I've Got The Moves Like Jagger

I have this really fabulous friend works at a gym and teaches dance workout classes.  Sometimes, he sneaks me into the classes for free.  I haven't gone to one in awhile, but he just called and invited me to come and do Zumba tonight.  Naturally, I said "yes."  He always picks good music for his Zumba classes and I need to work out more anyway.  I'm naturally sort of a sedentary creature and exercise is good for me.  

The thing about Zumba is that by about the third song, I get really into the choreography.  My friend yells "Now give it some style!" and I shake my butt like the world depends on it. 

I feel like this:

In reality, I look more like this:

Last time I did Zumba, I definitely forgot my water bottle and was one thirsty, sweaty, out-of-shape girl when it was all over.  It didn't help that I was in the back next to a large black man who seemed completely unfazed by forty-five minutes of nonstop movement.  

Watch out for my body rolls.  High kicks.  High kicks.  This is how we do it.  

I am determined to be more physically active on a regular basis, though.  I feel better about myself in general when I do.  And it's part of my new program to get in shape for my next rock show.  

I've got a pair of leather shorts in a drawer upstairs that are a little bit too tight.  I know, I know, leather shorts are supposed to be tight, but they are also supposed to zip and snap somewhat comfortably.  I'm not really into obsessing over my weight, but I think that if I lost about three pounds, the shorts would fit better and everything would be groovy.  

Basically this means more dance aerobics and less French fries.  I love my junk food, but it's for a good cause.  

You're not hardcore unless you live hardcore, boys and girls.  

Rock 'N' Roll Updates

Being an unknown rock star in the twenty-first century is a very complicated business. 

On one hand, it's very exciting.  I feel like I'm finally beginning to get my act together a little bit. 

I'm trying to overcome my fear of performing alone.

This picture is blurry, but my name IS on that sign

In the past month or so, I've done three shows by myself. 

1.  I played a 20 minute set as part of a singer-songwriter showcase at a local pub.  It was a competition and the audience could vote for their favorite act every time they bought a drink.  A bunch of my friends from ye olde artist's community showed up and put their alcoholism to good use.  I had a blast playing my set and ended up getting second place in the competition.  Also, some random blonde chick that I didn't know yelled "LAUREN, YOU'RE HOT!!!" when my set was over.  I don't swing that way, but it was still flattering and made me feel very rock 'n' roll. 

2.  I don't know if this counts as a show, but a couple of friends set me up with a local bike shop that needed music to promote First Friday happenings.  I set my keyboard up under a little tent outside the shop and sang into a microphone that was clamped onto a large bike rack (I really need to invest in a real microphone stand).  The owner of the bike shop was hilarious and kept drunkenly requesting random cover songs that I didn't know how to play (really, who goes up to a keyboard player and requests "Whip It" by Devo???).  I finally busted out a rough cover of "Blitzkrieg Bop" by The Ramones, just to shut him up.  When I was finished, the entire population of the tattoo parlor next door cheered and some people came outside to put money in my tip jar.  I butchered a few more punk rock songs and then went back to playing originals (contrary to popular belief that night, those originals were not just souped-up Journey songs).  It was funner than I expected it to be and there was free beer.  I made enough money in tips to buy some French fries afterwards.  Rock 'n' roll.

3.  The prize for winning the songwriter show was a paid show at the same venue.  I was really excited about this and had high expectations.  So I was a nervous wreck when it came time to actually perform.  I had told so many people about the show and thought I would see a lot of my friends there.  Naturally, I was disappointed when only four people came to see me.  The bar was full of people who were there to see the girl I was opening for and everyone talked through my whole set.  I felt like the awkward background music no one was really paying attention to.  I played a song called "Deja Vu" twice as an inside joke with myself.  No one noticed.  I couldn't wait for my set to be over and ended it a little early, handing the stage over to a fake redhead with non-prescription glasses (so lame). 

After the third show, I remembered how depressing playing shows alone can be.  I've had terrible luck trying to find musicians to be in my back-up band, but decided to try yet again.  I really wish I could just clone myself and form a band with all the clones, but I don't have access to that sort of technology.  If anyone knows how to do that, let me know. 

Maybe I'm narcissistic, but I really wish this scenario could actually exist.

