The First Time

9 May

When I got home from work, my puppy Porter was in the window wagging his big fluffy tail. Dane was sitting on the couch, watching a documentary on the History Channel. I changed my clothes and we went to Zen West Roadside Cantina to celebrate Cinco de Mayo with sangria.

He had fish tacos for dinner and I had a quesadilla. We talked about little things of no importance and recalled the loud, old Jewish couple sitting in front of us at the Mary Poppins production we saw the night before. He was good at imitating them and it made me laugh so hard. I remember where we were sitting in the restaurant and the little kid running in circles who repeatedly played the same, really annoying song on the jukebox while his mom and dad completely ignored him. I don’t recollect what song it was now, but it was spinning in my tipsy head as I tried to fall asleep later that night.

Back at my house, we drank wine and watched a show that was saved on the DVR. Porter chased his tail and we laughed. Dane suggested that he was just like that kid at the restaurant, really, except fluffy. He adored Porter. He was mad when I first rescued him because he didn’t want a dog, but as you can see, he fell in love with him pretty quickly:

 

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When it was time for bed, Dane cuddled with me for a bit before heading to his room. He said he was happy things were going well with us (we had fought in the months prior) and we made plans to see each other when I was back home from house sitting on May 9th.

The next morning, he came in early and kissed my forehead before he left. I glanced at him through squinting, sleepy eyes as the sun poured through the sneaky cracks in the blinds, directly on my pillow.

That was the last time I saw him.

We emailed a bit that week and he called on the 8th to say he wasn’t feeling well. He had heartburn. I told him to get some TUMS.

“Thanks, good idea,” he replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That was the last time we spoke.

I’ll never forget a single moment.

The memories we had together and his passing are a constant reminder of the beauty and fragility of breath and life. One year ago, this propelled me out of my routine stillness. It was like an awakening from the numbness of the patient etherized upon a table in T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

Grateful and inspired, the months that followed sparked the first time I truly began to live.

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Learning To Cook

7 May

If you’re anything like me, you have Italian mother who finds it disgraceful that you can’t cook. Perhaps she even tries to teach you, but you get lost while chasing her around the kitchen as she creates edible masterpieces without recipes and, amidst the confusion, you can’t help but think of the days when she was the one chasing you around the kitchen, but with a wooden spoon (you naughty, naughty thing, you). Maybe your older, popular, more successful, better looking brother is also a good cook and they both look down on you as you microwave hot dogs and put them on questionable buns.

My new roommate Jaime is also pretty clueless in this area, but we wanted to cook for our dudes. Like, we didn’t even know how to season and cook a good steak or properly boil potatoes to make mashed potatoes from scratch. Sure, we could have looked at recipes, but I’ve often found that this doesn’t work for me and that my timing is all off.

This, my friends, is where Adryon of Adryon’s Kitchen came to our rescue. She told us what to get and then came over and instructed us on how to make kitchen magic.

 

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Look, Jaime’s happy to be making some magical caramelized onions

 

Adryon will go to your house and teach you to use your own kitchen and bring some tools if necessary. You do the work so you actually learn something while she supervises and teaches you all the little tricks that recipes leave out. She is witty and really down to earth about it, too, making the experience less overwhelming. I think my favorite thing to learn was the salad dressing I made from scratch.

The potatoes were fun, too, but next time I’ll try not to be so jazzed about eating them that I sprain my wrist while mashing and stirring in a maniacal frenzy.

Whatever. They were worth it.

It was a busy couple of hours (with a break or two to watch cute proposal videos and cry while wearing aprons and drinking vodka…a sign that I am growing into a fine woman, indeed). I gained some confidence in the kitchen and it felt good to make an entire meal. Everything was delicious.

I would like for her to come back and show me more and she mentioned that we could do anything from one-on-one lessons to cooking for a dinner party. I kind of want to keep her.

She will do this with you, too, regardless of what cooking level you’re on, so Baltimore and surrounding area people should check out her blog adryonskitchen.com and give her a shout at adryonskitchen@gmail.com. It will make your disappointed mother proud and your boyfriend, girlfriend or dinner party happy (especially if you’d normally be serving hot dogs, otherwise). Out of town folks should still check out her recipes!

