All Caffeinated And Prepared To Be Awkward

Uh oh. I'm having a work party with a couple of friends in a coffee shop. We're all typing away on our laptops, jamming out to the Queen they're playing and generally minding our own business when in walks this guy I haven't seen in about three years. Were we friends back in the day? Totally. I think so. We worked on a lot of student films together. I thought he was cute but he always had a serious girlfriend. Anyway, he's sitting in the shop now. I think he saw me? I have no idea if he recognized me. I think he did? He's with that girl that he's now married to. I don't think she ever liked me. Probably because I spent a lot of time with him during the production of our various films. Gah, at one point I was going to hang off of a cliff with a camera for this boy. I wonder if he remembers that. I think he's one of the few people who actually got jobs in the film industry after college. He graduated a year before I did so it's been an eternity since I've even thought about him. He's sitting at the back table with his wife and some other chick. I'm being so neurotic about this. I should just go say "hi"? I want to say "hi." But I don't want to have to talk about what I've done since college. Heck, I'm probably not even the same person I was in college. Maybe he didn't recognize me. After all, my hair is longer. And here I am on a couch between The Fonz and The Poet next to one of the Hipster Gnomes in the comfy chair. I'm completely out of context. Maybe he really doesn't recognize me. He's sitting next to the bathroom. I sort of have to pee. Okay, that's a lie. I really do have to pee. I just drank a bunch of coffee and now I legitimately have to pee. Do I walk to the bathroom and casually say "hi" on the way? What if he stops me and we have a conversation and by the end of it I almost pee my pants? I'm being way too neurotic about this... The Fonz told me to just do it and get it over with. "In my experience, it's always awkward running into people," he said. "You just have to acknowledge them and move on." The Poet came late to the party so he doesn't know what's going on. I feel like I've already over-talked it so I'll tell him the story later. Hipster Gnome is engulfed in his headphones. Gah. I wish that guy would just recognize me and approach me. But I probably look intimidating over here with my menagerie of artsy fartsy friends. And he's married. "There's no reason for him to talk to you very long if he's married," The Fonz stated. He does have a good point. Though it's not like I'm going to proposition him or anything. I just want to be like, "Hey, we went to school together..." Maybe I don't need to do that. Maybe it's time to leave all of that college stuff in college. Besides, I can't for the life of me remember his wife's name. I could probably find out by Facebook-stalking him right now, but what if he walked by and saw his Facebook page up on my screen. I'm sitting against a wall, he can't possibly see what's on my screen. But still. It's the principle of it all. Which leads me to the realization that if we are friends on Facebook we should probably at least wave at each other in real life. I assume we're friends on Facebook. I've deleted a lot of people post-college but I don't think I would delete him. Maybe he deleted me. After all, I have been known to get carried away with band-promotion and that's totally grounds for deletion. Right? I should check and see if we're still Facebook friends. But that involves looking at his page while he is in the same room. I refuse to do that, as I mentioned earlier. In other news, I still have to pee. I have to pee with increasing urgency. It's a long walk home, I'm going to need to use that bathroom. Maybe I'll just awkwardly walk right to the bathroom and then greet him on the way out. Pop out of the one-person unisex stall and announce that we went to college together...DON'T YOU REMEMBER ME??? This is ridiculous. He's going to leave with his entourage soon and then I'll just have to feel really awkward. Yep, there he goes...he's getting up, clearing his table...scratching the back of his head, walking to the door, opening the door... The Fonz is leaving too. He's talking to me just as this guy exits the premises. Now The Fonz is laughing at me. "You missed your chance! How awkward! There he goes!" The Poet is clueless. I told him he can read all this when I'm done typing it. Ack. Sometimes, I feel like the female reincarnation of Woody Allen. Except he's not dead yet. But still. I'm too neurotic for my own good. Maybe I just need to move to another town and then I won't have to deal with these kinds of scenarios.
Okay boys and girls, I still have to pee like a race horse. I'll post this first. Wam BAM!
*End transmission*

More Reflections And Stuff...

