. Assman, MrFister, I love children, MrKiller, DiaperDaddy…spare yourself the embarrassment now.
- ALL CAPS IS ANNOYING, punctuation is phenomenal. I can feel your A.D.D. coming through your incessant run on sentences. That's all I will ever feel from you.
- Using the word "cum" instead of come, "dew" instead of do, "Baby I want you to no", "looking for the rite girl" any other misspelled and overtly sexual words in the "about me" paragraph makes me want to set your profile on fire.
- “No need to look any further” “I'm the one” “What are you waiting for?” "to acquire me you must inspire me" “If you want to be loved, be lovable” Thanks. There’s nothing like a profile header to give you an ultimatum right from the start. I can't wait to get into a relationship that will be wrought with control issues that will spring forward like water from a geyser.

- If every single outfit you own looks like your entire wardrobe was purchased at ComicCon, you should re-evaluate your life's purpose.
- Wear a shirt in your main profile picture. Nothing like meeting your man nipples right away. This aloso applies to self portraits of you leaning up against a porch banister, a tree, or the frame of an empty doorway to a room filled with clutter.
- Since we’re talking about self portraits: for the love of RayJay, learn how to take a self portrait that doesn’t require being bare-chested in your grandmother's daisy print wallpaper bathroom with the camera phone half blocking your face and the flash bouncing off the mirror.
- When you have 17 pictures posted in your profile and 13 are of your sports car, 3 are of your pittbull, and the 1 picture of you has a blonde girls hair on your shoulder, her arm draped over your neck, her check touching your cheek, but there's a black bar inconspicuously placed over her entire face, you should consider getting more friends before looking for a life partner.
- When your favorite profile picture is the one where you are wearing your extra tiny Gold's Gym man tank it makes you look like you're wearing a bra from chest up. Don't do it. Just don't post it. This also goes for extra medium muscle shirts, exposed mid-drifts, and half shirts.
- Do you all own the same Affliction shirt with the angel wings on the back?
- Trim your nose hairs
- Make a note for yourself: webcam pictures make you look like a serial killer.

And finally: Please. Please? If I wanted to be with someone who didn't smile, I would seek out my emotionally disabled, mentally stunted a-hole of an ex.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Day trip to the edge of the Earth

Today was a great day.

I like that sentence.

I am trying to live up to my vow to explore the immediate world around me. I am making the effort to seek adventure in my own backyard. I am keeping my camera closer by my side. I am stopping for that picture instead of ignoring it and continuing on the way.

Today was an adventure.

I like that sentence, too.

This weekend, I set out to have one of those adventure. I had a general direction, but not a route, and not a final destination...which is how things in life should be. It's not about the destination, it's about the journey. I knew my day would be long, so I slept the extra hour and arrived at just about noon to pick up my navigator and friend Carrie. We barely made it out of the city limits without being t-boned by a old pickup with probably an even older driver rolling through the intersection, and then, again, almost came to our big-rig induced demise along I-80. Needless to say we took a moment to pray. I prayed to all the gods just in case. I think I prayed to Oprah Winfrey and Tom Cruise too.

After the adrenaline from near death experiences settled, we set off to see a light house and go to the coast, maybe the city. Maybe all of the above. I love California. No...really, I love California. Born and raised, I still am in awe of the vast landscape that is within hours if not minutes from my house.

The Pacific Coast is dotted with lighthouses, with nearly a dozen just in the Bay Area. As we turned from the highway to the back roads through Olema and Inverness, we could feel the temperature drop from the near 90's to a more reasonable mid 70's.

Winding through back country roads over grafitti-art covered bridges with lunch on the brain, our first stop was Point Reyes Station, pop. 370. We parked and set off down 4th St towards the renowned Cowgirl Creamery. Out with the traditional sandwiches and cafe sit-downs, we opted for locally made, organic cheeses, fresh bread, and fruit.

