It was the weekend of Easter, and I’d told my mom that it’d be no problem to be home for the festivities around noon on Saturday(I know Easter is on Sunday, but my family starts celebrating on Saturday. That post is coming later. First things first). Of course, true to form on Saturday morning that time frame changed to around 2 pm. In my adulthood I have somehow evolved into a person that is always late. Since it doesn’t matter how much time I give myself to prepare for being on time, I generally just wake-up at the very last moment and rush around frantically like a maniac. I’ve learned that waking-up early doesn’t help. I’ll fall into a time warp and still turn up late. So this tactic seems to work for me.
It does, however, leave me a bit flustered. As does pumping gas in the middle of a wind/rain storm. I got out of the habit of pumping gas when I lived in Oregon, and it was a law that a gas station attendant had to pump your gas. I thought this was pretty ridiculous at first, but then I realized what a wonderful thing it was. So flustered Lauren pumping gas in the rain lead to me to do something I have never done before. I had the gas pump running, and without turning it off pulled the gas pump out of the gas tank. I made it rain. Gas-that is. Everywhere. Then I spent the car ride alternating between worrying that I was going to spontaneously combust because I was covered in gas, to worrying that we created an environmental hazard in the gas station parking lot. (We might have spilled some oil as well.) And were we supposed to report it?? It was an accident! How are we supposed to know the answers to these questions??
So the other day, I was running walking through my office building on the way to Subway. Subway is a new addition to the building, and now becoming a regular addition to my diet as I think they are pumping the smell of fresh bread through the vents of the office, and I clearly have no self-control. I was just about to push through the door when a metal object fell from the ceiling. I’m not going to deny it, I had a moment where I almost pretended like I didn’t see the big metal object flying through the air in front of my face, and carried on with my Subway mission. It was only a brief moment, and of course curiosity doing the right thing won out. I picked-up the metal object which was surprisingly heavy, and dutifully took it to the security desk; pointing out that someone could have been killed by that thing.
A few nights later, I was out at a birthday party at a restaurant. I ended-up in the corner chatting it up with the girls, and having a grand old time. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice the lit candle hanging-out precariously close to my shoulder, and when I went to the bathroom tried to take it with me. It’s a flipping miracle that a lit candle, plus my hair and wool jacket, both of which I am sure are quite flammable, didn’t cause me to burst into flames. My jacket and boots suffered some wax damage, but I escaped unscathed. Or seemingly. I can’t help but wondering though– is the universe trying to tell me something??
Mom, I think it’s time for the helmet and race suit.
After a few weeks of peace and quiet with Dash, he returned to his old shenanigans. Once again, he went into lock down mode when I was trying to bolt out of the car and run into work. Now, I’m all a for a “car emergency” that delays my work day, but that doesn’t work so well when I’m sitting in the parking deck at work. I’d prefer to be “stuck” at home. Anyways, being such a pro at these situations, I quickly made my escape. Now the real question is-Why is Dash acting this way? I feel like this is a question best suited for Stephen King, but I’m gonna throw out a few theories.
1) The timing of his most recent lock-down coincided with a conversation I had with friends about him, and how I defeated him by disabling his alarm. I guess he thought he’d show me who’s really in charge.
2) Dash is punishing me for not getting him fixed when my neighbor decided to plow him with her durango. The damage is soley cosmetic. I really didn’t know Dash was such a diva. (Oh, I didn’t tell you that story? Well, you’ll just have to wait. I’m still coming to terms with it myself)
3) As Cindy suggested, Dash is conveying his desire for us to be a NASCAR team. Duh! That’s why he keeps trying t o make me climb out the window. And I have no one to blame but myself. On our road trip home last summer, he got a taste of speed (we were in SIXTH gear people!) which he is certainly not getting as we start and stop our way down Capital Blvd (the worst road in Raleigh) every day for our work commute. This is one thing we are in complete agreement on. I prefer the open road and speed, too. It’s about time I put on my driving hat and hit the road.
So in a nutshell my car has a mind of his own (as in might be possessed), and is determined to convey what he wants. I’m starting to think that I need Stephen King and a priest.
So I’ve blogged about Dash before, and my love for him. And up until recently we’ve always had a great relationship. I don’t know where we went wrong, but one day Dash started going all Stephen King on me. He automatically locks me in when I turn on the car, which normally makes me feel safe and secure in the knowledge that some rando person is not going to hop in the car with me. (Side note-this happened to me when I was a kid. And it was weird.) So yeah, I like being locked in my car when I’m driving around.
