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Sarah McLachlan is a dick.

21 Jun

 

Have you ever been sitting on your couch, watching TV, having a grand old time when suddenly your heart races because you hear “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan and you look up to see the sad face of a mistreated animal so you begin to sob and panic while wildly scrambling for the remote because you just can’t handle the heartbreak? Have you turned the channel and waited for what felt like 5 minutes, but the commercial was still on when you turned it back? Have you ever called Sarah McLachlan a dick?

Do you remember the first time you saw the commercial and watched the whole thing and it made you cry uncontrollably in front of your family, friends, or a 3rd date? What about that time it came on in the middle of the night while you were having great sex and your boyfriend couldn’t find the remote so he covered you with the blanket and put his hands over your ears, but it didn’t matter because you knew what was happening on that TV so you cried anyway?

I remember, Sarah McLachlan. I remember. That 3rd date and ex-boyfriend both remember. We all wish we didn’t remember.

For those of you who don’t know said SPCA commercial, this is the link. It’s heartbreaking, so don’t watch it. It will ruin your whole fucking day.

My treasure of a puppy dog was rescued from the SPCA and he approves this message.

 

 

 

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Men, Muscles and Money, Oh My!

18 Jun

 

I thought that perhaps the media was exaggerating how beautiful/ridiculous the people are in South Beach, but I was wrong. On my first day there, I went to the beach alone and observed gorgeous, ripped dudes in expensive sunglasses hitting on girls and strutting around talking about sports and how awesome they are at being lawyers. In the past, you would have found me disgusted, bitter and annoyed by this entire show, but I laughed and actually enjoyed it. A couple of them talked to me and I even thought some of them were hot. Yep, I said hot.

How is this possible? Well, I learned that there is a huge difference between this Lauren and past Lauren. Past Lauren was a bitter girl who thought she was ugly and didn’t deserve good things and she didn’t know what she wanted and would have accepted anything, so she attracted all the wrong situations and got confused when guys were total dicks. She felt like a victim of douchebaggery and started hating and judging all guys in general, making relationships with men frustrating for both parties.

Current Lauren loves herself and she loves men, too. I realized while in Florida, that one of the major steps it took to get here is highlighted in this article given to me by my friend’s boyfriend:

Every woman needs a ‘gaggle’ of men

Single ladies, you need to read that article. Married people, what do you think?

I have many men in my life, in many enriching ways, who are all teaching me about myself and my needs and desires and leading me closer to the guy and relationship I want. My “gaggle” has taught me so much about men, too (they aren’t all jerks, and even the tough looking ones may be soft underneath those superman pecs).

I guess the point I am trying to make is that d-bags happen. Once you have confidence and know what you want, it’s easier to gain respect and not feel like a victim. You can even have fun and find out that some of them are admiring you and not raping you with their eyes, just as I discovered while watching and interacting with these fine, peculiar specimens as they strutted around on the beach like macho birds.

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thoughts from BWI airport

11 Jun

 

I am sitting by myself at the airport, people watching like a champ, and thinking about how funny it is that many of these people are trying so hard to hide that they are a little weird. I am happy to be a little weird. You all (creative people/bloggers) have helped me embrace this loving weirdness and I am forever grateful. Thank you. I weird you guys. ♥ 

I am meant to embrace it and 2012 brought me here. Right now I am a raw nerve. Maybe those of us who are coming unglued were being held together by Elmer’s School Glue and this year is putting us back together with something like Gorilla Glue (or whatever is strong–I am no glue connoisseur).

Okay….time to board a plane and get crunk. It is Monday, after all. Also, look at this funny ass cat:  

 

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How I finally decided to book my vacation.

6 Jun

I can honestly say that nothing funny or even partially delightful has happened for a week. This is a funk (and not the good kind). I had a couple crappy medical issues this week and got blood work this morning. I have tiny veins and I hate having blood taken because of it. The technician talked to my arm passive aggressively for a few minutes and we found that the 4th try is a charm.

Then came the urine sample–my least favorite part of the whole Quest Diagnostics experience because I always manage to pee on myself. I walked to the bathroom, opened the door and a man was standing there with his ween out and his pants around his ankles. I laughed and shut the door.