Also, side note, I’m still waiting for the update on when my episode of Katie Couric will air, so hold your horses.

 

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On Blogging

29 Apr

Blogging has been an unexpected journey for me. It started as an extension to the journals I began at age 12 that lasted until about 23, filling five books:

 

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The quote on the cover that says, “Life itself is the most wonderful fairytale” is ironic, really, because from page one the reader can sense the true awkwardness of a chubby, shy, hopeful romantic (even at age 12) who experiences the absolute opposite of anything resembling a fairytale.

The topics within the second half of that top journal alone talk about my friends and I at 15-years-old facing being dumped, eating disorders, rape, my dream date for a dance who broke me into pieces by choosing to go with a girl he said was prettier, drinking, a stomach being pumped, a stabbing, depression and death.

My romantic awkwardness and my tendency to over-think everything continues throughout the five journals and despite every moment that would make most readers cringe as I embarrass myself on the regular, the entire thing is woven together with a sense of “gratefulness, hope and humor” that I had and continue to carry with me as I go.

I stopped writing things down for a few years and when I picked it up again, I chose to blog and decided that no matter what depressing thing happened in the world or in my personal experience, I was going to write for myself and shed a humorous light on life. I was tired of reading and watching awful things, you know? I didn’t expect, or necessarily even want others to read it. I’m grateful that people do read and comment, but I still don’t expect it. I simply wanted to creatively journal for myself and had no idea there was going to be a community aspect.

My stats, number of followers and being Freshly Pressed meant and still mean very little to me.

With that said, I was delighted to meet people, be real and learn that I can make others laugh. I think the community has introduced us all to others who inspire us and/or have somehow changed our lives. Writers can easily connect with each other here–we all know about an artist’s deeper layers that exist within each one of us. It gives us an immediate connection and for some, a way to throw around ideas. Through this I’ve also met some friends I’d like to keep for a lifetime, had conversations with people from all over the world and even had a very odd fan fiction story written about me. I wonder whatever happened to that guy.

Perhaps the real bonus for this little lady has been the dick pictures from past commenters, even though I continually announced that I would laugh at every penis entering my inbox (and I did… that pun was not intended, by the way).

Little did those dudes know about the coffee table book I’ll publish someday called, “Is This Your Dick?” that will highlight all the ding dongs.

So, that’s what makes my blogging experience go ’round.

Why do you blog?

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Katie Couric: Part 1

22 Apr

Two weeks ago, my boyfriend and I went to NYC because yours truly was a guest on Katie Couric’s daytime TV show on ABC. Basically, one of my posts here (I will repost it before the show airs, I am not yet sure of the date) caught the attention of a producer and they invited me to be on the show. Crazy, I know.

I was nervous. I mean, I barely know how to walk in a straight line, my laugh is kind of ridiculous and I often stumble over my words. The other day when I sneezed in the parking lot at work, my shoe flew off and a guy laughed at me. A few weeks ago I fell while running and my shorts got pulled down and guess who wasn’t wearing panties?

What I am trying to say is that things can get weird around here, but I accept this. I was worried, however, that it would be difficult to control this general clumsiness/awkwardness and I didn’t really want to have to tell you a story about how I embarrassed myself in front of Katie Couric, an audience and cameras.

What was a girl to do? I was told that getting a lot of sleep would help, but instead my nervousness led us to margaritas:

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and then this happened…

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…but too many margaritas and that creepy old bikini guy didn’t do the trick, you guys, so the next morning I was up at 5 am thinking of all the ways I was going to screw things up. I thought of how to get out of it and even pretended to have a stomach ache, which my boyfriend saw straight through and resulted in him physically taking my hand and pulling me through New York City to the studio. Bless him.

When we got there, I changed in the green room and went to hair and makeup. The women who fixed me up did a beautiful job, but I felt a bit weird because I don’t usually wear much makeup and I could tell it made my boyfriend uncomfortable, too:

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Him: You’re so….sparkly.

Me: I knew it! I look like a sparkly whore!

