On Pig's Wings

Line from an Instant Message with One of My Many Single Friends Through Whom I Live Vicariously

2008-10-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

Me: Oh my god, your entire life is like a Penthouse letter.
Her: hahahaha.

Important Debate Topic

2008-10-15T19:01:00.000-07:00

Me: Wow, John McCain licks his lips like a lizard. Do you notice this?

Ian: Yeah, and when the camera's on Obama you hear all this grunting and growling off screen. You expect them to pan over and he's half-beast.

Me: Definitely. You know what it is? He's making old man noises.

Ian: Yes.

Me: I wonder if he has an old man smell like my grandparents. I feel like voting for Barack just out of pity, if he's had to hang out with all these bodily functions over the course of three debates.

First Week of School

2008-09-03T07:44:00.001-07:00

Internet, did I tell you that I got a teaching job? State hired me back to teach three sections of comp classes. That is good.

The problem is that I really don't like the person I'm forced to become during the first few weeks of class. I am continually encouraged--by peers, other experienced lecturers, and professors--that I need to be tough in the first few weeks. Especially as a young woman, I cannot appear vulnerable or tolerant of bullshit in the least. Thus, this means I need to become a cold-hearted bitch. Example from yesterday:

I am setting up materials in front of the class. I have walked in, not made eye contact with anyone, and have not smiled. I can feel them all staring at me; the tension is ridiculously thick. Student walks in:

Student: "Is this room 4176?"

I make no movement or sign to the student that I even heard him; other students in the class will confirm the room number. I repeat over and over to myself in my head, "Look like you can't be bothered. Look like you can't be bothered."

The humor--or tragedy--in this is that this is totally not the person I am. I looooove my students. I would do anything for them. And I'm a really nice, helpful person. I like helping other people, making them feel at ease, pointing them in the direction they need to go. I just can't do this yet, because then they will realize that I am a 26-year-old softie, and they will throw things in class, and cut each others' hair in class, and I will start the day's lesson and it will be like I am not even there. I'd normally be of the opinion that you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar... but man, I've seen it, and I am not walking down that road again.

Dear Summer Job Coworker-cum-Douchebag:

2008-08-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

As the only woman employed in our surf-shop-turned-internet-business, I am a bit sensitive to gender politics in the workplace. Your comment the other day that "I'd better not spill this or Lauren will have to clean it up" was not particularly welcome. AND YOU WERE NOT EVEN JOKING.

So please be advised: the hairy eyeball and "Excuse me?" I shot at you should be translated as the following. I did not just earn my Master's degree so that I could clean up after your chauvinist, tattooed, sunburned punk ass.

Cheers,
Lauren

Packing

2008-07-31T17:16:00.001-07:00

We are leaving for a week-long vacation to Portugal tomorrow, and as Ian has been home exactly three hours (1:00 a.m. to 4:00 a.m. last night) in the past 48 and has slept exactly one hour less than said time, he has had no time to pack. So as I've been putting things together this afternoon I've decided to start an Ian-pile of things that I know he will want or will wish he had remembered when his brain recovers from the forced insomnia. This process is a little like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie; I'm calling it If You Give Ian Lang Some Noise-Cancelling Headphones.

Because if you do, he will want some puzzles of some kind to do while he's listening to his latest grooves (cue my packing of the Sudoku). And then he will get hungry, but he is picky and won't eat airplane food; he will want instead his Quaker Chewy Chocolate Chip 25% Reduced Sugar granola bars. (Add those to the pile.) And then he will notice that I am stoned on Xanax, which will be true, but I will also be watching the West Wing on my laptop (thanks, Karina!) and he will want to watch something too, so I've packed some Seinfeld episodes. And then he will get grouchy and irritable because I have taken the aisle seat (heh heh) and he really wants the window, and thus the best thing for him to do is nap. (Include the travel pillow.) Married four years... or FOUR HUNDRED?

Also, I am very excited because I received my invitation for Fantasy Football! This year's theme is Arrested Development (and Adam, Ian called that months ago. We've been contemplating our names now for some time. Not that it's a problem!) and my name is Ms. Bananagrabber. Allusive, yet sexually deviant!

And with that, I'm off.

Why we don't switch jobs

2008-07-24T22:03:00.000-07:00

"I need to write an article about bedroom furniture. Do you have any suggestions? I'm totally out of ideas."

"Your Bedroom Furniture: Where the Magic Happens."

Announcement:

2008-07-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

Christian Bale is as hot now as he was in 1994, when I first fell in love with him in Little Women. (Shut up, it was a very formative film for me. I was twelve and wished that I had a Laurie. Poor child, no one in 1994 had hair as good as they did during the Civil War.)

But I digress. My thesis is this: Batman was okay, but DAMN, Bruce Wayne.

While shopping

2008-07-21T09:39:00.000-07:00

Lauren: "What about some Converse? Hahaha, never mind. You are not the Converse type."

Ian: "Nope."

"People who wear Converse are the type of people who let it ride. You are capable of many things, Ian Lang, but letting it ride is not one of them."

"I don't know what you mean by 'let it ride', but that sounds exactly correct."

News.

2008-07-01T23:08:00.000-07:00

1. I am a Master of Rhetoric. I turned my thesis in yesterday, and barring any major formatting issues I am DONE. Hurray! Now I can go back to working in an office, but this time feel even MORE overqualified! [Dear Arnold: Please, for the love of God, stop cutting the California State University budget. I would like to be able to teach sometime. And come on, it's not like everyone is great at writing.]

2. I got a new car. Toyota Matrix, bitches:

3. It's summer time, so I am reddish blonde now. I had a couple of 19-year-olds at the Naval Base yesterday call me a "cute-ass girl" when they thought I wasn't listening. Mama's still got it.

And that is all. For now.

My summer so far:

2008-06-26T19:33:00.000-07:00

1. Thesis nearly complete. Signed, sealed, and delivered to the graduate office so that they can get muffin crumbs all over it and tell me to tighten up my margins.

2. Worked for five days at a convention for the biotech industry downtown. Hippie protesters fought the convention's tenets for existence ("shaping" public perception of genetically modified food, resisting government involvement in price control of expensive drugs) by shouting outside. I agreed with the protesters but had to suck up to the big pharma fat cats for an hourly wage. Certainly an interesting experience.

3. Sold two pieces of jewelry, one returned for no reason whatsoever; neutral feedback on my etsy site gave the unintelligibly frustrating judgment that my necklace was "not as pretty as expected." Well, seeing as I post close-up pictures, this customer was not as intelligent as expected either. Dumb people don't need to wear my shit.

4. The beach! I sunburned the backs of my knees the other day, so bad that I couldn't bend my legs until this morning. (Fug still lives, in case you're wondering.)

5. The West Wing. Holy shit. How have I not watched this show until now, A DECADE after it started? So, so, so good. The politics, the intrigue. The feminism! The sexual tension!!!

6. Up til four, sleep til noon.

Random Thoughts I Experienced Yesterday During My First Massage with a Male Massage Therapist.

2008-06-06T09:13:00.000-07:00

- Wow, he's just starting right in on the butt, isn't he?

- What sort of a name is *Snack*? Who names their kid that? It sounds like a porn name. And I am not cool with the fact that he's about as old as one of my students.

- I really hope he's not one of my students.

- This is so weird. I am so uncomfortable. I am never doing this again.

- Someone's a bit of a mouth breather.

- Whatever you do, Lauren, do not fart.

- I'm probably making this guy's day. He probably has to rub hairy man back most of the time. I hope he doesn't like it too much.

- He's really pulling up on my shoulder! If he keeps going, that isn't going to be... ohmygod. My boob is in the air. MY BOOB. IS IN THE AIR.

- I can't believe I let Ian have the girl massage therapist. All because he's afraid he might like it if some dude rubs him down. He owes me.

- MY OTHER BOOB. IS IN THE AIR.

- He's doing okay, but I still don't like this on principle.

- But isn't this feminism in action? Shouldn't I feel good about this? I'm not discriminating on the basis of someone's gender! It's probably really hard for poor Snack to book appointments. I am a good person. A good feminist. Empowerment, bitches!

- I really should have worn sexier underwear.

Dear thesis:

2008-05-29T13:35:00.000-07:00

I loathe you. You suck hairy donkey balls. If I never write another sentence about the subversive feminist work of blogging mothers again, it will be too soon. You have fried my brain, robbed me of a halfway decent social life, and monopolized the time that could be spent mindlessly watching television and whining about my future. Please die.

HATE,
Lauren

Memorial Day: It's not about you

2008-05-26T21:03:00.000-07:00

Scott Van Pelt on SportsCenter: "A special hello to our military men and women on this Memorial Day."

Ian: "Thank you."

Batteries not included

2008-05-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

We've been stimulated! Thanks, U.S. government! Instead of saving people from home foreclosures and debt or helping to provide universal health care for all our citizens, you've provided us with cold hard cash and the edict to go forth and spend frivolously. Who are we to disappoint?

Me: New digital SLR
Ian: XBox 360 and Halo 3

Guess whose portion of the stimulus package we've had the most fun with over the weekend? Our living room is strewn with packaging, controllers, manuals, and leftover bowls of snacks. If you didn't know any better, you'd think we were stoned teenagers on a weekend bender. But nope! We're just lazy, immature yuppies with expendable income and a desire to shoot things. It's an honest mistake.

Recent Ian quotes

2008-05-11T02:00:00.000-07:00

"I want to start a men's movement. Does that exist yet?"
"Yes, they're called men's rights activists. Don't get me started on them."
"I want to join them, but not to march. I want a bed-in, like John and Yoko!"
"With who?"
"You, of course. You'd support me, right?"
"No."

_________

At bedtime:

"I'm FREEZING. I'm going to put on some sweatpants."
"NO!"
"No? Why not?"
"Lauren, my purpose in life is to keep you from putting on pants. Don't you know that by now?"

