Hypothetical Questions

How old am I really if I watch PBS News Hour followed by Antiques Roadshow?

If I am a self-proclaimed hater of country music and then buy tickets to see Garth Brooks in concert, does that make me a hypocrite?

What if I hope Bernie Sanders wins the 2016 Democratic nomination so I don't have to choose between Hilary and whatever bottom-dwelling troll the Republican party nominates? Take your pick...

If I cut off all my hair and neglect to post a photo of it on social media, did it really happen? Checks mirror... Yes, it did. 

Why are so many of my Facebook friends organizing parties and boutiques to sell me stuff? I feel rude declining so many event/group invitations. Then again...

If I'm interested in someone older than I am, how old is too old? Considering I watch PBS News Hour and Antiques Roadshow?? 

How often should I visit my dentist? Is every 6 years often enough?

Does having an opinion about something make me an expert? If so, my Facebook feed is full of experts. Time to deactivate Facebook? 

And lastly...

If my sister wore my shirt to her photo-op with Chris Evans at ComicCon, isn't it kinda like I'm in the picture too? And if his hand is totally touching my shirt, isn't he basically touching me? 

Dear, Dear...

Dear June... Where did you go?? It's hard to believe we've reached that point in the year where the days start getting shorter again. 

Dear Parks... Your beautiful green lawns are now bone dry. It's nice to know our local parks are doing their part in conserving water, but it's a grim sight. Hopefully we'll get more rain to perk you up a bit. Though dry lawns are probably the least of our worries.

Dear Neighbors... I'll withhold judgment until later this summer, but I can't help but notice some of you have lawns which are still lush and green. Withholding judgment...

Dear Menchies... You sure knew what you were doing when you put in that pump filled with Reese's peanut butter, huh? It's enough to make a person skip the frozen yogurt altogether. Green spoon, please.

Dear Chris Pratt... I certainly enjoyed your performance in Jurassic World. Those clever girls were no match for that smolder. Click click. Here I was thinking nothing could compete with Jeff Goldblum's Dr. Ian Malcolm, but I was wrong. OKAY?? I admit it. Click click. I guess this means our goofy Andy Dwyer is all grown up. Still goofy, but now with muscles and a motorcycle. And a couple new franchises under his belt. Click click.

Dear Jeff Goldblum... I'm kidding, of course. Have you considered a cameo in the next Jurassic film? 

Dear Facebook... I just can't for a little while. I'm wasting too much time on your foolishness, scrolling my life away and letting you corrupt my sense of self. The comparison game is getting old and so are the bigoted relatives. So I'll take a little distance, if you please... A little further... Thank you.

Dear Anxiety... You know that thing you do when you make me obsess and worry about not getting something I want? Such fun! How about leaving me alone after I actually GET the thing instead of making me worry about whether I really want it after all. 

Dear Ryan Adams... Thank you for surpassing my expectations and for just being the weird, wonderful person you are. Also, thank you for coming to Red Butte Gardens where I could get as close to the action as I liked. Which was pretty close. Come back soon.

Dear Pinterest... What criteria do you use when picking pins "for me?" Yesterday you recommended a pin of a t-shirt that read "Don't flatter yourself Cowboy, I was looking at your truck." Do you know me at all?? 

Dear Chick-Fil-A... That spicy chicken sandwich.

Dear Left Hip... OW. Ow ow ow ow...

...OW.

Sincerely,

The girl who isn't looking at you OR your truck.

Birthday Song

This evening we celebrated my Grandma's 78th birthday by taking her to dinner. She wore tan capris, a black blouse, strappy black wedge sandals (to show off her pedicure), and a gold anklet with tiny pearls. She always looks just so. Over enchiladas and free margaritas we shared a lovely evening chatting, laughing, and feeling collectively traumatized by some of my Dad's jokes. 

Grandma told us how her older brother called her earlier today and sang "Happy Birthday" over the phone; how over the years he would always call on her birthday and sing to her. As he now suffers from dementia and rarely utters more than a dozen words a day, this phone call was pretty remarkable. He even managed a few minutes of conversation. I'm so happy that Grandma received such a kindness on her birthday as hearing her brother's voice. Where would we be without those for whom we sing "Happy Birthday" and those dear few who sing for us?

