Grumpy Lauren Is Grumpy

I should probably be asleep but I'm having a difficult time winding down. It doesn't really help that my next door neighbor has about five people smoking cigarettes out of her window with her right now. Nobody sleeps around here.

There was a big event going on here tonight. Art shows, live music, Bollywood dancing, etc. The mayor of Portland was even there. And the restaurant/bar downstairs finally opened. I worked a five hour shift as The Bouncer.

Yes, The Bouncer. The term "Door Security" works as well. Basically, it was my job to stand by the back doors and make sure nobody brought alcohol in or out of the room.

You are allowed to laugh. When I first found out I was going to be The Bouncer, I could barely keep a straight face. Hello, I'm a skinny white girl! Even when I wear all black and pile on too much eyeliner, you can bet there's not much that's intimidating about me.

I did wear all black and too much eyeliner though. I had to at least try to be intimidating.

At first, I felt fairly bad ass. I had a wall in the corner that I expertly leaned against. When someone walked too close to the door with a beer, I would casually tell them not to take it outside. Easy.

But then the crowd came. Everyone had alcohol that was either going out or coming in. As the one and only alcohol monitor, it was impossible to keep track of all of it.

And then I got stuck talking to the old drunk guy I got trapped in a room with in February. The Poet could not save me because he was busy having a spontaneous reunion with someone really awkward. Eventually, the drunk guy went away and was promptly replaced by Magic Butter Guy. He gave me an uncomfortably long hug and went on to talk about things that didn't really make sense.

When he left, I found myself conversing with Man With No Personality Who Purposefully Parts His Hair On The Side. It was about then that I noticed a certain boy walk in. This is the boy who loves French cinema and knows all the words to "Total Eclipse Of The Heart." I was having a hard time determining his sexual orientation and then just gave up on him. I hadn't seen him for about a month and apparently he acquired an attractive collection of facial hair...and a girlfriend. He walked in with a chick on his arm and the two of them came over to talk to me.

It was terrible. He was legitimately interested in knowing how I was. He even asked about Goat Man. I went through the routine where I refer to Goat Man as a real person and he genuinely laughed. His girlfriend was unamused. She was hungry. He wanted to dance. He was sad that I was stuck in a corner and could not join in on the dancing. He suggested that the three of us go do something after my shift. She waved the idea away and pulled him upstairs to get food. I watched them walk away hand in hand and tried not to have a totally disgruntled expression on my face.

The old drunk guy returned.

The novelty of being The Bouncer had officially worn off.

The night ended with my new boss handing me an old rag and telling me to clean tables. Touching a wet rag was the last thing I wanted to do in my bad ass bouncer attire, but it wasn't worth fussing over. Next thing I knew, I was cleaning and bussing tables with my new coworker, Tweaked Out Elvis Costello. He was as annoying (and drugged up) as ever:

"It's a pleasure to work with you, Lauren!"
"Hey Lauren, I am putting this rag on this table and I am cleaning this table!"
"Lauren, are you going to work here a lot? I work here all the time!"
"Look at my neck Lauren, I have a rash from wearing an apron!"
"See you tomorrow, Lauren!"

I was so grumpy at the end of my shift.

But I'm getting money and future sitcom material out of all of this, so it's okay. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

Now excuse me while I go pound my head against a wall...

Dear World, STOP BEING SO MATURE

Yesterday was a like a bad episode of the Twilight zone. It feels like all my friends have suddenly gone from being fairly irresponsible college goofballs to full-fledged adults. People are getting married. People are getting full time jobs and trading in their raggedy t-shirts for office attire. 9:30 PM used to be when the night started. Now it's when everybody goes to bed.

I'm probably stuck in a state of prolonged adolescence or something, but I have no desire to grow up. Not yet. Not ever, really.

Ryan used to compare himself to Peter Pan, saying he would never grow up. I used to make fun of him, but now I seem to be the one romping around in the metaphorical green unitard, refusing to truly conform to any lifestyle to requires me to be anywhere before noon.

Right now, my life is perfect. I have a lame job that is basically optional and tons of time to do all the things I want to do. I've got a musical advice column that's taking the Internet by storm. I'm writing a rock musical. I'm excavating my old journals from their hiding spots with the hopes of getting some sort of high school memoirs together. I've got a show with Original Sound Trash in a couple of days and am gearing up for rock tour (an event that seems to be ever-evolving). Life is fantastic!

Except for the part about living with my parents and not actually getting paid to do any of the things I just listed...

Transition times are so awkward.

Even Peter Pan has to get old. I think that is the most depressing picture I have seen in a long time.

I'm Da Boss!

Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

When my phone rang at 6am this morning, I muted it. Like a boss.

I felt bad afterwards. That is, after I woke up four hours later. But then I thought about poopy children and grumpy high school librarians and all the things I need to do to get ready for the show on Sunday. And then I didn't feel so bad.

So here I am, eating pizza and updating my blog in my pajamas. Like a boss.

I'm gonna go run through the set for Sunday a couple of times (also like a boss). Then, if I'm feeling ambitious, I may start fumbling through my closet in search of the perfect thing to wear at the show. I'm famous for always having some sort of wardrobe crisis the day of the show ("Where are my *insert profanity of choice* fishnet stockings?! And I can't wear these shoes with this outfit!!! Will somebody hand me my mothaflippin eyeliner?!"). Maybe this time I can avoid the part where everyone is afraid of me before the show by picking out my outfit now.

And right now, I don't know what to wear. Anyone got any fabulous suggestions?
(I'm being a total girl right now, but I also watch zombie films and play the keytar, so I think it cancels out.)