The Rundown

In honor of this rainy Sunday morning, I would like to share a piece of British slang with you from Knickers in a Twist... 

Pull a sickie: Pretend to be unwell in order to absent yourself from work. 

I would like to 'pull a sickie' from church today, but have committed myself to a ward choir rehearsal in preparation for next week's Ward Conference. Hopefully we'll get a decent turnout despite it being Fast Sunday. I think I'd rather sing than sit at home with my tummy moaning hungrily, so hopefully everyone else feels the same way. 

Did you know there is a musical adaptation of Roald Dahl's Matilda? I didn't know either. Not until I saw this sweet song posted in another blog. The show is coming to Broadway this spring and I think I would really love to see it. The Trunchbull has a song called "The Hammer." I can only imagine...

Here's the rundown for the rest of my week...

Hours watched of the Oscars: ALL of them.

Pounds lost: 3 (total of 17 thus far)

Hours exercised: 4 1/2

Round-trip flights to Missouri booked: 1

Episodes of Doctor Who watched: 3

Songs downloaded from Amazon: 8

Days eating out: 1... Ichiban Sushi and it was worth it!

Pieces of German Chocolate Cake consumed: 3, but not all in one sitting.

I feel like I've blogged this before, but it might be worth hashing it out again...

After a conversation with my sister, I've decided I'm really good at exercise. If you stick me on an elliptical or in a Zumba class with some good music, I have no problem knocking out an hour's worth of activity. BAM. Oh, and you want me to follow it up with some strength training? Done. But all that exercise and weight-lifting won't save my bacon (mmmm... bacon) if my diet stinks, which it does. Or did. I'm not overhauling anything, but things are getting MUCH better. 

Sometimes it's easy to justify garbage-eating if I feel like I've burned enough calories during a workout. This is a LIE and a surefire way to sabotage my efforts in the gym. Instead of relying on the junk that seems so convenient (and delicious!), I'm planning ahead and not using exercise as an excuse to slack off elsewhere. NO LIE - There were some nights after Zumba where my sisters and I would leave the rec center and drive straight to Wendy's on our way home to indulge in a tasty sampling from their dollar menu. How backward is that?? Pretty backward, Lauren.

So there you have it - I'm already good at exercise and trying to improve my overall diet. Consider yourself enlightened. 

Now, for the most random thought of this blog post...

No, really. It's very random...

Kristen Stewart (told you!) doesn't have a reputation for being one of Hollywood's most charming, charismatic, or even very pleasant-looking actresses. Basically this unfortunate gal gets a lot of flack for being an emotionless shrew. And there are probably hundreds of internet memes out there backing this up, especially in the wake of her less-than-enthusiastic appearance at the Oscars. But I read the following in an article and thought to myself, "Yeah, she has a point..."

She stands out on the red carpet because she does not smile broadly or pose; she usually looks slightly uncomfortable. Of her red-carpet experience, Stewart said: 

People say that I’m miserable all the time. It’s not that I’m miserable, it’s just that somebody’s yelling at me…I literally, sometimes, have to keep myself from crying. It’s a physical reaction to the energy that’s thrown at you.

There is an expectation of women in general and famous woman in particular to always assure the onlooker that they are happy to be looked upon through smiling, and Stewart rejects this.

Women are expected to be nice and sweet, to make other people feel comfortable... Women have an obligation to look and act a certain way and when they don’t, they need to be hassled until they do.

Kristen Stewart is NOT one of my personal favorites and this isn't a commentary on her acting skills. But if I appeared in one of the most loved/most hated movie series of all time (depending on whom you ask) and was constantly harangued by people shoving camera lenses in my face demanding I grin and pose and strut, I think I'd be a little wary too. So what if her eyes don't sparkle like a Disney princess? Her profession isn't affable and engaging red carpet walker. If she seems awkward and uncomfortable in the limelight, then maybe she is. And I understand awkward and uncomfortable - If you put me on a red carpet in front of all those people, you would find me hiding under it within a matter of SECONDS. I would just be this red lump that other celebrities keep tripping over. 