Grandma Donna, Uncle Gilbert, Uncle Joe, Aunt Virginia

Too often I will clear broad pathways in my mind and allow discouragement and negativity to march their terrible parades. Remembering happy moments, like those from this evening, never occurs to me as much as remembering the painful ones - embarrassment, anger, disappointment, sadness. My Grandma told me she's afraid she spends too much time thinking about things in her past she cannot change. We have that in common. But worrying never brings comfort, only more worry. Don't pick at it, Lauren. You're only making it worse. So instead of looking too far behind or too far ahead as I often do, I simply wanted to remember this evening while it's still just now. 

Happy Birthday, Grandma!

Wistful Weekend

Well, today was definitely a shuffle. Plans were made and then cancelled, dinner at way-too-crowded Cafe Rio quickly became dinner at the only-slightly-less-crowded Crown Burger, and movie watching gave way to lesson planning for Relief Society on Sunday. I even made little handouts... If the lesson doesn't go well - which is always a frightening possibility - at least the sisters will have something to show for it. 

Whilst assembling supplies and cutting out paper for my little lesson-savers, I distractedly watched the 2005 adaptation of Pride & Prejudice, glancing up here and there for my favorite parts. Parts like this one...

About 3/4 in, I turned it off. This is usually a go-to feel-good movie for me, but tonight it majorly bummed me out. Wistful - there's the word. Darcy was proposing to Elizabeth in the rain, and I just sat there with craft scissors in my hand and a lump in my throat. So I stopped the DVD and focused on my lesson. After a long day I just didn't feel up to boo-hooing over Jane Austen, thank you very much. 

Maybe tomorrow night.

Jack 'Em Up

Parts of a conversation I overheard today…

…My dad really loves Elvis. Like, loves him… My mom loves oldies so any time we were in the car we’d listen to 94.1… My stepdad listened to a lot of Metallica… So we were very well-rounded with the music we listened to growing up… I will, like, sometimes listen to 90s music, but not a lot cuz most of it’s AWFUL… If anyone asks me about modern music, I’m just like, ‘What is that crap?’… I really like (insert name of some band I have never heard of)… Here, this is my favorite… (hands over earphones to friend)… It’s called 'Jack ‘Em Up'… It’s about trucks… The music video has all of these really cool trucks… I know, right?? And usually I hate rap music…

Despite my love for 90s power ballads, I pride myself on having pretty okay taste in music - one of many delusions, I know - so my curiosity got the better of me. I tracked down the music video (<<< click this) for this song... It's performed by the Jawga Boyz featuring someone called Pastor Troy... Just in case any other well-rounded music listeners out there were looking to diversify your music libraries. 

...I'll stick with the modern crap, I think. 

Sweet Dreams

My, but I've been blogging a lot lately. Probably because there are so many other things I should be working on right now. We'll call it distractination... Distracted procrastination. 

So here's something...

I woke up from the following dream on a Sunday morning and instantly pulled out my laptop so I could document it. I am often traumatized by the weird stuff my subconscious throws together while I sleep. I once blogged about how Kenneth from 30 Rock transformed into a murderous raccoon and tried to stab me with a knife-tipped umbrella. TRAUMA. But sometimes my subconscious gets it right... And sometimes I have to document it, regardless of the embarrassment that is sure to follow...

I fidgeted in my seat on the front row, restlessly adjusting my gown and gloves. Friends on either side of me sat in their respective formalwear and whispered excitedly. Finally the lights dimmed and music from the orchestra pit announced the beginning of the show. Moments later, Langdon* walked onstage to an audience that thrilled at the sight of him. He blessed us with several smiles and waves before filling the theater with his warm baritone. As his song continued, I found myself singing harmonies under my breath. Suddenly a pair of eyes glanced in my direction. His eyes. I stopped my harmonizing at once and politely listened as the song continued, hoping my impulsive singing had gone unnoticed. A jab in the ribs courtesy of a friend's elbow told me it had not.  

The song ended and Langdon bowed graciously, the crowd returning their amorous approval with applause. When he raised his head, I thought I saw him look my way once more. Not likely. But what I dismissed as wishful thinking quickly became a frightening reality - Langdon was moving across the stage in my direction. He was so tall and his strides so long, I barely had time to catch my breath before he was stepping down from the platform and standing before me. 

