Ok. It doesn’t look like I’m going to finish my post about higher education today.
So, I’m doing something lame.
I found something I wrote a few years ago.
Something I don’t particularly think is an example of good writing or particulary interesting, but I’m posting it anyways.

Enjoy!

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A friend just emailed me pictures of my high school boyfriend’s new baby.

I’m reading X-files fan fiction in my underwear.

source

(*note to potential new employers down below)

The one who was drunk and screaming Serge Gainsbourg songs?

Yes. I saw him again at the social bike ride and he asked me out.

Was he drunk?

Yes.

Was he singing Serge Gainsbourg again?

Yes.

So, what did you say?

I told him that I would have to think about it, but then we ended up making out at the bar anyways.

Have you gone out on the date with him already?

Well, so, he calls me on Tuesday to tell me that he has this coupon for unlimited buffet of tacos and margaritas at some chain restaurant in Round Rock.

Oh, really?

Yeah.

Did he pick you up?

Nah, he doesn’t have a car.

So (more…)

I live in East Austin.
Like many east sides of cities, the neighborhood is a cultural and artistic melting pot.
And like many east sides, holds a dense history of segregation and gentrification.

When I began working on the east side over a year and a half ago, I became fascinated with the story told in each building and person I walked or drove by. Like many items that fascinate me, I began researching the area and was surprised to discover the narrative behind the surface.

During the time of Jim Crow laws, the city of Austin passed a 1928 City Plan that designated a black-only district east of what is now I-35. African Americans relocated to this area and had their own designated schools, churches, and other public facilities. During this time, a rich jazz scene blossomed in the area which helped to cultivate Austin as the music-centric city it is today. Also, during this time, Hispanic Americans were pushed East as well (the logistics of this are frequently discussed and I need to do more (more…)

Where do you see yourself in ten years?
Five years?
Ok, how about year then?
What about six months, for crying out loud?!
Do you even have any idea what the hell you are doing tomorrow?

No?
That sounds about right.

Setting long term goals was a practice I never even thought about. Why set milestones in your life only to be let down when you are unable to achieve them? Hell, I thought I’d be dead by 30, so what was the point? Life doesn’t exist after 30, right?

So, what is the point? Well, unless I pull a Jim/Janis/Jimi this year for my 27th (chances are not looking good since I don’t smoke weed, have never even seen cocaine, and still confused how one puts heroin into their bodies), 30 is going to come a lot sooner than later and I’m going to be sitting on my couch wondering why I’m idle and NOTHING SCARES THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME MORE THAN THAT PREVIOUS STATEMENT.

Growing up, I always had a vague notion of how my life was going to plan out. I was going to work in a creative business, most likely (more…)

I adore food, but I would never call myself a foodie.
I don’t dress myself up as a giant pickle spear and have sex with someone dressed as a slice of Swiss cheese.

Or is that a furry?

What is a person called who dresses up in food-related furry costumes?
A furdy?

I can just picture too sweaty and horny restaurant mascots eyeballing each other from across their respective street corners, ready to smack their pizza and submarine sandwich costumes against each other in the middle of the street. Then a giant taco comes out of nowhere and joins the fun and I’m standing there wondering how the hell I can join and….

What I mean is, that though I don’t know the difference between where the brisket and the shank cuts are on a cow (though I should as it was one of the few items I recall being taught for my screenwriting degree at my overly-priced hippie college), it doesn’t mean that I won’t put it in my mouth.

And I watch a lot of Man Vs. Food. A lot.
If you know what I mean…

Food is a topic I’ve never (more…)

Dear Fanny Pack,

I’ll never forget the moment when I first saw you.

There you were, shining like a golden beacon from the rafters of American Apparel; nestled in between a photo of someone’s pubic hair and a shirtless factory worker riding a toy horse. The spotlight was centered on you, the LCD Soundsystem song was playing for you, every albino mannequin was pointing at you. In your shiny lamé glory you asserted, “Come to me Lauren. I am the one.”

Others came before you, but I wasn’t ready to accept their love then.

You came along at a time when I needed you most. I was downtrodden by heavy purses. You’ve made my life easier, more carefree. We go dancing and I don’t have to worry about you. There you are, clutched to my hip like a babe suckling its mother’s breast. My arms free to make a complete ass of myself as I dance alone, convinced that I’m the best Michael Jackson dancer this side of the Mississippi.

But I’m never alone when I’m with you, F- Pack.

You’re always there for me. We go to the (more…)

My apologies at how blatantly lame today’s post is. My allergies are making me have the articulation and personality of a lamp right now…

As many of you probably read yesterday, it was announced that Judd Apatow is working with Paul Reubens on a new Pee-Wee Herman movie.

Everyone and their mother sent me the article because they know that in the evenings, I like to dress up as Pee-Wee and do the “Tequila” dance to an audience of stuffed animals. At 27, I’ve earned a lifelong legacy of being that girl who is obsessed with Pee-Wee Herman. I’m sure my mother is really proud.

This news came as both a delight and a disappointment to me.
You see, I could have produced that movie…

The Day I Almost Produced the Next Pee-Wee Movie
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I met Paul Reubens at a movie premiere.
It was for a cheesy horror movie directed by David Arquette where an ax-wielding Ronald Reagan kills a bunch of stoners at a music festival.
My former boss, knowing how much I loved Pee-Wee, (more…)

I think I’m going to come up with a new phrase.

It’s called “Crispiny”.

When a friend of yours is doing something really fucking weird, let’s say, like, mowing their lawn in asymmetrical patterns at nighttime with no pants on, or eating candy that they found on a bus seat right after a lady of the night got up from said seat and tries to explain to you that they, “wanted to get a better idea of what street walkers feel and think”, or standing on the street corner shouting The Carpenters lyrics very angry-like, you can say, “Dude, you’re acting super Crispiny right now.”

And what does “Crispiny” reference?

Well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain considering there is only one cultural icon with the name Crispin.

Actually, it looks like there was a St. Crispin in the 3rd Century, but unless he ran around with a severe hair part and collected medical equipment, I think you know who I’m talking about.

Crispin Hellion Glover.

It’s hard to imagine that Crispin Glover has been acting for for almost 30 (more…)

God, I remember the day like it was yesterday.