Take Your Protien Pills And Put Your Helmet On

A week ago, I left the crazy artist's community that I had called home for over a year and I got on an airplane. An airplane full of screaming babies, middle-aged women drinking vodka mixed with sprite zero, and horny teenagers making out right on top of me (I suggested that they take their little in-flight romance to the bathroom but they insisted on swapping saliva in the seats right next to me). I siphoned David Bowie into my ears through headphones, but not even Ziggy Stardust could distract me from the chaos surrounding me.

"This is Major Tom to Ground Control, I'm stepping through the door, and I'm floating in the most peculiar way..."

Some bratty kid kicks the back of my seat while the people next to me proceed to pass second base.

I think of my friends from the artist's community, of my old one-room apartment that was now empty, and of all the stuff I had sitting in boxes at my parents' house. I begin to second guess my choice to move out, but then I tell myself not to think about it. I am on an adventure.

The pilot announces that the plane is going to land. I grab a hold of my barf bag, just in case. Meanwhile, David Bowie continues to sing in my ears.

"Can you hear me Major Tom? CAN YOU HEAR ME MAJOR TOM?"

And in that moment, I felt like I was Major Tom. I was leaving Ground Control and blasting off on some vague personal mission. My destination? A place more foreign and strange than Outer Space...

Central Florida.

A week later, here I am - updating my blog in The Marion County Library. And I have a suspicion that I am not only the sole hipster in this part of the country, but I am the only one who cares about recycling and reusable grocery bags.

Toto, I don't think we're in Portland anymore.

To Be Continued...

And The Madness Begins...

It's a dark and rainy Friday night over here. A couple of people wanted me to go out but I told them I was sick. Which is code for "I am in an emotionally fragile state and prefer to spend the evening watching episodes of 'The Middle' while eating stale pretzels."

Now that I think about it, I may choose to be in that very same emotionally fragile state tomorrow night too and have a quiet yet sophisticated New Year's Eve with myself and a plate of microwaved nachos. I've had several people approach me regarding my plans, but no one has actually invited me anywhere. In fact, people seem like they want me to organize their New Year's plans. And there is no party planned here at the art asylum, but people seem to think there should be one and that I should DJ it. I love being the go-to DJ girl and I'm glad that I have friends want to hang out with me on New Year's, but I just don't have the energy this year to spend hours DJing some drunken year-end bash or be the evening coordinator (and driver) for some over-priced, over-crowded night out.

Truth is, I've gotten myself so stressed out over my upcoming move that I've been socially shutting down over the past few days. My plan wasn't really coming together, so I went for my back-up option and told The Management I need to extend my notice until the beginning of February. They promptly sent me an email informing me that my room had already been rented out and I needed to vacate on the 11th originally planned.

Lesson learned: Don't light a fire under your butt unless you know for sure you can run fast enough.

So what's going to happen?

I'm not entirely sure.

Here's what I do know:

I'm moving my stuff back to my parents' house for right now. I've got a one-way plane ticket to Orlando, Florida. Plane leaves on the 11th. I have an aunt and uncle in Florida that I've seen approximately four times in my life but I remember them as being really nice and they've invited me to stay for awhile.

And after Florida? Location is still TBD.

Of course, I made the mistake of accidentally going public with this whole moving out thing before I was really ready to. I'm getting rid of a lot of stuff, so naturally I put a pile in the hall for people to dig through (keeping up with the tradition of Portland being a friendly free-pile city). I wanted the stuff to actually go away, so I went on Facebook and mentioned the pile on my status.

BAM! Just like that, the world put two-and-two together and began to ask me why, when, and where I am moving.

I realize these are all fair questions. But why is unnecessary, when is scary, and where is just plain unknown. Because I can say I'm going to Florida, but then people want to know what I'm going to do in Florida, if I'm going to move to Florida, am I coming back to Portland, where will I go after that, and do I have a place in mind, and what will become of my rock and roll career, and will I ever get a job or will I just spend my days bumming around the country on free flight vouchers I received after getting bumped from a flight that I didn't pay for to begin with because I was a radio contest winner?

But on top of feeling nervous and frantic, I am really quite excited about all of this. I mean, who knows where this trip is going to take me.

And Florida seems like a great place to start. Mostly because I've never been there, I know people there, and I've had palm trees on the brain ever since I watched Johnny Depp drunkenly stumble around in "The Rum Diary" (it was a mediocre film, but it inspired me to go somewhere warm).

So, bring on the new year. Unlike the Mayans, I have a good feeling about 2012.

Here's To Awkward Transition Times...

So the countdown has begun. 26 days until I move on to my next adventure.

I think I would be more excited if I knew what that meant. But the truth is, I don't know what that means. I have no plan. I have about a dozen half-baked ideas and a couple fairly undesirable back-up options, but no real concrete plan.

I've been thinking so much over the past few days that I've probably given my brain a rash. It's gone past the point of productive thinking and has reached into the realm of anxiety-driven thought loops. I know I need to knock that off. Because as overwhelming as the future often seems, it's only going to get worse if I paralyze myself with stress.

I keep saying I want to leave this town and it seems like it's time. I mean, I almost punched a hipster at a vintage clothing store the other day. If that doesn't mean it's time to leave Portland, I don't know what does.

The good news is that I still have those vouchers for Southwest Airlines that I received for getting bumped in February. And they'll be expiring soon, so I really should use them. I don't even really know where I want to go, I just know I want to go somewhere. I watch the bargain flights everyday. I should probably just book one and go, go, go.

...And do what when I get there?

I can hear the phone conversation now...