As I waited for him to come out, I realized I have seen 3 dicks recently, but not one of them was there for my enjoyment. Seriously, how upsetting. My body is angry at me and I don’t have a man’s dick to enjoy for myself. What am I doing here, anyway? What is my life?

So, I went home and bought a plane ticket to Miami. Sure, that doesn’t change anything. My body will still be angry and there won’t be a dick for me to enjoy in Florida either, but at least it will be happening on the beach and not in Baltimore City. I have never needed a break more than I need this one. I leave Monday.

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Haiku–Charm City Style

4 Jun

Thank you Elliot (brainsplats.wordpress.com) for the Versatile Blogger Award. I wrote him a haiku about Baltimore and then forced four scientists to do the same because Elliot enjoys both the occasional haiku and the HBO series The Wire. I wrote the last one. I didn’t give specific instructions, making this a little more interesting than I thought it would be.

 

Haiku–Charm City Style

W. North Ave, 1100 blk. Photo taken by my friend/the creator of charmcityvacancy.com

Perfume to my dog.
Loves to rub his face in it,
dog park, human poop.

Danger is at hand.
Street-walker prowling about
as I am harassed.

Rushing to our cars,
the thrill makes us feel alive.
Locked doors, safe again.

Scattered chicken bones
stranded along the sidewalks
of west Baltimore.

“Don’t be afraid, babe,”
he says, holding a syringe.
I walk more briskly.

 
Normally I don’t do awards, but if I did, I would give this prestigious award/shoutout to Madame Weebles because she is a funny, sarcastic, smart lady and I like her taste in hot dead guys. Also, Mr. Weebles is from Maryland, so he is probably a hip dude.

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Joys of Owning a Townhouse

1 Jun

 

Despite my strange Baltimore neighborhood, I love my unique 1940s house and I’m glad I bought it. My favorite room is the retro basement with wood paneling and shuffleboard vinyl tiles.

The best part about the house is that I don’t hear anything through the walls from my neighbors because there is an old married couple living on each side.

I have always assumed that in return, they hear nothing that I do. I didn’t know if that was true until today. When I woke this morning, I sneezed and my next door neighbor said “bless you” so I felt inclined to reply with “thank you” and he took it to the next level with a “you’re welcome.” I sat there for a moment, wide-eyed, jaw on the floor, wondering what else they’ve heard.

These things include, but are definitely not limited to:

  • Intense singing
  • Loud drunk talking
  • Beer tears
  • Pep talks I give to myself in the mirror
  • Weird Skype  sessions
  • Theme songs I make up for myself
  • The cusses I yell at insects that have invaded my personal space
  • Dirty talk
  • Blog posts being read aloud before I click ‘publish’
  • Evenings spent practicing different types of laughter. I dabble, but my favorites are sexy laugh, cute giggle, guffaw, evil laugh, stupid blonde girl laugh,  Muttley from Wacky Races, Beavis and Butthead, and that bashful buzzard from Loony Toons:
 
My friends, I shall remain forever horrified. Have a good weekend.

 

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my butt looks good today.

30 May

The following conversation happened at my workplace this morning at 9:00 AM:

Me: Good morning.

Front desk guard: Morning young lady, where have you been, on vacation?

Me: No, I’ve just been coming in the back door.

Random guy standing off to the side: Girl, look at that ass. That ASS. Tell me the secret cause I wanna come in the back door, too.

Me (in my head): Ugh, dickhead. I guess I set myself up for that one. I mean, why can’t dudes wait until 10 or something? I love men, but they really piss me off sometimes. Then again… I have been going to zumba and running 3-4 miles a day and it does look pretty good, so I don’t blame him. Ass, today we win, today we are victorious.

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a unique pep talk

29 May

My friend and I went to breakfast last week after a night out. By 9 am we had already exhausted ourselves talking about sex and men and we both agreed that we are confused by women who don’t enjoy getting freaky.

Then this happened:

Sara: Do you feel like you are “acting out” as a way of coping?

Me: I am not “acting out.” I feel stronger, really, and I just want to be normal.

