Real World

I have returned from Miami, and Chicago, and once again entered the real world. I hate the real world. Not the show the Real World, where drunk twenty something’s make out and get things thrown at them in bars, I like that Real World. I just don’t like my real world. The one where one must carry health insurance, pay bills, and do nasty nasty things such as get JOBS! This joining the real world after my week of vacation has provided me with great amounts of anxiety. I think I might be having a quarter life crises. I feel like I have so much pent up creative energy, and no where to put it. As I told my friend today we better act quick or I’m liable to go Sylvia Plath with my head in the oven!

Being the quick acting gal she is, we brainstormed a wonderful project, one that, this time we might realistically be able to complete. I am excited, ecstatic, and maybe even motivated enough to get one of those job things.

For the time being I might be able to handle this “real world” shit, or at least keep my head out of the oven.

~Lauren

And there are somethings money can't buy

Dear Emeril,

You steak tasted like shit, thanks for tarnishing my Thanks Giving… I have had better at AppleBee’s… and we all know how I feel about AppleBee’s

~Lauren

Gone Fishen Will Return Soon

Mostly no words have been written as I am in Miami with my mother. Because I am spoiled and rotten… different than spoiled rotten.

Skippers and Divorce

Remember Skippers? You probably don’t unless you were a child of the 80’s and of course had a father who was divorced. On a recent trip to Colorado I was driving with a friend past the location of the skippers I spent so many Wednesday and every other weekend at. I began to tell her how there used to be a nasty seafood chain located there.

She: you mean Skippers? My dad used to take us there all the time

Me: I’m guessing it was after he left your mom right?

She: Yeah did they give coupons to single men with children or something?

Me: It was like “Ok kids eat your nasty bottomless fried fish and shut the hell up about the fact I left your mother.” “Or don’t worry about the fact you will have to spend Christmas at two different places this year, there’s always more fried fish” Or “sorry I fucked your mom’s best friend, want some vinegar for your fries honey” Or maybe “My kids will forget all about how much this divorce will fuck them up, if I just let them fool around with the parrot in the sailors hat a little more”

Thank you Skippers for over a decade of serving divorced dad’s and their part time children.

Old friends and Tiffany

Recently I got in touch again with my oldest childhood friend. You know the one you made up skits with and had spend the nights with. Long before drinking smoking and boys. Back then we were some bad ass singers, and did a mean Tiffany and Whitney Huston impression. Damn we was some super good dancers!!! So recently I sent her an email asking…

“P.S Do you think we had a better chance at a career being Tiffany, or Whitney Huston impersonators? I'm undecided but we did do a mean "I think were alone now"

My question not half as funny as her reply…

Now, I’m far too self conscious to sing and dance like that again. I've grown up and realize, people can see me when I do that, and it doesn't look nearly as cool as I thought it did. Not to mention, when I wear headphones and sing, people around me can only hear my singing, they can't hear Tiffany too. They can't tell I was singing a duet.

still looking

Me: What are you doing

Her: Working

Me: Having a job sucks you should retire

Her: What, you mean like you?

Me: Nah I’m not retired anymore

Her: Oh then what are you?

Me: I’m a house wife.

Her: You’re not married

Me: Fine then I’m a house fiancé

One hour of conversation later

Her: So are you looking for a job.

Me:…ummm I told you I have a job I am a house fiancé

Her: You REALLY need a job

The Gateway

Being “retired” is nice. It gives me lots of extra time to Myspace stalk people. Really though I do need to start thinking here at some point about joining the work force again. I mean really how long can a 26 year old stay retired? I also have an upcoming wedding that is begging to be planned

Why did those damn feminists have to ruin my chance of ever being a house wife?

I went with the boy’s mom to see a psychic today. Not really because I believe, but more so because I don’t disbelieve. She said a lot. Mostly about how I need to grow up, some about letting go of baggage, a little about starting a business, and something about taking a breath every time I want to punch the boy in the face, something like “because he really does love you.” Then there was something about our house in Colorado not selling until I put up “red flowers,” Then I had to take a breath before I punched her in the face.

The most interesting part however was not the psychic but her husband. He sat at the table smoking cigarettes while I waited for boy’s mom to get finished hearing her future. For lack of having anything better to do than sit and cross my fingers that boy’s mom wasn’t being told what a crack pot her new daughter in-law is, I started a conversation with the man. I must state that boy’s mom did warn me not to talk to angry Italian husband of psychic lady, but since when do I listen. I started telling him how we just moved here and were looking for houses in the city. Then I smoked because I can’t remember how long it has been since I smoked in a house.