Not so much when I’m trying to exit my car. I pulled into my driveway the other day, hit the unlock, and Dash proceeded to unlock and then lock immediately. After a few rounds of this, I was not impressed. As the locks are automatic, I was unable to manually unlock the car. So in a nutshell I was locked inside of my car sitting in my driveway. Real funny, Dash. It didn’t take long for me to hit a slight patch of panic. Will I ever leave the car again? Will I suffocate? What will happen to me??!
I decided that since Dash had no intentions of letting me out of the car, I’d just have to outsmart him. Ah-ha. I looked around for my options to escape, and my gaze landed on the sunroof. Duh. I’d just climb out of the sunroof. Not strange at all. I decided to call my mom for moral support. Let’s keep in mind that I’m in a bit of a claustrophobic state. I reviewed my plan with her, and she nicely pointed out that I could roll my driver’s side window down, and use my key to unlock the car from the outside. Errrr right. I’d just have to climb out of the sunroof some other time.
So I took her advice, and was out in a jiffy. Lauren-1 Dash-0. But Dash wasn’t done with me yet. A few days later I woke-up to the sound of a car alarm. I was not happy that some idiot set their car alarm off first thing in the morning. But wait…as my foggy morning brain cleared the noise sounded pretty close. Yep. Real close. Right beneath my bedroom window. I looked out and Dash was putting on quite a show of alarm. Awesome. I stomped angrily downstairs, and turned him off.
I should have known it was only the beginning. Later that morning Dash struck again. When I tried to exit and go to work, I found myself once again on lockdown and trapped inside. This time he added the wonderful strains of the car alarm to keep me company. I tried disarming the alarm and unlocking the doors. Nothing. Basically, I looked like an idiot hanging out of my car window trying to unlock the car with the alarm blaring. This time not even Mom’s technique worked. Of course, as soon as I handed over the keys to a helpful stranger Dash unlocked like a charm–leaving me looking like a complete moron. Luckily, it’s par for the course, and I was running late for work so I just went with it.
It became a game of Russian Roulette every time I got in the car. Would Dash trap me inside or not? What fun. I particularly enjoyed the time I got to climb out of my car window in the Target parking lot. By that point, I was over fighting with Dash and really needed some Target time– so yeah I just hopped out of the car window. In broad daylight. I tried to make it look as casual as possible. No big deal, I do this all the time. What? You haven’t heard? No one uses doors anymore.
And this could have gone on forever, but all good things must come to an end. Using my great friend Google, I learned that to outsmart Dash, I’d have to disable his car alarm. Well, not me exactly. I had some help (thanks to Garett). Dash is a pretty fierce competitor, and I’m not known for my handiness. And I’m pretty sure that’s the last we’ll hear from Dash for quite awhile…
So I thought I’d stop by and say hello to my little blog. In case you haven’t noticed (of course you did), I haven’t blogged much in the past year. Ok a grand total of one blog since November of last year. Epic fail. But this blog thing is hardwork. It takes commitment, dedication, and a creative spark that I just wasn’t feeling. But lately I’ve been feeling it more. And while I know I’ll never be the blogger that posts religiously every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7 am (I really don’t want to step out of character here), I am excited to pick this project back-up and see where it goes. So today we are going back to the past, with a blog post I wrote for a photographer describing my boudoir photo session. Don’t be scared, it’s not as scandalous as it seems!
I have to admit, I was a reluctant boudoir photo shoot participant. My friend booked a boudoir session with Tambi Lane Photography and asked if I wanted to book a session too. From the look on my face, she could tell that I was less than enthusiastic about the idea. She lobbied that the whole experience would be much more fun with a friend. I was a bit mystified. Wasn’t this some private, sexy, possibly nude photo shoot?? She explained that it was like a girl’s night out experience where you drink champagne, get make-up and hair done, and then have a photo shoot in the wardrobe of your choice. It didn’t sound like an awful way to spend an evening, but what did I need boudoir photos for? Wasn’t the point for the photos to be a present to a significant other or to mark a significant event? I’m a no-makeup, white t-shirt, and jeans kind of girl—not the kind of girl who gets professional photos taken for no reason.
My practical side shouted, “NO!” My adventurous side countered with, “Why not?!” I came to the conclusion that I didn’t need a reason. I was going to step outside of my comfort zone and do something different. I’d be my friend’s boudoir wing woman, drink champagne, get dolled-up, pose for some photos, and laugh about it later. Besides, my 80-year-old self might appreciate some foxy photos from her glory days.