So you just keep not smiling, Kristen. Or half-smiling. Or if you want to smile, then go right ahead! But if not, no pressure. Whatever.

Monday in the Park with Lauren

By special request (and I do mean "special")... Here are some lovely photographs of Lauren at Canyon Rim Park on Memorial Day. 

A slide!

Filled with trepidation.

Weeeeeeeeeeee!!!

. . . 

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?

Wind Bag

Sometimes I embarrass myself... in front of myself. I embarrass myself plenty, but usually I'm blessed with a larger audience. Like in Church or onstage or around people I don't know very well. Embarrassing yourself in front of yourself is fun because at least you can laugh and say, "Boy, I'm glad no one saw that." You can walk away unscathed. Embarrassing yourself in front of others is less fun. 

A couple Fridays ago I bought a salad at Wendy’s for lunch and found a nice shady tree near my office to eat under. It was a very breezy day. I removed my lunch from its sack and soon found myself scrambling for napkins as they skirted across the lawn. Grabbing for the napkins I dropped the sack. Making an unsuccessful grab for the sack, I dropped the napkins. You see where I’m going with this… Now neither sack nor napkins were in my clutches. I stood and began chasing the windblown items as they darted to and fro. The napkins soon became a lost cause (bye-bye napkins) so I concentrated my efforts on the sack. No sooner would I make a desperate grab then SWOOSH - it would dart another 10 feet ahead of me. How long did this go on? A lot longer than it should have… I made one final lunge and pinned the rogue sack beneath my foot. Ha-HA! Wadding it up in my fist, I walked triumphantly back to my shady spot and enjoyed the rest of my lunch. I'm not entirely confident no one saw me from our office building, but let's pretend they did not.

Later that same day I sat at my desk and started talking to a co-worker in the next cubicle. I was chatting away about a customer when I turned around and realized my co-worker wasn’t anywhere near her desk. Or within the sound of my voice. "Blah blah blah blah... Haha, right?... Oh... Hello?... I'm alone... " I was just gab-gab-gabbing away. How long did this go on? Again, a lot longer than it should have...  

Open Letters

Dear Still-Semi-New Job,

Thank you for coming around when you did. Everything has been going so WELL. So well that I don't even mind having to wake up at 6:30 (in the freaking morning) so I can make it to work by 8. What was mid-April Lauren so worried about??

Dear Outside,

How nice you've been lately! And thanks in advance for the weekend.

Dear Drop Dead Diva,

You're back! Season 3's exciting scream-filled cliffhanger (AAAHH!!) was almost too much for me, but Season 4's opener was sadly a little "meh." Too much build-up perhaps. I still love you, but hopefully the rest of the season isn't as lame as the first episode. Either way, I'll be watching!

Dear Handsome-Boy-With-Swagger,

I don't know how, but you successfully swagged your way through an entire church talk not too long ago. Impressive. How does one swag from over a pulpit? Wow. That sounds wrong.

Dear Olympus High School,

I'm sure that monstrosity of a new building will be really cool and more structurally sound (or whatever), but it tugs at my Titan heart a little every time I drive by and see you sitting in its ever-expanding shadow. So many memories... Some kinda painful and some truly wonderful. I think I'll need to make one last visit before you're reduced to a pile of rubble.

Dear This Picture,

NO. But I need a vacation. 

Dear Patrons of the Holladay Lyons Rec Center,

While navigating the parking lot, please don't whip around patiently waiting cars, park illegally, or block traffic. Please? I don't care if your kid is late for his little league soccer game or if you drive an Escalade or even if you're 117 years old. We're all stuck in this crowded parking lot together and we don't need you making us any stuck-er! 

Dear Newly-Wedded Brides,

While I appreciate your enthusiasm, not all your domestic endeavors need documenting on Facebook. Though we are all very impressed.