Oh man. I'm currently at Peets Coffee inhaling a pumpkin spice latte and it's the best coffee-related drink I've had in ages. It officially feels like Fall now. It's weird to think that just last week there was a major heat wave. The air has shifted since then and that distinctive Fall smell has returned. The infamous Portland rain has made a few cameos in the weather report and I've even felt the need to wear sweaters a couple of times.

Personally, I'm glad it's fall again. I'm a true Oregonian in that I secretly hate sunshine and live for a good gloomy overcast day. And I would always rather be too cold than too hot (because really, you can always put on more clothes to warm up when it's cold but can you only take off so many clothes to cool down when it's hot), so breaking out my long sleeved shirts again was sort of exciting.

Also, Fall is by far my favorite of all the seasons. Winter is too depressing, Spring is too optimistic, and Summer is just too darn hot and frankly overrated. But Fall contains a sort of delicate beauty that makes me want to drink too many lattes and write bad poetry about leaves or something.

Fall does bring a certain element of nostalgia along. Maybe it's one of the things that is packaged in that crisp autumn air. It's undoubtedly a season of change, but it's also a season with a distinct set of memories.

This year seems especially nostalgic. A year ago, I was getting ready to move to the city and live with a bunch of wacky artists. I was meeting everyone for the first time. I was building friendships, making alliances, learning who to watch out for, and feeling completely accepted and supported as a creative individual.

A year later, I'm still here, existing in this big bohemian mad house made of brick. And it's been quite the year - I think I have enough material for one thousand sitcom episodes and a few feature films. But the times are changing. People are changing. People are leaving. I keep saying I want to leave too but I don't know where I want to go.

We had The First Of The Last Suppers last night in the courtyard. It started at dusk and we lit everything with candlelit. It was a good night but slightly strange. A handful of my favorite people are sticking around until they develop better plans, but many people are fleeing on October 1st.

The Chef is moving to Finland. He was my first friend here and is one of the most unique people I've ever met. I think I'm in denial over the fact that he's leaving. I'll still have The Fonz, The Poet, and The Mad Scientist (who's been coming out of his room more often and gracing us with his lovably odd personality), but none of them are going to stick train whistles in an air mattress or organize community Solstice celebrations.

And, of course, no one else is going to get drunk and sing "One Night In Bangkok" while spontaneously yanking on The Poet's nipples. Yes, that is a moment that happened last night and yes, i am still laughing about it.

But I digress. A bunch of other people on the third floor are moving too. It's a mass exodus, I guess. Feels like the end of summer camp, actually. You know, it's emotional and seems unfair and you don't want to move on from the fun you had in the woods, but you know deep down that you need to join the real world again and you look forward to bathrooms with running water.

I'll be honest and say that I don't always like change. But I guess that's just something that often comes with Fall.

This Is The Part Of The Show Where Lauren Exhibits Cringe-Worthy Behavior...

They say that Portland is one of the most passive aggressive places on the planet.  I don't think about it very often because I've lived here forever and I'm used to it, but it's totally true.  As a city, we have mastered the art of being indirect to the point where Lorne Michaels made a TV show about it.

I hear a lot of my girlfriends complaining about how wimpy the men are here.  It's true - the average Portland boy will not approach a girl he doesn't already know.  Instead, he'll just adjust his thick, black, plastic-framed glasses and attempt to make eye-contact with her from across the room.  Then he'll spend the next two months reading the "I Saw U" ads in the Portland Mercury or cruising the "Missed Connections" page on Craigslist in hopes that she posted a vague description of him. 

I might be exaggerating a little bit, but you get the idea.  If you are of the female persuasion and you want to actively date in this town, you have to be the one to make things happen.  Of course, since I am also from Portland, I am extremely awkward and non-confrontational.  Plus, dating isn't a huge priority for me right now.  That being said, the closest thing to a date I've experienced recently was the night in October when Tweaked Out Elvis Costello bought me French fries and told me all about the time he tried to start his own religion. 