My hands hovered mid-clap. Unsure of how I should react, I politely extended one shaky hand which Langdon gathered in his own. With a smile he muttered, "Nice gloves." I replied with a breathless, red-faced "Thank you." He spoke again, his hand still holding mine, but while I saw his lips move his words were swallowed by the din of his boisterous admirers. "Excuse me?" I asked, hoping he wasn't chastising me for singing aloud. I just got carried away! He spoke once more, but still the sound did not reach my ears. 

I then rose to my feet, boldly stating, "I'm sorry... You are so tall I can scarcely hear you from all the way down here." A hush fell as I gathered my gown and climbed up onto my seat, steadying myself by taking hold of Langdon's shoulder. We now stood almost eye to eye. "Well," he replied, loud enough for the audience to hear, "What are you going to do now that you're up here?" A spotlight blinded me temporarily as I looked out over the theater seats and their silhouetted occupants. What AM I going to do now that I'm up here?? To my surprise, I leaned forward and kissed Langdon on the cheek. The audience revived once more, a flurry of whistles and cheers. "I see!" he said with mock scandal in his voice. "And is this why you wooed me over here with your singing?" I gave a coy shrug and smiled. What are you doing?? Stop smiling like that!  

"What if you went to all that trouble for nothing?" he asked with a wink, though his face was suddenly serious. "What if I told you... I am not who you think I am?"

I feigned a gasp."Really?"  

He nodded. I raised one eyebrow and slowly glanced him up and down, finishing the gesture by pretending to take a good look at his backside... I know... But my dream, my rules. 

"Well, based on the evidence... I would not believe you," I declared. The audience laughed.  

"Oh, you think know me so well?"  

This time, I nodded.  

"Tell me, what other talents do you possess?" 

"Well...uh..." I began, drawing a blank. "I would tell you... but I am a lady... and a lady doesn't like to boast." I cringed. Langdon laughed. 

Fun as this was, I was losing momentum and anxious to sit down. My friends stared open-mouthed like a school of formally attired guppies. I awkwardly stepped down from my seat, but Langdon wasn't throwing me back with the rest of the fish quite yet...   

"I think we'd better interrupt our show and invite you up here to sing with me."  

A blush warmed my face as I felt him take my hand once more, urging me toward the stage. My feet protested, but the reassuring pressure of his hand in mine drew me forward. I was now extremely grateful for these ridiculous gloves. I'm sure Langdon could read my apprehension well enough without also feeling it seep through my clammy palms. 

Once onstage we faced his - now our - audience. The lights dimmed and the orchestra cued up another familiar tune. Langdon turned toward me and began singing. His eyes smiled encouragement. I finally drew in a shaky breath and found my voice. We sang. And not once did he surrender my hand.

*Langdon is a pseudonym. As in Langdon Alger, Lisa Simpson's imaginary boyfriend on The Simpsons who "is very quiet and likes puzzles." I'm keeping the true identity of Langdon a secret, but I will tell you that he is an actor and that in my dream he was in character. I will even tell you he's an actor I've blogged about before... Since that really narrows it down. 

The Latest, Not-So-Greatest

I needed to take a break from putting the ward Christmas program together... I have a bunch of text I need to compile for a script and I'm up to my eyeballs in music. At this point I have enough material for a 2 hour meeting and we need to whittle it down to about half an hour. Ah well, whittling is easy. It's last-minute scrambling for ideas that's scary. Still, if anyone has suggestions...

"Everybody" by The Backstreet Boys just came on my iTunes, so I paused for a little dance party...

Since we're talking about the ever-approaching holiday season, I have to say this should be a very memorable Christmas. In lieu of gifts, our family is headed on another vacation. This time somewhere a little less tropical and exotic, but no less exciting in my opinion. We're going to... Disneyland! 3-day park-hopper passes for the whole family!! And we'll be in Cali over my birthday!!! And there just aren't enough exclamation points to articulate how excited I am!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009

Sooo... that should be lots of fun. There are other exciting things in the works, but we'll save them for later. I'm still hyperventilating at the thought of a Disneyland Christmas. 

