Noah's Ark and Ugly Beads.

Today, I made a wonderful purchase.

In Michael's, on a quest to find elastic and fake flowers to re-create a headband I had found in Claire's that had probably been intended for a six-year-old because it didn't fit my head... I found THIS:



My mother told me they were "ugly beads" and we proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes 1. arguing about whether or not the beads were truly "ugly", I preferred to refer to them as "fun", and 2. searching for beads that my mother thought were more acceptable and attractive.

Having decided to defy her after this search churned out expensive beads that were not as "fun", I purchased this container for $5.

Best five dollars I have ever spent.

My family and I have spent the evening making masterpieces. I believe that my mother was converted to the beauty of the beads with the creation of the Noah's Ark Bracelet, which includes a lovely plastic ark bead and various animals. (My dad even joined in the fun, explaining that aquatic animals should not be included on the bracelet, since they live in water and would be able to survive the flood.)

I now look like the six-year-old that should be wearing that headband from Claire's. Mission Accomplished.



-Lauren

I Don't Know Why I'm Laughing.

Today, I am a pretty, pretty princess.

Let me tell you why:

1. My lovely parents plan for me to have my wisdom teeth removed over Christmas break.

2. I go to the Maxillofacial & Oral Surgery place at 8:45 in the morning with my mother.

3. We sit in a waiting room and watch the TV, which is playing a fun little documentary about how they create fake teeth.

4. My name is called and I follow a nurse into a room. My mother isn't allowed to come with me.

5. This nurse asks me extraneous small-talk questions before three other doctors come in and make me feel as though I suddenly got transported onto the set of ER. I attempt to ask the nurse if I am going to be feeling any shots or anything, or if I get to be knocked out for the entire thing. I find that I need an IV, so yes, I get to feel that. Fantastic. She then asks me if I have my ears pierced, as if to tell me it will just feel like that. I tell her yes, I do have my ears pierced, and it hurt like crazy. She tells me it won't be as bad as that. Suuure.

6. The doctor starts messing with my arm, trying to find a vein that he can stab a needle into. He doesn't really seem to care about my personal problems regarding needles and pain.

7. In the meantime, they have put a mask over my nose, which is blowing oxygen and laughing gas, which I point out smells like watermelon.

8. I then become extremely concerned, because I am starting to feel tingly. I ask of this is normal, and while they do not share my concern, they inform me that this is okay.

9. I then get lightheaded, which I inform them about...and also ask if this is something that is supposed to be happening.

10. This helps me decide to tell them that I don't think I want this mask on me anymore. A man goes to take it off, but I change my mind-- if I am going to have to get these teeth out, I'm at least going to have the fun of the laughing gas. So I tell him that he doesn't have to take it off and that I'm fine.

11. Then it hits me. I start to crack up about absolutely nothing. As is the norm for me at this point, I become concerned and ask if this is what is supposed to be happening. The nurse answers me with "That's why they call it laughing gas".

12. At this point, life is reeeally amusing. I'm laughing to the point where I am crying, and am an extremely hyper version of myself. I apologize for being so weird, and inform them that I can't understand what is so funny and that this gas must really be working. I then let the doctor know that I am not actually crying, it's just that my eyes water when I laugh. I continue to make it known that I am aware that I am acting really strangely.

13. I then mention that I am feeling tired, and point out that I know that they are trying to knock me out right now.

14. I wake up hours later without feeling in 50% of my face.

15. I go home and swim in gauze for hours while watching "Tabitha Takes Over" on Bravo.

16. It is now almost 8 pm, and I have walked up the stair steps one time, and I have walked from the couch to the table, the table to the oven, the oven to the table... and then back to the couch. I have been extremely active today. :)


So...this has been the big event of the week!!

Because My Sense of Style is Like That of a Seven-Year-Old.

Sometimes, I like to fake-online-shop.

I'll put things in baskets, and I usually do not purchase them.

Tonight, here are two of the items that are in a potentially-fake-online-shopping-basket:





Is it weird that I like these?

Cop Cars and DUIs.

So... I got pulled over by the police just now.

Awesome.

I saw a sign that said "Be Prepared to Stop".

I thought to myself "oh, this must be an accident."

I pulled up to where all the cop cars were and saw a table with a cooler on it off to the side... so I decided they were probably slacking off or something, it was 2 am, after all.

I also saw an ambulance, which kind of confused me, because if someone was dying, I wouldn't be drinking lemonade on the side of the road.

I pull up to where there are a bunch of officers standing in a line.

They start waving their flashlights at me, which honestly looked like they were doing that whole universal "I'm a traffic conductor" sign of "go ahead and drive, just go slowly."

So I did.

Three seconds later, there is a cop car in front of me, blocking me in.