In the days leading up to the shoot, I found myself getting excited, nervous, and unsure of what to expect. So I consulted my best friend Google to get a feel for what I should wear and what to expect. I quickly realized that each and every shoot was as unique as the woman being photographed. Just because it was boudoir did not mean I had to wear high heels and racy lingerie. Since the pictures were just for me, the point was to create a scenario that made me feel empowered and sexy. I packed my favorite, go-to wardrobe staples and left the rest to Tambi’s team.
And they did not disappoint. The outdoor bedroom the team created was the perfect balance of vintage bohemian and classic elegance; the perfect complement to my cowboy boots and breezy tunics. Tambi served us champagne and the fun began. I chatted with Tambi and her team while I got my hair and make-up done. The conversation made me feel at ease and helped to take my mind off the fact that I was very nervous about the actual photo session.
Before I knew it, it was time to step in front of the camera. Another wave of nerves hit, but Tambi made me feel so comfortable that I stopped worrying about how I looked, and just enjoyed the experience. Tambi directed the shoot with finesse, communicating directions clearly and checking-in often to make sure that I was ok. And I was very ok. I was caught-up in the magic of the shoot and enjoying every minute of it. I felt beautiful, empowered and liberated. The night ended, but the feeling stayed. This once-reluctant girl is now a big fan of Tambi Lane Photography boudoir sessions. The experience exceeded my expectations and changed my perception of boudoir. Now, if I can just figure out how to get her to follow me around with her camera….
It’s not every day you get to chill on a bed in a field pretending to talk on a vintage phone.I could get used to this.
Cue in flashback music, wavy surroundings, and me looking rad doing some school work at my desk.
It was senior year and I was laboring away on some research project or something super fun like that when my roommate Leslee walked-in.
Leslee: What are you doing?
Me: Being studious.
Leslee: Do you have a sec to look something up for me?
Me: Sure! as I pull up the Yahoo search menu (Meaning I have all day, I’d rather do anything than what I’m doing right now. Maybe we can look at the pics from our last mixer. Again. And then we can look at the pics from other peoples’ mixers. It really was important to stay on top of those things.)
Leslee: Why are you using Yahoo? I think Google is much better.
Me: Agreed. But Google has had a virus for like a year.
Leslee: HAHAHAHA! You’re funny.
Me: not laughing
Leslee: Oh, you’re serious.
Me: Why would I make something like that up? I’ll show you! I type in the address and there it is. The weird page advertising spyware that is most definitely NOT Google.
Leslee: Hmmmm definitely weird. Wait...(as she points to the screen). You just typed www.goggle.com.
Yes, it’s true folks. I seriously thought that Google had a virus for like a year. In my defense I would intermittently check-in to see if it was fixed, and as I was always typing www.goggle.com some weird page advertising something strange would always pop-up. So I just learned to use Yahoo as my default search. Until Leslee figured it out. I mean, this could have gone on for years! Hence why Leslee will always have a special place in my heart. Everyone needs a friend like her. She didn’t even make fun of me (If I were in her shoes she’d probably still be getting harassed today about how Goggle is doing and if it’s been giving her any trouble lately. She was always nicer than me though).
***This is the email that you really want to send, but don’t. I wanted to send this after an interview a few weeks ago.
Dear Horrible Lady Potential Employer-
Thank you so much for the interview. I had really been looking forward to meeting you, and learning more about your company. I have to say that it was an eye-opening experience. From the beginning it was clear that you were really excited about interviewing me too. Even after reviewing my information, it was obvious that you really weren’t sure which applicant I was. I understand that you are a busy lady, but just like I prepare for an interview, I would assume you would too. Oh well, we made it work somehow.
Even if it was supremely awkward. I really enjoyed conducting the interview in a bookstore with everyone around us listening in. I don’t blame them, I’d probably eavesdrop too. My favorite was the girl who actually interrupted the interview to request your marketing services. It was also fun having you randomly pick questions out of thin air, criticize my choice in literature, mock my interview outfit and make me feel like a complete idiot. My favorite part and what I really want to thank you for, is for letting me know AFTER the interview that the position I was applying for had already been filled. I can honestly say that I have never been through an interview for a position that was already filled. So thank you for that first, and for wasting an hour of my time. I’m so glad that we got to sit in that bookstore together and really get to know each other. What I know for sure is that I will never, ever be working for your company.