Him: Well, don’t worry, it’s just makeup for TV and I bet up close Katie Couric will look like a sparkly whore, too!

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The idea of me hanging out with Katie Couric while we both looked like sparkly whores made me feel a lot better.

We watched the first segment in the green room before someone came to get another woman and I for our segment. Everything after that felt like a whirlwind because suddenly, whilst in a cloud of hairspray, a guy was clipping a microphone to my bra, a woman was using a lint roller on me and the makeup artist was retouching my lipstick.

I don’t remember much that happened after that. The conversation with Katie Couric was short, and funny, but I have no recollection of what was said. She was nice and very laid back and mentioned afterward that she liked my slippers (more on that later) and that I was funny. I secretly celebrated with imaginary high fives all around to everyone nearby.

My boyfriend says I did well, but maybe he’s just being nice. Who knows. I didn’t fall, so that’s a plus. He did mention that he heard me guffaw at Katie’s sex joke while on camera, so I hope they edit that out because yikes.

Anyway, that sums up the time I was on Katie Couric’s daytime show….one of the most random things I’ll ever do. I’ll be able to tell you more about the subject later and will let you know when it airs if you want to DVR it or something.

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If I Were A Linguist

14 Apr

This morning in the shower I wrote a poem about being a linguist. I am not a linguist, but this is what would happen if I were one.

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If I were a linguist
who uses her tongue freely,
I would be cunning and write a poem about
driving a lexis
and wearing a diphthong.

There’d be something in there about synnning
and taxes and that’s why
I’d be awkward and have no friends
if I were a linguist,

so I wouldn’t be much different from who I am now,
if I were a linguist.

 

 

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Boyfriend Farts

1 Apr

Last night at 3am I woke up startled by a champion fart, but for once it wasn’t my own brand. My eyes flew open and my boyfriend was lying there mischievously smiling.

 

Me (laughing uncontrollably): Ummmm!!!

Boyfriend: Haha, that sounded like a dolphin. Girl, I bet I got you dreaming you’re at Sea World.

 

Then I farted. I said it was in retaliation, but I think I was just laughing so hard that it came out.

 

Boyfriend: Your fart just smells and didn’t sound like a funny animal or anything. Gross, Lauren. You’re gross.

Me: That’s not fair! Boys smell all the time.

 

I fell back asleep a few minutes later and dreamt that it was a beautiful day so my friend Stacey and I went to Sea World. I was excited to see the sea lions, but Stacey first wanted to go to the dolphin show. We sat down and when the dolphins swam out, the sounds they made were all fart sounds and Stacey and I were laughing so hard in the audience that we were crying. My boyfriend was the dolphin trainer.

I woke up laughing and downloaded a fart soundboard on my phone and this morning, instead of working on my first day back from vacation, I listened to farts. My favorite one is called “C-Flat.”

You don’t need to tell me I’m the classiest girl in America, you guys. I already know that I exude sophistication.

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My Boobs

22 Mar

When I was a teenager, I was so embarrassed by my large chest that my mom and I used to strap them into two very tight bras to hide their bounty. We were successful to a certain degree, but as an athletic girl playing lacrosse, soccer, basketball and field hockey, someone was bound to notice them bounding about and finally one day a bitchy girl on my lacrosse team called me “thunder tits.” At that time I was a 14-year-old girl with a DD cup.

When I was 23 years old, I was 5’3 and a FFF cup. That size is hard to imagine now that I am a large D cup, but I am telling you those things were so huge that I couldn’t see over them. They were so giant that I was able to use them as a pillow on airplanes or long car rides. Once, I found a pretzel lodged between them and I hadn’t eaten pretzels for over six hours.

And people, oh my god, don’t even get me started on boob sweat.

When my shoulders were noticeably suffering and sleeping became a chore, finally I decided to get a breast reduction. I was looking forward to the health benefits, sure, but I mostly wanted not to look like a porn star when I put on a dress or bathing suit.