Had I have known what was in store, my guilt at consuming so many carbs wouldn't have been a second thought. Our next pinpoint on the day's map was the Point Reyes Light Station, which is in fact, 21 miles away from the small town of Point Reyes Station. 21 miless of twists and turns through bramble bush dotted hillsides occupied by dairy cows and wild deer. As you appraoch the coast from the inlands, you can see the fog wafting down over the tree tops and over the water of the still clear inlets. Watching the climate change before our eyes was the first clue that adventure was in store. The drive was beautiful and tretcherous all at once. Driving along the coast on the edge of the world is harrowing enough on a clear day when you can see the demise you may be in for, but when there is limited sight in the blanket of fog, it is downright scary. I drove slow. We were in no rush.

Upon arrival, the fog seemed to get a little thicker and there was no hope that we would see much of the water. The cypress tree lined .4 mile hike through the fog and the cold to the lighthouse seemed much longer than .4 miles, but the steady stream of tourists of all ages wearing I Love SF tshirts and Golden Gate Bridge parkas told us we could handle it just fine.

Finally with the last set of stairs to go, covered in sea-mist, damp in humid layers, the firs sight of the lighthouse could be seen about 100 steps down. Water or no water, looking at this building that's stood since the late 1800's, it is an awesome sight to imagine that someone, some living, breathing, daily stair climbing person used to light this thing day in and day out to keep sailors and vessels safe and out of shallow water.

As I trudged back up the 308 steps, huffing and puffing, wishing my lungs not to explode, and my knees to stop shaking, I thought of the fact that 8 years ago exactly, there were thousands of men and women running down flights of stairs to safety, and hundreds of men and women running UP flights of stairs to save others. It made me greatful that I had a day like today to take a daytrip to the edge of the Earth.

8 years later

Watching the documentary footage play tonight, I can still feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Listening to family members talk about how they watched the front door for weeks waiting for their loved one to come home and wives speak about how they slept in bed with their husbands clothes so they could still breath in their scent breaks my heart.

The vulnerability of how that day felt for me is still tangible. I remember what I felt like, I remember being glued to the television in a state of shock and disbelief. I remember the phone call to my firefighter ex-boyfriend's mother in New Jersey, knowing that he was already in New York if not on his way. I remember finally talked to him that night and hearing him cry at the thought of pulling bodies of fellow firemen out of ashes and rubble. I remember feeling helpless but still trying to be the strong one on the other end of the phone, 3,000 miles away, reassuring him that there were still people to help. But there weren't. There were no bodies, there was no need for the stadium parking lot full of ambulances to rush in and save anyone. I remember going to work that day and the next, driving to and from the desolate and barricaded county courthouse, with no one on the freeway. No one. No one in 8 lanes in either direction. It was a post-apocalyptic scene and one that I hope I never have to see again.

Today 10 of the firemen that I work with climbed 110 flights of stairs to symbolize the number of floors in each of the twin towers. On the back of their turnout coats, they wore the name of a firefighter whose life was lost on that fateful day eight years ago. I am very proud to work with these men and women. In a society that delivers shock and awe in every headline, every day, I am still proud to be an American and remember the sacrafices that afford me the life that I have.

They say that you're never really gone until you're forgotten. I remember. I will always remember. Don't ever forget.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Respect thine elders

I find it ridiculous and appuling that parents are in an uproar over the scheduled speech that the President is planned to deliver to the millions of students that live in our country. I guess we'll have to call it fear of the unknown since the uproar seems to be quelling just the slightest since the context of the speech has been released by the White House.

Day in and day out, the economy of law enforcment and criminal justice is fueled by eons of children in their youth now and adults who have long since left their "youth" still acting like children disrepecting themselves and everyone around them. Parents call asking what they are supposed to do with their 8 and 9 year olds who slam doors and kick and scream. Spank the little brat and remind him who brought him into this world! Grandparents who are living in mixed households with multiple generations plead for help wanting to know how they, in their old age, are supposed to deal with selfish teenagers who drink and curse and smoke without the single regard for what will come of their behavior. Tell them to get the hell out of your house with their bratty children in tow!

Yet somehow, parents all over this nation are demanding that entire school districts prevent the message that the elected authority and President of our free country is about to say to the youth of this great nation.