People in the suburbs of St. Louis always get extremely shocked when someone poses the idea of moving to the city. Why you ask… because the city is where the BLACK people live. I quickly learned when I moved here that this is perhaps the most segregated city in the world. People’s views are about fifty years out of date. It has been described to me as “The gate way to the south,” as well as “the last plantation left.” I am forever thankful that I did not grow up around such utter fucking nonsense. Never the less here is my conversation with Crazy Italian Guy.

Me: Were looking for houses in the city.

CIG: IN THE CITY!!!! Honey that’s where all the (hushed voice) Black people live.

Me: Yeah some do live there, I don’t mind BLACK people… I don’t mind Hispanics either, I’ve even been known to occasionally like an Asian person. It’s called diversity, the prime reason you do move to the city.

CIG: Those black people kill each other everyday in that city… over DRUGS!

Me: Well thankfully I don’t do drugs.

Me: (moments later) You know white people kill also. They do drugs too.

CIG: (in a whisper, looking around) You know we’ve got black people around here also.

Me: (in a whisper, looking around) Yeah, I’ve read somewhere they’re taking over… they’re… spreading!!!

Then I went outside to smoke in peace. Maybe when his psychic wife told me to take a breath before punching the boy, she meant take a breath before punching her boy.

Nicknames

Here was my afternoon AIM conversation with my loving brother. Perhaps an explanation is in order of why I refer to him as “pubes” All I will say is it has less to do with him shaving them all off and putting them in a box to give our cousin for Christmas and more to do with an old friend who mistook his real nickname to be the word for "hairy part unmentionables. "

KATIELauren (1:46:37 PM): hi pubes

Pubes (1:47:22 PM): hey

KATIELauren (1:46:56 PM): hows work?

Pubes (1:47:41 PM): ok

Pubes (1:47:44 PM): and junk

KATIELauren (1:47:06 PM): I dont remember much of the working life now that I am retired

Pubes (1:47:52 PM): fuck you

I think I might consider this retirement thing more now that I know how much it gets his hair in a bunch!

~Lauren

Applebee's Sort of day

It’s gonna be that kind of day…

I just walked two miles from the place I dropped my car off in hopes of finding somewhere I could park my ass and my computer and maybe get something to eat. Just to prove how much he hates me God made sure that the only dining establishments in the area were Taco Bell and AppleBee’s. So I sit here in Applebee’s not because it was the better of the two but because Taco Bell won’t let me smoke, and I always seem to find pieces of hard shit in their food anyway. I despise Applebee’s mostly because the environment always reminds me of an old people’s home. Or perhaps it makes me regress back to when I was a child and used to force my mother to take me to Fur’s Cafeteria. If there is ever any doubt in my mind or your mind that my mother loves me, we must remember the countless hours my mother spent with me in Fur’s. My mother who no longer would be caught dead in a Chili’s let alone at a buffet that doesn’t even serve red wine, not even out of a box.

My family used to joke with me about my love of old people. When a new old person would move in my mother would say things such as “Here comes Laurens new best friend.” Now I am just scared of old people. Sort of like I’m afraid of retarded people. I know it’s just wrong but I just am. Maybe it’s because old people smell funny, or talk about trivial things. Maybe it’s because they know too much. Mostly it’s because their going to die, and I don’t know how to handle that shit.

I do however like old people when they are disgustingly inappropriate. Like when my grandma says shit like “you know those gays really aren’t all that bad.” Or “There is this black man in the building but you know he is really nice.” It’s as if she always trying to convince me that I shouldn’t have the prejudices I don’t even have. I also like it when I take her grocery shopping and she makes me price compare Depends and Imodium. I like it most most, when we are doing this and someone I know comes around the corner. Then I want to shout things like “Yeah this is my grandma and she shits herself and likes black people and those gays” but most importantly she is still to damn classy to eat at an Applebee’s.

Lauren

Door Mat

I’m not dead and I’m not lost, I just haven’t been around here. Things in St. Louis have been crazy. I began teaching in August and things took a strange turn. I never came around to write about it, and I have learned from others hardships that you never blog about work. Especially when you work for the meanest most heartless person in the world.

So lucky for me I no longer work for the meanest most heartless person in the world.

Leaving my first teaching job has been very difficult. There is a large part of me that feels like a total failure. And another small part of me that knows what was happening in this school was far out of the norm, and I was justified in leaving. After being accused of being racist, immature, over emotional and stupid I just decided enough was enough. Years ago I used to be the most confrontational person alive, yet these days I seemed to have become quite the door mat. However, this door mat got worn out, and I stood up for myself and did what was right.

Now the question where to go next? I do love teaching but also enjoy the idea of working for myself, or adapting the idea of my most loathed saying “not working for the man.” People who say that should be punched!

The boy and I are tossing around a few ideas. Until then I suppose you will see much more of me around here… like it or not!

-Lauren