Printer Jams (And Other Relatively Boring Late Night Thoughts)

This is probably really stupid, but I always feel like an accomplished human being whenever I replace my printer cartridge without fumbling around in there for an hour or getting ink all over my hands.  I've always felt that printers were probably put on this earth to personally torment me.  The one I have right now seems to like me most of the time, but I have a long history with printers that live to eat my important documents.

I've contemplated starting a rapping career and basing the beats off of the sounds from old school printers.  I'll call my first album "Printer Jams."

Maybe that will be the thing that I become famous for.  Okay, going down in history as "That White Chick That Raps Over Samples Of Printers" would be slightly tragic.  But it would be better than never being famous at all.  But maybe I could get an appearance on "Oprah" out of it.

I know she's retiring soon, but I still fantasize about going on her show.  I watched this video today and it only increased my fantasies:



Yes, it's true - I want Oprah to scream my name. 

(...On her television show.  Get your mind out of the toilet.)

I'm probably going to have to settle for dancing with Ellen DeGeneres.  Which is not as great as having Oprah yell my name, but it would still be pretty cool.  Though I haven't watched Ellen's show in a long time and I heard a rumor that she doesn't make her guests dance anymore.  Disappointing. 

Look at me - counting my chickens before I even know if my hens are capable of laying eggs. 

I don't really have a need to be famous anyway.  I just want to be able to make my music, share it with other people, and maybe even be able to live off of it.  That should be do-able, right?

My E.P. is still in the works.  I think it's going to have five tracks.  I'm quite proud of my titles (some of which have very little to do with the lyrics they're associated with):

1.  We Don't Know How It's Ending
2.  Something Wrong With Me (Part Two)
3.  Notes From My (Nonexistent) Confessional Booth
4.  Greatest Thing Since Yesterday
5.  TBA

That's right - I'm still trying to figure out Track #5.  I've been leaning towards sticking a ballad in there to show some range, but I have such a love/hate relationship with my ballads.  Mostly because they are ballads.  I hate admitting that I am capable of writing things that are slow and emotional.  Which is silly.  Some of the greatest songs in rock and roll history are ballads.  It's a mental block I need to get over.

So I think I'm going to record a slower track called "Mice and Men" if I can stomach it.  I worked on it today and finally quit because I couldn't get the piano part to sound right.  I even took a break to eat a frozen dinner and blast some classic Mika for inspiration.  I'm sure my neighbors thought something was wrong when they heard "Happy Ending" and "Any Other World" being blasted on repeat. 

Anyway, I'm totally babbling.  And I'm not even babbling about anything that interesting.  I've had so much on my mind lately and yet all I can muster up for a blog post involves printer cartridges and my E.P. that you're probably all sick of hearing about (but you are all going to get free downloads of it, so be excited).

I think it's time to put my accordion case in front of my door and fall asleep.  Yes, I have been sleeping with my accordion case in front of my door ever since the maintenance man barged into my room last week.  If that's not neurotic, I don't know what is.  It's just one of many signs that it's time for me to make other plans and move on to the next part of my life, whatever that looks like.  I'm not entirely sure what direction this sitcom I'm living in is supposed to take.  I guess I just have to move forward in some direction and find out.   

More relevant and interesting stuff to come, I promise.  Gold star if you made it through this one.  I have a sneaking suspicion it's a little bit snooze-worthy.  Ah well.  Not all of my posts can be stories about ex-drug dealers flying through open windows.

Goodnight, amigos.   

One Big Funny Trainwreck Of A Day...

I woke up Friday morning to the Serbian maintenance man busting into my room to inspect the radiator. He had knocked on the door while I was still asleep and I groggily yelled "Who is it?" Instead of responding, he used his supersonic maintenance key and opened the door.

I was beyond horrified. "Hey, I'm still sleeping," I stammered. "Can you come back later?"

He smiled and babbled away in a language that was probably supposed to be English but I didn't understand a word of it. Meanwhile, I can feel that my embarrassingly girly pajama sunk to an unfortunate position while I was asleep, so I don't even want to move. I kept the covers over me and hoped he would get the hint.

He didn't get the hint. He came in and messed around with the radiator. I think I got an email saying that this was supposed to happen, but I don't think I read it. It wouldn't have been a big deal if it hadn't been first thing in the morning, but I always find it obnoxious when people completely disregard the sign on my door:

That's right - I have visiting hours. If you want to knock on my door or come in my room past visiting hours, you either have to be invited or it has to be for a really important reason.

