Fort Greene Leaves 11/23/07

A funny thing happened last night....

Also, oh, just a little embarrassing.

I was shopping at Whole Foods last night for, you know, foods. I was crouched down to get some baking powder from a bottom shelf when it happened. I farted. Loudly. Very very loudly. In public. At Whole Foods, where the beautiful people buy their organic designer groceries.

I once saw Janeane Garofalo there with a 21-year-old male model (or so I'm guessing). I also once spotted the supermodel Lily Donaldson shopping for frozen peas or something. I didn't stare cuz it's rude, but I imagine that she put them back, her hands trembling, since (a) frozen shit is heavy and her tiny wrists are fragile and (b) OMGFOODYUMMYFEELSSOGOODJUSTTOHOLDNOOOOCAN'TEATFATBAD.

So yeah. I farted real loud at Whole Foods Union Square. It was an obvious fart. There were fortunately only two other people shopping on the same aisle - it was late, around 10. But still VERY clearly a fart, not one of those, well I'll give her the benefit of the doubt, cause it coulda been a shoe or something scraping/squeaking.

And I never even saw it coming. When it happened I wanted to both pull my coat over my head (YOU CAN'T SEE ME, I'S HIDIN') and laugh and laugh and laugh. I did neither, just stayed there for a minute contemplating my baking powder options. There were two, and damn was that a tough decision.


Also? Can I just share how much I HATE the new wheelie shopping baskets? I refuse to use them, and they do still have a few stacks of the old style a little past the new ones by the entrance. I hate them for the same reason I hate suitcases/briefcases/backpacks on wheels - they're just annoying. Whole Foods is already crowded enough without lazy-ass New Yorkers dragging their groceries two feet behind them. Also, I have to carry my stuff to gauge when I have too much and need to put something back, since I have to be able to carry it home. This is already difficult for me, because I like to buy in bulk to save money. I may break my back carrying home that five pound bag of organic whole wheat flour, and I may not use it all for a year, but GODDAMNIT I SAVED FIFTY CENTS PER POUND!!!


So yeah, The Fart Heard 'Round the Baking Aisle has now earned the illustrious title of Lauren's Most Embarrassing Moment.

Or, it's tied with another recent stupid thing. Got super drunk and high at a party and slept with someone. Because I have been so sex-starved for so long (so so so long, but that's a whole other blog post, one that will NEVER BE WRITTEN), and he did it with me once, I thought perhaps he would be so kind as to do it with me again. I was the one who left quietly early in the morning, so I thought I should be the one to make contact, because geez, I would have taken that as a sign that they woke up and went "oh shit, better get out of here fast, god i hope they don't wake up, what a mistake!" Small problem: didn't have a phone number. So I sent a MYSPACE MESSAGE. A fucking MYSPACE MESSAGE, to say hi and we should hang out maybe? Because dignity? I'm always happy to throw it out the window. Nothing has come of it, except that I made a fool of myself. Again.

No wait, that one's definitely more embarrassing.


I couldn't write a post all about shame and dignity without sharing one last story. At a slumber party when I was 10, I asked that standard slumber party question, "what's your most embarrassing moment?" Mine was something like, OMG once I jumped into the pool and my top came down! Aughh! Well the host girl's mom overheard and she was all you're too young to have a most embarrassing moment! And I was all yeah, well I'm going to go hide somewhere! That embarrassed me so so badly. I had a very finely tuned sense of shame from a young age. (Yay me!) Children have real feelings too, even feelings like embarrassment. Adults shouldn't discount these feelings, even if they are silly.

Shit. I just remembered, that this old childhood friend whose house I was at? She died. Sometime in the last year.


Now I'm going to go cry because I'm only 23 and my friends are dying and I do stupid things like fart and humiliate myself with men. This was TOTALLY worth trying blogging again!

Winter? I'm really no good with dates...

Had drinks with a friend and a couple of his co-workers last night during happy hour at a neighborhood bar. One of the co-workers was reading our palms. I was, of course, intrigued to see what my future held...



"I see a very definite, strong, determined love line...

...look at all of these little lines, you're an old soul, you're on one of your last lives...

...I see five children."

...

...

Break for pool, then not five minutes later...

"I see no children."

"You just said five children a few minutes ago."

"No, I wouldn't have said that. No children."




Drunk palm reader? As it turns out, they're not so reliable. Who knew?

December again, I think..

I was just propositioned on the train.

He sat next to me, looked up and said "You're beautiful."

He wandered around the train bothering other riders, but always came back to me.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"





He was 6. And totally wasted.

Some Sweet Thursday in December.

Bad idea.

A friend, who will remain unnamed, wanted to go out one night. I did too. This was good, that we both wanted to do something at the same time. It meant that we could do something together, to go out. To a comedy show.

But this, this was a very bad idea. My friend had diarrhea. Loose watery stools. The runs. The shits. The hershey squirts. Anal leakage. Mud butt. Assplotion.

You see he was already quite drunk and feeling the effects of large quantities of alcohol on his delicate digestive system. (He is lactose retarded and the balance of his digestive system is as delicate as a flower.) But he wanted to go out. And I wanted to go out.

I went back and forth between firmly saying "No, this is a bad idea" and "Let's do it, it will be fun" for about an hour, during which my friend used the toilet no less than 11 times and called Comedian A who happened to be in the middle of doing a show. Not once. Twice. Three times? He was quite drunk already. I think I mentioned that.

My friend relayed to me after one of these phone conversations that there was going to be a party after this show. We were missing the show and by now expected to miss the whole thing. But we would go to the show to find out where this party would be, because it would be at some other location.

