Writing

Damn You Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham!

I blame you for my warped view of love!
You’ve doomed me to believe that I’ll never know what real love is unless I have the urge to write 150 songs about some dude involving the words “angel”, “destiny”, or “crystal-something”. Of course he would have to write angry, less poetic, monosyllable songs attacking my character and talent. I would have to wear layers of billowy chiffon and a hairstyle that looks like a goose down pillow exploded on my head; he would have to have a huge 70’s white man ‘fro, wear chest hair embellishing v-necks with gold chains, and platform shoes though he’s already six feet tall. He would have to play the guitar with no pic and glare at me onstage when a lyric referred to me. I would twirl around a lot. We’d go do a line of coke, then go boink backstage.
Yeah, that’s real love.
Fleetwood Mac’s reunion live show, “The Dance”, premiered when I was fourteen years old. I don’t recall listening to Fleetwood Mac before then but became transfixed when I saw the music video (more…)
June 15, 2010 by
Writing

Secrets

Remember Conan O’Brien’s “Secrets“? I vaguely do.
But I know I love reading Post Secret.
So much so that I eventually begin wishing that I’m as royally fucked up as the people who submit on there just so I can feel something.

So in honor of telling secrets, I’m sharing a butt load of them today. My Mom would say that having some secrets is a good thing, but I say, “Yeah, Mom and not taking your pants off during karaoke is a good thing, but sometimes you have to do it.”

Lauren’s Secrets:
-The anthem to my epic move from Los Angeles to Austin was “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon.

-My introduction to adolescent sexual yearning was via a B&W photo of a shirtless Elton John.

-I once received on the behalf of a celebrity I worked for, a very expensive bottle of vodka in a giant, sculpted block of ice. I immediately thawed the vodka out of the block of ice and drank a third of the bottle at 6PM on a Friday night at work. Within 20 minutes of drinking the vodka, I called everyone I knew crying, (more…)
June 11, 2010 by
Writing

It’s Rick Moranis Day!

A childhood fascination of mine that has transcended into adulthood is my love of nerds. Short nerds, tall nerds, young nerds, old nerds, aesthetically questionable nerds, sexually subordinate nerds- it doesn’t matter. The more socially awkward the better.

Where did this love come from? I’m not sure. Believe me, if I knew, I wouldn’t have spent all that money seeing a psychotherapist on Saturdays and then supplementing my emotional purging with a trip to Golden Corral after every visit.

Maybe it was from the hours of watching “Back to the Future”. Somewhere between the ages of four and six I discovered that Doc Brown could get my latent sexuality flux capacitor up to 1.21 gigawatts. It wasn’t long after that that I ached to get a glimpse of Egon Spengler’s proton pack. By the time I was ten, Lord have mercy for I was powerless to the charms of Dr. Ian Malcolm. I dreamt of making sweet Goldblum love to him in the foothills of misty mountains while being scouted by vicious velociraptors.

June 10, 2010 by
Writing

Let’s Take Bets on How Well I’ll Handle Encouraged Criticism

“My name is Lauren.

I have a New York driver’s license, a Los Angeles mailing address, and a Austin physical address.
I have no idea what I’m doing.”

I have no idea what I’m doing.
Sounds about right.

It has been little over a year since Hipstercrite took form and wobbled it’s way through the blogging world. Though I’m proud of how far she’s gotten, I can’t help but feel she has been equally clueless in her quest as her writer.
So with that being said, I’d love to hear your feedback.
What subject matter do you enjoy seeing the most? The least?
Do you like seeing pictures of me pretending not to be that interested in taking pics of myself? Or do you absolutely despise it?
Do you like funny stories? Serious stories? Personal? Impersonal?
Would you like a more themed blog such as specifically dealing with music, movies, dating, Austin, or general twenty-something blah blah blahing?

Tell me what keeps you coming back. Tell me what posts make you scrunch up your face and go, “Well, she seems like an asshole.” (more…)

June 8, 2010 by
Writing

A Burger Short of a Combo Meal

My next post should be the 3rd installment of my date with “The Beautiful, Yet Doltish Unemployed Actor Who Liked Nickelback“, but I got bored with the story. Here is the ending- we dated for a month, I realized that he was a few peas short of a casserole, he accused me of faking my interest in him due to the fact that I may or may not have made the face below the entire three unnecessarily loud minutes we knocked boots, he banished me to my own couch, we parted ways the next morning not before he asked me what the difference between a PC and a Mac is and if a Mac can get on the internet. He recently reached out to me on Facebook explaining that he’s working as a waiter at a chain restaurant in Dallas and that’s about it. I noticed on his profile page that his girlfriend’s birth year has a “9” as the third digit in. His is a “7”.
So in replace of that, here are some photos of our adventures next to a dumpster and in a shower this weekend.
I’m lucky to know the lovely Annie and Emily below. (more…)
June 7, 2010 by
Writing

No. 6- A Partially True Story Continued

You live in one of those shoddy late 80’s peach stucco apartment complexes that looks like it barely survived the Earthquake of ’94. A prostitute eyes my car from under the street lamp as I wait for you.