Contributions from my favorite student (to laugh at)

2008-04-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

I asked them to analyze their own work in creating a drug ad, telling me why they used the rhetorical strategies they did.

1. "We decided to use bright colors because that's what teens and young people like. People older than 25 prefer black and white, because that's all there was back then."

2. "We also used visuals that show a hand that is disfigured. This appeals to women because they are more vain than men and more concerned about their looks." Seriously, *Jose*? Seriously? Think Roseanne. Now think John Edwards, or hell, Tom Arnold. I expected more from a student who obviously manscapes.

The sad thing is that sometimes you don't know where to begin when you give comments, so you just sigh and give them a B instead.

I have returned.

2008-04-29T22:23:00.000-07:00

I've stepped out of the luddite blackness to ask this question to whoever in the Internet will hear:

WTF, American Idol? WTFingF?

Whew, that felt good. My disgust for Neil Diamond is well-documented here at OPW. I feel that I've returned to my roots.

Also, I just rediscovered the classic rock standard "Don't Pull Your Love." Did you know that this song is AWESOME? How have I not had this in my music library before now? Why did it take a trip to Trader Joe's to remind me of the good musical contributions of the 70's, those that rise like a phoenix out of the nadir of Sweet Caroline?

Throwback Quote

2008-03-18T00:31:00.001-07:00

So I have never, not once, had a sip of alcohol on St. Patrick's Day. Whatev, I say.

But I will not be deterred in my yearning for the good old days of not knowing my limits. Let us go down memory lane back to some night in 2002. Do you remember this fateful night, Bridget and Jennie? It was the night of the blacklight party, the graceful and abundant emptying of someone's stomach contents onto our kitchen floor, and these precious Christopher Fecteau words which resulted in a minor concussion for yours truly:

"I'm sorry, I headbutted you to avoid that tree. That tree is a MOTHERFUCKER. It will be cut down in the morning." Wow, I miss college drinking.

But fear not! I am going to a conference on Wednesday in San Francisco, and all that we'll be doing there (besides "reading papers" and "presenting") is discovering SFO bars! Wow, do I need this. Between teaching a full-blown comp class, writing a thesis, and reading ancient Greek novels, my brain is about to hemorrhage from all the unnecessary weight and stress and lack of recent fun. Wish me luck!

Bedtime

2008-03-13T22:35:00.000-07:00

"I like to be tucked in tightly so that I feel secure. If I had to choose between two monkeys, I'd choose the cloth monkey."

Things to be happy about

2008-02-20T17:23:00.000-08:00

We break from our regularly scheduled bitching and moaning (ever so briefly) to reflect that some pretty good shit is happening.

1. I sold my first piece of jewelry today! If you were pining for the Land and Sky necklace, sorry, but that shit is SOLD the fuck OUT!

2. I am grading papers from my students, and overall they actually don't suck too much. I also showed a Daily Show clip in class today which earns me the moniker of "coolest teacher ever."

3. I started writing my thesis. I have two pages written, but progess is progress. It's better than staring at the computer screen and hyperventilating, which is what I've been doing for the past few months.

4. I am going to San Francisco for a conference in a few weeks, which is exciting. I've never been, and now I get to go and get drunk. Then Ian and I are going to Chicago!

5. I don't know. I am in a very strangely optimistic mood. What the fuck is wrong with me? It's like reverse PMS.

Survivor: new season/first episode commentary

2008-02-09T23:55:00.000-08:00

"God, that girl is spoiled and annoying. Doesn't she remind you of somebody?"

"Yes, definitely. Somebody from Okemos."

"YEAH! Who???"

"Um, everyone."

**************

At the exact same time:

"Is she famous?" / "Is she transgendered?"

The facial hair Nazis have spoken

2008-02-06T17:27:00.000-08:00

and if you had to have a pincushion caterpillar poke you in the lip, shoulder, or any other body part when your S.O. tries to give you some love, you'd make him take it off too.

And while I agree it's unfair to expect Ian to advance in the mustache races against Tom Selleck, I don't think there are many who would win that race. Tom Selleck is a man in a million, having the mustache work for him.

The moment you've been waiting for

2008-02-02T12:23:00.001-08:00

Ladies, are you ready for this?

This picture was actually taken a week ago; I cried uncle and made him shave it off because it was just way too prickly and, let's face it, creepy.

Thoughts?

Saddest fucking conversation I've ever overheard

2008-01-31T21:59:00.000-08:00

Today at the Navy hospital pharmacy:

"Mom, why is that man missing his leg?"

"He got hurt in the war."

"The same war Dad's in?"

"Yes."

"Why did he get hurt?"

"Because sometimes when men and women grow up they try to hurt each other."

"Why?"

"Because they have to."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Hey there Delilah

2008-01-20T22:30:00.000-08:00

So the bloom is off this mustache flower. I love my husband, but holy hell am I beginning to hate this thing that is taking over his face. Jennie used the word "tragic," and I think that's just about right.

My parents tell me the story of when my dad shaved his years-old mustache off, when I was three years old. I spent days looking at him and repeating over and over, under my breath, "Same old Dad. Same old Dad." Now I'm looking at my husband's face and after years of seasoning and sarcasm my gut reaction is "Jesus Christ, is it February yet? Can we be done with the Freddie Mercury look? I don't even fucking RECOGNIZE you."

The good thing is that I know he doesn't like it either. The things we will do for cult mentality. But it's getting to the point where I'm reminded of that one Seinfeld where George gets a toupee and Elaine rips it off his head, screams "I DON'T LIKE THIS THING! And HERE'S WHAT I'M DOING WITH IT!", and chucks it out the window. (Yet again reinforcing my kinship with Ms. Benes.) Except it would be closer to taking an electric razor to his upper lip in the middle of the night, Samson-style.

Anyone Else But You

2008-01-13T22:28:00.001-08:00

It is very rare that a film comes along and makes me love it so, so, so much that I can't stop thinking about it and I have to go home and read all the reviews and read all the interviews with the actors and count the days until it comes out on DVD. The last movie that I think did this for me was Lost in Translation.

Until Juno. It is, hands down, the best movie I've seen in years and years. Appropriately enough, I want to have its illegitimate baby.

Working on my syllabus

2008-01-10T01:08:00.000-08:00

My plagiarism note: "Plagiarism: Academic integrity is expected at all times. Plagiarism in any class will result in very serious consequences, ranging from grade reduction to expulsion from the University."

The funny thing? I totally lifted that statement from someone else's syllabus. Because that's how I roll.

E-mail from my sister on the NH primaries:

2008-01-09T01:49:00.000-08:00

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

Though she did not elaborate, as her sister I know that her response has less to do with the crazy man who would keep us in the FUBAR quagmire SNAFU of Iraq, and more with Hillary Clinton. You can take the girl out of the States, but apparently you can't take the fear of the Clinton administration out of the girl. I blame myself. (See: the Madeleine Albright incident of 1995.)

Happy new year!

2008-01-08T16:48:00.000-08:00

A recap of my holiday festivities:

1. Holy houseguests. My mom, stepdad, and Taylor all came for Christmas. Then my stepdad left but Taylor's boy Kevin came. Then Kevin left and my dad came. Then Taylor left. Then my dad left two days ago. And now I am back to my winter break schedule of sleeping until noon and dicking around online until 3:00 a.m. Perfect!

2. I am now selling the jewelry I'm making on Etsy. Perhaps you or your special lady friend would desire a lovely charm necklace? Why, then, please visit elnorrigb.etsy.com! All pieces made with love, caffeine, and a special touch of out-of-school ennui/boredom.

3. As of January 1, Ian is working nights at the hospital. All the dudes who work nights grow mustaches, as is tradition. (They would stop shaving all together, but the military prevents anything randier than the mustache. See Viggo Mortensen in GI Jane.) As of now, he is somewhere between cute scruff and out-of-work porn actor. Do not worry, Internet, there will be pictures.

4. Barack Obama won in Iowa, bitches!

5. My friend Andy and I are playing in a cello/classical guitar duo. Andy is fabulous and so, so patient with my slogging along after not having played for eight years. Our practice goes something like ::five notes"" Me: "MOTHERFUCKER!" ::another five notes:: Me: "God! I suck!" Oh well.

Breaking news: Obama is a DEMOCRAT!

2007-12-18T15:26:00.000-08:00

So I love my grandparents. Adore them. Truman and Lois are awesome. They are, however, from Bumbleturd, Illinois (where my mother was also born and raised) and are, sadly, as conservative as they come. Now, they're not like crazy evangelical neoconservative. No, no. They are Reagan-loving, don't-touch-my-wages true conservative. You know, the slightly better kind.

So when we were home over Thanksgiving our whole family was there (minus Taylor) and in a lull over dinner one night I decided, for some reason, to stir things up. I asked "So! Who do we like for President?" And my mother trumpeted Huckabee's glories (omitting the fact that he hates women and homosexuals) and my grandparents were all about Romney. And Ian was all "Ron Paul, all the way." So then I gave everyone a heart attack by announcing I was voting for Hillary, then laughing while they choked and sputtered and then told them that seriously I was voting for Obama.

This vitriol was only marginally less. They came up with the weirdest shit they could imagine about this guy. Obama is a Muslim. (And I was like, "No, but what if he were? So?") Obama wants to plunge our nation into economic turmoil with his SOCIALIZED MEDICINE, and I should just talk to my grandfather's friends in France if I wanted to know how well that will work out for everyone. And finally (this takes the cake), Obama wants to nuke both Iran and Pakistan the day he gets elected. WTF?

Today I opened up my mail, including a lovely Christmas card and money from my grandparents, and my grandma included a newspaper clipping from the Bumbleturd Times entitled "Obama more style over substance." The author tries to support his claim by listing all the terrible "votes and positions he's taken in his brief career" to suggest how much he will fuck up. Here's what they came up with:

"He voted against making English the official language of America." I agree. To do so might allow people to legislate that it should be illegal to include Spanish in public areas. In SoCal, that does not fly -- I'm the one person here who doesn't speak it.