But I digress.  Something happened to me today that completely threw off my groove. 

Not my finest fashion moment

I was hiding in my favorite coffee shop, as I often do.  I was sitting at the table in the back, staring at various things on my laptop and drinking the world's strongest cup of coffee.  I wasn't necessarily dressed to impress - I was wearing the hat that The Chef gave me, my worn-out black Jackpot Records t-shirt, and zero make-up.  So it was a little unexpected when a guy at a nearby table complimented the bag I had laying next to me.

My bag has a map of Vancouver B.C. on the front and this guy thought that was really cool.  Turns out he loves Canada.  So we had a weird conversation about Canada, which somehow turned into a conversation about film.  I learn that he's from L.A. and does videography work for a living.  I tell him that I'm a writer, musician, film geek, etc.  He's intrigued, especially when it comes out that I have a scriptwriting background.  He tells me about his projects, I tell him about mine.  We discover that we have a mutual friend in common.  We share a good laugh about a town where every one in five people is a midget.  At one point, he moved over to my table.  It was all very natural, yet strange because I'm not used to strangers being that interesting and conversational.

It got to the point where he motioned to the bar across the street and offered to buy me a drink.  I should have probably gone with it and said "yes," but I was so thrown off by the whole interaction that I told him I had to be somewhere and made a less-than-graceful exit.  I spent the drive home yelling at myself. 

Stupid automatic defense mechanisms.  Portland girls aren't socially equipped to handle boys from Los Angeles.

I Specialize In Hanging Out With Fictional Characters

The other day, I was hiding in my favorite coffee shop in attempts to get some solid work done on the "Goat Man" script.  I was just getting into a groove when my cell phone rang. 

I sighed.  The whole day had been like that.  In fact, the reason I was in a coffee shop was because my place was way too distracting.  I had intended to spend the afternoon writing and ended up giving people relationship advice in the kitchen instead.  I probably should have left my phone behind when I went to the coffee shop. 

But I saw that it was my bandmate calling me, so I answered the phone.  The conversation went like this:

Bandmate:  Hey, can we practice today?
Me:  Um, okay...but I'm kinda busy right now...
Bandmate:  What's up?
Me: (glancing down at the cartoon of Goat Man sitting on the table) I'm at a coffee date.

Bandmate:  Oooh, alright, well don't let me bother you.
Me:  Um, don't get too excited for me, it's a coffee date with Goat Man.
Bandmate:  What?
Me:  Practice at 8?

It's official:  I'm one of *those* people.  Ugh. 

But the project itself is coming along nicely, I think.  I sent the demos and synopsis off somewhere and got a surprisingly positive response (more on that when I know more).  My goal is to finish the first draft by the end of the month.  I have 17 days.  Yikes. 

I'm hoping to be able to see "Goat Man" come alive on stage this summer.  I don't know exactly when, where, or how that's going to happen yet, but I can figure that out after I finish writing the darn thing.  It could happen on the other side of the world or it could happen in the venue downstairs from my apartment.  I just have to see who's interested in it when it's all done.  If you guys have any ideas for where "Goat Man" should be performed, I'd love to hear them!

Though I'm probably getting ahead of myself.  Counting my chickens before they hatch, or something like that.  Okay, that's not quite the right saying, but you know what I mean. 

On that note, I should probably get to work on the script.  Expect a more interesting update sometime in the near future.

Just Some Thoughts Over Coffee

I have broken myself of my intense coffee addiction. Meaning I can wake up in the morning and not feel like I'm going to die without coffee. I can even go a whole day without coffee. It's kind of liberating.

I've tried to get into tea instead. I even went to my favorite tea shop in Portland and picked up some of that Moroccan Mint tea that reminds me of Egypt. I've never bought it in loose leaf form before, and was a little embarrassed when the cashier handed me this:

I shoved the bag in my purse and tried to pretend it didn't look exactly like marijuana. I think if I lived anywhere else, I might have been compelled to stash it away in my wall safe when I got home. But I live in a commune, so leaving a suspicious-looking bag of tea laying on top of my radiator really isn't a big deal.