Dear Lauren,

Ouch. Maybe they've never made a casserole, okay?

Touche, Lauren... 

Dear Grandma, 

Thank you for dinner the other day and for always being such good company.

Dear Bridesmaid Dress,

Thank you for fitting properly. You weren't exactly cheap and shopping online is soooo frustrating. The search is over!

Dear Les Miserables Nay-Sayers,

Un-bunch your panties, will you? Go on, give them a nice un-bunching. Yes, film is an entirely different medium than theater, so chances are the movie will differ from a full-blown Broadway production. But it will be just fine. In some ways it may even be better. If you genuinely dislike anyone in the cast, I can't fault you for it. There are several actresses/actors working in the biz that I personally can't stand. For example... Lea Michele. And they considered her for Eponine. As it is, I think the movie looks and, yes - SOUNDS pretty good.

Ever-so Truly Yours,

Things that make you go HA!

Monday! Goodnight, Monday! Here's a Monday face.

But tomorrow is Tuesday. And by Friday, this face will have all but disappeared. 

I was driving with my sister the other day. As we drove along, she started telling me a story. I guess she was speaking rather loudly because as she spoke I subconsciously reached for the volume on my dashboard. Not to turn down the radio, but to turn down her voice. I should mention that the radio wasn't even on. I only realized what I was doing when, as I turned the knob, the volume of her voice didn't change... 

In her defense, whenever we take her Trooper anywhere we practically have to shout over the chugga, chugga of the engine. At least I didn't try to tune into another "station."

On Friday my other sister brought home her recently printed wedding announcements. She walked in the door and began voicing her concern over the paper bands that go around the announcement and the engagement photo. They were all different shades of pinkish peach and none of them close enough to the shade of coral she originally picked out. She rummaged through the box looking for the right color, randomly interjecting with mumbled phrases like, "They don't match... None of these match... This is too dark... I can't even find one in the right shade..." 

It was decided we would return the bands and ask if the coloring could be fixed. Until then, there wasn't much we could do. As the rest of us conversed amongst ourselves, Alisa persistently thumbed through the paper and eventually interrupted the conversation with an exasperated "Mom?" But no one was paying much attention. At this point we were all well aware none of the paper matched and we didn't need reminding. She tried again...

Alisa: Mom...

(Chatting continues.)

Alisa: You guys, shut up... Mom!

Katie: We know! We know! None of them match.

Alisa: That's not what I was going to say...

Mom: What is it then?

Alisa: (Pauses) ...Look at these... None of them match!

Alisa didn't think it was very funny. But we sure did. She's had Bride Brain lately.

On Saturday we had a Bird Girls' Bachelorette Party for my cousin. We ate dinner at Hooters (explanation following) and then gathered at another cousin's house for some games and dessert. We all wore blingy light-up rings and my cousin donned a veiled tiara, large pink-tinted glasses, a sash, and some of her very own bling-y bling. During dinner we played a game where we would roll a pair of dice and whatever the dice landed on, the bride-to-be had to do. One dice had different kinds of men listed on each side (short, nerdy, tall, bald, etc.) and the other had different things she had to do (flirt with, kiss on the cheek, sing to, etc.). So you roll the dice and - oh my! "Sing to... a bald man." Nice and humiliating. But she was a good sport. Better her than me.

Why Hooters? Well, due to complications stemming from an organ transplant - followed by a very extended convalescence during which she was in and out of (but mostly in) the hospital - my cousin had dropped an unhealthy amount of weight and with it, her chest. Her poor body had taken a severe beating. So when she was finally, FINALLY well enough she had reconstructive surgery. And she looks great! We decided we'd go to Hooters to commemorate her new... well... Hooters. Anyhoo(ter)... the food wasn't half bad.

Sunday I was sick. Massive head cold accompanied by aches and pains all over. So I spent the day in my love sac and watched episodes of The Office, both the American version and the original version. I can't decide if I'm more shmitten with Tim/Jim or with Martin/John - the actors who play them. And I can't help it - Michael Scott is the most endearing imbecile on television.