Me: "Hi Mom, I'm in Saint Louis..."
My Mother: "What are you doing in Saint Louis???"
Me: "I'm not really sure, but I got a last minute bargain deal on the flight and I think on the way back I might get bumped!!!"

I sometimes wish that life came with road maps...

And Now I'm Back (From Outer Space)

Ack.  I've been really out of touch with the blogosphere for over a week now.  Please forgive me.  A lot has been going on and it might take a couple of posts to get everyone up to speed.

I realize I left everything off while I was still in San Diego.  I was only there for three days, but it was best weekend I've had in awhile.  Not to mention it gave me an inside look at the music industry.  Naturally, it was all a little intimidating.  But it was also really inspiring.  I did nothing but watch live music for three days.  At the end of those three days, I knew more than ever that I was meant to be a musician. 

On the last night, I pretended to be more outgoing than I actually am and I gave my demo CD to a couple of producers.  I don't know if anything will come from it, but it felt good to go out on a limb and do it.  I also trespassed backstage and ran into Vanessa Carlton eating a piece of cake.  One of the more bad ass moments of my life, for sure. 

I think it's time for a few blurry pictures from my adventures at The Sunset Sessions:

Augustana!  (I was right in the front)

Black Dub - my new favorite

Meeting Mike Mills

Blurry photographic evidence of my Mike Mills moment

I've never really listened to k.d. lang, but her set was one of the best all weekend.  I feel slightly embarrassed about saying that, but it's true.

k.d. lang owning it on stage.  Her cover of "Hallelujah" was awesome. 

The strange yet super talented Sia (wearing the poncho from hell).

Iron and Wine's first words on stage:  "Are you guys ready to get really f@#$ing mellow?"  He must know that I listen to his music when I need help falling asleep...

Vanessa Carlton!  Weirdly enough, she was the one person there that I was too star struck around to talk to.  I think I was just thrown off by how short she is in real life. 

This field was next to the resort we stayed at.  Yes, those are plastic horses.  California is really, really weird. 

The weekend was all very exciting and quite surreal.  We left California on a Sunday.  It's a two hour flight from San Diego to Portland and we were supposed to be back in the morning, but my mom and I let the airline bump us as many times as possible in exchange for flight vouchers.  We spent the day sitting around various airports and it was well worth it.  The only problem was that we had both gotten about three hours of sleep the night before and accidentally had our new complimentary wine bottle openers in our carry-ons.  That made for some fun times in security...

TSA Officer:  Excuse me ladies, you're going to need to step over here...let me look in those bags...
My Mom:  Please don't squish those R.E.M. posters on top!
Me:  Yeah, be careful!
TSA Officer:  (rifling through the bag)  What?
My Mom:  Those posters!  They are signed by Mike Mills!
Me:  Don't squish them!
TSA Officer:  R.E.M. was in town???

I think the most disturbing part of that whole security transaction was the fact that they only caught the bottle opener in my mom's bag and let me go through with mine.  They also missed out on two bottles of water.  By the way, the bottle opener was totally made of metal and had a little pop-out knife on the side.  Potentially, we could have gotten on the plane with two hydrogen bombs and a very sharp object.

That didn't really do anything to improve my opinion of flying.  But now I'm set to fly anywhere Southwest flies.  I haven't decided where I want to go yet but I have a few ideas. 

Anyway, I think that concludes this installment of "lauren vs. reality."  Tune in next time to potentially read about the following things:

-  A new music project
-  The possibility of getting a new cat
-  Adventures with The Fonz (trashy gay night club edition!)
-  Things that Urgent Care doctors shouldn't be allowed to say to their patients
-  Why my apartment now has a carbon monoxide detector plugged into the wall
-  The ongoing argument about the exact location of Funkytown. 

San Diego, Here I Come!

So right now I'm at my parents' house doing a ton of laundry and packing clothes into a suitcase. My mom won tickets to The Sunset Sessions in California and is taking me. It was one of those big radio station contests that nobody ever wins. Somehow, she won. Now I'm packing a bag for San Diego and preparing for a weekend of music. I'm stoked. I'm not entirely sure what to expect but I think it's going to be awesome. There will be a lot of up-and-coming artists there as well as some well-known acts. It also sounds like we get to go to a couple of exclusive garden/pool parties and hang out with music industry people.

Naturally, I've spent all day freaking out about what I'm going to wear. Also, I plan on having a purse full of demo CDs. Just in case I find myself in an elevator with somebody big.

You'd think I'm going away for a month the way I'm packing. I'm seriously taking five pairs of shoes. It's a three-day trip. Hey, a girl has got to look good! Don't judge.

I realized today that I've never really left the commune for more than a night. My friends there are super excited for me, but they are all acting like I'm going to be gone forever. It's actually kind of endearing.

The Fonz knocked on my door today to wish me a safe flight and a good trip. I then ran into him about five times before I took off towards my parents' house. Every time I saw him, he would awkwardly say something like, "I already said 'goodbye' to you! I'm not supposed to see you until Sunday!"

I've been instructed to text The Poet when my plane lands so that he can tell the whole crew that I safely made it to San Diego. I tried to assure everyone that I was not going to die on a two-hour plane ride, but they are a paranoid bunch.

Speaking of paranoia, I just remembered I hate airplanes. On top of just getting really anxious, I'm infamous for being that person that vomits everywhere during a flight. I'm nervous just thinking about it.

Okay, I should finish packing. And then sleep. Maybe I'll blog from my phone tomorrow to keep you guys updated.

Look at me - "I'll blog from my phone." A year ago I would have made fun of myself for that. Actually, I think I still kinda want to make fun of myself for that. Haha.

I'm going to end this while I'm still slightly making sense. Goodnight, amigos.