They make me pull over onto the other side of the road, and the guy comes over and starts, basically, asking me if I'm really stupid and blind (in not so many words).

I have no idea what is going on at this point, so I start apologizing profusely, while trying to figure out why I am magically in trouble for driving after they made the freaking universal "I'm a traffic conductor, so drive your car" sign.

Turns out, this was a DUI checkpoint.

Excellent.

They ask me where I was, I say I was at the theatre.

They ask me if I was working or seeing a show. (because this is relevant.) I tell them I was seeing a show.

They ask if I was with anybody. (I was. THANK GOD he had just passed by a few seconds before me, so I didn't look like some kind of mass murderer or something making up some story.)

Then some retard came up on the other side of my car and started searching it with a flashlight.

I hadn't had time to unpack from school, so my car looked disastrous. (With lots of trash bags in the back. Full of people I have killed, obviously.)

Then, the dumb guy who was questioning me goes "what's wrong with your car?" and I was like "...what do you mean?" and he goes "There's mud on it." Wonderful observation. Also, what does this have to do with anything? I tell him it was because when I park at school, stuff falls on my car. I'm glad we got to the point where we could share about our personal lives.

Okay, so could I look any sketchier right now?! I've already bypassed this magic checkpoint I didn't know about, have random junk and trash bags spread out all over my car (which looks like it's covered with mud)....fantastic.

He asks me if I ate in my car because I had a McDonald's bag in the passenger's seat. (Also such a relevant and useful question.)

and THEN he sees this red spot on my seat.

He asks me if this spot is blood.

Duh. Because I kill people and hide them in the trash bags in the back.

Nooooo, it's not blood! It's freaking ketchup from my McDonald's bag. Which, as he can clearly see, is sitting right next to me.

Haha, why would he even ask that?! Do I look like the kind of person who:
1. would kill/injure somebody
2. would be able to do it so well that I only get a spot of blood on the driver's seat? I don't really think so.

Anyways, he told me to go on home, and didn't give me a ticket or anything... but... now I know that when cops look like they're waving you through with their flashlights, it really means "stop your freaking car before we all flip out at you".

The end.

Finals Week 2010.

I want to take a running jump out of a window right now.

Just a warning... if I am randomly acting like I hate you, I don't. I'm just running on one and a half hours of sleep. Which makes me feel like I want to slaughter anything that breathes, moves, or makes noise.

:)

In real life, and with rest, I really do love you. <3

-Lauren

Regards, Lauren.

Okay, so, there's this boy.

We met on Friday.

He has my number.

He was cool in person.

Over text message, he is absurd.

Upon giving my friend Cameron a play-by-play of this evening's texts, he composed a wonderful letter from me to him in the style of David Thorne.

Who is David Thorne?
Search no further, my uninformed friend: http://www.27bslash6.com/overdue.html

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Jar,

As much as I admire the valiant effort of a big, strong man to obtain a woman, I must admit that your recent methods of attempting to assert yourself into my pants have been more of a turn-off than your hidden sexual insecurities, which you attempt to cover by using foolish sexual come-ons. However, I do commend you on the brilliant use of the phrase “I’m a physical guy”. Normally, this phrase would only be used by bros with an aversion for stupid biddies, but you have clearly broken down many social norms in the search for love, which I naturally have to respect.

Once when I was very young, my parents (who also happened to be my teachers, due to my dedicated homeschooling) became aware of a boy next door who was flirting with me by tripping me, pulling my hair, and calling me names. When I came home crying after he called me a “snotty poopface”, my mother told me he probably just liked me. This belief was solidified when this boy came to my front door and proposed to me, using a “diamond ring” he had made out of the stem of a dandelion and a piece of rotten cheese. After I accepted his proposal, we “dated” for about fourteen minutes, before my parents told me it was time to come inside and finish doing calculus problems. When I started to walk away, the young boy stopped me and gave me a kiss on my hand. When I became happy with this, he said that he was “a pleaser of sorts”. I immediately broke up with him, because I thought this was a stupid thing to say. The seven-year-old self inside of me still believes that to be a childish phrase to this day.

I find myself wondering one thing. How could I have ever doubted that you were being true and not trying anything, especially with such choice phrases as “the only gal” and “a physical guy”? When you said that I was the only gal you were interested in, I was immediately reminded of a 1950s diner with root beer floats and men wearing Buddy Holly glasses. While you might think this repulsed me, in reality, I became very aroused, so perhaps you were right in saying it. I would like to meet up sometime to exchange saliva with you. I will not charge you a fee, though this is my usual practice, and I may even let you pick which marker I use to draw anarchist symbols on your chest and face. Please let me know when you would like to have this meeting.

Regards, Lauren.