"He supports homosexual marriage" and "voted against the Marriage Protection Amendment." Check and check.

"He supports government health care." No, he actually supports government-funded health insurance for those who don't have access -- and wants to force private insurance and drug companies to engage in fair business practices. In which case, I agree.

"He voted against the Federal Parental Notification Act, which would have made it a crime for third parties to take other people's minors across state lines for the purpose of having an abortion." Good for him! If you made the decision to open your legs to put the embryo in there, you should be able to make the decision to open your legs to have it removed.

And so on. The moral of the story is that you'd better be careful if you're trying to catch Obama on policy. He's liberal, but he also knows what he's doing. Team Barack!

In which boredom sets in

2007-12-17T23:17:00.000-08:00

I decided about two weeks ago that I need a new hobby, especially as I have six weeks off now for Christmas (haha). Something creative but not too expensive. Then I received an e-mail from Jennie advertising her latest cute shit on Etsy and I decided to putter around. My, they have a lot of super cute jewelry on that site. And it's mostly put together by people who have a) a hunk of time; and b) a good set of pliers.

So I began to think. I spend way too much money on accessories I probably don't need. But what if I began to MAKE accessories I probably don't need instead? And for less? Plus it would help keep me occupied lo these many cold winter nights while Ian is not around, off growing his pornstache in preparation for the month of January (more on that to come). And it would be constructive, because last winter I fell into the Six Week Coma of Boredom, wherein I slept about 21 hours a day, crawling to the kitchen around late afternoon for the day's sustenance, likely derived at least in some part from cheese. It was not pretty.

ANYWAY, here is what I created and put together tonight. All materials are from Michaels, which was depressing. They have nice beads, but the charms and chains are crap. Will remedy this for future endeavors.

Scenes from an evening at home

2007-12-11T21:38:00.000-08:00

"Oh! Did you hear that Alex Trebek had a heart attack today?"

"No, did he die?"

"No, no, apparently it was minor."

"Oh, an NSTEMI."

"I'll bet he knew what that was when they told him."

-----

"Hey, do you want to Indian leg-wrestle?"

"No."

To Whom It May Concern:

2007-12-09T21:55:00.000-08:00

I am now adopting Bitch PhD's new policy for two reasons.

First, random strangers should not have the right to make me feel uncomfortable by calling me baby or sweetie or dear, which they have been doing a lot lately. The trolley is RIFE with people who seem to think I wear a sign on my forehead that says "Please! Invade my personal space!" I also don't appreciate tubby needledick ass-clowns telling me to "smile, sunshine." I'll smile when I'm happy; if I'm not smiling at you, you aren't making me happy. And when you tell me to "smile," it makes me want to FROWN.

Secondly, "Sugartits" is such a fabulous term that I want to use it all day, every day, with every one. And turnabout is fair play.

Wrapping up a phone call from Ian, on his way home from the dentist:

2007-12-08T12:34:00.000-08:00

"I've gotta run -- I just took a shower and I have to dry my hair."

"You took a shower?"

"Yeah..."

"Whew, that's good. You looked like you were letting yourself go a little bit this morning."

"OK, I'm hanging up now."

NaBloPoMo has triumphed; I am outdone.

2007-11-26T19:37:00.001-08:00

Wow, one redeye flight back to Michigan and I lose all control of my blogging streak. Oh well, eighteen days in a row is more than I've done ever.

Am back in California -- Michigan was cold. Had a good time at Ian's high school reunion, missed our flight back home and are out an extra $700, and my grandma bowled a 243 on the Wii.

Okay, three papers to write in a week and a half. I'm out.

Hello from Vegas!

2007-11-18T16:43:00.000-08:00

In the middle of a seven hour layover, but thank God for free airport wireless. Lost $10 at video poker plus, Ian is quick to remind me, $2.50 in potential winnings. Could be worse, I suppose.

My sister left for Italy last night, where she's beginning a yearlong Master's degree program. We were on our way to the airport this morning and I mentioned that she had landed by now, and that I was super jealous that she was in Europe. Ian turns to me and says, "Please. We're on our way to MICHIGAN."

AHHH!

2007-11-17T23:58:00.000-08:00

Am busy packing for Michigan, but needed to get in a few words to satisfy the gods of BloMo, or, as I'm beginning to call it, BloMe. Had to turn down an opportunity to go to the San Diego lesbian version of the Enchanted-Under-the-Sea dance because we decided to procrastinate this packing process. Boo!

Every scar tells a story

2007-11-16T22:41:00.001-08:00

Inspired by an ad I saw for BlogHer, and fresh out of better ideas, here is a quick run-down of my scars and their etiologies. I think I have much fewer major scars than the average person because I am a wimp who doesn't take risks.

1. Left Knee: Random bike accident, age six. This is before I stopped riding bikes because they are hard to balance on and take too much effort. I think everyone has this scar; not everyone's bike-riding history ended up as sadly as mine. Also, Ian never rode a bike, ever, as a kid. Our children are going to be retarded when it comes to gross motor skills.

2. Left inner wrist: In seventh grade, some kid in gym class grabbed my wrist as hard as he could, digging his nails into my skin. I don't remember the reason; junior high is hell. This is how twelve-year-old douchebags tell you they like you, probably.

3. Right upper chestal area: chicken pox, age eight. It was the first blister to show up, and, appropriately, the last one (never) to leave.

4. Right forearm: Small, inch-long line where Taylor and I fought over a belt from the dress-up box at the ages of seven and five. She beat me because she plays dirty; she grabbed the belt and whipped me with the buckle end of it. But then I retaliated several years later with the Madeleine Albright magazine cover incident, and the cat food eating trickery, and the psychological warfare. So we're about even.

5. Stomach: Hundreds of teeny, tiny, hardly noticeable scars from the needles from my insulin pump. Have been on it seven years and change the sites about every four days. This equals six hundred scars. Back when I gave a shit they used to bother me. Now I'm all like, it's called character, bitches.

Dear CNN:

2007-11-15T22:11:00.001-08:00

In future Democratic debates, please do not ask Hillary Clinton again if she prefers diamonds or pearls unless you are also prepared to do the following:

- ask Barack Obama if he prefers boxers, briefs, or commando
- ask Joe Biden if he prefers ties or cravats
- ask John Edwards how often he jerks off
- ask Dennis Kucinich how low his balls hang.

Thank you. That is all.

Almost halfway done

2007-11-14T22:50:00.001-08:00

"Oh, SHIT. I forgot to blog tonight. Damn NaBloPoMo!"

"What are you going to blog about?"

"What should I blog about?"

"Hmmm. Blog about 'What a piece of work is man.' Blog about the origin of the phrase 'piss like a racehorse' and where it came from."

Racehorses apparently piss a lot.
The End.

Backhanded compliment

2007-11-13T22:15:00.001-08:00

What are you supposed to think when your spouse, in passing, calls your ass both "bony" and "ample"? WTF? Am I supposed to retaliate with other seemingly paradoxical descriptions, like "white as snow" and "furry"? Just making up adjectives here, completely randomly. Call it Ass-Libs.

Wanted

2007-11-12T17:50:00.000-08:00

Okay, so Guitar Hero 3 for Wii is fabulous. I must have it. The only problem is the song selection... I wasn't aware the kids today even knew who Weezer was, let alone Living Colour and Blue Oyster Cult.

Because I'm bored and lazy, here's a clip from Guitar Hero. I'm almost this good, except not.

Dear Qualcomm Stadium and San Diego Chargers:

2007-11-11T23:24:00.000-08:00

Please stop doing flyovers before your games. Seriously. Some people live right by the stadium, and some people have lives that shouldn't involve air squadrons and sound barrier breakage. I am much too young to die of paralyzing fear. Thank you.

And that's why you don't mix drugs and meteorology.

2007-11-10T18:19:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, Ian and I caught three seconds of the news in which the weatherman actually screamed when predicting the weekend forecast. "I have terrible news," he bawled. "We're going to have a whole weekend full of the D-word!" And I became very afraid that he meant dust, like San Diego was going to get caught in some Lawrence of Arabia windstorm.

But no, he meant "drizzle." Of which I have seen none. It was 65 and sunny today, and it was 65 and overcast yesterday, and this is apparently worth histrionics. I wish I could have taped the broadcast for you; it was the weirdest damn thing.

Tales from the Naval Base

2007-11-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

So I (or sometimes we, but mostly I) go on base once a week for groceries. Ladies and gentlemen, it is an experience. One one hand, I love it, because it's the closest thing in Southern California to a Meijer. In fact, it's sort of like a Meijer Plus (although I can hear Ian gasp in the future at this sacrilege). You have your grocery store right next to your exchange, which contains electronics, hardware, purses, clothes, jewelry, and sporting goods. Then you have halfway decent furniture in another building, and car stereo stuff in another (plus cheap oil changes), etc. etc. The nice thing is that it's all cheap, because it's military, and it's all close to each other.

But the downside of these bases (other than Taylor's judgment of Diaper Smell) is that as soon as you drive on it's like you're in a Republican vortex -- although, to be fair, San Diego is far more Republican than the rest of San Diego. But still, when I have plans to visit a gay restaurant for Drag Queen Brunch in a few weeks, it's not THAT conservative. But the base is kind of creepy: Parents my age with five children, over-the-top jingoism in the form of flags everywhere and SUPPORT OUR TROOPS signage, a plethora of Big Business that's somehow contracted with the government to have a presence within the barbed wire (because what's more American than a Big Mac?), and a heavy emphasis on the sorts of products that middle-aged Republicans tend to go for. My mother: "Ooooh, look at all the discounted Liz Claiborne!" And I rest my case.