Radiator Man was not invited, nor was it that important.

My personal favorite part of the whole ordeal was when he ran out of the room to get something and left the door wide open. Yes, I was still hiding under my covers and I'm sure my hair looked wonderful. Hello, world.

The whole affair was over in a matter of minutes. I got up, made coffee, combed my hair, and moved on with my life. Little did I know that this was only the beginning of a very strange day.

Because apparently, when the Serbian maintenance man was done inspecting everybody's radiators, he locked the master key into the secret room that holds all of the maintenance keys. So when my next door neighbor, Purple Hair, locked herself out of her room that night, she had no way to get in.

This put a kink in everybody's evening. Purple Hair was going to throw a party in the kitchen and all of the beer was in her room. She called The Management, but they told her there was nothing they could do until morning. It was obvious that we needed to work together to pick the lock.

The Poet tried all of his keys. The guy from New Jersey attempted his credit card trick but it failed. I supplied a bobby pin and Purple Hair's drunken friend unsuccessfully rammed it into the lock. The old hippy lady that lives down the hall even brought out her hack saw blades.

None of this stuff was working. It was time to investigate another option: breaking in through the window (which she had conveniently left open).

Of course, the window plan came with a major setback - the fact that we live on the third floor. We had two options:

1) Find ladders, preferably one very tall one, and have someone climb up to the open window, jump into the room, and unlock the door.

2) Find a rope and get somebody to swing out of my window (Indiana Jones style) and over to my neighbor's window.

Though I really wanted option two to happen so I could film it and put it in my music video, option one sounded like the most practical way to go. Plus, no one had a rope that would be long enough. The really creepy guy that lives in the stairwell (I don't think I've written much about him, but he's the one person here I'm afraid to be in a room alone with) offered to let us use his rope, but it turned out to be too short. So The Fonz and The Poet went into the basement to investigate ladder options while everyone else smoked a cigarette on the front porch and I went back to my room to check my email.

It was after midnight at this point, and wasn't long until everyone was yelling my name from the smoking porch. So I opened the window and popped my head out. Everyone cheered.

"We thought you had been raptured!" they explained. "You just kinda disappeared and you're a really nice person, so we thought maybe Jesus took you."

I laughed. "No, I'm still here. You're stuck with me."

Everyone cheered again. Then The Fonz told me I should look up the number to POP-A-LOCK. I brought it up online and yelled it down to them. Purple Hair borrowed somebody's cell phone (hers was locked in her room) and gave them a call. They were too expensive, so she yelled for me to look up another number. I googled "locksmith Portland" and gave her the number of one that claimed to only charge $15.

As a side note, I really wanted to yell "I'M NOT A MADAM, I'M A CONCIERGE" when I was sticking my head out the window. If you don't get the reference, don't worry about it.

Anyway, Purple Hair got ahold of these cheap locksmiths. It took them forever, but eventually they showed up in their sketchy white van.

This is where the night goes into full-fledged sitcom mode (if it wasn't there already).

These "professional locksmiths" turn out to be a couple of bros in matching hats that have logos printed on them. The one guy couldn't have been older than 20 and the other guy had the sort of teeth that suggest a recent meth addiction. We'll call them Young Locksmith and Sketchy Locksmith (though they were both kind of sketchy). They were super white but talked like they weren't.

Upon inspecting Purple Hair's door, they announced that the job would cost a minimum of $200. I thought Purple Hair might cry. We are all starving artists here and Purple Hair is no exception.

"Okay," she said. "I'll get you the $15 for your time and I'll sleep on the couch in the kitchen." She was about to go into the kitchen to borrow cash from somebody, but Young Locksmith offered to barter with her.

I was in my room (waiting for the rapture) at this point, but I clearly overheard this conversation in the hallway:

Purple Hair: "I have $75 in my bank account."
Young Locksmith: "This is a $200 minimum job..."
Purple Hair: "I've got beer in there."
Sketchy Locksmith: "I don't drink anymore. I've been clean for 14 months!"
Purple Hair: "Um, we can smoke bowls when this is all over..."
Sketchy Locksmith: (giggling) "Maybe you can show us your-"
Young Locksmith: (interrupting him) "We'll do it for $75!"

The two locksmiths went back to the van and came back with a bunch of equipment. They spent several minutes attempting to pry the door open while a bunch of us watched. We make smalltalk with them while they work and soon it becomes obvious that though they both have tons of experience breaking into houses, they haven't been licensed locksmiths for long.