That night, I went into my kitchen to brew up some of my new tea. I couldn't find a tea strainer, so improvised with a coffee filter. A couple of my neighbors walked by and showed a lot of interest in the kind of tea I was making. Well, they showed a lot of interest until they discovered I really was just making tea.

Tea is nice, but it will never really replace coffee for me. Even as I type this, I'm drinking a cup of coffee. I'm done messing around with decaf. It's just basic coffee with a little bit of French vanilla creamer in it.

I know a lot of purists hate coffee creamer, but I can't really live without it. Okay, I can live without it. If there is no coffee creamer around, chances are I will drink coffee anyway. But it won't be as good.

Last week, I had coffee with someone I hadn't seen in a really long time. Five years, to be exact. He was my Spanish partner in high school and recently came out of the woodwork over Facebook and wanted to hang out. I was a little reluctant to reconnect with him. After all, the last time I attempted to rekindle a platonic teenage friendship led to an evening of my bandmate pretending to be a flaming homosexual and ended with someone almost getting maced in the face (it's a pretty good story, maybe I'll work up the nerve to tell it sometime). But he called me on an evening where I was trying to decide between the following activities:

1. Hanging out with the baby boomer crowd in the kitchen.
2. Watching Tweaked Out Elvis Costello play the piano while getting progressively stoned out of his mind.
3. Attempting to write music in a room by myself.

Somehow, meeting my old Spanish partner for coffee at the trendy cafe down the street won against those lovely options.

I got there early, ordered some herbal tea, and planted myself at a table. Enter Spanish Partner. It was a little crazy - he was exactly the same as he was in high school. Still short, still Asian, still wearing the same baggy gray hoody with the stretched out pockets. Still blasting heavy metal from giant headphones around his neck everywhere he goes. His hair is a little longer now and he's apparently done boasting about his ability to eat nine Milky Way candy bars in a day, but other than that he's the exact same dude I said "adios" to on graduation night. It was a little spooky but cool at the same time. Everyone is so busy changing these days. It's nice to know that some people don't change at all.

We went back to my place so I could give him the grand tour of the commune and show him my keytar. We ended up just putting on a Dream Theater album in my room and listening to it while making fun of what weirdos we were in high school. I asked if he wanted anything to drink. He asked if I had any coffee creamer. Not kidding.

"Um, yeah, I always have coffee creamer," I say. "Do you want me to make some coffee?"

"No, I'll just take a shot of creamer," he says.

I start laughing. I think one time when I was about 17 or so I took a shot of creamer because somebody dared me to, but it's not really something I've ever thought to do since then. But I get him a little glass and pour coffee creamer into it until he says "stop." I hand it to him and he proceeds to down it like it's tequila.

"God that's good creamer!" he proclaims. "Tastes just like the marshmallows in Lucky Charms!"

He convinces me pour some in a small glass for myself and consume it sans coffee. It was like being 17 and retarded all over again. Not to mention it was my sugar intake for an entire week. But it was nice. It was nice to just exist in a room with someone else and listen to music and laugh and not have to worry about anything awkward happening. I had Tweaked Out Elvis Costello on standby in case things got weird (nothing says "I'm not interested in being more than friends so please get out of my room" like an intergalactic hipster with an affinity for playing/singing Gershwin's "Summertime" while people are trying to have a conversation). But things never got weird. Instead, we discovered that we both have a secret desire to learn how to knit, so we made plans to meet up again to make scarves while listening to heavy metal.

Yeah, I don't really understand my life either.

All I know right now is that I just finished my cup of coffee. And I think I really want another one. Maybe I'll just make a whole pot with the intention of sharing it but then end up drinking the whole thing myself.

A few weeks ago, someone told me that coffee is terrible for you. "It's addictive! It does bad things to your body! I'm so proud of you for breaking yourself of your daily caffeine habit! Coffee will mess you up! You don't need to drink it!" they said.