But it's also sort of bizarre because something at this particular base I visit (which happens to be the marine air base, which incidentally is where the Bozo in Chief landed in AF1 when he came to tour the fires and screw even more with our traffic patterns) is a bit off. And I don't even mean "off" as much as I mean "overtly sexual." Over the past year I've been shopping here, they put up these windmaster signs as soon as you drive on that advertise upcoming events. And just about every time, they make me raise an eyebrow. For example, next week is Right Hand Man Night. A time to honor your brothers in arms... or a seminar on masturbatory practices? "Hi, my name's James and I'm a Right Hand man." Next to the RHMN sign is something even more interesting: "Jingle Vibe Sale at the Exchange." Jingle VIBE? WTF? Last I checked they did NOT sell that type of merchandise alongside the Jones New York. But because of the Ian Lang Shopping Edict of 2007 I won't get to investigate anyway. Oh well.

Also, I bought a full week's worth of groceries for two people for $70. God bless America!

Memorandum

2007-11-08T22:10:00.000-08:00

"I have an announcement."

"Yes?"

"From now until Thanksgiving, if any product is advertised or marketed with Christmas music or Christmas-relatedness at all, I am boycotting that product for an unspecified period of time. It is an abomination. Post it on your blog; I want the world to know."

"So any product at all?"

"Yes, pretty much."

"What about Soft Batch? Or Tyson chicken nuggets?"

"Well, let's not get crazy here."

Warming my cold, cold heart

2007-11-07T20:19:00.000-08:00

Student: "Lauren, what year are you in school?"

Me: "I'm a grad student."

Student: "What are you studying?"

Me: "Ummm... Rhetoric and Writing Studies. (Ed: The very class you're sitting in?) I want to be a professor."

Student: "You're a really great teacher, you'll do really well."

Me: "Thank you. But sucking up isn't going to help your grade."

Internet doppelgangers

2007-11-06T17:28:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while, I get on Google to see what the other L-squareds are up to. Do you ever do this? It's especially interesting when you have a name that's not very common but not singular enough to merit you being the only one who shows up. For example, I am also an interior design student at Missouri and a math major at Clemson. I almost died of Legionnaire's disease and I work in television in Albuquerque. (Thankfully, all proof of my having worked for Jesus has disappeared from the internet record. It's also, for the most part, expunged from my memory.)

Ian, on the other hand, is a Scottish politician and Baron Lang of Monkton. I have not revealed this to him because then he will do the Superior dance and I will have to roll my eyes. How do I almost die of some dumb disease and then he gets to be royalty? Story of my life.

Dear NWA customer service rep:

2007-11-05T20:06:00.000-08:00

I should have known that this conversation was going to hell when you interrupted my phone call halfway through my FIRST SENTENCE. My flight home for Thanksgiving was rescheduled so that we arrive in Vegas about 10 minutes after we take off for Detroit. And instead of being nice and accommodating about it, like you're paid to do, you instead acted like a total dick and told me I'd better call Orbitz and then refused to explain to me why I would need to do that, since you're the airline who rescheduled the flight. And then I asked to speak to your supervisor, and you demanded to know WHY. And then my head exploded. So that I could recommend you for a raise, of course! I wanted to nominate you for President! Why the hell do you think?

The sad thing is that we ended up having to call Orbitz anyway. And I wouldn't have been so pissed if you hadn't spewed your union-protected, bile-ejecting, $6.00 hourly vitriol all over my ear. The first rule in business? Know everyone's name. The second rule? PERSONALITY COUNTS. You might want to pass that on to your bitch of a supervisor too. You guys are having an ass-clown fiesta wherever you are.

Arriba,
Lauren

The original mean girls

2007-11-04T00:12:00.001-07:00

Cruel Intentions was just on TV. I think the last time I saw it was in Kingsley, in Sara's room, where I was drunk on vodka-cranberries and snoozed through all the dialogue and woke up briefly for all the sex. In fact, I don't believe I have never actually seen this movie sober before. It is TERRIBLE, except for Ryan's butt and Sarah Michelle's boobies. In fact, that should be the name of the film.

This round's karaoke tunes, sung by yours truly:

2007-11-03T20:21:00.000-07:00

- Rehab
- Fidelity (Regina Spektor; harder than I thought)
- Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me
- Somewhere Out There (the duet version)
- Heartbreaker (Pat Benetar)
- You're Sixteen (in honor of Mitch)
- Do That To Me One More Time
- back-up/supplementary orgasm sounds on Whole Lotta Love

I think they need to have indie karaoke, though. Regina wasn't bad, but what about some Neko Case or Old 97's? That would be fabulous.

I am that bitchy teacher.

2007-11-02T10:55:00.000-07:00

A story from class on Wednesday:

Me: "Please get out the article you had to read for today."

Problem Student: "Ugh, WHY? Can't we go early? It's Halloween!"

Me: "And what's your costume, besides Pain In My Ass?"

Other Student: "You can SAY that?"

Me: "Looks like I just did."

Wherein I add one more thing to the mix

2007-11-01T09:58:00.001-07:00

Today is November 1. This means it's Day 1 of NaBloPoMo, and I am ON IT, bitches. I want me some prizes!

Anyway, the bad part about this whole undertaking is that the month of November is going to be an complete shitstorm at work/school. Here are the things I have signed on for: three classes, thesis planning and development, tutoring and teaching of hooligans, application process for teaching of less hooliganish people next semester, application to Pop Culture conference in San Francisco in March, and freelance writing of SEO articles. I have two papers due next week which I have not even thought about starting, so my Monday morning panic attack this week was probably well-earned.

But enough whining. This weekend, in addition to all these stressors, will include karaoke on Friday and Michigan-Michigan State on Saturday, so I should have some good things to report on as well. Except for the fact that Michigan is going to win.

Last-minute dinner, for which I am thankful

2007-10-30T20:01:00.000-07:00

L: "Wait. You gave me Apple Cinnamon Cheerios?"

I: "Yeah..."

L: "But I don't like Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. They're too sweet."

I: "Oh. Who has two bowls, then?"

L: "I have like three other cereals in there. You totally thought that since you eat Apple Cinnamon Cheerios, I should eat them too, didn't you?"

I: "Well, yeah. 'Cereal' means Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. DUH." [Ed. note: Is this really surprising? He has been eating these since 1988 along with all his other regular foods.]

(a minute passes)

I:"Hey, do you want butter on your toast? Or something weird?"

Happy Halloween (almost)!

2007-10-29T20:52:00.000-07:00

Internet, my husband is many things. He is thoughtful. He is kind. He is funny. He is, as Jennie will testify, the Master. He wears Spiderman pajama pants and loves America's Next Top Model. He does the Michael Jackson dance. You won't find another man like him, ever.

Have I mentioned, however, that he is often simultaneously like a three-year-old and like some decrepit GOMER withering away in Burcham Hills? He has often mentioned that he can. not. wait. until he is able to wear black knee socks with his white shorts and yell at young children to get off of his lawn. At the current rate, he may be there by next April. This leads me to my current observations of the good doctor. First, he can be a bit prudish, for lack of a better word. He's a straight arrow, a good boy, he would be a perfect fit for the U.S. military if it were not for his extreme intelligence. Secondly, he is stubborn, almost to the point of being crotchety. My list for the grocery store varies from week to week. Ian's consists of the same four items that have comprised it since 1988: Soft Batch, Breyer's mint chocolate-chip ice cream, Quaker Chewy Chocolate Chip granola bars, Tyson chicken nuggets ("chickens"). May Jesus have mercy on you if you forget one of these items. I even have a song I sing at the store to make sure I have them all. If you have never seen Ian's stubborn streak, I highly suggest you try one of the following things: get him to drink even one teensy, tiny sip of alcohol (or other vice beyond sugar or possibly caffeine), dispose of his size XL Abercrombie sweaters that look like the corpses of sweaters that have gone to the Place Sweaters Go to Die; eat Indian food; eat seafood; stay up past 10:30 p.m. on a weeknight; stay up past 11:30 p.m. on a weekend night; go out and be social with others at (gasp!) a party.

So it was with some trepidation that I asked him to accompany me to a Halloween party thrown by a friend of a friend in my department. Miraculously, he said yes, and because he did I decided to go with him on his costume suggestion. It was a couples costume, and it was decidedly better than my idea of coked-out Britney and Dick in a Box. And so we planned it. But Internet, I was not prepared. I should have been, but I was not prepared for the firestorm of what came next. I believe it can only be construed as Ian's Ability to Surprise Me After Eight Years, or possibly the influence of the Gods of Rock:

OMFG!!!! He wore a skirt! And combat boots! And a wig! AND A SKIRT!

Here's another one of the two of us:

P.S. Leave it to me to dress in drag and STILL be wearing tight leather pants. It takes talent, baby.

One ticket to hell, please

2007-10-27T19:29:00.000-07:00

New low:

I just made a fake cigarette for my Halloween costume out of the pledge envelope from my church.

Dear commissary (on-base supermarket, in layperson's terms):

2007-10-27T16:37:00.000-07:00

I have found the most effective birth control method EVER: visiting you on a Saturday morning and listening to the bajillion children traversing your aisles and making it known they are not happy to do so. This discontent is conveyed through the following strategies: screaming, yelling, punching of parents and others, running carts into nice graduate students and then grinning sadistically about it, calling for "MOM!" about a trillion times with no iota of parental supervision. Then, just for kicks, you add in the parents of these poor deviants, whose idea of discipline is either a) their own private reflection into the hellhole their lives have become or b) bellowing "GET OUT OF THE WAY!" at three-year-old children who don't even blink twice because that's how Mommy tells me she loves me. I found myself completely reevaluating the Lang Five-Year Plan (2005 edition), in which I get through grad school, we have a kid, likely move somewhere else, and I go back to school for the PhD and the weed. And here's a clue: it wasn't the weed that was going to get erased from the picture.

But then I had to run back for pie crusts, because you put them in a stupid, stupid place. And as I rounded the corner, I almost ran into a cart equipped with a one-year-old kid who found me amusing for some reason. It might have been my Saturday morning bed-head, it might have been my face in general, it might have been the aura of fug. But he took one look at me and just erupted in a puddle of smiles and copious drool.