Now for a look back... Halloween. The only dressing up I did was as a potato for our Halloween Zumba class. A giant Mr. Potato Head costume and I wore it the whole time. Dressing head to toe in spandex as an 80's workout instructor just seemed a little cliche for Zumba, so I wore head to toe felt instead. And honestly, the potato did a better job hiding my potato-esque physique. I was sad that I didn't take time to put a real costume together, but I didn't really have anywhere to wear it this year. Next year...

Then there was the election. I knew how it would turn out, but it was still a little disappointing. I had warmed up to Romney over the last couple months and tried to watch as much relevant election coverage as I could because I wanted to be a well-informed voter. The debates were painful, but I watched them anyway. Or rather, I listened as I hid my face in my hands. I can't handle debates. Is there anything worse? Nope. I'd have run off that stage screaming before they even asked the first question. But now it's all over. I know whom I voted for and why I voted for them and we'll see if I feel any differently about my vote 4 years from now. I'm curious about where we'll find ourselves. To quote my cousin - businessman, author, and world traveler - Devin Thorpe: 

"I'm sorry for all of my friends who were hoping for another outcome tonight. Rest assured, it will not be as bad as you fear (nor as good as I hope), I'm sure."

4 more years.

Oh, and it appears PBS has been airing re-runs of Antiques Roadshow. Kassidy had tickets for the show quite a few years back when they stopped in Salt Lake City. She took some cool Chinese Dragon furniture from the 19th century and I took a model train and an old Kodak camera - both worthless. They used footage of me from their feedback booth for their end credits, so every once in a while people will tell me, "Heeeyyyy, I saw you on TV!" A couple friends mentioned it on facebook last week and then another friend sent me a link to the video. To watch a very flustered Lauren talk about a railroad box, click here and fast forward to 52:00. Behold... my 20 second legacy. 

Story Time: A Dream In Which I Fall Out of the Sky

Our plane makes it assent as the sun dips below the Manhattan skyline, the fierce sky bleeding from orange, to pink, to purple dusk. The tempo of my breathing slows to a more manageable pace and I can finally swallow what remains of my whimpering misapprehension. My feet long for solid ground, but the worst has passed. We are airborne. In the far distance I see Ellis Island - The Statue of Liberty just beyond. She stands defiantly silhouetted against the lingering sunlight, holding her torch of Liberty aloft. Her halo, the city, the water, even the wings of our aircraft - all shimmer with silvery twilight until the sun finally melts away. 

My clenched fists release a dog-eared safety pamphlet containing laminated life-saving diagrams of flotation devices, emergency exits, and oxygen masks. I return the pamphlet to its pocket and quietly prepare myself for the next few hours of air travel. The plane banks right, then left, then levels as we chase the western horizon. Sighing, I stretch my legs, recline my seat, and close my eyes. 

Seconds later, I'm startled awake as I feel the plane drop. Lurching forward I grab the seat in front of me and wait for the plane to steady. When it finally does, I frantically glance around the cabin at my fellow travelers, expecting to see panic mirrored in their faces. Instead, I find them all quietly absorbed in other pursuits. Crossword puzzles, games of Sudoku, an in-flight movie - no occupation has been disturbed by the sudden turbulence. I turn to the woman dozing next to me and contemplate waking her when once more the plane drops. And keeps dropping. No announcement is made by the Captain, no flight attendants rush to our aid, no distraught passengers cry for help... We are falling in absolute silence. Panicking, I look out my window and once more notice The Statue of Liberty. She stands far below us in the harbor, but I can see her clearly in what little light remains. And she is growing larger.

As we gain momentum, I gasp for air. I cannot move. I cannot cry out. Still no reply from the Captain. Still no reaction from the passengers. The Statue is closer now... Now even closer. And suddenly I realize - there will be no announcement from the Captain. There will be no reassuring explanation or promise of safety. Because as long as the Captain and his crew maintain their silence, all passengers, save one, will remain oblivious to the tragedy ahead. It's a kind gesture, protecting us from the horrifying knowledge of our own fate. Familiar music plays softly somewhere in the distance and everything slows. We are now so near The Statue of Liberty, she could catch us if she tried. But she does not. Her unshackled feet are the last thing I see as our steel tomb plunges violently into the harbor and all goes black...

Whew... When I woke up, I realized the song I heard as the plane fell (a piece by Edward Elgar - very dramatic falling-out-of-the-sky music) was playing on my stereo. The music in my ears filtered into my subconscious as a soundtrack. How cinematic. So I turned off the stereo (just in case), fell back to sleep, and did not wake up until my alarm said "Wake up!" Aren't you glad your dreams are not my dreams?