What is it about a cold that makes me ravenously hungry? As the saying goes, Feed a cold and starve a fever. And boy did I feed that cold. My cold is probably morbidly obese by now and waiting for someone to knock down a wall, rescue it, and turn it's story into a special on A&E. Thankfully, my cold and my hunger have both subsided. 

Tomorrow! Tomorrow is Tuesday! Goodnight, Monday.

Dream, Dream, Dream

Back already? I know... 

Remember how in last night's blog entry I mentioned an unfortunate dream I'd had? No? Anyway... Hours after posting that particular entry I woke up SHAKING WITH TERROR from what could be described as one of the craziest nightmares I've ever had. Looking back, I don't understand why I woke up feeling as frightened as I did because the details of the dream were really quite hilarious. But yeah, after waking up I couldn't fall back to sleep (way too paranoid) and so I pulled out my iPod and played some games. Finally, iPod still in hand, I dozed off. And the dream did not recommence. 

Can stress cause straight-up PSYCHOTIC dreams? I know I have been a little more anxious than usual lately... As a result, my dreams have become much more vivid and random and disturbing. And full of celebrities, too. If anyone wants to analyze my dreams (good luck), then please continue reading. There are a lot of gaps in the sequencing, but I'll try to recall the details. Seriously... I could use a decent night's sleep after this sideshow!

Last week... 

I dream I'm back in my old apartment except everything is in complete disrepair and I have random roommates that change throughout the dream. Dennis from 30 Rock (AKA Mayhem from those Allstate commercials) is our landlord and neighboring handyman. And he's really obnoxious. It's like a sitcom where there's an annoying neighbor who just won't go away. Anyway, he keeps dropping by to see if there is anything we need. Like I said, the apartment is in bad shape. Pretty soon he becomes such a nuisance we decide we need to get rid of him. Flash forward... We're (myself and the roomies) are at a gas station near Trolley Square when suddenly we're approached by Dennis and a couple of his thugs. He gets really confrontational and asks us what our problem is. We get in a heated argument with him and try to leave, but he just follows us. I notice a police officer standing on the corner, so I run over to him and grab his arm. The policeman is British actor Simon Pegg. (WHAT? I haven't even seen Hot Fuzz...) Anyway, I tell him that Dennis keeps harassing us, but by that time he's disappeared. Darn that Dennis...  I don't remember anything after that.

Over the weekend...

I dream I'm back at Roberts Crafts and I don't remember how to do anything. I'm standing at the Customer Service Desk, but I can't get my register to work. I don't recognize the program and don't know how to log into the register. There are customers lining up. Another cashier tries to yell instructions at me from her register, but I still don't know what I'm doing. Flash forward... I'm being picked up after work by Josh Hutcherson. He's driving a giant goldish-brownish Lincoln that looks about 30 years old. I hop in and pretty soon we're cruising up 33rd south, just chatting away. I start teasing him about being secretly in love with Jennifer Lawrence in real life. Then he starts teasing me about someone I like. And we're both giggling and it's ridiculous.

Last night... (shudder)

So in my dream it's like I'm watching everything unfold on a television set. However, there are also moments I'm right in the middle of all the action. It's going to sound hysterical when I tell you, but I assure you - it was NOT . This dream scared me so badly I couldn't even close my eyes for a good 20 minutes following. This time, Kenneth from 30 Rock (haha) was on a killing rampage (NOT haha). He was stabbing people with a large umbrella that had a knife hidden in the tip. By the time he finished, there was blood everywhere and he was just SO SCARY. He looked like a lunatic. 

The man of my dreams... Apparently...