The surgeon removed eleven pounds of boobage from my body. He said it was possible that I would never regain feeling in my breasts, but I didn’t care. Having surgery was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, especially because I can fit into normal clothes and sometimes guys even talk to my face. It took a long time to get used to my body after the experience, but I am much more confident now than I ever was in the past.

I still couldn’t feel much and my nipples remained almost completely unresponsive until last week when there was a new development. My friend Kara noticed my nipples got hard almost immediately when I saw that my boyfriend had surprised me with flowers. Two days later, I ate some really good cheese and they got hard again (I guess I really love flowers and cheese).

Tonight, if you go out, I’d like for you to have a drink or quiet thought in honor of boobs. If you’re up for it, why not stare at some boobs and make a stranger, your friend, wife, girlfriend or mom really uncomfortable? If you have permission, I think you should probably touch some boobs, too. It will be fun!

Boobs are a sexy, important part of life and for me they were a total pain in the ass, but I’m excited they are finally getting back into the groove of things.

Yay boobs!

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Sunday Night Sublimity

18 Mar

I love when life provides a beautiful “moment” when everything blends perfectly and I am keenly aware that my soul, heart and brain are exactly where we all need to be. Do you know what I mean?

For me, this usually happens when I see something inspiring or have a life changing experience. For example, one time I was standing on the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, taking in the beauty of the sea and rolling hills and it was overwhelmingly wonderful.

It happened last night, but in a different sense. My boyfriend and I were sitting in my car, seat warmers getting our buns nice and toasty, and he was telling me an awkward boner story. We were both draped in St. Patrick’s Day lighted necklaces…

 

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…and for some reason Michael Bolton was playing…

 

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“Here I am,” I thought to myself, “having a tingly ‘moment’ while listening to this story about an awkward boner experience and we have on these lighted necklaces and for some reason Michael Bolton is singing ‘(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay’ and he sounds kind of angry about it and when Sean and I get inside we are going to eat the f-bomb out of some delicious cupcakes and I wonder if he would still kiss me if I was wearing my stick-on orange mustache that my boss bought me for St. Patrick’s Day and hey, you know what? I’m happy.”

And then we went inside and ate those cupcakes and he said he would kiss me if I was wearing that orange mustache, but I didn’t make him. Not yet, at least. I’m gonna whip that thing out one day in like the middle of summer so I get mustache sweat or something and then he’ll have to kiss me because he said he would.

When’s the last time you had a “moment?”

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Helen, A Prostitute

8 Mar

Of all the corners in Baltimore City, Helen chose my Hampden corner for turning tricks. She was tall, wore a sports bra and rocked a fancy, champagne blonde 80’s-esque hairstyle.

She yelled at inanimate objects and one time was behind me in line at Rite Aid when I dropped my wallet. She picked it up for me, introduced herself and said she had my back.

Thanks, girl.

Once, I saw her checking car doors while singing “Rush, Rush” by Paula Abdul. Two days later, I forgot to lock my car and the next morning I was greeted by a douche in my cup holder and cigarette ashes all over my front seat (which, by the way, was set down and back and likely used for sexual activity. My car was cleaned vigorously for a couple of weeks after that).

When I saw the douche, I had a flashback to the early 90s and for at least one solid minute, thought it was a Berry B. Wild SqueezIt.

 

Douche


 

Squeezit

 

I hadn’t seen Helen for long time and thought maybe she finally got help and gave up drugs and prostitution, but I went out with a guy the other night who told me that she died. He also said there’s a new prostitute. He described her as “in her 50’s and a bit momish.” Mom-prostitute stands on his corner just a few blocks away, so my corner finally gets a break.

This may sound weird, but I am going to miss Helen. I mean, I didn’t know her, but she was quite a character. She was a part of life, you know? And now she’s not. I’ll never find out what her favorite color was, if she was happy at some point, or if she was ever in love.

Rest in peace, Helen. I forgive you for leaving your douche in my cup holder and probably having sex in my car.

I pray you are in a better place now, on that great corner in the sky.
 

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How To Buy A Wolf Shirt

4 Mar

Important wolf shirt buying advice from a guy who lives across the country and once stayed in the same exact building I did on the exact same trip I went on just a few months before I did. Enjoy.

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