Just a few things...

I went to the store last evening and had my eye on some Easter candy, specifically a large bag of mini Snickers. They were on sale. My sister sneakily put them on the counter but I said  "Nay!" before the cashier could scan them. Willpower. On Friday I bought a Butterfinger - because you never know when you'll be hit by a Butterfinger craving. Then I didn't even eat that Butterfinger until Sunday afternoon. Some willpower. Last week I went up to Wendy's for a small frosty and left with a MEDIUM frosty and a kids meal. No willpower. But we are seeing improvement.

My arches have been giving me some trouble lately. Imagine having a charlie horse. Now imagine having a charlie horse in your foot. Yow. I have high arches and the workout shoes I wear have very little arch support, causing the following...

The sensation of sore, aching feet or arch pain refers to an inflammation and burning sensation at the arch of the foot. This inflammation is due to the excessive stretching of the fibrous tissue located along the bottom surface of the foot, called plantar fascia.

Plantar fascitis is the term named after this condition and described as inflammation of the fascia, muscles and ligaments on the bottom of the foot, causing pain in the heel and arch of the foot. (via eHow Health)

So I consulted Dr. Scholl's and bought a pair of arch support gel insoles. They've been helping a bit - I now have very little pain in my left foot. But that darn right foot... Always causing problems. Will Lauren ever dance again???

Did you know we had Conference this last weekend? Because I had basically forgotten until the night before. That doesn't usually happen. Usually I will have prepared myself a little beforehand. So I woke up early Saturday morning for the Zumba and by the time I came home I was inordinately grouchy. Shocking... I was not in the Conferencing mood and was less than enthusiastic when 10:00 rolled around. Feeling quite contrary, I stubbornly planted myself in front of the TV in my basement and didn't move until the first session was over. As the meeting began I remember thinking, "Okay, okay... I got this." Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly), I enjoyed each session and felt really inspired by many talks. Specifically those given by Elders Holland and Perry, Pres. Eyring, Pres. Uchtdorf (always... always, always), and Pres. Monson. They spoke with a frankness that was somewhat refreshing to me, but there was still sincere love in their voices. Their talks made such an impression they may as well have put their hands on my shoulders, looked me square in the eye, and addressed me directly. I could feel a spiritual elbowing of the ribs. There's something to learn from everyone during Conference, but not every talk, every hymn, every prayer has to be a home-run. That said, I think (for me) this Conference certainly rounded a lot of bases.

Friday night I got my hairs cut. I was fed up with the shabby state of my too-long hair, so I walked into a Super Cuts and declared my immediate need for a trim. Bye-bye 5 inches of Lauren's hair. Why cut so much? I kept seeing a lot of cute medium/past-the-shoulder length hairstyles and decided I wanted a little past-the-shoulder action myself. Now re-read that last sentence without the innuendo. Creeper. The stylist shampooed, trimmed, layered, and dried my hair in record time and I was very happy with the result. Here's a question: Why does it feel so good when someone else shampoos your hair?

And now, the last thing...

Lauren's big reveal at the beauty salon!

Electric Lights on Strings... And Other Things

"This looks like fun, this looks like fun! Oh, could it be I got my wish?"

We've all been dying at work these last few days. The Christmas clock is tick-tick-ticking away and we all have so much we still need to do. However, none of it is really work-related... I sit at my desk and think of items not purchased, treats not made, mix-tapes not compiled, friends not visited, and gifts not wrapped. Tonight I am playing Christmas Elf, trying to get as much done as I can before the AM. Why? Because I know as soon as I'm back on that clock and behind that desk the hours will drag. And before the day is over I will consider a slow and painful death via electric stapler at least once. It's the same feeling a child encounters while waiting for recess. "I don't wanna do these multiplication tables, I wanna go outside and climb something or throw something or swing from something!" It's not that work itself has been killing me, it's all the stuff sitting unfinished at home that's killing me! Piles of it. Mountains of it. So much left to do!

That's it... I'm abandoning my to-do list. No more shopping or cooking or wrapping. Everyone gets a hug for Christmas. Hugs are cheap. Hugs don't require a lot of preliminary preparation or thought. A hug is just what everyone wants for Christmas. 