I might have actually listened to this person if they hadn't been smoking a cigarette, a joint, and snorting who-knows-what simultaneously while they were saying all of these things. I think it was one of the most ironic moments of my life.

I shouldn't drink too much coffee today though. I don't want to be a completely twitchy mess by the time tonight rolls around. There's an art show going on in my building and Ryan and I are doing a little performance in my kitchen after the fact. It's pretty casual and word-of-mouth, but I'm still stoked. It feels good to be performing again. I get really off balance when I go for a long time without doing that.

I'm not sure what to wear. I got some awesome new boots last week that I think I need to wear tonight. Now I just have to plan an outfit to go with them.

My new friends here have been an incredible encouragement to me this week. They're actually the ones that talked me into doing the kitchen performance. "Look, you are a rock star," my friend The Poet said. "The only reason you don't believe it is because the right people haven't told you yet. But you are a rock star, so start acting like one!"

It was really cool to hear that from someone other than my mother.

Anyway, this post has become longer than I intended. I think I'm just avoiding writing my post for TASG. We've got a really good topic this week, but it's proving to be a difficult one. But I think it's time to brew more coffee, put on some good music, and offer some of my humble ramblings to ye olde Transatlantic Support Group.

Peace out, amigos. Oh, and also? Happy Friday! Reward yourself for making it through another week by drinking some coffee. Or by just drinking.

Haha. This is One Well-Caffeinated Lauren, signing out!

This Is Horrible...

I am doing something horrendous. 

Something I can barely stand to even think about, let alone actually do.

Something the doctor has been telling me to do for months.

Something that's supposedly for my own good. 

What am I doing, you ask?

I am switching to decaf.

That's right.  I am as caffeine-addicted as they come and it's well past the point of being remotely healthy (if you need proof of my addiction, just check out this post from back in April).

When I really think about it, kicking the coffee habit makes sense.  Coffee has way too much control over me.  If I miss a cup in the morning, my day is screwed.  And if somebody drinks my coffee, I tend to involuntarily go ballistic (my old roommate learned this the hard way).  I don't need to let it have that kind of control over me. 

Of course, I'm not hardcore enough to go cold turkey.  I got some decaf coffee and plan to mix it in with the regular coffee.  I'm still living with my parents this month and my mom is doing this with me for moral support.  We started yesterday and got the ratio of decaf to regular a little too intense for day one. 

In other words, I spent the entire day feeling like this:

We didn't put as much decaf in the mix today but I'm still feeling it a little bit.  Maybe it's psychological. 

Grrr.  I will beat this thing.  I will beat this thing, even if it kills me!

That's all.

A Post About Nothing

Ra ra ra-aaa-aaa. Lady Gaga is stuck in my head. It's almost noon and I'm barely done with my first cup of coffee. I need to get a lot done today. I've got a lot of articles and assorted rubbish on my hard drive that needs to be printed out and shipped off to possibly be published. I've decided to give this whole freelance writer life a serious shot. It's overwhelming though. I've been feeling a lot like Bambi in the 1969 short animation "Bambi meets Godzilla." Poor Bambi doesn't have a chance in that film. But I digress. Maybe if I drink another cup of coffee out of my giant Chesire Cat cup that Steve brought me from Disneyland, the world will seem brighter. Or maybe I'll just become even more anxious. Whatever. Maybe I'll just return to my daily Craigslist surfing. There are some good things on there today.
Of course, there are also some ridiculous things:

Need mass of pirates, zombies, ninjas and cylons for production shoot.
Will provide blood, booze and food.
Must provide own costume, be able to lift 30lbs and sprint short distances.
Respond with relevant info- skills/strengths and previous experience in related career tracks. Prior convictions okay.

Okay, so I'm sitting here laughing at that post, but really I'm just secretly sad I don't own a ninja costume. Maybe I could make my own zombie costume. All I need is oatmeal all over my face and ketchup dripping down my neck, right?

