Well, I haven’t written since the fall. Why the absence? Let’s see if you can choose the correct answer from the following: Continue reading
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Dear Seagulls
9 MarDear Seagulls,
First of all, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m not sure what brought you here considering the ocean is about 2 and a half hours away and the harbor is 15 minutes south. We have the Chesapeake Bay nearby, too, which seems like it would be your jam. Everyone needs a change, though, I guess, and perhaps you’ve discovered Baltimore City dumpsters (fine cuisine, I agree).
In my opinion, it seems like living closer to the water would be a far better choice for seagulls. Don’t get me wrong, guys, I don’t mind if you live here, but there are laws about noise and public defecating by which all people must adhere, and you aren’t above these rules. I’m aware you are birds and perhaps Title 5 Nuisance Control doesn’t apply…but still–you should follow the rules too so we can make the neighborhood a great place for everyone.
My biggest issue is with your shrill, rich repertoire of gull calls that resound throughout the neighborhood specifically during sleeping hours. What could you possibly be discussing so loudly that early in the morning? Is this a personal thing? Are you trying to disturb my slumber on purpose? If so, that isn’t very nice. I didn’t do anything to you guys. Please don’t do that.
The other significant concern here is all that delectable dumpster food is giving you the runny poops, and I see you’ve been using my car as a toilet. There aren’t any power lines or trees located directly above the area where I park, so basically, you are putting in work to poop directly on my vehicle. You know what? I think you seagulls are dicks. Yeah, that’s right, I said it. Seagulls are disrespectful, dick birds.
Look at this wise guy
Given the fierce community opposition (yes, there are others who agree), I’m asking you to reconsider your bold move into the city. My house and car are not a beach, picnic grounds, or parking lot. My house is not a marshy hummocks dream home for your colony. It’s not even my dream home, and I get to live inside it.
Honestly, if I were a seagull, I’d want nothing more than to be my raucous and competitive self a little closer to a beach. I cannot force you to move out, but think of all the stray boardwalk french fries you will miss this summer. So many french fries! And think of the never-ending marine invertebrate feasts! Imagine all the squabbling you could do at sunset on the docks of the bay! Guys, come on, this is a no-brainer.
Think it over and let me know your decision. I’m positive this matter can be solved amicably and no further action will need to be taken. Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Lauren Ann
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A Funny Thing Happened On The Way Back From The Funeral Home
10 JanI dropped my phone and broke it, had a few drinks at the bar, drunkenly took a book about “hope in a time of despair” from one of those little free library book things and immediately spilled wine on it and then my internet was down and then I locked myself out of the house and I fell and then I cried with my friend and then I talked and I talked and I talked about life and love and then my other friend threw up and really, I could keep going but I’ll stop because you likely get the gist by now, but if you don’t, let me just say that life is a comedy and a love song and a gorgeous catastrophe from which we cannot escape because no one’s getting out alive.
Death, am I right? So weird. Around here we avoid the topic, but it forces its way into our lives one way or another. In these moments I am fully aware of just how much I love the people in my life. Like, I am in love with these people. They are funny and they bring me joy and laughter and they accept me despite the things I do when I’m just trying to avoid death. They listen to me when I talk myself in circles and cause my own fit of anxiety. They comfort me in the right ways when I’m cold and blank inside.
They know when I’m feigning toughness because I’m actually wearing my giant, hopeful heart on my sleeve 24-7 and there’s nothing I can do about it. They teach me all the time and I’m a better woman for it.
I’m weird. They’re weird. And they’ve taught me just how much it’s okay to be wholly and unapologetically me.
So anyway, all of this popped into my brain last night when we were on the way back from the funeral home and while I was 100% in the midst of my own tornado of me and I had to laugh at it all because, like, this is life and it’s absurd and fun and I wouldn’t want it to be any other way.
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The Eve of the Eve of New Year’s Eve
29 DecOn this, the eve of the eve of New Year’s Eve, I just want to take a moment to thank 2015 for being wonderful. Granted–there were many personal lessons. And we all saw plenty of bad news happening around the world.
