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.
“Somebody stabbed me with a screwdriver!”
These words traveled with a ten-person entourage on their way through the ER doors last Friday morning at 2AM.
Geoff and I were at the ER because he had a 103 fever and was coughing up blood.
Not coughing up blood in a Robert Shaw at the end of Jaws when he gets bitten by Jaws kind of way. More of a, Geoff: “Ew, is that blood in my mucus?” and Lauren: “HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! WE’RE TAKING YOU TO THE ER RIGHT NOW! NO TIME FOR PANTS!” kind of way.
You see, Geoff is a wee bit of a hypochondriac (I love you, baby) and I’m a bit of a nervous Jew who is petrified that everyone she loves is dying all of the time.
This combination leads to barely thought-out sprints to the ER, but to our credit, spitting up blood is not something that is normal.
It scared us enough to take him to the ER because that’s the only friggin’ thing open at 2AM.
As though it’s a prerequisite for getting submitted into the ER, we waited our obligatory hour in (more…)
My post over at CultureMap today…
Today my boyfriend leaves for a three-month stay in Portugal. I’m not happy about it.
I’ve spent the past weeks devising a plan to run screaming out onto the tarmac in a rabbit costume before his plane leaves the gate. I figure that a rabbit costume is not threatening enough to get me detained but disorienting enough that the pilots will feel compelled to take reschedule the flight for the next day. Since I won’t want him to leave the next day either, I’ll have to keep doing this every day, which will be how the myth of the human-sized bunny of Austin-Bergstrom International Airport will emerge.
The one good thing about him heading to Europe is that I will have an excuse to visit, if I have the money.
Currently I have a mouth full of cavities and self-employment taxes I need to pay, but I think my mouth and livelihood can take a backseat to Europe, right? I mean, I’m young and I need to take these opportunities while I still can — even (more…)
I wondered if you even existed when I would see a couple on the street.
At the rate I was going, it didn’t seem like I would come to meet you.
You were an elusive figure.
Someone I was left to writing about. A stranger I was to meet on a subway in a big city and discuss metropolitan topics with such as David Byrne and top hats. You were the fictional love interest to my semi-autobiographical, slightly solitary female protagonist. Existing only in words on the paper. But one day you materialized, in the form of a sandy-colored cowboy, and instead of meeting on a subway, we met at an eastside watering hole.
We talked about David Byrne and top hats.
In our relatively small gestation period, I have come to feel that I’ve known you forever. Maybe it’s because you were a character I constructed, or maybe it’s because you and I are reassuringly similar. That the traits I’ve grown to understand about myself over the past 28 years are akin to the ones you share. When you randomly (more…)
Life is always an adventure.
Even when it takes you to a border town in Texas where friends and loved ones suggest that your safety will be in great danger if you go.
Texas is 268,581 square miles of curios. Even on the long stretches of dry nothingness or repetitious sand-colored strip malls, the state is never boring. When I first moved to Texas two and a half years ago, I felt like a child seeing the world for the first time. Everything about the state fascinated me and it continues to do so. From the freeways that ascend into the sky to the characters in cowboy hats to the forgotten main streets to the sprawl of major cities, I write a tiny love letter to Texas every day. And now this is my tiny love letter to Laredo.
Laredo, Texas borders the larger Mexican city of Nuevo Laredo. If you Google Nuevo Laredo you will see warnings from US Consulates urging Americans not to travel to Nuevo Laredo and pictures of people’s heads blown open. Laredo is the 88th largest city in the country (more…)
I don’t write about my social or romantic life on my blog very often, if at all. This blog is not the platform for that- it’s supposed to be a blog about being a fuckin’ hipster, dammit- and in some areas of my life, I’m actually a somewhat private person. I also realize that saying roughly, “Oh hey, I just wrote about you on a public forum for anyone to read!” may or may not have the ability to freak someone out. In addition, it’s rare for me to feel compelled to write about someone- a truth that I’ve commented on before- but I guess, in this instance, that is finally not applicable. I’m writing this tonight because, honestly, it’s what is on my mind lately and being a writer, it would be silly to ignore.
And though I plead with you on a daily basis not to read my blog, you will anyways.
So, here you go.
To He Who Should Not Read My Blog,
I haven’t known you for very long.
This is a fact we discussed last night. (more…)
“I haven’t been in love in a long, long time,” she said to herself in the best Otis Redding impression she could muster up. Heightened emphasis on the first “long.” Eight ‘o’s’.
“I haven’t been in love in a loooooooong, long time,” she kept repeating just enough so the purpose behind the sentence meant nothing anymore.
“Hell, I’m not even sure I’ve ever been in love,” she laughs to herself. “I’ve been in infatuation and then something thereafter, I think?”
This prompts her to sing the Rod Stewart song of the same name, but it’s not as enjoyable as her made-up Otis song.
She takes a moment to think back on them all.
It started with Adam. He was the only one to run the course of infatuation, to post-infatuation, to end of the road.
Adam is married and lives in Kansas City and has a second baby on the way. Three weeks after he ended their four year relationship seven years ago, she stopped thinking about him. It scared her how quickly she got over (more…)