I see you ascend from the barb-wired decorated front door and you look more beautiful than I even remember. You are wearing a light blue collard shirt that matches your eyes perfectly. Your blond hair is neatly tussled and I see a hint of five o’clock shadow on your rigid jaw line.
You jump in my car, smile, and I’m ready to drive anywhere with you.
Then you start talking. I didn’t remember you sounding so child-like before, but that’s ok. I’m sure you’re nervous.
“How was your day?” you ask.
“It was good. Busy. We’re in pre-production on a TV pilot for cable. A little stressful around the office. What about you?” I say in return.
“Well, I don’t have a job, so I spent the day looking for a job, played some video games, and took a nap.”
“Wow…that sounds wonderful. How long have you been (more…)
June 1, 2010 by
Writing

No. 6- A Partially True Story


God, you are beautiful.

“What kind of sandwich do you want?” the bitter, nonplussed Subway Restaurant employee keeps asking me, but I’m not listening. You are at the head of the line and all I’m focusing on is getting you to turn around and look at me.

“Ma’am, what do you want on your sandwich?”

I’m standing in a Subway Restaurant somewhere in the middle of Koreatown, Los Angeles and there you are and here am I and I’m not going to let you walk out of this building without noticing me.

“Oh, I’d like a tuna fish sandwich please. Lettuce and tomatoes, but probably no onions. My co-workers have put a strict ban on onions for me. They also told me that I had to order the tuna salad sandwich because they like the way I say, “salad”, I have a tendency to make my “a’s” exaggerated because I’m from Upstate NY.

Lauren, what are you doing? Stop talking!

“They also make fun of the way I say, “pants“. Paaaants.”

The employee is looking at me like I’m a huge asshole.

“And platter.”

Stop it.

“And squash.”

Oh my (more…)

June 1, 2010 by
Writing

Cary Grant is the Reason You Can’t Get Laid

Is your love life in shambles? Do you find yourself repeating the same mistakes over and over? Do you feel like you will never meet the right guy or girl, or when you do meet them, they don’t seem to want you? Well, put down that copy of “Men Are From Mars Women Are From Venus” that you never read anyways and listen to me very carefully; I have found the answer:
Your love life is in the shitter all because of Cary Grant.
Every man wants to be Cary Grant and every woman wants Cary Grant, but the truth is, Cary Grant doesn’t exist. He never existed. Cary Grant was even quoted as saying, “Yeah, that sweet ass mo-fo up on the big screen? He’s not real.” In real-life, Archibald Leach could be a real f’ing turd. His first wife claimed that he hit her and his fourth wife, Dyan Cannon, alleged that he would spank her during rows (that part doesn’t sound that bad).
Cary Grant was the perfect illusion of what a real man should be- dignified and diplomatic, impeccable manners, chiseled features, entertaining (more…)
May 28, 2010 by
Writing

54 Flavors of Choice Fatigue

In 2008, I left my career in the film business to suspend myself in the air. The bubble had burst, but I still stood there motionless. No longer wanting to work the industry I had loved since I was a little girl, I vehemently pulled my foundation up from Los Angeles, only to be left standing there with the roots in my hands, clueless as to where to start planting. The vastness of options before me left me ambivalent. I had a couple of near getaways, only to come crawling back to Los Angeles dismayed and disoriented. I spent the summer wandering aimlessly around my life. Until one day I decided to take control….
____________________
Towering before me amongst the big sky backdrop of Suburbia, Texas, stood a Super Wal-Mart and Super Target.

I needed toothpaste and undereye concealer- a necessity ever since 7th grade when classmates interpreted my dark circles as a deep love for crack cocaine. I typically would not shop at either place, but having been new to this neck of the woods, there was (more…)

May 27, 2010 by
Writing

Why You Frownin’, Baby?

While I work on climbing past my gigantic monolith of creative lackluster, I will lazily present to you some posts from my other blog, Baby Hipsters.

Also, please check out the wit and wisdom of The Hitch List, possibly one of my favorite blogs ever and a contributor on Baby Hipsters.
(Send me photos at hipsterbabies at gmail dot com!)

On his way to a date with a publishing assistant, Mike stopped at the local book store to pick up the Cliff Notes of Infinite Jest only to find that they don’t exist and that no employee or customer at the store could actually explain to him what the book was about.


“And this is my boyfriend, Slade, er, wait, are we officially dating now? Molly turns to Slade for confirmation, but only gets a blank stare in return. Molly backtracks her sentence, “This is the dude I’m sleeping with on the weekends after 11PM…”

After her boyfriend left her for their bike mechanic Atticus, and her trust fund ran out while in the middle of an impetuous pilgrimage to India, Yvette (more…)

May 26, 2010 by