And that's when I realized, commissary: I am totally fucked.

Aaaaand spent.

2007-10-23T22:21:00.000-07:00

Hello from the End Times!

So we were up in La Jolla (northern suburb) on Sunday and it began to smell like smoke. Taylor was visiting, and she and Ian noted that it smelled yummy, like a barbecue or fall leaf-burning. Within the next half an hour, the air was smoky and ash was falling from the sky. I remembered seeing something about the Malibu fire, but as Malibu is 120 miles away, we figured it wasn't that.

And it wasn't! We have like 8-10 fires, a veritable apocalypse, of our very own. The sky is red, it smells like smoke in the air, and the neighborhood stores and malls have the AUDACITY to be closed, but otherwise we've been lucky. We're doing fine -- our house is less than a mile from Qualcomm Stadium, where they're evacuating everyone else Katrina-style, so that's a good sign. We live in the pavement jungle. If they do call for our evacuation, I'll be too busy sobbing, peeing, and/or blogging my will to do much of anything anyway. My campus has shut down for the rest of the week, so I might be doing something to help out since Qualcomm's so close. We might also be having an evacuated friend and his children over tomorrow. Personally, I don't know if Ian is actually being nice or if he just wants to kick someone's ass in Wii because you know he can't come even close to mine.

Dear Nintendo:

2007-10-07T22:44:00.000-07:00

I returned home from Arkansas last night (thanks be to God) and found that our new Wii had arrived from eBaii and that Ian had spent about $100 at Best Buii on various paraphernalia related to a more perfect enjoyment of this unit, including the new Zelda game, which is fabulous. (You ride a horse that, thanks to devious minds of Japanese video game developers, is the brunt of several borderline sexual jokes in the text, so naturally we had to name the horse My Johnson, i.e. "Link, you look tired. You've been riding My Johnson all day." And "Link, I washed My Johnson for you." And then we hooked that sucker up to the internet today and downloaded a bunch of old school NES games to play on it. And I am left wondering, where did my Sunday go?

Time is indeed money, Nintendo, and thanks to you we have none of either.

P.S. My wrist hurts. The medical bill will be in the mail.

Live from Little Rock, Part 2, or GET ME OUT OF THIS MUTHERCLUCKING STATE

2007-10-05T12:52:00.000-07:00

1. We presented yesterday. Everything went fine; sexy shoes and underwear helped (thanks, Schmuki!). Out of the 12 panels, our panel attracted three (3) audience members. I am hot shit, just so you know.

2. Q: Why did our esteemed president Bill Clinton suffer from heart trouble, resulting in bypass surgery in recent years?
A: Because everything here in Little Rock is fried. Everything. Last night we went to a "tapas" restaurant, which wasn't really tapas because the "tapas" was all like "chicken taquitos" and "Cuban sloppy joses." They even fry things that are already fried, resulting in great inconvenience to my Californian digestive tract. We ordered calamari, which of course would be fried, but our shrimp and plantains were fried and DOUBLE-fried, respectively. Thank the Lord for sangria. And please ask him to send me vegetables, which you know I wouldn't be asking for if the situation weren't dire indeed.

3. Some PhDs are very, very smart. Others are dumb.

4. Tonight we see the Clinton library. I am excited, mostly for the wine bar that will be offered, but not as excited as I would be if someone walked up to me right now and put a ticket in my hand for an immediate, direct flight to San Diego. This conference is 50% awesome and 50% too long, too boring, and too in the middle of nowhere. I even ordered a California roll at lunch and gazed at it wistfully. Why do all of the good panels have to be tomorrow?

5. And that is all.

Live from Little Rock, Part 1

2007-10-03T21:38:00.000-07:00

This town is like a cross between Lansing, Michigan and Kirksville, Missouri. So halfway between a shithole and a ghost town. Our hotel and conference facilities are nice, though. My friend Karina, who I'm sharing a room with, is a Hilton Honors member so she got us in to the Executive Lounge on the top floor: free booze and cheese/fruit plates. We are living it up.

Also, tonight we went to a funky restaurant/bar that specializes in chicken fingers. (Ian Lang, eat your heart out! Except you can't, because you weren't there! BWAHAHA!) I did not partake in this delicacy, but I did order the house cocktail, which is the "Mutherclucker." It's like blended orangesicles with vodka, rum, and tequila. I approved. On the way home, we passed two country piano bars and alternating motorcycle gangs and gaggles of ladies with Big Hair. This is the South, y'all.

I have to get to bed now because this conference starts at 8:30 CT, which is, even without the jet lag, in the middle of the night. Until next time... back to you, Bob.

Arkansas.

2007-09-30T19:16:00.001-07:00

So I'm going to Little Rock on Wednesday for the Feminism(s) and Rhetoric(s) conference, hosted by the Coalition of Women Scholars in the History of Rhetoric and Composition. Jocelyn Elders is the keynote speaker and we get to have dinner and entertainment at the Clinton library. Oh, and I'm presenting a paper. And I'm nervous as shit, even though I will have an audience of two people.

But do you know what will make it all better? Fabulous shoes. There's no way I can fuck anything up with these puppies.

Still, wish me luck.

Voila!

2007-09-28T01:33:00.001-07:00

Look what I did! The taupe and red flowers had nothing to do with pigs, wings, or the general state of my life. This is much better, even if does have that Blogger aftertaste.

Also, if you will scroll down, you'll notice a badge for NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month. I am promising to you before all the world that I am going to post EVERY SINGLE DAY in the month of November. If you blog too, join me! Click the link for info.

Dear Lucius Vorenus, or, most recently, "Journeyman":

2007-09-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

I loved, loved, LOVED you in Rome. Seriously. You were so badass and severe and kind of sexy in your hot Latin armor. Your man-love with Pullo was exquisite, the best bros-before-hos action since Animal House, or maybe Goodfellas. Your battle scenes made me want to conjugate verbs with you all day, baby.

But good Lord, you have the worst American accent ever. And having seen you in a breastplate, I am just not convinced that you're some guy from, like, Cleveland who travels between 1997 and today. Please, Lucius. Please use your new time-traveling skillz and just go back to Italy circa 40 BCE and slaughter a goat to please your household gods and have a woman or two. It's for the best.

The weekend's Mitch stories

2007-09-24T22:42:00.001-07:00

Mitch and Aaron (and Mitch's fiancee, Kelli, who learned this weekend what exactly she's in for) came to visit this weekend. At the heart of it, it's nice to know that Mitchell Warren does not change. Sure, he may have "found Jesus", but everything in his world still pretty much revolves around a) the location of his penis; and b) his total lack of social filter. To wit:

1. We are at an intersection near our house, and a dude is operating the traffic lights by flipping the switches in a box on the other side of the road. There's a football game up ahead at Qualcomm Stadium, so traffic's a bit heavy. The light is not changing. We are sitting at the intersection, and we are going nowhere. I reach over (Ian's driving) and honk briefly. Nothing. Mitch, from the back, asks, "Is this eastbound?" Upon receiving his reply, he rolls down his window and screams at the traffic controller: "EASTBOUND TRAFFIC HASN'T GONE YET, FOOL!" Eastbound traffic goes.

2. We are downtown on Saturday night and stepping into an elevator at a parking garage. The five of us enter and our conversations stop when two couples get on with us. Mitch goes, "WHOA! This elevator's getting a little heavy!" (After we sprint out of the elevator, he will reason that it totally WAS an appropriate comment as he was concerned for our safety; he truly felt the elevator was at capacity. Personally, I would rather have perished.) Seeing us roll our eyes and bury our faces in our hands, he realizes that this may have been an inappropriate thing to say; rubbing his own belly he tries to fix the problem by talking about his own paunch. Unfortunately, his belly is nothing compared to the woman who is 8 months pregnant -- the very same woman who prompted his comment in the first place. She takes it relatively well.

Dear media outlets:

2007-09-11T10:35:00.000-07:00

Usually I do not comment on celebrity gossip. It's much more fun just to digest it and let it flow in my eyes and out my pores. But you're sort of pissing me off.

I caught Britney Spears at the VMAs, which I am about a decade too old to be watching, but thank God for YouTube. You have said many things about this, and many things with which I agree. Was the performance a complete and total train wreck? Yes. Did she appear comatose, drugged, and even mildly retarded? Yup, check, and ayuh.

But then you called her fat. Many of you called her fat. And she didn't look fat. She looked perfectly normal and healthy (except for being all mentally absent). Her stomach was not chiseled, but it wasn't ANYTHING like the overwhelmingly popular beer bellies of our nation's penis-wagging ass-clowns. And you know your stomach area? Surprise: that's where the organs go! You are responsible for making women feel that Gumby is attractive -- and dipshit men too. Wake the fuck up! In the words of my friend Jason, guys would "rather be grabbing flesh than bone." Where's that in your headlines?

STOP HOLDING WOMEN TO UNREALISTIC STANDARDS OF "BEAUTY"! If you persist, I may invite you down to San Diego to see what a "fat" ass really looks like. And bonus: this one's a lot whiter than Britney's.

Cheers!

Grapevine

2007-08-31T21:10:00.001-07:00

What the hell did I do with myself before I went back to school? I've been back for one week and the gossip is so thick you could cut it with a knife. There is drama, intrigue, mysterious pregnancy rumors, relationship issues, and a text message I received late Wednesday night from one of my friends:

"Omfg! The troll is in my linguistics class!"

Oh, SDSU. How I missed you.

Dear Fickle Hand of Fate:

2007-08-20T22:56:00.000-07:00

You have wreaked great havoc upon my flesh in the past few weeks.

First you gave me some rather ambivalent news about my eyes. It's a long and complicated story, too much for the internet, so I'll leave it at that. But I didn't let it bother me.

Then you participated in the Great Vein Blowout of 2007.

