Guys, I played grownup bingo for the first time yesterday and it hurt.
Grownup bingo is not for pussies, but as I learned yesterday, I’m one giant pussy.
It takes a brave man or woman to sit in such a high-stress environment surrounded by dialogue boxes of smoke and florescent lights loaned from UT’s football stadium.
If you’re unfamiliar with how grownup bingo works, I will give you the lowdown. I’m going to give you the lowdown through the eyes of a 7 year-old because that’s how I felt yesterday (and I’m feeling lazy today): we were in this BIG pink room in parking lot near the highway and there were all these tables filled with people smoking cigarettes with these big, metal balloons next to them (the 29 year-old in me will translate that to “oxygen tanks”). We bought bingo sheets and some of us even bought these little computer thingies that help you mark your bingo cards. I bought a bingo marker with a shiny blue top! I also bought two bingo sheets which meant I had to (more…)
(girl, lemme get you some eye makeup remover)
Whoa, girl, whoa.
Hold onto your still firm butt (bitch!)- it’s about to get all kinds of shitty in here.
You’re excited right now. Excited to begin your adult life in Hollywood, the place you dreamed of going to as a child, but boy oh boy, are you going to feel like the essence of canine fecal matter on the bottom of someone’s shoe very soon.
Your twenties are going to feel like those old wooden roller coaster rides that make you both mentally and psychically ill.
Am I going to throw up? Did someone just throw up on me? Did I just break a rib from being tossed into the side of this rickety coaster car? Will my fate play out like Fabio with a bird smashing into my face? Am I about to be catapulted hundreds of feet into the air and impaled on the little kids’ swirly cup ride?
Life is full of so many questions right now.
You’re going to spend the first half of your twenties drinking alone in your tiny-ass (more…)
I’ve had this blog for years and every month I get an itch to make it more streamlined. Thoughts of starting an editorial calendar dance in my head, but who am I kidding? My brain is about as organized as the basement of some sad sack on A&E’s Hoarders.
If I was more organized, I would make Friday my designated fashion and design day. In an attempt to accomplish that goal, I’m going to write about the most ridiculously hipster fashion topic I can think of:
Two clothing companies that the hip teen-through-thirty-somethings who think they are still teens love to shop at.
Full disclosure: I used to shop at both AND off and on worked at the latter (judge away!)
I no longer shop at Urban Outfitters for ethical reasons, however, I continue to support American Apparel, not because of some Kool-Aid allegiance I formed while working there (believe me, it’s NOT a perfect company), but because side-by-side, American Apparel is a more (more…)
The other day, I posted on Hipstercrite’s Facebook page that I had just finished paying off my car, and in a several months, my credit cards too.
I’ve written about debt before; like many twenty-somethings, I’ve been strapped with school loans, credit card and car payments for most of my third decade.
When you’re facing debt, it’s often difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, many mornings you wake up in a cold sweat, suffocating from the heavy blanket of your finances.
I was raised by a fiscally conservative mother who always paid her bills on time. When she pushed me forth into the world that was the only advice she gave me. Fresh out of college, I landed a salaried position in Los Angeles and thought I was set. Boy, was I dumb!
My debt was established in several steps: 1.) I often used my credit card to go out to eat (I was very sad and lonely in LA and didn’t want to be at home) 2.) I foolishly put the down payment of my new car on a credit card and (more…)
I thought that once the film premiered, my creative juices would be flowing like an unbridled river out of every pore in my body.
Boy, was I wrong.
Since the film premiered over nineteen days ago, I’ve felt creatively adrift. Lost in a sea of cerebral noise.
Not only have I had difficulty constructing coherent sentences, the creative gauge has been running on fumes. For the first time in a great while I’ve had absolutely no interest in writing. I barely know what I’m feeling right now, so the ability to express thought, emotion and inspiration into words seems impossible. All the ideas and characters that playfully swim through my head have been snuffed by anxiety and fear. Though I try not to let it, reading the occasional “mixed review” of our film sends me into a spiral of self-doubt. I’d like to think I’m able to handle criticism, but it’s never easy.