I was watching a roundtable discussion on this same topic early this morning when I got home from work and it really struck me as sad, but true that there is clearly no respect for the office of the President anymore. I can't claim that I didn't find hilarity in the stumbling reponses from the former W. Bush or find it embarassing that he faltered so many times on the national stage. But I do know one thing that was taught to me by my parents - respect your authority. Not necessarily the man or his personal beliefs, but the office and the position.

I can't speak as a parent, but I can speak as a child and I would hope that more children will be taught to have respect for their country, their community, their President, their family, and theirselves.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Lotus blossoms, deodorant, and karma in the am...

Write about karma, write about karma, write about karma...

In the last hour of my last official graveyard shift of the year, I had an "ah-ha" moment. Weird little signals the universe is sending me. I have found recently that although I am itching for some new ink in a bad way, I am both:
a) slightly committment phobic about what I want permanently stamped on my body and,
b) slightly stricken with ADD when it comes to making a decision if it love "it" or not.

Somewhere buried in the memory of the years-old desktop, I have pictures of some lotus blossoms I saw at the Japanese Gardens in Portland, OR a few years ago. I've had an admiration for the flowers for quite sometime now, but recently I really have invested in a sincere apprecation for their symbolism. Starting at the bottom of a mug bog, growing through the muck and mire, eventually a mature, beautiful blossom appears. Of all the images that have struck my fancy, the emblem for the Secret deodorant website really caught my attention. Secret Global Secret Women’s Deodorant & Antiperspirant Yes, deodorant is my inspiration. You don't want to know where the idea for my last tattoo came from... :)

Back to my karmatic I printed out the Secret image last week to take to my tattoo guy in the near future and showed my graveyard comrade who declared "that is soo you!" My sister gave me the nod of approval when I pranced in and asked her to draw it on my back so I could get an idea of how it would look. The image has been sitting on the trunk at the end of my bed for a week, looking up at me occasionally as I come and go from my bedroom. I pushed it to the back burner pretty easily.

But you see...karma has a way of bringing things back to the surface. Eeking out the will to make it through the 5-6am hour, I was relishing in photography blogs to keep me awake when I stumbled across this wedding image from Amy Cloud Photography and let out a gasp!

There it is! My tattoo...THE one that has had my attention for so long. What are the chances?! Melissa, the comrade, wandered over and shook her head and smiled at the coincidence of finding THIS picture of THIS girl with THIS tattoo, and just said "I think it's karma, Lauren" before wandering down the hallway and out of the room.

Not to be dissuaded that someone else has found the image to be so inspirational, I take it as a sign from the tattoo universe that it is indeed beautiful and meant to be permanently a part of me.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Life lesson #? - Conditioner

I have dreads. By accident. Combination of sweat, hairspray, and a beer shower being moshed around in the pit at the Nickelback concert for 5 hours. I sang, I jumped, I headbanged my fake F* Me hair, and I rocked to the music with such verasity that sheared off both oversized zebra print earrings and nearly loosened a breast or two from the double push up support they were so eagerly trying to inch out of since I strapped them in at 2pm. Although not as permanent as the time I broke my toe at the Filmore in San Francisco while climbing the stairs to see 3 Doors Down, I did my best to honor the Rock Gods the right way tonight! Rock and fucking Roll my friends! I was even told I made it on the jumbotron. Check that one of the list!

Oh yeah, and I bit some guy's nipple. My girls, as in friends, were stuck talking to him as I came up double fisted with not 1 but, count em, 2 large Coors Lights, when they shouted "touch his nipple!" that was ever so glaringly staring at me through his shirt fabric (pause for dry heave - ew, hard man nippoles). So, I did what any other double fisted beer holding, already drunk, altered state of sober mind person would do and bit his nipple through his blue under armor shirt. Twice and yelled "I just took one for the team!" before wandering back to front and center. It was Nickelback. In the pit. I just had not other choice.