The door continues to be very, very locked. Purple Hair's drunken friend offhandedly mentions that the window is wide open and the locksmiths drop their tools. "That's a different story," Young Locksmith says. "Let's go outside!"

We all go outside to stand on the smoking porch and watch the guys size up the window. There's a whole crew of us at this point - The Fonz, The Poet, Purple Hair, The Drunken Friend, and The New Hipster That Just Moved In (more on him later).

And of course, no sitcom moment is complete without the infamous Tweaked Out Elvis Costello. So naturally, he was already on the porch when we got there, drinking something out of a Sunny D bottle that he later revealed to be olive oil mixed with marijuana. He babbled incoherently about the process of making said olive oil while the two lock smiths snuck around to the spot where the big ladders are chained up.

I wasn't there for this conversation, but I guess it went like this:

Sketchy Locksmith: "I can cut the chain with my angle grinder."
Purple Hair: "Uhh...that's not my property...I don't think we should do that..."
Sketchy Locksmith: "Come on, just let me use my angle grinder!"
Purple Hair: "No, I really don't think that's a good idea..."
Young Locksmith: (to the other locksmith) "Yeah, we can't do things that are illegal, remember? That would be extremely illegal."
Sketchy Locksmith: "Damn."

So they brainstormed other ways to get into the window. It was cold outside so most of us that were just part of the audience went inside. I went back to my room to use the bathroom and looked out my window at the scene. It was priceless. Purple Hair and her drunk friend were standing right below the open window in question while the locksmiths were fishing around in their scary van. Tweaked Out Elvis Costello was delivering a monologue about something from the porch, his hands waving wildly.

Unfortunately, I went into the kitchen and was talking to The Fonz and The Poet when the most exciting bit of this happened. But I guess the locksmiths pulled the van up to the side of the building and balanced a small ladder on top. Sketchy Locksmith held the ladder while Young Locksmith climbed up.

"Have you done this before?" Purple Hair cautiously yelled.
"We've done lots of things," Young Locksmith replied from several feet off of the ground. "You know, we used to be drug dealers!"

And with that, he grabbed ahold of the window ledge and catapulted himself into her room. He opened the door from the inside and announced that it would be $75.

Best. Locksmiths. Ever.

Purple Hair offered them some beer, but Sketchy Locksmith reminded us yet again that he has been clean for 14 months. So she paid them their $75 (tacking on a tip for the window stunt) and they drove off into the night in their creepy white van.

Such a weird, weird night. I'm think I'm almost sick of living in the city. Almost.

Caught In A Bad Romance

I think I have already confessed to you guys that I love Lady Gaga.  I know, I know, I fail at being a true hipster.  But "The Fame Monster" rocked my life when it came out.  I fell in love with her outrageous fashion sense, her bizarro music videos, her impeccable choreography, and her crazy fun beats. 

At first I was somewhat embarrassed to admit that I, the queen of all things indie and alternative, admired this glitzy pop icon so much.  However, it didn't take long for me to become unashamed of the fact that I had joined the ranks of the millions of Gaga fans (or "little monsters") roaming the planet.  "Bad Romance" has been my ring tone for months now. 

She even pops up in my dreams occasionally.  Yes, Lady Gaga is alive and well in the world of my sleeping subconscious.  Once I had a dream that Lady Gaga and I were at Costco together and we were throwing meat around like it was a football.  The intro to "Bad Romance" played repeatedly (probably because my phone was ringing next to my head in real life) and I couldn't help but note that the meat we were tossing around was raw, raw, raw-ah-ahhh.  Sigmund Freud could probably have a field day with all of that.

But I digress.  The point is, I have an ongoing affinity for Lady Gaga. 

That being said, I must confess something else:  I'm not digging her new songs. 

"Born This Way" was fairly contrived and unoriginal.  But it was catchy and I was glad that she was finally coming out with new stuff, so I let it slide.  I downloaded it and jammed out to it on my iPod, being careful not to cringe at some of the cheesy lyrics.

I was a little bit turned off by the video.  I know that Lady Gaga videos are weird by definition, but her slimy, cosmic, alien mythologies took things to a whole new level of strange. 

And then she went public with "Judas" - the ultimate train wreck.  I expressed my disappointment in the form of a lengthy Facebook status.  This only resulted in a conversation with a random Italian guy who friended me because we both like "playing the keytar." 