Then you completely fried me in Tijuana last weekend. Mexico=sunny? WTF?

Then I went surfing this weekend, and you buffeted me about on the waves like a ragdoll, resulting in various bruises, abrasions, and gallons of seawater swallowed/aspirated. I may or may not have asked for that one.

Then you invoked the latent chickenpox virus from the depths of my nervous system, where it has been in dormant residence since 1990. It's not as fun this time around; ice cream is not flowing like wine, I don't get to skimp on my academic duties, and shingles HURTS like a motherfucker. Hurray for being immuno-compromised!

Then you sent me a letter informing me that my bruised, bespotted ass is hereby summoned to jury duty.

Are you done yet? SERIOUSLY.

Not for those who don't love needles

2007-08-09T13:08:00.000-07:00

So I had blood drawn the other day and this vampire of a woman who drew it absolutely KILLED me. Now I have had this done every three months since the age of 1.5. I am used to it. I am not a wimp when it comes to venipuncture. There are times when they "can't find the vein" and I'm just like for the love of God, give me the needle, I will jam it in my own arm, foot, or eyeball.

But anyway, this woman drew my blood and I'm seeing a new doctor so they wanted like 8 tubes so they can test absolutely everything. And right at about tube 5 it starts to hurt. Badly. But I grit my teeth and ride it out. She bandages me up and I'm on my way. 15 minutes later, as I'm standing in line at the bank, I look down at my arm and it appears to have taken a golf ball as a stowaway. There is a HUGE lump where the bend of my elbow should be, and I can't move my arm at all. And this lump is slowly turning purple. A quick call to my husband Dr. Feelgood assures me that I am not dying, just the victim of a blown vein and subsequent hematoma. Warm compresses and Tylenol ensue.

The lump is mostly gone, but now I have the hugest, purplest bruise of my life on my arm. And I start teaching in two weeks. I could wear long sleeves, but it's August in southern California. It's warm. So on the first day of school these kids are going to get their syllabus, meet me, and realize that their new teacher has some freakish track marks. This is going to be FABULOUS.

Dear New Upstairs Neighbors:

2007-08-07T11:29:00.000-07:00

It must take talent to hang pictures and throw dumbbells and hunt elephants and drag your enemies' corpses behind your chariot all at the same time, and in high heels too! Especially given that you both are in your mid-50's and in not the best shape. I just thought I'd share that I hope you are not doing all this naked.

Welcome to the neighborhood!
Lauren

P.S. Do you have to hunt your African wildlife at 9:00 in the morning? It's the middle of the fucking night.

Two things

2007-07-21T00:49:00.000-07:00

1. It is 12:48 a.m. EST. Where the FUCK is my Harry Potter book, Amazon? You've had 48 minutes to get it here and I see bupkus. (Bupkis? Buttkiss?) On the east coast, I could have had this book four hours ago already. I could have already gotten to the part where... well, I don't know, because I DON'T HAVE THE BOOK.

2. This is how I'm passing the time, creating a Simpsons avatar for my husband. A new low? Or INDESCRIBABLY AWESOME?:

Obsess much?

2007-07-20T12:54:00.001-07:00

I just got on Amazon to determine where my very own copy of Harry Potter (or, as Ian calls him, Hairy Pooter)and the Deathly Hallows is. And it's in San Diego! In some warehouse! And it is only a matter of hours until it gets here and is MINE, ALL MINE!!!

I wonder if UPS delivers at 12:01 a.m., PST? THAT would be service.

God! I suck!

2007-07-18T15:35:00.000-07:00

Bah. It's been a whole hell of a long time since I've written. And then it snowballs and I can't write because I have too many things to catch up on. So we'll resort quickly to list format.

1. Wow, everyone is very concerned with my East Lansing hauntings. We went to Harper's. It sucked. I won't say you didn't warn me. I should have done Crunchy's, but karaoke isn't most people's cup of tea (it is mine; see #4) and I couldn't do the Peanut Barrel because I'm afraid I'll be sucked back into some 9th grade vortex where I have freshman bangs and easy access jeans. And no one wants that. Don't make me post that picture, Sandra.

2. I turned 25. I feel awful and old. This new nadir in my life was somewhat eased by playing Wii for the first time at my birthday party, but then I was cruelly reminded of my decrepitude by not being able to move for the next week.

3. I have had a LOT to drink in the past three weeks. I love summer.

4. Jennie came to LA last weekend! So I hauled myself up there and we drove around like idiots and called Bridget at work and had her yell at us for deigning to attempt to drive to Santa Monica during rush hour. We are hereby renamed as Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass. And then we went to an Interpol album release party, whereupon I learned that I am the only person left on this planet who doesn't know who Interpol even is. WTF? I thought they sucked and that the party was lame. But then Bridget and Jennie and I went to this other karaoke bar (the box kind) and got wasted and Bridget and I sang a whole bunch of karaoke: Journey, Outkast, Bon Jovi, etc. It was awesome.

5. Bridget is coming down to San Diego on August 18th, which will either be the most awesome weekend ever or the Weekend I Will Rue. This is because a) we are taking surfing lessons -- I am trying to get in shape for this now; and b) we are getting tattoos. Don't worry, though, no tramp stamp. I am much too old for that nonsense (see #2). I think I am getting the Greek word "logos" on my wrist. It means "word", which of course has significance for me, plus it is a rhetorical term. Jennie has also noted that whenever someone says something I agree with, all I have to do is hold up my wrist. This is key.

OK, that is all for now. Whew.

The best $0.99 you will ever spend

2007-06-20T19:42:00.000-07:00

Go to iTunes. Buy "The Final Countdown" performed by Gennaro Cosmo Parlato. Picture Ian and me laughing so hard the tears are literally flowing down our faces.

Thank me later.

P.S. Ian would like to note that we wanted to put this on Adam's birthday mix but we couldn't find enough songs that meet the Murphy Standards of Obscure Excellence. We are much too mainstream.

Catching up

2007-06-20T11:28:00.000-07:00

Hey Internet.

So I meant to tell you all about my cousin's graduation from a private, very white high school in northern San Diego county on Friday, and how it was so widely different from my high school graduation in that people graduated barefoot and walked down the aisle like pimps and each graduated with a 25-word slogan of their choosing, i.e. "Yo yo, I'm looking forward to lighting up UCSB in the fall with my Gs Dylan and Brandon. This isn't the end but just the beginning. WORD.", and there was much silly string and beach ball-throwing and mooning. But Chuck says that I am inappropriately mortified by this, so I will abstain from my prudish assessments.

Instead, let me inform you that I will be in Jokemos for a week or so beginning Friday. Not that this really matters, as hardly anyone I know even lives there anymore. But in case you too are home visiting your family and watching them "ride this sad Michigan wave all the way down," as my mother says, I think my sister and I will be at Harper's on Saturday night, probably bitching at their selection of libations and wishing we were in Chicago. If that's your idea of fun, stop by.

Broccoli deep-fried in chocolate sauce

2007-06-11T14:11:00.000-07:00

Well, I didn't mention the Himalayan walking shoes in my copywriting, but I did just use the term "load-bearing", as in "Jerry, these are LOAD-BEARING WALLS!" Hahahaha!

Master Ian's koan of the day:

2007-06-10T10:11:00.000-07:00

"If you go off the rails of the crazy train, does that mean you're actually normal?"

You can take the girl out of Michigan...

2007-06-07T15:43:00.000-07:00

It has been one full year, as of today, that I became a California girl.That said, today I tried Red Vines and they SUCK. Too sticky, too sour, bad aftertaste. Twizzlers all the way, baby!

Not bad for an old broad

2007-06-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

Scene: Last night, where Ian and I have parked on a quiet neighborhood street and are walking a block or so toward our favorite soup-and-salad joint.

We come upon an intersection where three pre-teen boys (no older than 10 or 11) are crossing the street on their bikes. The first zips past us, and we wait for the other two to cross. The second one slows down, looks in our direction, and says, "I like hot women." I ponder this for a second, then ask "Is that an offer?" He responds by yelling ahead "What the FUCK, Brian? Don't go so fast!" and zooms off.

Ian and I come to the following conclusions:
1. We caught the tail-end of a very interesting conversation.
2. Ten-year-olds should not be saying "fuck." Does he kiss his mother with that mouth?

O, Memorial Day weekend.

2007-05-28T18:28:00.000-07:00

The story of my Memorial Day weekend:

We open on Saturday, when Bridget came down to visit. She arrived around noonish; we had some Fuddrucker's and then commenced our drive to the nearest outlet mall to participate in the true meaning of this momentous holiday: unnecessary retail at discount prices. Then we drove down to the naval base and hopped on the trolley for our first Padres game.

Petco Park is absoutely gorgeous. It beats the crap out of the Michigan ball parks, espeically with the supercool LCD scoreboard and the California touches, like $12 fish tacos and Mike's Hard Lemonade and garlic fries that make your entire row hold their noses and say things to you like "Jesus, I hope you don't have any plans later." It also has a child-filled sandbox in front of the bleachers out in right field. Bridget and Ian and I were noting that one errant left-handed homer could potentially murder any one of the infants and toddlers bedecked in diminutive caps and gloves. Only about five of them were pressed against the glass watching the game; these will be tomorrow's leaders. The rest may become easy victim to natural selection. At one point someone actually did hit one over there, causing a ruckus as sixty children under six raced to find the ball. "It's like LORD OF THE FLIES!" Bridget yells. "Only the one with the ball may speak!"