You see there's something nearly spiritual about being that close to music. Close enough that the beat of the drums makes your aortas jump in your chest and the heat from the pyrotechnics warms up your face skin. Nickelback has escaped us for a few years now for one reason or the other, but tonight we made up for it. Oh we made up for it.

The party bus of co-workers and friends was 19 deep and the drinking began as soon as the wheels started going round from our meeting point. Seems like I am always either the driver or the self-proclamed safety person, so finding a place and a group to let loose with is the exception. I let go...figuratively of course, cause I was hanging on to the handrails on the party bus grinding on weary passengers like a monkey searching for a banana. Take it out of context, go ahead, I'll afford you this one.

Sometimes I'm more country than rock and roll, but tonight, I was all at the mercy of the rock gods. I hung with the group for the opening acts before the pit filled up for the headliner but when the rock hit the roll, I grabbed the baby sis and made a b-line for the closest spot to center stage. I spend the approximate small budget of a small nation on summer concerts and this one was THE concert ticket to get this year. I can't say I've ever been in the pit with the baby sis. I can't say that I've done a whole lot with the baby sis, but I plan on making up for it in the next few years. I went as far as to tell one of the girls in our group "if this place catches on fire, I'm getting Briana, and that's it. The sis comes with me out the door and you all can fend for yourselves."

At some halfway point in the headliner's set, I grabbed said younger sibling of about 7 years and sang every word to Far Away..."I love you, I loved you all along..." I had this thought that I could not imagine my world without my sister. It just wouldn't make any damned sense. I have a lot of revalations and conversations with myself mid-concert experience. Most are good, a few are zany. Tonight they were all good...shortly after Far Away, in the mid-summer air of Northern California under the dark, slightly starry sky of Marysville, I offered up a prayer as Chad Kroger sang them:

Cause nobody wants to be the last one there
Cause everyone wants to feel like someone cares
Someone to love with my life in their hands
There's gotta be somebody for me like that
Cause nobody wants to go it on their own
And everyone wants to know they're not alone
There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere
There's gotta be somebody for me out there

And them I moshed some more.

Thank you concert for being awesome.

***post edit, while I was in the shower today before work washing out last night's adventure, the summation of another Lauren Life Lesson came to me:

You know how good the night before was by the amount of conditioner you have to use the next morning.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Lighthouse lessons

As usual, I am immersed in all things travel. My soul wants to wander to new places and find beautiful things. It does not want to sit here for the 11th day in a row taking calls about sick foxes, meth heads, and purse snatchers; but a girl's got to pay her bills.

Lately, I've gotten a lot of "are you ever home?" and "where are you going now?" That pleases me. If my obituary was written tomorrow, I would hope it said that I was a beloved daughter, sister, and friend, who was an avid lover of music, travel, and most importantly, life.

I'm finding a sincere apprecitation for lighthouses in all my travel research. Wondering why there are so many travel blogs written on these lighted places, I started reading between the lines. Teetering on the edge of the world, yet grounded enough to weather the storm, lighthouses have guided ships safely to harbor for hundreds of years. Getting to a lighthouse is a challenge, but if you appreciate beauty and history, it's worth the effort.

Point Bonita Lighthouse, San Francisco Bay

I have some people that I want to give up on. I want to let them wander out at sea and get lost and not worry if they ever find their own way home. I realize now that it is not my responsibility to charter their course and that sometimes finding your own way is the only way for some people to discover who they are.

I wonder if, in life, I could challenge myself to be like a light house?

Can I find a beacon in my friends and people I hold close that will always bring me home and help me find my bearings?
Can I be a beacon that doesn't burn out and doesn't give up?
Can I stand tall despite what life throws at me - wind, rain, storms, gusts that should knock me off my feet and down to me knees?

Can I do it?

***edit: after looking for quotes reference being someone's lighthouse or beacon and coming up with nothing, sitting here getting back to reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, page 12, paragaph 2: "...he was my lighthouse and my albatross in equal measure." The universe IS speaking to me!

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Jon said:

This is the story of my life
And I write it everyday.
I know it isn’t black and white
And it’s anything but grey.
I know that no I’m not alright, but I feel ok cause
Anything can, everything can
I been thinking and maybe
You can help me write the story of my life
What do you say?