SO - I'm watching all of this blood and carnage unfold on the television, when suddenly a raccoon walks into the room. And I just KNOW, don't ask me how, the raccoon is Kenneth in disguise. So we (there are other people with me) pretend everything's cool and that we didn't just witness him violently murder all these people. We don't want to make him mad, right? Raccoon Kenneth, despite being a furry varmint, is casually talking to us but he looks very suspicious. Eventually he climbs up onto my lap and I start freaking out like, "Oh no... He knows we know! I can't let him know I know he knows we know! Be cool!" At some point he turns back into human Kenneth and I think that must have been when I woke up. My last memory was seeing the knife-tipped umbrella. What is up with that??? 

Side note... Earlier in this dream I saw someone I know kissing Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson... I was at High School Reunion or something... And it was weird.

There you have it. If there are any amateur head-shrinkers out there, feel free to diagnose. I am not currently on any medications, but maybe I should be. One cannot go on dreaming like this forever! Why can't I ever dream about Harrison Ford?

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!

That one time I almost cried in middle of Zumba...

In the last 48 hours I have enjoyed only about 10 hours of sleep. I yawned twice while writing that last sentence. And I don't even have The Hunger Games midnight showing as an excuse. I have simply felt sleepy without being able to fall asleep - a victim of exhausted restlessness. So while I should get into bed and put these old bones to rest, I resist. Because, despite the yawning, I know sleep is still a ways off.

Something strange happened this morning. I don't have any real explanation for it, but maybe there's a correlation with my current sleepless state. I woke up at 8:00 AM and got ready for my 8:30 Zumba class. Normally I would sleep in and make an appearance at the 10:30 class, but this Saturday I simply had too much packed into one day to accommodate sleeping in. Though I needed it desperately. "Bailar! Bailar!" 

Once I was up and moving around, I felt better. And once I made it to class and started dancing, I felt invincible. Like I could tap dance on the ceiling with Fred Astaire. Or tear through a phonebook... with my teeth. Take that, early Saturday morning! I have no need of the sleep! Yes... I was hopped up on a strange combination of hyperactive endorphins and mind-numbing fatigue. That's when the strangeness began. I believe I was dancing to Ke$ha's "Blow" when my emotions came full circle and my eyes filled with tears... (I'm not often moved to tears by Ke$ha...) Was I crying? What the heck? It was like I became so deliriously exhilarated that my happiness pushed through all other emotions. Don't worry, I didn't start crying on the dance floor. I just shrugged it off, shaking and shimmying my way through the rest of the song. Can you imagine how awkward that would have been? But seriously, it was weird. Like I was experiencing transcendental euphoria. Something akin to nirvana. I liked it there. 

And now, after re-reading my post, I feel now would be a good time to tuck myself in and say goodnight. As we've seen, a sleepy Lauren is an emotionally unbalanced Lauren.

"Fiber makes me... sad."

Something else that made me sad the other day was a man I saw running to catch his bus. I was on State Street and about 21st South when I noticed a man with a cane ambling towards a bus stopped about a block away. Not an old man, but you could tell running wasn’t exactly easy for him. He limped with every stride and didn’t bother to use his cane. I watched him run all the way down the street and, fortunately, he caught the bus before it finished loading new passengers. I sighed with relief. In the event the bus left without him, I was seriously considering turning around and taking him wherever he needed to go. Would I have really turned around? Probably not. But I would have worried about him the rest of the day. Actually, I still kinda did...

Speaking of other sad things, I walked by a random abandoned shopping cart near work on Monday and saw a container that had formerly housed a Cafe Rio salad. That's very impressive, Lauren. How could you tell? Because whomever left the container in the cart didn't eat their tortilla! The entire salad - gone. And the tortilla was completely intact. Not a nibble. The whole reason I even eat a Cafe Rio salad is so I can devour the tortilla! I dig and I dig until I finally reach the bottom... Yummmmm... Tortilla... It looked so perfect, sitting in its little display case of aluminum and plastic. I won't tell you how long I stood there staring at it or what was going through my mind during that time. I was in a dark place. A place where the rationale of George Costanza starts making sense... 

Back away from the tortilla, Lauren. Don't worry. I did.