Eventually, we decided to take a car, because my friend thought he couldn't take a long walk to the train, then a transfer, and more walking to our final destination. But if we took a car, he thought he'd be okay. I was skeptical. But I was in the mood to go do something. So I let my desire to get drunk override all commmon sense and reason.

By the next time my friend used the toilet, we were waiting on a car. I decided then that we should cancel the car. This was a bad idea. I could sense it. He shouted from the bathroom that we should go, and then came out and asked if I thought it was a good idea. I said no. I dialed the car service to cancel. Then the car was there.

We arrive in the East Village. Walking up to the bar we come across Famous Comedian B having a cigarette. My friend knows him from working on a movie. I believe we kind of smile and nod and then I believe Comedian B turns to face the building as we come nearer. We keep walking, or so I think. A few yards down I turn and realize my incredibly drunk friend is standing facing Comedian B's back, not two inches between them, Comedian B facing the building. I panic, thinking my very drunk friend is very much embarassing himself right now. I think that my friend has not spoken to Comedian B before he comes up behind him and starts talking. This I think we can all agree would be a bit creepy. More than a bit. Extremely creepy and above all, embarassingly creepy.

"Friend! What the fuuu..." I begin and Comedian B looks at me and I know by freaking out I've just made it worse. Apparently my friend was talking to Comedian B before creeping up behind all creepy-like. So I'm making a big deal out of (almost) nothing. The thing is still a little weird, as my friend is still more than a little drunk. And I know I heard him say "do you remember me." Ouch. (And yes I am an asshole for telling this story. But just wait, I will get mine.)

My friend joins me and we turn the corner to go into the bar. He has asked me to tell the bouncer guy we're just there for the party, to try to get us in for free, because I'm a girl, and because he knows the guy. This is not something I do. I have never done it before. I find it embarassing and am embarassed for people who try shit like that. But tonight everything is off so I say "We're just here for Comedian A's party" and the bouncer guy says "It's five dollars." I look at my friend, look behind us, and see Comedian B standing there, having just witnessed my humiliatingly stupid try at getting around paying.

We pay. We watch the last bit of the show. My friend makes a run to the bathroom. We buy expensive beers. I again ask my friend if there is really a party tonight, or if it's just the usual after show hanging out that they call an after party. My suspicions are correct. My friend realizes that the party he was thinking of is Comedian A's New Year's Eve party.

My friend suffers a concussion and a broken clavicle when I throw him across the room.

Big, bad, embarassing BAD BAD IDEA.

We agreed to never speak of it again and only refer to it as "bad idea".

Oops.

Early Novemberish

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EVERYTHING, EVERYDAY, BOTHERS HER. THE WORLD ACCORDING TO WENDY, PEOPLE, GREAT OPPORTUNITY! HER REAL PHONE NUMBER AND FULL NAME, AM I EVIL?

i love craigslist.

New Years Resolutions

As everyone in the know knows, this is the true first day of the new year*. So...

This New Year, beginning the fifth day of April, year two thousand and seven, I resolve to:

1. Shut. the. fuck. up. Just stop talking. To other people. To the cat. To the television. To myself. To the little man who lives in my thumb. STOP. Only good can come of this. Speaking unfailingly leads only to embarassment at my own expense.

2. Bring back the blog! This post is step one.

3. Get in touch with m....

Fuck it. #1 is impossible and #2 is all that really matters. Spirituality? Fitness? Nay, blogging will enrich my life and entertain literally tens of people more than anything else I could do in 2007. So lets get fucking down to it. I've had plenty of things to blog about since I moved to New York those months ago. And I have written some of them down. Not written down many more. Written a few on the bathroom walls of bars I could not locate again if my life depended on it. But I am lazy and committed to failure in every thing I try, so I needed to take just one good five month break before I could get back to the blog for real.

Here's what's gonna happen: I'm going to post blog entries which I should have posted as I thought of them (how novel) with the original date as the subject line. You will first experience denial (this isn't happening to me!), then anger (why is this happening to me?), bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...), depression (I don't care anymore) and acceptance (I'm ready for whatever comes).

You see, I will eventually make you a fan of this dime-a-dozen mediocre blog. Okay?



*Believe it or not, this is a LIE I told to mask the fact that I'm just now getting to the blogging resolution. I am shocked that you weren't onto me. You are a moron.

totally going to bust a cap in someone's ass or grill or something

There is something very wrong with this picture. Can you tell me what doesn't fit?

Fine I'll tell you. It's Saturday morning. 10:20. And I'm writing a blog.

I SHOULD NOT BE WRITING I SHOULD BE FUCKING SLEEPING.

Do you want to know why I am not sleeping? It's because I moved to Bushwick, East Williamsburg, whatever you want to call it. I live just west of the ass crack of Brooklyn. And it smells pretty fucking bad here next to the anus.

So my neighbors are enjoying their favorite game, the one in which Lauren gets no sleep and they inch thismuchcloser to death at the hands of a tired and angry me.

It works something like this: one player stomps on the floor with steel boots. Not steel-toed boots. Steel fucking boots. Second player dribbles a basketball with one hand and drops an anvil on the floor every two minutes with the other. Third player throws bricks at the wall (the wall that is my bedroom on the other side). You can add as many players as you'd like, it's truly a family game.

Now there is a lull, but I know that at the precise moment I begin to drift off, the neighbors will finish their grilled babies 'n blood snack break and resume their activities.

Because I live next to the ass crack.

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i'll miss this

Adowable.













(Less adorable is my disgusting-looking pillowcase, but I promise it's not. Almost as adorable is the quilt, which matched my bedroom almost twenty years ago.)