~ Bon Jovi

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Where there is pasta, there is love.

I have this pasta theory. If you cook on a regular basis, you know it is usually much easier to make things for a group than to cook for 1. Pasta is simply put a meal for a family...even if there are no relatives at your table. It's hard to not sit down with a oversized serving bowl and not expect a troop to be gathered around. It begs the question, did the Italians make the pasta or did the pasta make the Italians? Well, I guess this could go for any other noodle loving nationality, but you get my point.

I went to dinner at the A's tonight. First off, when it comes to any kind of visit to the A's, if you didn't come with food, you leave with a fully belly, and if you came with food, you leave with lunch for the next day or a plate for the family that missed the trip over. Tonight, I was part of the pasta, salad, bread, cake, and ice cream bearing party. Dinner with the A's, in all affectionate terminology, is like having dinner at the circus but with much better food and less elephant poop. There are very few places outside of my revolving front door of a home, where I feel home. In that thought, I realize that there are masses of people in this world that have no where they can feel that way. I am truly blessed.

Back at the A's, as you walk through the house, you're greeted by the abundant family of 3 cats, 2 dogs, 1 child with seemingly immeasurable energy, 4 sisters, 2 "young" parents, 2 "old" parents, and 1 new person on the way. Mind you, there are still two siblings with prior plans who were missing from this equation. Two of those four sisters at dinner tonight are special in every sense of the word. Catie and Annie are simply wonderful. Where they may seem fragile and to the untrained eye, tragic, to really know these girls and this family is a blessing. I do believe that these girls are the beating heart of this household.

Although I can't imagine what it must feel like to not be in control of my body, I don't give either of the girls my pity, only my attention. I'll be the first to admit that I don't always understand what Catie has to tell me but I listen for whatever I can pick up and tonight, I made her laugh. That was pretty special. Now I know I make a lot of people laugh on a regular basis, my life is a comedy and I am the punchline, but this laugh from Catie...this was something special. Catie is a complete sweetheart and a pure joy. She is soon to be an auntie and her dad, who is the major influence of my chosen law enfocment career path and one of the moral compases in my life, is going to be a grandpa. "Hey Catie, you know what?" I ask. "I'm gonna start calling your dad 'Gramps'! How's that for a name, huh?" She responded by throwing her head back and letting loose a loud all consuming laugh. What a smile that kid has.

Then there is Annie, who greeted me at the door hanging off the banister in a big girl diaper singing to the cat. What a sight. What it is to be a kid. For the next two hours, I found myself stealing glances at Annie's mom mouthing the words "where do these kids come up with this?" Annie, for her lack of sight, remains every bit a little girl and then some. In my brief visit, we went out to the "igloo" in the backyard, played with the dogs, met all the cats, and played Barbies and then played American Girls. I was invited to a 11 year old birthday party, asked why the cow crossed the road, and called a hairy baboon with a purple butt! Annie is full of affection and always finds a way to give me a hug or lay down on my lap.

So you see just about every time I spend here in this blessed house of cop stories, American girl dolls, baby tales, shared family recipies, and baboon butts, it is always over dinner and any other way just wouldn't seem right. When I think of pasta dinner, I think of the A's. When I think of the A's, I know that the saying "Home is where your heart is" is really true. Simply put, where there is pasta, there is love.

Monday, August 17, 2009


Last week while I was standing at the Souternmost point in the Southernmost city in the US mainland, Key West, on August 11th, 2009 just before the sun set into the ocean's horizon, I made a decision to travel with more distinct purpose. Well, other than just the seeing of the world, the expanding of my horizons, the having of adventures, and the appreciation of things and places far away. I have decided to give myself exactly a year to complete the travelling and photo documentation of the following in the contiguous United States:

The Western most: Cape Alava, WA

The Eastern most: West Quoddy Head, Maine

TheNorthernmost, Northwest Angle, MN

The geographical center of the US near Lebanon, KS:
Ever been in 4 places at once? The 4 Corners:

“We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.” - Jawaharial Nehru
So you see, I have places to be in my places to see. I'm excited to find a way to get to these places. I'm excited to go on a journey to somewhere planned and find out all that is unplanned along the way.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Worse than PMS

About every 6 months or so, I have this cycle of seething hate directed towards my job. It's back and it's worse than PMS. I can't stand a good majority of the people I work with, I hate dealing with the self-absorbed citizens that I have to talk to, and the office politics that dictate everything make me doubt the ability of good to win in the good vs. evil debate.