Disclaimer: Said shopping cart was still there today. The tortilla, too. Only this time I noticed the plastic lid had been removed. See? Someone else got even closer to ruin than I did.

"Mmmmm... Unexplained bacon."

Last night I went to Friend Laura's house. She was making cupcakes for her ward and I was there to help. How helpful was I? Not very. But still, it was fun. We watched Korean cartoons, looked up child actors from the 90s on IMDb, and watched a western starring Tom Berenger (the name of which escapes me at the moment). But the real fun didn't start until about 11:00. We were discussing something we had seen on facebook. A friend had recently made a trip to Portland, Oregon where he found a shop by the name of Voodoo Doughnuts. He posted something on facebook that most definitely piqued my interest - something in reference to an item he'd eaten from this establishment. Could anything that incredible really exist? I innocently ventured over to their website and even though I felt a bit bewildered at first, I couldn't help but salivate. And that's exactly what happened when I first heard tale of the Bacon Maple Bar (eyes glaze over).... Never in my wildest dreams would this marriage of pastry and meat have occurred to me... Cue the rapturous visions of sizzling bacon atop a sweet, gooey doughnut!

I had completely regressed into a Homer Simpson state of mind.

So there we were, Laura and I, discussing the brilliance of such a union, when Laura suddenly had an idea. Upstairs on her kitchen table was a box of doughnuts. We rushed to the box and found 2 glazed doughnuts waiting just for us - as if they understood what divine purpose they would serve. It was fate. Bring out the bacon! Laura boldly set to mixing powdered sugar, milk, and maple syrup. The bacon rotated and sizzled in the microwave. It took only minutes before the work was complete. 

Behold...

So wrong. So, so wrong.

Cute Laura and her cute new 'do!

And with that first bite, we heard choirs of angels singing... a double rainbow shot across the sky... men and women from all walks of life joined hands in a spirit of peace... unicorns bathed in glitter danced before our very eyes... little woodland creatures emerged from the forests to join us in song. 3 simple ingredients... Doughnut, frosting, bacon... And my life (especially my health) was changed forever! 

I'll never say no to you...

If you happen to work at a mall kiosk, that is.  

(This is going to be a potentially long-winded blog post. If you get bored, feel free to watch this video of panda bears falling down a slide instead. Or simply jump to the last two paragraphs.)

I don’t relish going to the mall – especially during this time of year. There are usually too many people, too many things I want to buy, and too little money with which to buy the things. I also really despise going into clothing stores where I know I’ll only be able to look at their accessories and footwear. This has more to do with the range of sizes they carry than a dollar amount on a price tag.  It also eliminates more than half of the shops that sell women’s apparel. I don’t necessarily want them to sell their clothing in my size because I realize the majority of their pieces would not look good on a woman of my… um… particular frame in the first place. When someone sees an article of clothing they know they’ll never be able to squeeze into and says, “I wish they had it in my size,” what they actually mean is “I wish I had me in that size.” I don’t want these stores to accommodate me or my body type because y’know, it’s not really their job. I just wish I could accommodate myself a little better. I envy any girl who can walk into an Ann Taylor or J. Crew and know without a doubt that she’ll find something that fits. So I guess it’ll be more scarves, shoes, earrings, and necklaces for me... Thank you very much.

Moving on…

Another irk I have with the mall is their lighting. I will leave my house thinking I look pretty cute because hey - I’m going to the mall, after all! (Tosses hair) But as soon as I catch my reflection in a mirror I realize my look might be better suited for a backwoods Walmart or a women’s community dodgeball league. Mall lighting makes you look aged, haggard and straight-up not cute. And there are mirrors absolutely EVERYWHERE. Lots of mirrors and lots of terrible overhead lighting. Why? So that as soon as you see a size 2 mannequin in a cute outfit or glance at a touched-up poster of a gorgeous model at the cosmetic counter you have no choice but to pass your own poorly illuminated reflection and realize how hideous you truly are and how much you need the mall and all it has to offer to make you look presentable. It’s inevitable… In that house of mirrors your once cute outfit suddenly looks drab, your hair falls flat and hangs in strings around your face, you’re in serious need of a little make-up reapplication (or a complete facial overhaul), and “Oh my… Did I gain 20 pounds between the Orange Julius and Claire’s!?” You are surrounded by so many new and shiny and wonderful things that your outsides really suffer by comparison... Oh so many horrible mirrors.