And if there's mistletoe, you might just get a smooch too! 

No refunds.

Television Confessional

I can be such an embarrassing human being sometimes. You would be surprised. It's just a TV show, Lauren! A stupid TV show! ACK! 

I can't stand it. 

First of all, can I tell you how much I've been failing at the concept of GOOD, BETTER, and BEST lately? Shocker. So what would the opposite be? BAD, WORSE, and WORST? I don't think I've strayed into BAD territory, but I haven't exactly been staying up until the wee hours of the morning reading my scriptures and knitting mittens for the needy. No, I have found a new mania. And it entertains me so. 

Please don't judge me too harshly. After all, my life is so very boring.

The show in question was never one I followed very closely. I would catch an episode here and there, but not intentionally. Maybe if I was channel surfing on a Saturday morning in my jammies and I noticed they were having an all-day marathon... But I wouldn't turn on the television with the sole purpose of watching it. I noticed that a couple of blogs I follow would post every now and then about the show. That piqued my interest a bit so I educated myself via the likes of Wikipedia and IMDb to try and gauge whether I wanted to invest more time in this series or not. I'm too embarrassed to even tell you what the show is... 

Why so embarrassed?

It's so stupid, but there I was... folding laundry in my bedroom (hey, maybe I'm not completely useless) and watching the finale of Season 2, thinking to myself (stars and moonbeams in my eyes), "Oh, how I love this show! Isn't life wonderful?" Suddenly, the episode started looking familiar. I had seen it before! Then I slowly began to recall how it ended. It ended badly. So badly. It wasn't fair... I thought this particular episode wouldn't be coming until later! Much later! Like, two or three seasons down the road! But there it was. As the events unfolded on my computer screen, I sat there elbow-deep in freshly-laundered towels and cried like a baby, mocking myself on the inside because really (REALLY), I felt like such an idiot. 

Me: "Why are you crying?"

Me: "It's just so sad!"

Me: "Do you realize how pathetic you are?"

Me: "... yes."

Me: "Oh, go blow your nose! I can't bear the sight of ya..." 

And as if it wasn't heartbreaking enough the first time around, I went back and watched the last 10 excruciating minutes all over again. Frankly, I'm still a little grieved. When I woke up this morning, something felt off... Why did I feel so sad? Oh yeah... It's safe to say I may have a somewhat unhealthy emotional attachment to this show now.

(Lowers head in shame)... And now I'm embarrassed that I took this much time just to write about it. Oh, well. We'll see what Season 3 holds.

Self Delusion and Diagnosis

A sick day. Nothing too serious... I hope. So while I might've been doubled over with stomach cramps and nausea, it was the perfect kind of day to just sit online and delude myself into thinking I was getting a lot accomplished. Type-y type, type, type-y type. I had previously been looking up my not-so-serious symptoms online, but that didn't do much for my mild hypochondria. Whenever you look up any sort of harmless symptom online, you will always get the same answer: CANCER. Nooooooo... While I'm sure sometimes cancer might be the answer (no one wants to be right about that one), I don't think what I have is quite that serious... I hope. It was probably just a bad taco... But because I was insensitive about online diagnosing, it will be cancer. Type-y type, type, type-y type. My mom finally told me to stop trying to self-diagnose myself online. Usually she'll threaten me with the prospect of seeing an actual doctor and by that time (POOF!!) my symptoms miraculously disappear. 

Aside from obsessing over my tummy troubles, I've been going through the cache of photos I've taken over the last year and came across a few more of my old apartment. I posted some of my bedroom at one point, but never posted any others. So for those of you who never saw the apartment and had any interest in seeing it (probably no one), here are the remaining pictures. I'd invite you over, but I don't live there anymore. 

View from the entry-way. That's some sexy wood panelling...

Couch courtesy Josh and Kelly Sumner. Bless them. 

Some of Lauren's books and stuff.

The door. Very large and disproportionate to the rest of the apartment.

Love Sac, baby Love Sac.

Kitchen.

Lauren's.

So that's it really. Blink and you'd miss it. 

Not a real post, just a little something.

Yes, you are.

P.S. I was fairly amused when I right-clicked this GIF and the menu said "Copy Link." Where has this boy gone?