Sunday was spent in various celebratory activities. My friend Andy from my program turned 40, and spent it in the best possible way: a HUGE cookout with about 60 people. There were burgers, chicken, pasta salads, etc. etc. in addition to sangria, beer-vodka-lemonade punch (which was AWESOME), an impromptu classical guitar concert by Andy and a friend of his, and about three hours of karaoke. I sang "I Love Rock and Roll" about three seconds after chugging a glass of beer-punch; I was still a bit too sober, unfortunately. (Karaoke was especially mortifying because I was performing in front of Andy's brother-in-law, who was the MC and also is the voice of Donatello in the most recent TMNT cartoon. Second grade passed before my eyes.) Bridget and I and a couple other friends also sang "Livin' on a Prayer," which was done in exchange for Ian's rendition of "Ice Ice Baby." My friend Jason has now dubbed him the Great White Hope. It's very sad, because they have not even begun to see what he's capable of. I keep going, "You guys! You guys! Ian can dance exactly like Michael Jackson!" but I don't think they believe me. But you know the truth, Internet. Then afterwards we went downtown to meet up with a couple of Bridget's friends from LA. I briefly remember visiting a couple of bars, but was still pretty much out of it from the cookout. I really hope I am rocking that hardcore when I am 40.

To wit, today was purely restorative: a perfect combination of Jamba Juice and Arrested Development on DVD. All in all, a good weekend. But dude, I am TIRED.

The list.

2007-05-25T11:48:00.000-07:00

Long before we were married, Ian and I discussed the ultimate test of a marriage: what to do if a gorgeous, long-pined-for celebrity suddenly decides he or she cannot live one more day without having sex with one of us. (As you can imagine, this happens quite often.) And because we truly, TRULY love each other and would never deny the other one the pleasure of having no-strings-attached sex with Brad or Angelina (or, what the hell, Brad AND Angelina), we designed the concept of the list.

We get five people. Any five. Interestingly enough, Ian has not claimed his five. He likes Reese Witherspoon and Adriana Lima from Victoria's Secret, but he gives me this bullshit about how they're not list-worthy or something. And not as pretty as me. You may call this sweet; I call it completely uncreative. I'm also pretty sure there are some old OHS people that might fit into this list, but they are disqualified for not being celebrities. (I mean YOU, Ms. Hess.)

With the proviso that of course I would always choose my husband first, however, I will not hesitate to give you my list.

MY LIST:
1. Brad.
Always, always, always. This was the first man to grace my preteen wall, in all of his long-haired, Legends of the Fall glory. If you don't understand the absolute splendor that is long-haired, mid-20s Brad, I will always scorn your taste in sexy. I cannot tell you the hours I spent praying I was Julia Ormond and that I'd just lost my pipsqueak husband Elliot-from-ET and that we would make impassioned, grief-stricken love in his Montana tent. (Also, he resurrected this look in Troy, which wasn't bad either. The movie was terrible and he looked a bit older -- but do you remember that scene where the camera stopped just above his man-bits? DAMN.)

2. George Clooney.
Also a long time love. He was Falconer on Sisters, circa 1993-4, a government agent who got blown up in a car bomb so that he could go be on ER. I think the Superficial says it best about George:"I read somewhere that he can have sex with women just by looking at them for too long." It's true... except he doesn't even have to look at them.

3-4. The Colins Firth and Farrell.
One is all British and GQ and will forever be Mark Darcy. I love him mostly from an A&E emotional porn standpoint. The other is Irish and dirty and dark. I love him mostly from a quickie-in-a-dark-alley, actual porn standpoint.

5. Johnny Depp.
This spot was hard. It's my last one. It's also highly contingent on which Johnny Depp we're talking about. I'm talking about Don Juan de Marco Johnny Depp, as opposed to Edward Scissorhands or Hunter S. Thompson Johnny Depp.

RUNNERS-UP:
Orlando Bloom
John Krasinski (Jim from the Office)
Milo Ventimiglia (Peter Petrelli from Heroes)
Becks
Vince Vaughn
(Edited to add:)
Keanu Reeves -- how could I forget?
Antonio Banderas circa Original Sin

PEOPLE I AM A BIT EMBARRASSED TO ADMIT I WOULD NOT KICK OUT OF BED FOR EATING CRACKERS:
Jon Stewart
Ryan Gosling
Justin Timberlake
Luke Wilson

Signs you may work with teenage (-minded) boys

2007-05-24T17:44:00.000-07:00

a) After completing a sale, T(-M)B starts beating tribalesque rhythms on his desk, pausing every few seconds to yell something along the lines of "I declare myself the CHIEF!"
b) Employee reminds peer to add another "o" to his yahoo link; peer remarks, "Oh yeah, dude. Yaho is your mom's website."
c) Seven to ten surfboards, towels, and wetsuits line the walls of your office. (picture forthcoming)
d) All cell phones feature 70's arena rock ringtones.
e) Any/all of the above.

"Don't Pitch the Bitch" and other work revelations

2007-05-21T23:03:00.000-07:00

I find it is easiest to explain the glories of my summer job with references to film and television. Because we all know those media are what dictate and define my life.

1. So I was talking to Jennie on my lunch break today, my first day, and it was decided that I work in West Coast Online Retail Boiler Room. Like, you know how Giovanni Ribisi shows up at the firm where they're selling junk bonds or whatever and there are all these rules about making the sale, like don't let the person on the other end hang up and asking your supervisor if you can do any better on that product, etc. etc.? This is totally my new life. Except I don't actually do it, I just witness it. And am amazed, because there is no non-profit sector equivalent to telling someone you are almost out of stock on Product X but if they hurry they just might be able to snatch up the last one.

2. I am the Elaine Benes to this company's J. Peterman. Ian brought this up; I can't take credit. (And you KNOW I fucking love it, because you KNOW my dream to be all things Elaine.) I am writing some inspirational copy for this company's various articles on how Product X is good for your mental and spiritual health, or how Product Y brings you closer to nature, etc. etc. I am totally going to insert, somewhere, "Thank God I took off my heels and put on...my HIMALAYAN WALKING SHOES!!!"

I just sit back and watch the show

2007-05-12T12:43:00.000-07:00

L: This is the motherfucking thanks I get?
I: I started this gangsta shit, Lauren.

Hollywood, we may have a problem

2007-05-12T10:27:00.000-07:00

So last night I decided to be charitable and filled out a survey for Go Fug Yourself. After all, they have done so very much for me. But one of the questions listed about 150 of the most popular TV shows and asked me to check which ones I watch on at least a semi-regular basis.

This was a come-to-Jesus moment, I think. I blame Tivo for this. Here were my answers:

-24
-American Idol
-America's Next Top Model
-CSI
-The Colbert Report
-The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
-Desperate Housewives
-Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
-Heroes
-Judge Judy
-My Name is Earl
-The Office
-Planet Earth
-Project Runway
-Scrubs (caveat: it sucks now)
-Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
-What Not to Wear

Is that a lot of TV? That seems like a lot of TV. And while not all of them are watched weekly, a lot of them are. I feel like I could be spending this time doing something more worthwhile, like taking on a full-time job or curing cancer. But I can't, because my shows are on. And I want my (m)TV.

School's out for summer

2007-05-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

except for one paper I have left to write. It's due Wednesday. It's about mommybloggers. I'm not that worried. Of course I am quickly descending into post-semester upper respiratory illness, so this may be a race against the clock.

So far my summer plans include:
1. Beach barbecues
2. Bar hopping
3. Working out
4. Continuing research on feminist rhetorical theory, etc.
5. My summer "job"

Have I told you about my "job", dear Internet? I don't think I have. Remember when I worked for God, or rather the horrible, horrible footservants of Satan in disguise? I do too. I have vowed never to forget. But here is where God rewards me for my penance.

I am writing copy this summer part-time for an internet retail company. I will protect their identity by not revealing here exactly what they sell, but good God this merchandise is fantastic (and completely legal, should you be concerned). The office is full of said merchandise for our use. The office has two rooms total, and is occupied by four guys under 30 who demand casual attire; one is bemohawked. A surf board is poised by the front door in case of "surf breaks." It is technically an "internship", meaning I have little to no responsibility; I do not care as I will be continuing my studies and prior work experience outside of the academy has little significance in my CV. So I'll be hanging out, writing, taking surf breaks, and wearing flip-flops. EAT IT, FOOTSERVANTS OF SATAN.

Grading homework

2007-05-06T17:53:00.000-07:00

Q: Is it true that "hooking up" has come to replace "dating" on college campuses?

A: In my circle the word "dating" is more commonly used. Or "doin it."

What do you think? Full credit?

Tonight's American Idol Commentary (Delayed by Tivo)

2007-04-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

Jordin Sparks: The song I'm singing is a song of hope...
Ian: I hope you pull that thing out of your nose.

Karaoke lessons

2007-04-24T13:46:00.000-07:00

1. I'm a motherfucking P.I.M.P.
2. I can hit the high note in "Don't Stop Believing" like a motherfucking P.I.M.P., if not like Steve Perry.
3. A reliable and loving, yet tone-deaf, source has informed me that I should never again attempt to sing Toto while intoxicated.

Good times. Thanks for the suggestions; "Summer Lovin'" was quite the smash.

Extended Metaphor

2007-04-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

"I'm like an old Cadillac. I'm beautiful, but I BREAK DOWN." Ian, post-call and waking up from a nap

Fug Resurfaces

2007-04-16T16:26:00.000-07:00

I fell up the escalator at the SDSU trolley station today. And by "fell" I mean went down HARD. It was FABULOUS. Luckily I have enough experience in this area to know what to do -- I noted the person laughing at me, turned to her, and said "You know, anyone can fall down the stairs, but it takes talent to fall up." I believe that was my belated comeback the last time this happened, circa 2002 (or 1999, or 1998, or 1995... there have been too many to count). Unfortunately, I have escalator groove impressions on my kneecaps and a bruise on my elbow now. It's like middle school all over again.