When I went into the kitchen that night, The Chef was singing "Poker Face" while downing clamato beer (it was on sale at the gas station).  He had read my Facebook status and had his own opinions on the matter.

"Don't be too hard on the girl, Lauren," he says, taking a swig of the bright red liquid in his glass.  "She's boring me too, but I think she's just tired.  She needs to take a break so she can get back on her game.  Her stuff is so lacking right now."

He launches back into a chorus of "Poker Face."  I become slightly relieved that he chose to have this conversation with me in person rather than on my status.  Though I always enjoy a good awkward Facebook moment.  Consider the following:

 

Note To Self:  Gay Italian Theatrical Electronica jokes belong in the kitchen, not on the Internet.

I'm getting off-track again.  I apologize.  

The moral of the story is this:  Lady Gaga is bumming me out.  

I even ranted about it on Facebook again yesterday after listening to her new single, "Hair."  First, it was received with crickets.  Then, it turned into a conversation about something else.

As you can see, I never heard back from this friend.  I'm beginning to think it frightens people when I refer to my fictional characters as if they are living creatures.  Personally, I think it's hilarious.  But I also think it's funny to list "THE UNIVERSE" as my employer and put my job description down as "Freelance Rock Star."  

It's official - I'm an obnoxious Facebook friend. 

Anyway, Lady Gaga's album comes out next week (assuming the world doesn't really end).  I really want to buy it and fall in love with it, but I don't know if that is going to happen.  I'm already unimpressed.  I'll probably end up streaming it on Grooveshark so I can construct my inevitable Gaga-related Facebook status appropriately. 

Though I don't know if any of my Facebook friends actually care at this point.  But you know what they say:  Once you kill a cow, you gotta make a burger. 

And with that, I think I'm going to go to bed.  Wow, I think this might be the most trivial post I've ever written.  I'll be back tomorrow to ponder the meaning of life.  Or something like that.  

But in the meantime, what do you guys think of the Lady Gaga craze? 

Breathe And Keep Breathing

I did something fairly radical today.

I stood up for myself in a situation where I was essentially being bullied. 

If you know me well, you will realize that this is a big deal.  I'm notorious for avoiding confrontation and never saying things that I need to say.

But today, I put on my favorite gold bracelet, recruited an intimidating friend to stand behind me, and marched into a room to declare the following:

"I AM NOT GOING TO WORK FOR YOU ANYMORE."

I was asked to explain myself, so I gave my reasons:

"I felt like you really beat me up this weekend and I was basically volunteering for you.  I don't deserve to be treated like that."

When faced with a petty argument, I simply turned to my friend and made this announcement:

"I THINK I'M DONE WITH THIS CONVERSATION.  LET'S GO." 

So we left.  And we left the man sitting there, his jaw dropping to the floor.  The quiet redhead was not going to put up with being walked on today.

When we were on the other side of the door, I asked my friend if I was a total bitch.  "No, you were a total bad ass," he said. 

And once I stopped shaking and convinced myself I handled the situation appropriately, I did feel quite bad ass.

Except now I'm officially back to square one on the unemployment thing. 

But I think I'm going to worry about that when my E.P. is all done.  Even if I'm eating Ramen noodles on toasted cardboard by the end of it. 

Hi, I'm slightly stubborn.  This being-a-musician thing will work.  It has to.

Not to be melodramatic or anything. 

Someone told me today that the secret to life is to just breathe and keep breathing.  "Everything else will just fall into place after that."  Those sound like good words to live by.  Breathe and keep breathing.

And with that, I should go to bed.  More interesting stuff to come, I promise. 

That New Song I've Been Alluding To...

So I briefly disappeared off the face of the blogosphere, but now I am back.  Sorry about all of that.  It was a weird, stressful week for several reasons. 

Long story short, it looks like I'm done being a book agent.  And I don't think I'll be acting as The Bouncer or working in the restaurant downstairs anytime soon either.  I'm back to unemployed hipster status. 

That's a story I might tell tomorrow (if I actually feel like reliving it again), but for right now I have more important things to share with you guys.  Like the new song I've been talking about for the past month!

Here's a sneak peek:



The music video is in the works as well.  I filmed a bunch of it in my bathroom the other night and plan on shooting the rest in the hallways this weekend when all of the hipsters go camping. 

A still shot from some of the footage I took in my bathroom...don't judge

Now I just have to get the rest of the tracks recorded and launch my little E.P. into the world.  They are coming along nicely, actually.  It should all be done sooner rather than later. 