As it stands right now, I have a guy who's hypothetically going to play drums for me.  He's the guy I knew in high school who I recently reconnected with on Craigslist because he writes rock operas (life is so weird).  I also had a some cute kid with a Flock Of Seagulls haircut who was very excited about playing guitar for me, but he's been really bad with communication.  I finally heard from him yesterday when he informed me over text messaging that he had a new band. 

His new band is with Tweaked Out Elvis Costello, of all people.  I am so confused as to why he thinks this is a good idea.  Also, I try not to take things like this personally, but I don't really enjoy being ditched for that twerp who can't stay sober long enough to even know what notes he's playing.

Ah well.  I hope they have fun getting high and throwing cake at radiators together.  I am now accepting applications for new guitar players.

The search for a band is so frustrating.

In the meantime, I finally got some CDs printed! 

Yay!

I am so excited about how they came out.  I've currently got some for sale up on Bandcamp.  If any of you are interested, they're only $6 (yes, that includes shipping!).  I don't mean to turn this into a commercial, but I should mention that each album comes with a handwritten thank-you note from the band (a.k.a: me).  You know you want one.  :)

thewantads.bandcamp.com

It's also up for name-your-price/free download still if you don't want to pay $6.  Honestly, I just want people to hear this music and enjoy it.  I would love to be able to live off of this music thing because I hate having normal jobs, but it's not really about the money.  It makes my day every time someone tells me they're listening to my songs.  I write songs and record them because I love doing it, but I also want people to enjoy them. 

Anyway, blah blah blah.  Hi, I'm Lauren and I'm going to go on a rant about my philosophy on music.  I'm going to stop and wrap this up before it becomes something really long that no one will want to read. 

Peace and love, amigos.  More updates to come.  

The Weekly Column :)

Why is everyone looking at me like that?!

Oh hi.  I'm Lauren.  Perhaps you remember me?  I used to blog here... 

I apologize yet again for my ongoing lack of interesting posts.  Real life has been demanding a lot of my attention.  I feel like lots of things have been happening and not happening simultaneously.

The good news is that you can read about some of those things over at my new column.  :)

I ended up getting a weekly spot in the Life After College section of LAFamily.com.  It's my first time being published anywhere that isn't a personal blog, so I'm really excited about it. 

I promise I'm not going to give up this blog and I'm even going to start posting regularly again (I could give you my excuses but you've heard them all before).  In the meantime, I would love it if you checked out the stuff I've been writing for my column.  It's called "It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time" and is sort of like what "lauren vs. reality" would be if I gave myself deadlines and a word limit.

Oh, and each post is complete with a weird little video.  I'm not going to tell you what to do, but you'll probably want to watch those.  At least the one where I'm standing in line next to Yoda.  It's here.  The one where I eat peanut butter is supposedly good too. 

Anyway, feel free to check all that stuff out.  And who knows - maybe by the time you catch up on my posts/videos over there, I'll have something new up over here.  Just maybe.  :)

Peace and love, amigos.

How Did I Get HERE???

The past month has been really weird.  Actually, the past few months have been really weird.  Scratch that - everything that has happened since I graduated from college has been really weird.  Yes, I know that was two years ago.

Now that I think about it, college was probably really weird too, in it's own way.

If you spend your whole life living through situations that are "pretty weird," does that make it normal?

I digress.  I've been trying very hard lately to get my act together.  Too hard.  In fact, I briefly got so caught up in the thought that I need to make money that I acquired a full time job as a traveling mop saleswoman. 

This mop will change the way you clean your house.  It will clean your house from top to bottom and I know you want one.  You want one over there.  And I can see that you want one, too.  AND IT'S ONLY $29.99!

...Doesn't everybody go through a phase where they want to be Billy Mays???

I told you that things have been weird.

The good part of this story is that the job was so depressing, strange, and soul-crushing that I came to my senses and quit.  I told my awkward, Sarah Palin-esque boss that selling mops on commission was not my thing and got the heck out of that department store. 

Sarah Palin The Mop Boss looked slightly surprised when I did this.  I guess most people don't quit on the third day of training. 


I added "Enthusiastic Mop Salesperson" to the list of stupid jobs I've had and tried not to think about how long that list is these days. 