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

If you like pop-up books, you will like this video. If you like sweet songs, you will like this video. If you like both... well, then you'll be over the moon.

Lille, by Lisa Hannigan

This evening I treated Diego to a thorough vacuuming and cleaning. Complete with new floor mats and air freshener. Diego is my gold 1995 Toyota Camry and we have been together for 7 years. He has been very well-behaved lately, which is pretty impressive if you know my history with this car. We passed inspection and emissions a few weeks ago and when we went in for our latest oil change he was given a clean bill of health. Well, he was a little backed up with some pretty nasty sludge, but who isn't from time to time? They gave him a nice flush, replaced the coagulated oil, and cleaned up his insides a bit. We did have a little scare yesterday when I drove him home from the mechanic... I saw some smoke streaming out from under my hood - not a lot, but enough to concern me. Yikes. So I checked under the hood and I could smell something was burning, though I couldn't see what it was. Not exactly the blazing inferno I was expecting, but it was still hot hot hot! 


When we took him back down to Big-O to check it out they explained that some of the muddy oil that was in the car dripped down onto my muffler as they were cleaning it out. The smoke was caused by the oil burning off. It's normal, I guess. But they cleaned Diego up a little bit more at no charge and apologized for the panic-inducing smoke caused by the residual oil. Whew! My Diego will ride once more! Go Diego, Go!

Triple D!

Okay, Drop Dead Diva had their Season 3 finale last night and my mom (who was upstairs) said if she hadn't known my sister and I were in the basement watching DDD, she'd have thought there was an axe murderer in the house...

(Side note: My mom is reading a book about Lizzie Borden... you know...

Lizzie Borden took an axe,

Gave her mother 40 whacks,

When she saw what she had done

She gave her father 41.

So every thing's been axe murderers with her lately.)

But yes, we did scream and wail and carry on like a couple of crazies. Words cannot adequately describe the sounds that emitted from our mouths as we watched the final minutes of the show. We were embarrassing. But the show really is quite good. 

The premise: Deb is an aspiring model. She crashes her car on the way to an audition and dies. She presses "return" before she can be admitted into Heaven and her spirit gets sent back to earth. However, she is no longer occupying her own body but the body of a brilliant attorney named Jane. Jane,the polar opposite of Deb in every way imaginable, has recently been shot and rushed to the hospital. However, when she finally comes to she isn't Jane... She's Jane/Deb... Deb's spirit in Jane's body. 

So based on that premise alone, I remember thinking "Oh great, a show where a beautiful model is punished by being put into a heavy a girl's body. Perfect." And of course, I was wrong. 

As the show progresses Deb/Jane discovers that while she has all of Deb's personality and memories, she also has all of Jane's intellect. She's smart - super smart. One major twist in the story is that the day before real Jane was shot she hired a new lawyer at her law firm. That lawyer was Grayson. Grayson was Deb's fiance. Before she died. GASP! So not only does Deb have to pursue this new life as Jane, but she has to do it while working alongside the love of her life who can never know her true identity. It's a rule apparently. If she ever tells him who she really is, there are consequences... It's like this: if Grayson loved Deb for more than just her good looks then it makes sense that eventually he could connect with Deb/Jane as well. That maybe one day he could "see" her. And that is Deb/Jane's torment.

Never fear, Deb/Jane is not completely alone. She has a guardian angel by the name of Fred who is sent to help her along and in a fit of desperation she reveals her identity to her best friend, Stacey. Before she knew what the "rules" were, apparently. They are the only two who know that Jane is Deb and Deb is Jane. Take all that, throw in the occasional musical dream sequence, lots of guest stars (Liza Minelli,  Paula Abdul, Rosie O'Donnell, LeeAnn Rimes, etc.), and a bunch of court cases and you have the show... You follow?

*     *     *

With a formula like that there are bound to be some very entertaining and squeal worthy moments. Last night's finale was no exception. And let's be honest, considering the average American woman is a size 12-14, it's kind of refreshing to see a female lead who may be a little huskier than your standard barely-there TV starlett. Though I may be a little bias... cough, cough... I guess that means the show's like Ally McBeal... if Ally McBeal looked like someone who might exist in real life. 

After all, happy endings on TV aren't always just for the
skinny chicks, right? RIGHT??

Lately Lauren Likes...