Sure, there were a million and a half moments when I was like, “what the hell?” and lots of times when I thought of running away and hiding in a cave like that one renegade sheep in New Zealand did because he didn’t like getting his hair cut. Remember that guy? Six years later I would emerge from the cave, probably looking a disillusioned wooly fool like he did:
And then I’d have to face my spring shearing anyway, wouldn’t I? Yes, I would, and I’d be cursing under my breath the entire time for not facing it all a little sooner.
So thank you, 2015, for showing me how to be in my power and harness the strength needed to face my spring shearings head on. Because of these experiences, I’d even say I feel like a different me. A better version of me. I mean, I’m still me, but it’s me with a bunch of cool upgrades–La La 2.0, if you will (fully equipped with a lifetime guarantee, and definitely not in need of Adobe updates).
Also, I should note that I wasn’t actually afraid of getting a haircut. I’m good to go in that area.
Anyway, I hope everyone has a safe and wonderful New Year, and thank you to the readers who have been hunting me down to ask where I’ve been. I love you guys and appreciate that more than you know.
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Thoughts From a Drunk Girl…Ok, Woman…Pt. 2
21 OctHave there really only been two of these? Probably not, but who am I to question my drunk titles? I have some things to say because these are the things I’m thinking:
- When did I become a woman? God, that’s weird.
- There’s a mouse in my kitchen right now. I don’t want to have to go back in because I don’t want to make eye contact with him because then I’ll have to keep him and name him something lame because that’s what I do. Oh god, I’m out of wine….Stilwell! His name shall be Stilwell.
- I don’t write as much anymore because my entire life has changed and I barely identify with and have time for that side of me. Weird, right? I miss this part of me the most. It will be back. I swear to god. Oh wait, here it is.
- I still like farts even though I’m 31, but I will say they are most appreciated when comedically timed and not happening in front of a fan.
- Everyone has said I would want kids someday. They weren’t wrong. Thanks, aging and maternal instincts or body clock, or whatever. We’re all getting older and we all are going to die someday. Deal with it. Sorry about that.
- I actually enjoy giving candy to kids on Halloween now. I used to be so cynical about that before. I even like dressing as a Disney princess to make them happy. WHAT!?
- Getting older also means being an adult about other things–like facing the past. Fuck you past, you don’t know me. I mean, thanks for making me the me I am now, or whatever, but otherwise? Go away.
- Wait, back to being a mom. I think I would do the weirdest stuff. I would google, like, “how to mom.” Many years from now, my son will find this blog and be like “WHAT THE HELL, MOM?” and I’ll shrug and be like:
- Also, what should his name be? Stilwell? Also, yaaaa I don’t know why the list just restarted. Just ignore it. Like I said, I’m drunk.
- Stilwell. God, that’s such a terrible name. All I can think of is that dick kid from “A League of Their Own.” Remember that? If anyone wants to drink wine with me and cry themselves into a wine coma with me while watching that movie, I’m available on most nights. I prefer a Friday night though because my face gets all puffy when I cry now though because I’m 90.
- His name….his name….something classic.
- What am I talking about?
- You know what I love? Candy. Fucking candy is so good.
- Not actually fucking the candy though, that’s weird. I guess properly it would be, “Candy is so fucking good.” Anyway.
- Guys? I’m drunk. Drunk skunk. Lol that sounds like Russian Rocky and Bullwinkle lady. “Drunk like skunk.”
- I DONT KNOW WHY THIS NUMBERED LIST RESTARTED IN NUMBERS. I WASN’T DONE.
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La La
Dog lover. Storyteller. Urbanite-Suburbanite. Poet. Music addict. Editor. Explorer. Wine enthusiast (Malbec, please). Anglophile. People watcher. My dream job? Writer, or a Tom Jones back up singer. Well, not Tom Jones now, but Tom Jones in the early '70s...so let's go with the writing thing.