But back to my main objective in writing this post. Mall kiosks… Usually while I’m hoofing it between shops I will pull out my cell phone and pretend to be engrossed in a conversation with someone on the other end. (This can be lots of fun, actually… Just make sure your phone is on silent first so it doesn’t start ringing while you have it right against your ear. Awkward. And loud.) You may appear to be chatting it up with a girlfriend, but in actuality you are participating in an entirely one-sided exchange - a lie perpetuated by someone who does not want to be accosted by wig-sellers, purse peddlers, cell phone providers, and those sunglasses people. I know they’re just doing a job, but when you’re a pushover like me, your best strategy is complete avoidance. And they rarely get in your face if you're on your cell phone. 

I’m usually so careful, but whilst shopping at Fashion Place Mall recently I foolishly let my guard down for 3 seconds. 3 seconds! That’s all it took. I had just exited the ladies’ room and was heading out of the Food Court when a voice said, “Would you like some lotion?” The answer is always, ALWAYS “No,” but I had just washed and sanitized my hands and they were kinda dry and cracked and sooo… I said, “Sure! Thanks.” Turkish guy with the beautiful eyes (What can I say? I was feeling vulnerable after looking in so many mirrors…) squirts a dollop of Dead Sea lotion in my hand and the next thing I know I’m lured over to the kiosk… Then before I know it, he’s buffing my nails… Then he’s coating them in cuticle oil (This guy is good!)… Then he’s asking me about my face… Then I’m telling him about my skin regiment… Then he starts talking about giving me a “great deal” on some “amazing products,” all the while rubbing his magic lotion into my arm… $120 later I walk away with some mineral cream for my face and 3 hand lotion/nail grooming kits… I did have the presence of mind to ask about their return policy, so perhaps all is not lost. Sigh, what a sucker I am.

… My nails still do look pretty good, though.    

Let It Snow Already!

I'm ready for snow... Blankets of snow. Quilts of snow. Great, downy duvets of snow! I'm about ready to knock out the wall in the back of my closet in an attempt to find a snowy Narnia. If it's going to be this cold, we might as well have some lovely snow...

The Things I Do...

Things I do that I hope that other people do too...

• Getting a box for your leftovers at a restaurant and then eating them as soon as you get home. Even though it may be after midnight. “I couldn’t eat another bite. Really... In front of you lot, that is.”

• Not having anywhere to put the stale piece of gum you’ve been chewing for 5 hours and promptly spitting it out on the street.

• Shutting your closet door before getting into bed.

• NOT shutting the bathroom door if you know you’re home alone. This is bound to backfire.

• Trying to make only one trip from your car to your front door after arriving home with bags and bags of groceries. And 4 gallons of milk.

• Laughing at the worst possible moments purely because you know you shouldn’t. This usually hits in church or during a really dramatic moment in a movie. It’s really bad if you’re the only one laughing.

• Losing count of how many times you’ve worn the same pair of jeans before you finally wash them.

• Coughing loudly or making some other noise to cover up the sound of your stomach growling like a Balrog. This never works very effectively and you just end up drawing more attention to yourself.

• Putting the carton of milk back in the fridge even though you’ve just emptied it. I don’t do this one on purpose, just out of habit. 1) Pour milk 2) Put milk back in fridge.

• Screening someone’s call as they’re looking right at you from across the street… I did this once and still feel terrible. Terrrrrrible.

• Being put on the spot (standing up in front of a room full of people, seeing someone you really like, receiving a compliment) and bursting into flames. Not literally, but feeling a full body blush creep up your back, your neck, and into your scalp.