In other news, I had a really great jam session with The Studio Musician today.  He texted me out of the blue and told me he was bored so he was playing through the entire Beatles catalog.  It was only a matter of minutes before I was playing along with him.  I know it's cliche, but you can really never go wrong with The Beatles.  And it turns out that today was one of those days where I just needed to belt out "Let It Be."

It's amazing how completely rejuvenating music can be.  Especially when you make it with someone else.  Though going solo is empowering, I truly miss being in a band.

But at least my new recording sounds like I'm in a band.  That counts for something, right?

And with that, I think I'm gonna go to bed.  Goodnight, my darling blogosphere.  <3

Under Construction

In the meantime, you can always email me here.

The Sad Tale Of 80's Night

80's night was a total dud. 

The turnout was dismal despite my advertising efforts.  There were a few moments when no one was in the room except for me.  I kept thinking "People are coming, they just haven't arrived yet."  I thought that the whole night.  At one point, I put on the song "I Think We're Alone Now" and it was way too appropriate.

And here I was hoping to pay my rent off of the money from the door charge.  I ended up making enough to buy either two small lattes or an over-priced sandwich.   

On the bright side, it made me realize once again that I have some really wonderful friends.  The sort of friends that will spend three hours dancing in an empty room in order to make me feel less stupid.  Naturally, these friends were The Fonz, The Poet, and The Fallen Nun (who isn't really a nun).  The lady that lives across the hall from me came down for a bit too (wearing an elaborate Madonna costume).  I was extremely thankful for the moral support, even if I did end up yelling at The Fonz at one point because he tried to sneak into the DJ booth to get rid of the song "Square Biz" (all was well again when I played "Nasty Girl" by Vanity 6 and announced into the microphone that it was his theme song). 

So I had fun, but it was the sort of fun that I could have with three friends in my own apartment.  I don't think I'll be trying 80's night in that particular venue again any time soon. 

I don't even know if the booking agent thing is going to work out.  I'm not giving up on it yet, but everything is proving to be more trouble than it's worth.  I need to shift my focus to getting my own musical career off of the ground. 


Note to self:  Figure out how to get musical career off of the ground. 

For Better Or For Worse, Techno-Folk Night Is Now A Thing Of The Past

First off, on Tuesday I wrote a guest post of sorts for my friend Allison. She's in England right now and asked me to cover her weekly playlist for her. You can check it out here. You should check out the rest of Allison's blog while you are over there too.

Now that we've got the shameless plugs out of the way, I can tell you that I got through techno-folk night and lived to tell about it. It wasn't necessarily a raging success, but it didn't bomb completely. On a 1-10 scale, my stress level was probably at about 11 the entire night, but that's fairly normal. I think I did an alright job at playing it cool. Though the conversations I kept having with my boss didn't always help:

Boss: So, it's your first time coordinating an event...are you nervous?
Me: (lying through my teeth) Nah, I've totally got this under control.
Boss: You're not nervous at all?
Me: No.
Boss: Well you should be! This is all depending on you!

I have never smoked in my life (and don't plan on starting), but at that moment, I really could have used a cigarette or something.

I did more last night than most people realize. I took care of the musicians when they arrived. I ran all of the sound-checks and got everything sorted out on the technical side of things. I played the role of The Bouncer during the show (though there wasn't a huge crowd or much alcohol to monitor). I bussed the occasional table at the order of my boss.

I was also the liaison to the surprise belly dancing act that somebody booked without telling me. I'm still confused about that part of the evening. One minute I'm jamming out to a strange techno remix of a Beatles song with The Poet and the next minute my boss is introducing me to some chick in a belly dancing costume.

Because a line-up involving the world's most enthusiastic banjo player and a techno guy that comes equipped with trippy movies on a projector is really not complete without belly dancing. Gah.

Tonight will be better.

Which reminds me, I need to get my final playlist together. I've never really DJ-ed anything that wasn't a private party or a college-related event, so I'm slightly overwhelmed. Especially since I had a humbling conversation about software and equipment with the techno guy last night and realized that I really have no idea what I'm doing.

But life is a learning curve, right?

I plan to spend most of the day in my sweatpants and transform into my ultra-hip DJ persona just in time for the event. This week's model of my DJ persona will be wearing a dress that belonged to my mother in 1980something. To your left is a picture of the last time I wore that dress (which, by the way, was a million years ago).

Not quite as good as the leather pants that The Chef had on last night, but it's difficult to compete with that man's fashion taste.