It's all either really funny or really discouraging, depending on what sort of mood I'm in.  And now that it's a new month and there's a new round of bills to pay, I'm back to cruising the "gigs" section on Craigslist.  Ugh.  I'm really ready for someone to just pay me to just be a rock and roll diva.  That would solve so many problems. 

Something cool happened yesterday, though...  

An online magazine out of LA published my article!  It's my first time being published in something that isn't a personal blog, so I'm really excited.  If they like the traffic/feedback I get, I might get to be a weekly columnist in their "Life After College" section. 

The article I wrote was about a particularly crappy job I found on Craigslist.  If you want to check it out (and I would love it if you did), the link is here:  http://www.lafamily.com/life-after-college/it-seemed-good-idea-time  It's complete with the standard quirky-Lauren video.  Click "like," leave comments... you know what to do.  :)

I think this just turned into a commercial.  It wasn't supposed to. 

There's probably a Billy Mays joke to be made right here but I'm having a hard time constructing it.  So I will just leave you with an existential picture of me in the woods. 

Story of my life...

Peace and love, amigos.

Post-Apocalyptic Interlude

I've been really busy...

Busy running from aliens and fighting off the undead.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's because the invasion hasn't happened in your part of the world yet.

It all happened so fast and is difficult to explain. Just watch the video...

And download the album here. These are songs that can save the world, or at least give you something to rock out to before the zombies arrive in your town.

Peace and love, comrades. Stay strong in these strange times. I hope to communicate with you again in the near future.

My Complicated Relationship With Rock & Roll Vikings, Part One: The Beginning

I've never been good with break-ups. It's hard to admit that you aren't happy with the way a relationship is going and that you would be better off without it. I never want to hurt anyone's feelings or cause a conflict. Which is why I'm currently in an awkward position. I know I need to end things, but I have been putting it off because I don't even really know how to end things.

Let me back up a little bit.

I am involved with low-budget production of a rock opera about Norse mythology.

It's not really working out.

Allow me to recapitulate...

It all started a couple of months ago when a stumbled upon an intriguing Craigslist ad: "Wanted: Musical Director For An Original Rock Musical."  Naturally, I had to click on it.  I read through the ad and realized that I met all of the major requirements (meaning I can read music, play piano, and I love rock musicals), so I replied on a whim. 

It wasn't long before I got a response from a guy who's name was strangely familiar.  I couldn't place where I had heard his name before, so I just went ahead and read his email without giving it a second thought.  He told me that he had composed a rock opera and was looking to produce it in town within a few months.  There was a link to some of the music from the rock opera, so I clicked on it to see what it sounded like.  I landed on a page with a couple of weird recordings and a picture of the composer.

I gasped.  This guy was definitely someone I went to high school with.

...And middle school. 

We were in the high school marching band together.  And symphonic band.  And middle school jazz band.  And advanced high school jazz band.  We were in the rhythm section together - he played drums, I played piano.  We practically sat next to each other in jazz band but never actually talked to each other.  He was an awkward redhead who didn't talk and frankly, I didn't really talk either.  So naturally, we were not friends simply because we couldn't figure out how to manage a simple conversation. 

Plus, he was always making out with that second-chair clarinet chick during lunch.  It was gross.  It offended me.  They needed to get a room. 

Anyway, here he was, that awkward redhead from high school, resurfacing in my email inbox six years later with what he described as "an epic rock opera of awesomeness."

I stared at the email and tried to figure out what to do.  I've really come a long way since I was a socially inept teenager and running into people that knew me in high school is generally a drag.  Maybe I should just delete his email and pretend it never happened?  After all, he was pretty weird back in the day, wasn't he?  I thought about it and realized I didn't actually know him.  Besides, the whole thing was oddly sychronistic.  Maybe I should meet him for coffee and see what's up?  

And so I scheduled a coffee date with him.  As I drove there, I couldn't help but wonder if he would remember me from high school or not.  How was I even supposed to handle that?  What if he didn't remember me at all?  Was I supposed to bring it up?  Was I supposed to act like I was meeting him for the first time?

A text message reading "Btw wearing a pea coat and have red hair" came through on my phone as I was looking for a place to park.  I laughed.  He did not know who I was.  I buttoned up my big green coat, sent him a text that said "Haha, me too!" and walked towards the coffee shop.