• Wearing nylons or tights so you don’t have to shave your legs.

• Making a batch of brownies and ending up sitting in front of the TV eating straight out of the bowl. I always use the excuse that I’m “waiting for the oven to heat up.” 10 minutes later, I have only half a batch of brownies left.

• Seeing someone you know in the grocery store and going completely out of your way to avoid them, only to have them catch you off guard down one of the more embarrassing aisles where they keep acne-wash, cat food, feminine hygiene, or anti-diarrheal medication. Joy.

• Knowing you have only seconds to use the bathroom before you completely “mess” yourself and finding out there’s a line or that it’s out of order. AHHHH!! I know… disgusting.

• Sucking in your gut while checking yourself out in a mirror (thinking you’re hot stuff) then later unexpectedly catching your reflection in a window or something and realizing that your gut is hanging out all over the place. Oh, and that you have 18 chins.

• Hearing one of your favorite songs for the first time on the radio and knowing you only have a week before you never want to hear it again.

• Watching that commercial with Sarah McLachlan about animal cruelty and feeling like you've just received the worst news of your entire life. My mom and I saw it for the first time shortly after our cat Risky disappeared. We cried.

• Meeting the man of your dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife.

(That last one isn't mine)

The Elusive Friend

There's something peculiar I've noticed about facebook. I will log on to my account and I will have a certain number of facebook friends. Then the next day I'll log on and I notice that maybe I have one less friend. How sad! But not really, because the next time I log on the number will have gone back up to what it was the time before. Without me adding or deleting anyone in the process. Huh? Who is this elusive facebook friend that keeps disappearing and reappearing? Why is the number of friends fluctuating like that? It's weird. Maybe it depends on the computer I'm using. Or MAYBE this is someone who is torn between keeping my facebook friendship or deleting it. Perhaps one day they de-friended me and then ended up regretting it and now they find themselves in this constant tug-o-war over whether I stay or go. I don't think it works like that though. Not without my being notified that so-and-so wants to add me as a friend 13 times every week. I should find something else to think about. This is stupid.

???

More Open Letters

Dear Hair,

You are way too long. Stop it.

Dear Pants,

You are way too tight. Stop it.

Dear Family,

It was fun seeing you all over the weekend. We're never short on laughs! I think our get-togethers are too few and far between. 

Dear November,

You're beautiful! Let's keep these golden autumn days coming!

Dear Minute Maid Juice Boxes,

When will I ever learn that drinking too much juice at one time will inevitably lead to an upset tummy and a fussy Lauren? You were pretty sweet going down, but now you're causing quite the stir. Ugh.

Dear Tummy,

I'm sorry!

Dear Florence + The Machine,

Your newest song would be #1 on the current soundtrack of my life... "I'm always dragging that horse around." That burdensome, irritating, lump of a horse. "Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground." 

Dear Boo Kitty,

I'm sorry you didn't realize the window was closed before you tried to jump through it. You are one dumb kitty, but still pretty cute. 

Dear James,

No, YOU are my sunshine.

Blogged from here.

Dear Season 3 of Doctor Who (again... I know, I'm sorry), 

I think we're going to be okay. And I think (I think, I think) that Katie will tune in every once in a while so I'm not so alone in the world. Which is good news for everyone at the Waters household since they're pretty sick of my going on (and on and on) about a show they've never even heard of. 

ATTENTION: If anyone out there watches this show, don't be shy... I need a support group. Or an intervention.

Dear Self,

Unhappiness does not have to signify an absence of gratitude, so don't let anyone tell you otherwise. It is possible to feel sorrow and  gratitude at the same time. Sometimes it's
gratitude that saves us from our sorrows.

Dear Girlfriends,

We need a GNO ASAP! OK? LOL... JK... CUL8R? Haha...

Dear Brian Regan,

I look forward to seeing you in 2 months.

Dear Reader,

Good night.

With love.

From Me.

To You.