***

In other news, I feel compelled to share the delightful postcard I got from Jennie, Sara, and Chrissy (on vacation in Switzerland) in its entirety:

LAUREN! Today we went to Lac Leman (Lake Geneva). We used public toilets, which pretty much consists of squatting over a gigantic flat bedpan with ridges (grips) on either side so your feet don't slip. Wish you were here! -Jennie

I can't believe J managed to write and not mention her paddleboat joy. She's obsessed. Bit it was brilliant. So when are you coming for an adventure? -S

Lauren, why did you leave me with these two...Well, I hope you Tivoed American Idol for me, because all that's on TV here is dubbed American movies. <3 Chrissy

Someday when I am old and gray, I will dig out this postcard and view this as a perfect vignette of the lives of Larry, Curly, and Moe. Sara is making fun of Jennie and saying things like "brilliant" like she is in a Guinness commercial; Chrissy is devoted to reality television and acting like a mother hen; and Jennie is waxing poetic about public toilets. I am so in love.

Need help

2007-04-12T20:50:00.000-07:00

So I am going to partake in my first karaoke outing not this weekend but next. There's this place out here that's like the place in Lost in Translation, where there's a room that is reserved for just like 10 of us, so I don't have to sing in front of strangers.

So naturally I am taking my song selections very seriously, and am requesting your input. FYI, I will be drunk and possibly otherwise under the influence. Take this into account.

My thoughts so far are as follows:
1. Smoke from a Distant Fire by the Sanford Townsend Band
2. Fire Down Below by Bob Seger
3. Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks

Are those solid? I like to rock out to songs that are well beyond my capability. Help!

Dear Crocs:

2007-04-09T00:02:00.000-07:00

Why do you have to shit all over my degree like this?

Please return to the realm of medical professionals over sixty and children under four. And Eastern Europeans who don't know any better. But please, leave the maize and blue out of it. And don't even think about getting your grubby, anti-microbial, odor-resistant digits on the green and white.

P.S. to my reader: Have I offended you? Do you wear Crocs but do not fit into any of the above demographic categories? CONSIDER THIS YOUR WAKE-UP CALL.

So Tucson.

2007-04-04T20:17:00.000-07:00

First of all, Tucson is far away, and far away in that sense where you're driving through hours and hours of the God-foresaken West. Where tumbleweeds actually do tumble right in front of your car, and where they actually have those stereotypical cacti. Also, Tucson is not a large city. It is more like Grand Rapids. I have nothing against Grand Rapids, but is it known for its skyline, its retail offerings, its tourist attractions? No. Here are some pictures of my drive out. I took these while going about 85, drinking a Red Bull, singing John Waite and the Babys at the top of my lungs, and not breaking a sweat.

They have sand dunes that are bigger than the ones in Michigan! They also have rednecks that drive around on them on their dune buggies. Like Napoleon Dynamite's grandmother who broke her coccyx.

A mountain!

This was taken the next day, after my sister arrived:

Taylor pouting, which is what she does best. She looks like 22 going on 16, except for her boots which are 22 going on FIERCE.

We had a really good time, though. My favorite part, other than seeing my family, was the food: Guatemalan, Mexican, Japanese (my favorite!), and expensive (a close second!). We basically just drove around the Tucson area, gaping at the desert architecture and visiting art fairs and malls and counting the hours until our next meal. My stepdad Jon is sort of an outdoorsman, and he kept talking about how he wanted to sleep outside under the stars. So he asked housekeeping to bring up extra blankets and sheets and camped out on the 7th floor balcony:

He's really "roughing it"; note the Bose headphones and iPod. Also not pictured but still present: His Mac PowerBook, two Lindt chocolate bars and a bag of Milanos. All edibles are gone by the next morning.

Still so gullible.

2007-04-01T22:16:00.000-07:00

"Ian, come look at this. Somebody's hacked Google! They say you can get free broadband through your toilet."

Still sucking at remembering April Fools. At least I didn't actually think it was possible.

Unbelievable.

2007-03-28T21:30:00.000-07:00

How the hell is Sanjaya Malakar still on American Idol? Are all the Indians loving how he represents, with his Jim Croce-like vocals (totally not AI material) and hair I would kill for? If this is the case, we should contact them and see how they do it, this banding together to get things accomplished. We could use their help with some other important voting measures, like legalizing gay marriage or ENDING THIS FUCKING WAR.

I'm back, baby! SERENITY NOW!

2007-03-27T23:00:00.000-07:00

So let's say you are an avid runner. And due to life getting a little out of control, you have a period wherein you stop running. Do you a) pretend nothing ever happened, putting in a half-ass attempt at a jog maybe once every two weeks; or b) face facts, cash it in, and stop running altogether until you feel, once again, motivated? I have done B. I also have an ass that's a little more cush than I would like. Go figure.

So, dear Internet, let me bring you up to date:

VOCATIONALLY: I am taking two classes this semester. I am tutoring students again. I am now on Spring Break, which so far has involved sleeping 16 hours a day and not showering. On Thursday I go to Tucson to meet up with my parents and sister for a few days, at which point I hope to have showered. I am a hospital widow lo these many months because poor Ian is ALWAYS on the business end of a Navy bitch-slap. It is sad, but it also leaves me with much time to ponder my research interests and to read a lot of rhetorical theory. And to gossip with friends from coast to coast as to the state of each other's reproductive organs. (They can be categorized, as I have previously noted in a large group e-mail, as being either fully stowed, in an upright position, crashing and burning, or burning and itching. See? See what I did there? I applied airplane terminology to chastity, sex, AND STDs! Tell me I am not brilliant.) And we are no longer even close to anything that resembles what I do for school. Let's move on.

ENTERTAINMENT-WISE: I have been watching a lot of the emotiporn that is Extreme Makeover Home Edition. It really inspires me, at least until I find another pair of shoes to buy with my expendable income. Also, do not watch this show while PMSing. Tears will ensue, combined with ice cream and Baked Lays. I have also been watching Rome. I started watching it over Christmas on DVD and then had to get HBO because it was so awesome (They speak Latin! They say "Salve!" to each other! Plus there is gratuitous sex! WHY WASN'T I BORN DURING THIS TIME?) Unfortunately the series is now over. I am sad. I highly recommend it. I've also been reading some good books (authors: Jeffrey Eugenides, David Lodge, and A.S. Byatt) but you don't care. Books are for dweebs. Hmm, what else. Ian and I have been watching lots of Season 7 of Seinfeld on DVD lately as well. That season definitely has some of the best episodes: the Wig Master, the Soup Nazi, the Bottle Deposit, etc. That, too, has been very inspirational for me, as we all know I want to be Elaine Benes when I grow up.

SOCIALLY: Oh Lord. Let us begin in mid-February. Our good friend Chrissy came out for a week. We had some alcohol, went out to dinner, saw some animals. She and Ian went whale watching while I was at class. At least I hope they did. If they went "whale watching" instead of whale watching I would be pissed. I trust Ian, but Chrissy is a saucy tart, as we all know. Then I drove her up to LA, caught a horrible coughing phlegm virus of some sort, and then drove home to host Adam and Jen the next weekend. I think they had a good time; I was too busy wishing for death to join them for much. Then, we had a Big Lebowski party for people in my program. White Russians were served, the film was screened, the Dude abided. (Abided? Abode? Abid? I am too lazy to look this up.) It was fun. Apparently there is a karaoke outing on deck for April.

OK, so that's it for now. Hopefully I'll be able to keep this up this time.

Update

2007-02-02T09:55:00.000-08:00

Oh bother, there goes two more weeks.

I've started school now, which is going great again. Except I was going to take this women's studies course about the auto/biographies of women because of my research interests. (Have I talked about this? I'm too busy making fart jokes on my blog to speak of matters of significance. Anyway, I want to look at the blogs/online diaries of young mothers and argue that they are using these blogs as a space to challenge traditional ideologies of motherhood, namely that mothers are humorless saints who would love nothing more than to hack off their limbs for the betterment of their children.) Sadly, the women's studies course was WAY too politicized and focused on sexual orientations of the class members, and, as a woman married to a man and who becomes only slightly bi-curious when drunk, I felt unwelcome. So I dropped it.

But my other two classes are going well. There is a crew of Rhetoric students who are in basically the same courses semester after semester (our class only has about 15 students), and I'm finding that it takes a certain person to enter the field of Rhetoric and Writing Studies. Sort of dorky, dry sense of humor, enthusiasm for dancing AND foo foo drinks -- and all these years I thought I was alone! (Not really. Well, sort of with the dancing and foo foo drinks. Remember, Jennie and Sara, how many parties we went to and I was all like "But will there be dancing? And foo foo drinks???" and you were like "Shut up, Lauren. Drink your beer." and I sulked?)

In that vein, I'm going to a party this weekend where the highlight is the very fact that the residents have in their possession a record player and a bunch of old records and we can all take turns selecting music. The host, a straight male, has informed us to "bring your dancing shoes." I am planning on having fun. So much fun, in fact, that I did not attend choir practice yesterday in anticipation of not even coming close to making it to church on Sunday morning. Wish me luck.

Signs I really need to return to school

2007-01-21T11:52:00.000-08:00

1. I am sleeping like 14 hours a day just to fill the time. Literally, I have nothing else to do.

2. I have gotten into the habit of composing letters in my head to products Ian or I consume. "Dear Calavo Corporation: If you insist on calling yourself 'The First Name in Avocados' then maybe your guacamole shouldn't taste like shit. Just a thought."
or:
"Dear Keebler: Do you ever wonder if Soft Batch Cookies can give you cancer if you eat enough of them? Because I could provide you with a pretty good test case. Sincerely, Lauren." Obviously my mental processes should be engaged elsewhere.

3. I scheduled a dentist appointment. For fun.

I don't think Tuesday will come soon enough.

When the doctor thing comes in handy

2007-01-09T15:12:00.000-08:00

Yesterday:

Me: "Wah! Tummy hurts! THIRD DAY! Can't eat! HURT! WAHHHH!"
Him: "Try some yogurt. Blah blah blah intestinal flora yadda yadda yadda."

Today:

Me: "CHICKEN SANDWICH! MMMM! With CHEEEEEESE! And mayo! . . . Hey! Where the fuck are the pickles? Are we out of pickles? SHIT!"