Instead of enjoying a creative milestone that I never would have imagined achievable, I’ve been a cantankerous curmudgeon (more…)
a note for my sweetheart- throw up all you’d like
I don’t write about my boyfriend much anymore because it grosses some folks out. Understandably so- I don’t like reading sappy shit either.
Because of this, some dude I know named “Geoff” only comes up occasionally in my blog posts.
But it’s Valentine’s Day, dammit, and I’m going to talk about my lover.
Did the word “lover” just get under your skin there?
Because it most certainly got under mine and I wrote it. Yuk.
Geoff and I will not celebrate Valentine’s Day in any special way today. We will probably go out to eat later tonight which is something we do every night because he has an aversion to eating at home. We might take advantage of Gourmand’s $20 two sandwiches and a bottle of Boone’s Farm deal due to the delightful irony of it. And because we’re small town folk at heart.
We may do something special four days later since that day will be our anniversary. A trip to Enchanted Rock has been in the talks.
I’ve been encountering many people who are down in the dumps lately.
Maybe it’s seasonal depression, though that’s difficult to diagnose in Austin when January has seen eighty degree temperatures.
Or maybe it’s that the new year brings a slew of questions and few answers.
The majority of the people who claim that they’re sad, lonely and confused are also saying they have no idea what they’re doing with their life.
A new year, another year older and am I happy?
Some of these individuals are highly established in their careers and personal lives, while others are not. It doesn’t matter if you’re a famous filmmaker or an aspiring musician/restaurant server- we’re all in the same boat (which is also a nice reminder not to compare yourself to others).
I spent a great deal of my twenties asking this question. I drifted from East Coast to West Coast to Third Coast trying to discover who I was and what I wanted to do with my life. There were many nights drinking alone, calling (more…)
Once in a while I tell secrets on my blog.
What the hell am I talking about? I have no secrets. I throw up every thought, feeling and experience like a kid on a roller coaster after gorging him or herself at The Golden Corral. You’re subjected to the constant diarrhea of my mental flow.
However, one time I did have a specific secrets post where I shared details about sunbathing nude on the rooftop of my former celebrity boss’ office and being called “carpetmuncher” as a child.
It’s been a few years since that post, so I’ve decided to add to the list:
-One time Jeremy Irons hit on me. At least I think he did. I’m assuming he thought I was someone else though. I was standing alone in the corner of a Toronto Film Festival party and he walked up, stuck out his hand and said, “Hiii, I’m Jerrrrrrremey” in his flirty English accent. Confused, I stuck out my hand quickly and said, “Hi, I’m Lauren” and then we stood there side-by-side in silence until I nervously walked away.
I’ve been suffering from a disease for quite some time now. Denial has kept me from acknowledging in, but after much research and soul-searching I’ve finally come to terms with this infliction.
I suffer from hypochondria.
It’s an exhausting ailment that takes a great deal out of me. A large portion of my mental energy is exerted while imagining diseases I could be dying from. There has been the “side cancer” I thought I was battling for the past two months (kidney infection), the blood clot in my arm (pulled muscle), the brain tumor (sinus headaches) and a plethora of other aches and pains that I assume must be life-threatening. If I didn’t have shitty-ass insurance, I’d probably be at the doctor every time my appetite is low (must be scurvy!) or am sleepy (thyroid cancer!). All the little stories I’ve heard and accumulated through the years- the friend of a friend of a friend who didn’t know he had diabetes and almost went into a coma, the film business acquaintance who didn’t (more…)
I’ve never been a girly girl.
This is a topic I’ve written about before and one I often battle with. When I see a gaggle of gals giggling and gallivanting with one another (I’ve been practicing my alliteration skills lately), I feel like a sad puppy staring out onto the sidewalk from inside the pet store window while simultaneously throwing up poopy newspaper that I ate from the bottom of the cage.
Having large herds of girlfriends and playing with each other’s hair and going on shopping trips together is something I’d like to do, but physically can’t make myself act on.
Maybe it’s because I’m an only child and am still perplexed at 29 as to how to play well with others or maybe it’s because as a child most adults thought I’d be a future lesbian due to my lack of wanting to dress as Cinderella or Madonna and instead reveled in pretending I was Rod Serling or Groucho Marx. Who the hell wants to be a blonde chick with no decipherable talents? I’d rather be a middle-aged Jewish (more…)