I’m really sorry that didn’t work out for you. And one more thing. Next time you decide to hold an interview with someone, AND then tell them the position is filled, you could at least offer to buy them a cup of coffee.
I was sitting around a few nights ago googling inspiration for my Halloween costume, when this conversation occurred. (or something to the effect of this)
I thought I’d share since it’s a great representation of what I mean by L-Bonics.
Me: Ok. Judging from these pictures I need black pants, a red jacket with tails, a white shirt, white gloves, and a top hat. The top hat is going to be the Coup de… (silence as I struggle to figure out what I’m trying to say)
Micah: Yes??
At this point, I have no idea what word to insert after Coup de. I know that I’m trying to express the idea that the top hat will be the finishing touch to my costume. It’ll deliver that final blow of awesomeness and pull it all together. I reverted to a tactic that usually works pretty well.
Me: Coup de (insert incomprehensible muttering, said very quickly and quietly)
Micah: What was that? (knowing full well I have no idea what I’m talking about)
Me: I said Coup de WHOA!
Sometimes you just have to embrace it. And actually, I think it works better than the Coup de Gras I was searching for. And are you wondering about my Halloween costume? I’ll be posting the pictures soon!
On recent Saturday mornings, I’ve been waking-up, grabbing my phone and immediately searching for sectional couches on Craigslist. We moved into a new house in August. Since then I’ve become obsessed with the idea that the only way our living room will be perfectly configured and livable is with the addition of a sectional sofa. Unfortunately, sectionals are super expensive new, so of course I turned to my old pal Craig. My general consensus after a few months of searching was that any sectional that was in our budget must be plaid, pleather, microfiber or just plain hideous.
As I browsed options Saturday morning, I found an ad for a yard sale that mentioned a sectional. There wasn’t a picture, but I was inexplicably drawn to this sale. So much in fact, that I hopped-out of bed (usually at that early hour of the morning the only place I’m hopping to is the bathroom) and threw on clothes. I was ready to go. Micah, completely confused and wondering why I was buzzing around the house at 8 am like a maniac while berating him to hurry-up and get with the program, agreed to escort me on my mission.
We arrived at the yard sale, and as we walked-up I scanned the items looking for it. No sectional to be found. No wait, what’s that??? I had to get a closer look so I bee-lined it toward what appeared to be….EXACTLY WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR. Tripping over boxes and pushing other yard salers/potential sectional buyers out of the way, I finally made it the few feet to my destination.
I kept my cool (for the most part), but quickly realized that the guy was hell-bent on getting a certain price and in fact, had been pimping out the sectional all morning. I presented an offer, but no deal. He took my number to give me a call later that day if he reconsidered. And miraculously, I didn’t do something completely within character such as dramatically throwing myself on the sectional in an attempt to thwart would-be buyers, upping the offer until I paid wayyyyy more than it was worth, or driving around removing all signs directing sectional buyer competitors to said yard sale. Nope. Nothing crazy. I left the matter in the hands of Fate.
And I managed to enjoy the rest of my day. Typically, my brain would be on overdrive trying to figure out how I was going to make it happen. Somehow, I just knew it was meant to be. And later that night, I got a call back. The guy was ready to negotiate. Voila. The sectional was mine. And I learned a valuable lesson about myself. I just might be psychic…
Ahhhhhh, bliss. No microfiber, pleather or plaid in sight!
It was on a camping trip. (That one time I brushed my teeth with lip gloss.) It was a girls’ camp-out and we’d spent the night chatting, laughing and enjoying some drinks. It was late by the time the party wound down and we scattered off to bed. I had one more thing to do before I crawled into my sleeping bag. I had to brush my teeth. I did not relish going to bed with a layer of scum from snacks, drinks and camp fire on my teeth. I found my bag in my darkened tent (my headlamp was out of batteries so I could barely see) and rifled around until I found my travel toothbrush and toothpaste. Ah-ha! My dentist would be so proud. I wet my toothbrush and spread an ample amount of toothpaste onto the brush. I began to vigorously brush, feeling pretty smug that although I was exhausted and maybe a tad tipsy, I still had my wits about me. My first thought was that the toothpaste had a weird texture. My next thought was that the toothpaste had a very unique taste. Almost like…my brain struggled to catch-up and identify the taste. Lip gloss???? Gahhhhhhh. What the heck????? Yep. Somehow in the dark the lip gloss tube felt very similar to the toothpaste tube. One ruined toothbrush and some very soft gums later, and I certainly was not feeling so smug!
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