Bleck. It's official - this is a post about nothing. I will do something productive today! I will! Just you wait. I'm gonna kick into high gear starting...now. BAM!

Over and out, amigos. I'm off like a herd of turtles.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

It's almost midnight. I'm browsing the options in the fridge when I hear a knock on the door.

Knock. Knock.

I don't know who could possibly be knocking on my door at that hour. I check the peep hole just to make sure it's not a rapist (or a Jehovah's Witness making midnight rounds) and sigh. It's just The Universe. He must have heard I was having a late-night existentialist party and decided it was his job as The Universe to crash it. Reluctantly, I open the door.

The Universe says nothing. He just stands there looking smug.

"Hey, what's up, Universe?" I say.

"Oh, you know, the usual," he says. "Being big and daunting."

"Wanna come in?" I open the door a little farther and attempt to act welcoming. "I was about to make coffee. Would you like some?"

The Universe comes inside my house. "Yes, I will take coffee," he says. "But nothing in it! It must be dark and unsweetened, like me!"

I go into the kitchen and scoop some grounds into the coffee pot. I remembered that The Universe likes black coffee from the last time he came to visit me. In fact, last time he was here he ended up spilling coffee all over my couch and then left without cleaning it up. The Universe can be a pretty obnoxious house guest sometimes.

But tonight, I don't mind that The Universe decided to hang out at my place. Sure beats playing chess with the ghost of Ingmar Bergman, which is what I did last night.

The coffee is brewing. The Universe takes a seat at my kitchen counter.

"So, you havin a good week, girlfrenn?" asks The Universe. Sometimes, The Universe talks like a black person. I don't know why.

I shrug. "My week is fine. I guess I'm just overwhelmed with a bunch of stuff right now. I'm trying to figure out what I'm doing. I still don't know."

"Isn't that exactly what you said last time I came to see you?"

"Probably."

"Hey, is that coffee done yet? You know I don't sleep at night these days. Everyone and their dog is having some sort of existential crisis that calls for my presence these days."

The coffee is done. I pour him a cup. I also pour a cup for myself, dumping an obscene amount of caramel-flavored creamer into it. The Universe scowls at my excessive use of creamer.

"Gah, you're such a wimp. Want any coffee with that creamer, foo?"

I laugh. The Universe takes a sip of coffee and I prepare to ask him a question.

"Why are you so unknown?" I say.

The Universe just stares at me. I take it as a cue to start asking more ridiculous questions.

"Why are you so big, yet so small? Why do you never really answer my questions? What do you want from me, anyway? What am I doing, sitting here having coffee with you?"

The Universe gulps down his cup of coffee (like a boss) and looks at the built-in clock on my microwave. "It's time for me to boogie on out of here, girlfrenn. But it's been real. Peace."

The Universe leaves without answering any of my questions. It's totally aggravating. But at least this time there were no coffee spills.

There's another knock on the door after The Universe leaves. Just as I suspected - it's the ghost of Ingmar Bergman and he's back for another game of chess.

I should start going to bed earlier.

Coffee coffee coffee

Good morning world. It's a new day! And it's coffee time for Lauren.

Really, I have to have coffee first thing in the morning, every morning. If coffee is not introduced into my system upon waking, I will get a nasty headache that's impossible to shake. I've been thinking about how this will work on the road. Here are all the solutions I can think of to this dilemma:

- Plan to buy coffee somewhere every morning/cross my fingers that the people we stay with along the way will have coffee available in the morning

- Take my little coffee pot on the road. If we end up getting our hands on a sketchy creeper van, it can have it's own seat.

- Live off of instant coffee for two months (this thought makes me gag a little).

- Kick the coffee addiction entirely. This would be hell. But if I started once I moved back to my parents house, it wouldn't interfere with school, and I would be mostly recovered by the time we hit the road.

None of the options are really that attractive.

Is it bad that I'm leaning towards just taking my coffee pot with me?