I watched The Day the Earth Stood Still the other night and now I have this thought stuck in my head that we really are truly the demise of our own race and planet. This is an ugly, ugly world we live in, full of unrecycled matter, dodging bullets, pandemics, and threats of nuclear warfare. I think that there has to be something better than this. Grass greaner and less angry somewhere.

I wish I could take this career decision back sometimes. Money doesn't mean much when you're disgusted 40 hours a week and you doubt the goodness of mankind. Really, ask Michael Jackson how happy all of his money made him. I used to really, really believe in the goodness of this job and then I realize that I was just a young kid that asked "how high?" when work said Jump!

I got this email from lil' Grandmama the other day that said you never lose as long as you don't lose hope. I've lost hope with my job. I guess that just makes me a big loser Sun-Wednesday 6pm-6am. I need a change, I really need a change. A big old midol for life.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Sit in Peace

I suspect a trip to NYC is on my horizon. It will be during the 8th anniversary of 9/11 at that. Intersting time to be in the city I have to suppose.

While looking up all the things to do there and building my list, I keep coming across St. Patrick's Cathedral and I had a really vivid flashback of the amazing churchs I saw in Europe a few years ago. Those and the train stations impressed me immensley. I remember sitting in wooden pews just listening to the sounds of chiors practicing and the old benches sqeaking. Every country we stopped in, we found a church to visit. In the whirlwind of a 9-country trip in 21-days adventure, I cherished those quiet moments in those old buildings. It was nice to just be still and quite and observe those moments in time.

So, even just on the other side of this rock that I live on, I think I will have to make time to go and sit in a moment of peace in St. Patrick's and ponder where I am, in the moment, in the day, and in life.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Madonna moment

I'm restless. I hate sounding like a 10 year old with no imaginiation, but I'm bored. I can't pinpoint it, but there's something else in life that I was meant to do...or be. Maybe the problem is that my imaginiation is always running wild. I have more to say, but not right now. I'm gonna make this my living post. I'll just keep coming back and adding more as it comes to me.

I keep getting this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I just want to run away. I don't even know where I want to go. I just want to go out >there<. As vague as >there< might be.

Maybe, just maybe, its this introspective graveyard shift that I've been on for far too long that is making me think too much. Can you ever reallly think too much? I guess so.

I'm gonna call this a "Madonna" moment. I feel the need to reinvent myself. *sigh*

Monday, July 27, 2009

To bee or not to bee?

I'm just going to throw it out there. I might as well be masturbating farm animals. My zuchinni is not long, lush, and green. It's tiny, shriveled, and yellowish brown on the end. It's gross when, by now, it should be fruitbearing and in my pasta primavera.

Lack of calcium is the supposed reason that these things won't grow. Ok, I can buy that. Literally, I can go out and buy something to stick in the soil and hope against all hopes that they grow strong squash things and produce fruit.

No, what seems to be my problem is lack of male pollination. Yes, go ahead, read into it. Story of my freaking life. Either too much or not enough. Can we just find a happy medium with the entire species of male pollinators?

Well, today in about 2 1/2 hours when I get home, I'm going to trapse around the backyard looking for male blossoms, so I can pull their heads off, peel back the petals, and stick the dusty, yellow pistol into the female stigma and hope in less time that it takes to have a human baby, there might be something to stick in my pasta soon.

Hi, my name is Lauren and I help my summer squash have sex in the morning.


It's funny.

Where's a damn swarm of bees when you need some zuchinni spawned?