THIS podcast from WNYC. It's a nice tribute. 


The new Coldplay album, Mylo Xyloto (out October 24th)... I may or may not have just listened to this song 10,000 times. Of those songs I've heard thus far, we're 3 for 3! I've found if you like Coldplay then you REALLY like them and if you dislike them... you get the idea. They're my cup of tea.

The following song from Ryan Adams' new album Ashes and Fire (out October 11th)... Apparently October is going to be a very good month for music by Lauren's standards.


It is my favorite month.

Maxwell's East Coast Eatery... It's a new Italian restaurant near my place of employment. Last week I ate a slice of pepperoni pizza that was bigger than my face. It was delicious.


Cooler temperatures.


Dancing like a fool. But NOT being recorded dancing like a fool.


Watching fireworks at the State Fair from my Grandma's backyard.


Megamind... Pleasantly surprised! In fact, I think I liked it more than Despicable Me. "Metrocity"... hahahaha.


Maybelline's Falsies mascara. BAM! GLAM!


Having to shout at a woman over the phone today at work. She was so old and so deaf, but so sweet. How do I spell my name? "L-A-U... No, L-A... NO! L-A-U-R... Yes, R... E-N... E as in elephant... ELEPHANT!... NO! L-A-U-R-E-N... E! N!... N as in Nancy!... YES... No?... Okay... Let's start over... My name is Lauren... LAUREN!...L-A-U..." This went on for days.


SAVERS. I will never buy new jeans again! Or books!


Halloween costume planning. Hopefully (crosses fingers) it works. I have high hopes! As in, high Apple Pie in the sky... Here is a clue as to what I'm working on:

And NO, it's not PeeWee Herman or Hello Kitty or the Cat in the Hat...


Hiking in my new hiking duds. My feet have never been happier. 


Fructis conditioner for color treated hair. I don't usually like Fructis. 


Chris Evans.... CHRIS. EVANS. Observe...

GAAAHHH!! I melt.

The color teal.


And... Ellipses...


...Obviously.

Those Pale Green Pants...

As of Saturday I had to be completely moved out of my apartment. I had boxes galore neatly packed and stacked in their respective piles, just waiting to be loaded up and transported from point A to point B. Didn't think it could be done, yet here we are. I'm still in the process of settling in, but as was the case a few weeks ago with my laundry, I can motivate myself to do little else than sit here and watch the third X-Men, buy music, blog, and dink around on Pinterest. 

So I watched Becoming Jane with my mom and my sister last week. Neither of them had seen it and I've been on a James McAvoy kick since seeing X-Men: First Class a couple weekends ago. In fact, he's now my boyfriend. So the three of us watched the movie (twice) and I wept profusely and it was great fun. Then we watched Atonement. Another painful viewing experience, but whatever. It's a beautiful movie, even if it is rather heartbreaking and graphic AND has Keira Knightley.

While we're on the topic of my new boyfriend, you wanna hear something spooky? As I was preparing for the move I packed up all my DVDs in a large box. My sister bewailed and bemoaned the fact that I didn't remove Penelope before sealing it up. I reassured her, letting her know it would be unpacked with the rest of the DVDs once the move was over. Later that same evening as I was putting things away in my bedroom, I glanced down and saw Penelope randomly sitting on my desk. Apparently it wasn't with the other movies... What a fortunate turn of events!

Sigh...

I really do have so much I still need to do. My laundry, for one. I'm running out of outfits. I've resorted to wearing an interesting assortment of clothing to work... from leggings with casual jersey dresses to your standard jeans and a t-shirt with flip-flops. The dirty pile in my bedroom just keeps climbing and climbing. I have a few pairs of jeans that will probably beg for mercy if I try to wear them again. Hehe, I can see it now... Me trying to corner a pair of pants as they try to run away... Like in this story by Dr. Seuss...

What Was I Afraid Of? by Dr. Seuss... "Those pale green pants with nobody inside them."

Except in this story it was the pants that did the cornering. And with great effect - look at that bear-person's face. Oh, will the pants and I ever be friends again??? Will I ever do my laundry??

If there's anything we can learn from Seuss's story, it's this...

The pants and the people CAN be friends again. But 'til then, I will continue to be creative with my outfit choices. Or just wear PJs to work. Or buy more clothes. Or not go to work at all.