Sara: You’re crazy and that’s okay.

Me: Well, a little bit, but not like “crazy crazy.”

Sara: The harsh reality is that you’re a crazy person. We both are. It’s time to accept and embrace this fact. I mean, you fart on cats, flash your boobs to strangers on Skype and you get angry at boyfriends when they are too tired to give you sex. Also, you believe a ghost tried to have sex with you and you backed it up with a reference to Baywatch.

Me: It was only one cat and only one stranger. I don’t like not having sex and I just think that when you get the chills it means you’re having sex with a ghost–I saw it on Baywatch.

Sara: Listen, there are plenty more reasons and I am just saying, you’re great, smart and beautiful and the more you accept your unique self, the better.

Me: I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my unique ship. I’ve got this.

Sara: Theeere she is.

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How I know I need a vacation.

28 May

My house is in a very “unique” part of Baltimore called Hampden. There are characters everywhere and sometimes I sit alone on my porch, watch them and think to myself, “What the fucking fuck!?!”

Well, yesterday I was outside weeding and overheard one of my “unique” neighbors talking on the phone. He has a raging boner for me. I kind of enjoy that fact (not many dudes have a raging boner for me), so sometimes I walk outside, bend over to pick up my paper, smile and say something cute. He usually replies with something that reminds me that he has a raging boner for me and I get disgusted/secretly enjoy it and then I move on with my day. Have I mentioned, by the way, that I haven’t had sex since 2011? Because I haven’t had sex since 2011.

Anyway, yesterday I was looking forward to messing with him, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. Suddenly, I heard him say,

“O win lil sexee an’ me wint downy oshun citee it took frevr t’git uvr de Baybrij”

Translation: “When Little Sexy and I went to Ocean City,  it took an extended period of time to drive over the Bay Bridge.”

Who is ‘Little Sexy?’ I thought to myself, is he over me? 

Then he hung up the phone and called her name. “lil sexee c’mere!”

I stood and watched, waiting to see who exactly had stolen the heart of my white trash possible future husband. His 6-year-old daughter then skipped outside and he gave her an adornment of noogies. I sighed with relief, which was followed by utter shock that I even cared in the first place, which was only then followed by the realization that the man nicknamed his daughter “Little Sexy.”

I need to go on a date with a real man and take a vacation to a far away place, people. I’m not letting go of my class just yet!

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Name That Porn Star!

24 May

I have learned a lot about men over the past few years simply from sitting with two adult men at lunch everyday. Sometimes I leave the table feeling like a man, sometimes I leave enjoying the banter and other times I leave the table feeling like kicking some nuts.

Usually they pick on me or talk about movies, naked people on HBO or women. Today we discussed porn (ahh yes, my favorite lunchtime topic) and  made porn names for each other. It is common knowledge that to make your porn name, you combine the name of your first pet  (or middle name) and the street you grew up on. That would make my porn name “Tilly Dulaney.” I think that could work. Then we decided to try it with our first name combined with an alcohol or mixed drink. Mine was an obvious pun choice of “Lauren Liqueur.” What’s yours?

The conversation then lead into “who has the higher porn star IQ,” which of course resulted in the creation a game show called “Name That  Porn Star!”

Rules: A third-party (me) will print 14 photos of porn stars and the boys will use a buzzer downloaded on their smart phones to buzz in as quickly as possible with the answer. The prize will be a bottle of Ron de Jeremy rum (ron is spanish for rum….how clever of you, Ron). 

Creepy.

Normally I wouldn’t participate in such an event, but I volunteered for this. Why? Because they didn’t say it has to be all women. I put a few normal women in, sure, but the rest were weird-looking girls, an old porn star and a couple of chicks with pun names. I also added twins, threw a number of nude male porn stars into the mix and added Screech from Saved by the Bell (because yes, I watched his sex tape “Screeched” out of curiosity and it was a genuine train wreck. I can’t ever unwatch that).

Anyway, I thought it would be funny to do it that way instead of just printing pictures of hot women. My porn star IQ is now probably higher than the both of them combined…so maybe I will keep the Ron de Jeremy for myself!

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