Anyway, there are currently twelve hours between me and 80's night and I've got a lot to do. The first thing on the list involves going back to bed. So I'm gonna sign off for now. Hope everyone is having an absolutely groovy Saturday and hopefully next time I pop up on your blog roll I will have some good DJ stories to tell.

Is It Just Me, Or Can You Hear Crickets Over Here???

Lauren in her natural habitat

Oy.  This blog has been a bit of a dead zone lately and I apologize.  I've let real life get in the way of my standard blogging routine and I'm beginning to hear crickets because of it.  I think I owe you guys a legitimate update. 

After all, I just spent two hours of my life watching "America's Next Top Model," so I think I have time to give you guys the 411 on who drop-kicked who. 

Here's the low-down:  I've been out of comission for a couple of days due to a digusting cold/sinus infection.  Probably made myself sick from stressing too much, honestly.  A couple of weeks ago, I cooked up a deal with the guy that owns the restaurant/venue downstairs.  As a result, I've turned into a booking agent of sorts and have been frantically trying to fill this month's calender with shows and events. 

It's all very exciting but totally nerve-wracking.  One minute, I feel like I'm totally capable of providing the neighborhood with quality entertainment (and making a killing off of it).  Then I'll check my email only to discover that one of my headlining bands has to attend a funeral instead of playing a show (people need to stop dying, it really messes things up).  I'll get this gnawing feeling of dread (a feeling I'm all too familiar with) and I'll suddenly remember that I've never done anything like this before.  And then I'll have to convince myself yet again that life is a learning curve, I am totally capable of this, etc. 

This weekend is my "debut" of sorts and I'm terrified.  The monthly art open house is on Friday night and I only managed to book two musical acts:  a guy that plays the banjo and some dude who makes techno with a macbook.  I had a third band lined up but they fell through.  So now I just have the weirdest line-up of all time.

And yes, I've been scrambling to find a third band.  It's gotten to the point where I've started sending Facebook messages that look like this:


I haven't talked to you in a million years, but I'm currently booking acts for a new venue in town and am scrambling to fill the calender for May. I don't even know if you are in a band, but you are playing a musical instrument in your profile picture, so you are getting a message. Anyway, ARE you in a band?

That approach was unsuccessful.  Surprise surprise.  Looks like Friday is going to be techno-folk night.  And it might end at 9pm.

In addition to good ole techno-folk night, I've got an 80's night planned for Saturday.  Naturally, I'm the DJ.  This shouldn't be scary, but it is.  I haven't even tested the sound system yet.  It's going to be held in a space that was once the chapel of an old folk's home.  The pews are still perfectly in tact and I'm not sure how to move them!  Once I get my laptop plugged in and get people dancing, it will be great.  But until then, I'll probably be one high-strung kid. 

Maybe I'm in over my head.  Or maybe I'm onto something really cool.  Maybe I can keep this up all summer and avoid getting an obnoxious minimum wage job.

In other news, the recording process is still going really well.  The Studio Musician recently emailed me his latest cut of the new track.  I think it's just about done!  Hopefully I'll have it up here in a couple of days so you guys can listen to it.  It's so exciting because it sounds like an entire band.  In reality, it's just me and a guy I hired to play a bunch of random instruments.  Shh, don't tell anyone. 

Anyway, those are the most significant things I have to report.  Well, other than the fact that people still refuse to stay in the categories I think they belong in (I know, I said I was going to stop putting people in boxes, but sometimes I do it without thinking).  And the awkward moments in my daily life are getting so professional that they sometimes announce themselves (i.e:  "Would you like to have an awkward moment, Lauren?"  I said "no," but the moment was awkward anyway...). 

But I will save all that for another post.  I should probably go to bed.  It's not even midnight yet, but I need to kick this sinus bug by the weekend.  There is nothing hot about a DJ with a stuffed-up nose and a plugged-up ear. 

Peace out, amigos.  This is DJ Lauren, signing off. 

Beep Beep

Today I was talking to a friend on the phone while sitting in a grocery store cafe.   

"Life is weird," I said.  I think I was about to verbally replay a very bizarre awkward situation that happened to me earlier in the day, but I quickly became distracted. 

Because at that moment, a large older woman in a motorized scooter/shopping cart began backing into my table (complete with beeping sound effects). 

"Oh man, life is really weird," I said into the phone.

My friend was stuck on the other end wondering what the strange beeping noises were. 

I feel as though this moment sums up my entire day/week/month/existence.

That is all.