I saw him immediately when I entered the coffee shop.  He was sitting at a table in the middle of the room and was indeed wearing a pea coat.  He pointed at me and said, "It's YOU."

I pointed at him and said, "It's YOU."  This was awkward.

He continued to point and said "It's YOU" once again.  This time I pointed at myself and said, "It's ME!"  We laughed, made some clunky smalltalk, and I excused myself to go order a cup of coffee.  When I returned with my drink, we had to go through the whole "Soooo, what have you been up to since high school?" conversation, which was strange because (as I established earlier) we didn't really talk in high school.  Still, we had to compare notes on our post-high school experiences as well as gossip about a whole bunch of irrelevant people from marching band that I honestly forgot even existed.  It was definitely the most I had ever talked to this guy. 

Just when I was beginning to regret meeting him for coffee, the conversation switched to a more relevant topic: his epic rock opera.  Over the next hour and a half, I learned the following things:

-  The rock opera was his original composition and has never been performed before.
-  The story is based on Norse mythology.  Yes, Loki and Thor and vikings and all of that crap cool stuff. 
-  All of the lyrics/words were written by a guy he met online who may or may not live in France and speak English as a second language.
-  The script has severed heads in it.
-  The music is not "Broadway rock."  The music will "blow your f@#$ing mind."

He babbled on about how he was inspired by "Tommy" and "Jesus Christ Superstar," excitedly explaining that the music was written for a large ensemble of electric guitars and string instruments.  He said he planned to produce it in a couple of months and he needed someone to act as musical director.  Could that someone be me?

It sounded like a wacky project, but who doesn't love a good viking?  It sounded like fun.  Besides, I've got my own rock opera cooking in the back of my brain files (can't forget about good old Goat Man) and working on a project like this could give me a little insight into how it's done.  And I definitely needed an excuse to leave my parents' house and meet new people...

So I said I would do it.  I climbed on board the viking rock opera train as the fearless musical director.  And it was strange, but I was excited.

Well, I was excited until my inbox began filling up with pages upon pages of complicated sheet music...


To Be Continued...

Oh Hi...

Apparently I'm very good at waltzing into the blogosphere after going for days without posting, making a grand announcement that I am back and have so many stories to tell, and then disappearing again. So that's all strange and awkward and embarrassing.

If it's any consolation, I've been blogging in my head a lot. If that makes any sense. I even have several half-baked posts saved in my drafts folder, but have managed to abandon them all due to my highly critical inner voice.

So here I am, in my favorite grocery store cafe, staring at hipsters crossing the street and attempting to write something that isn't complete garbage.

I'll start by telling you about my new friend George.

I met George through a friend of a friend. We hit it off immediately and have a lot of things in common. We're both neurotic, we both really love peanut butter, and we both love staying up too late watching paranormal investigation shows on cable television. He's very sweet, quiet, and friendly. Sometimes he does unexpected things (like puke in the hallway), but the truth is, I like George more than I like most people.

Of course, George is a dog.


His People are in Ohio this week, so I'm hanging out with him. He's super old and cuddly. And on top of being my new bff, he's helping me make some money. So that's all groovy...

Um, in other news, there are a ton of seats open in this cafe, but this weird old guy just had to sit right next to me and eat a corn dog. He has a million packets of mustard on his plate and is giving me a weird look. Truthfully, it's creepy me out a bit. I think I'm going to pack up my laptop and do the famous Awkward Lauren Scuttle™ on out of here...

More things soon, when I'm not being ogled by a crusty old corn dog man...

The Hiatus Ends NOW

Forgive me, for I have sinned. I have neglected this poor blog yet again. I have failed to post regularly.

I think it started because I was moping around my parents' house feeling like I had failed at being a successful human. Not only did I feel self-conscious about dumping even more of my quarter-life crisis onto the blogosphere, but I just didn't have anything that interesting to say.

Fortunately, the moping period didn't last very long. Somehow, I managed to get a grip on myself. We went out for coffee, actually. Myself and I. I sat myself down and we had the following conversation:

Me: Lauren, you're not actually a loser, but you're going to become one if you continue to sit in your parents' basement.
Myself: But I'm promoting my musical career!
Me: It looks like you're looking at pictures of your college friends on Facebook...
Myself: I was taking a break!
Me: Look. You are living in YOUR PARENTS' HOUSE. That's the one thing you said you wouldn't let happen and it's happening. What are you going to do about it?
Myself: Tweet Perez Hilton repeatedly in hopes that he will make me famous?
Me: NO! You have to actually LEAVE the house and DO THINGS.
Myself: I took a walk yesterday.
Me: When the Internet went down? That doesn't count. Dude, I know we both hate the idea of having a boss, but it's time to find some way to make some money.
Myself: I can work on marketing my greeting cards better...
Me: Lauren. Your little brother is going to come home from college this summer and if you're still living here when he moves back in, you're going to feel like you're 14.
Myself: I'm not 14?
Me: ...No. It's time to girl up get stuff done.
Myself: *sigh* You're probably right.
Me: Of course I'm right!

So I got out of my weird little funk and started throwing my name out there. I applied to jobs that sounded horrible and soul-sucking. I checked the gigs section on Craigslist three times a day, sending email inquiries to questionable sources and refreshing my inbox every five minutes to see if anything was going to work.

And slowly, things started happening. Which is the other reason I haven't been updating this blog - I've been running around acquiring funny stories faster than I can type them out.

Yes, I've been hoarding stories. It's horrible, but true. But the only thing I have going on tonight involves watching "The Bachelor" (don't judge). And now that I've broken the silence, the rest of the posts will be easier to write. I'm going to do my best to catch you guys up on the ongoing sitcom that is my life.

I promise that these stories will be everything but boring...

Breathe

I recently collaborated with The Poet on a song called "Breathe." He handed me the lyrics one night last spring and I did my best to bring them to life musically. I'm very pleased with the results.

Actually, it's become one of my favorite songs in my repertoire.

Though I feel like my voice is lower than normal in this song. I had a sore throat when I recorded it. And it was late. And I was grumpy. And I was trying to be the female David Bowie but instead ended up sounding more like Annie Lennox. I actually fully intended to redo the vocals, but people were like "No, chicks with deep voices are sexy!" So I kept it like it was.

Anyway, I'm rambling here. I feel very Lennon and McCartney with this whole music collaboration thing. Except I think that I would be McCartney in this scenario, and I'm totally a Lennon. Or maybe I just strive to be a Lennon but in reality am a McCartney?

I DIGRESS.

Last fall, I filmed this video around my old neighborhood. I figure that all artists have to have a low budget music video that screams "I'M BROKE AND LIVE IN THE GHETTO," so this is mine.

Enjoy. :)

I Moved Out Just In Time...

I'm not really into having regrets, but I've been having the thought that maybe I should have stayed in the artist's community until I had a solid escape plan. Because even though it was weird and depressing and full of fairly unstable people on strange cocktails of synthetic drugs, it was also in the city that I love and was full of creative people who understood me. And after living in that sort of environment for over a year, going back to my parents' house in the country initially felt like someone pressed a giant "PAUSE" button and my exciting sit-com of a life was on hold.

After all, it's so quiet at night out here. I'm sort of used to the constant noise of traffic. The sound of cop cars. Drunk people fighting outside my window. Turrets Guy waiting for the bus. It doesn't get much better than "Dammit dammit dammit dammit!" Out here there are no Turrets Guys. Out here there is mostly silence. And large fields.

I don't really regret leaving the artist's community, though. In fact, I think I left at the perfect time.

I learned yesterday that a pipe in my old bathroom burst at about three o'clock in the morning, flooding the entire apartment. The resident maintenance guy didn't know how to shut the water off, so the water leaked into the hallway. It also dripped through the floor and got the guy below, then kept going, flooding part of the gallery in the basement.

When I heard this news, I couldn't stop laughing. Then I just got this image in my brain of my old messy room - papers, clothes, and electronics everywhere. And for a second, I imagined that room full of water. So many things would have been toast!

Not to mention I would have had to deal with a surprise water attack in the middle of the night...

All regrets I might have had about moving out are now gone.

After all, there is no such thing as a "PAUSE" button. So, it's onwards and upwards.

Whatever that means.