Older people and texting:

It takes them forever..

Why Seattle?

I get that question a lot. Why did you move to Seattle, WA from Los Angeles, CA? Was it for a job? Did you move up here with anyone? How many people do you know in Seattle? People say I am brave to have moved up here by myself. I've never really considered myself a brave person, so this is strange to hear. To answer the question honestly, I moved up here for a change of scenery. I found myself suffocating in LA, I just couldn't be me. I'm not keen on driving so I relied heavily on the bus system, which sucked and deserves a blog post all its own. My time in Los Angeles consisted of parent-time, work and the gym here and there. In a way, it helped me recharge: giving me the strength I had lost in San Francisco to start fresh in a new city. And here I am. I've been in Seattle since March and I am slowly but surely making my way here. I knew I wanted to work at REI so I applied and was hired. I knew I wanted to explore the outdoors, something I felt I was akin to but never quite had the opportunity to explore. I've been hiking a lot these days and very much look forward to snowshoeing in the coming weeks. I have plans of conquering my fear of the ski lift as well. A friend from work insists I learn to snowboard with her. If I must, I must. It's all about trying new things and seeing how far I can push myself. I don't think I give myself enough credit. When I moved to Seattle I knew I wanted to start dating again and perhaps find a girlfriend to call my own. I set up an OkCupid account and went on some dates. It felt good to be out there again. To sort of be free and meet these interesting (sometimes crazy) women in this new, beautiful city. I met a special lady in May. We became girlfriends shortly after and we had a really good time together. She made me laugh a lot. Unfortunately, said girl and I broke up last month. Our views of what a 'girlfriend' is were quite different and neither one of us wanted to compromise. Sure, I miss her. I think of her often and I am thankful for the time we shared. We did a lot together and she even took me to a John Legend concert. Bless her. So .. with the close of that relationship, a door (many doors?) are bound to open, right? I've been making new friends and 'nature' and I have become rather close. I am glad to be in this grand city. I appreciate my apartment at the Joey Ray. I love my cat with all my heart. And visitors (most recently my parents) are always welcome. It snowed when they were here and I fell on Denny Way. Running is my salvation. Baking is always fun .. And to quote my friend Jeremy, "Love will find you." -- In a way, it already has..

Parent time.

I love my parents. We are ridiculous. 

Tucked.

My name is Lauren Wilson, I am 26 years old and I am a tucker. Before I let you in on what exactly that means I’d like to reveal to you a little bit about my fashion history. Let’s just say I missed the fashion boat. It set sail many, many moons ago and unfortunately I was left on the dock. Sadly, there was a time when I thought my odd fashion decisions were innovative and sure to become the next big thing. In elementary school I became the proud owner of a hand me down suede vest from Joy’s old piano instructor. I wore that thing every day for months straight. I slept in it. When I looked in the mirror with my vest on and my sweats tucked into my sneakers I knew in my heart I could be Donna Martin’s understudy. No problem. In middle school, I wore the uniform every day even after they cancelled the policy due to the lack of student participation. I must have liked how I looked in my oversized khaki shorts with my white polo tucked in. That was during my skateboarding phase too. Of course I had Vans. Of course. Why were they so big? So bulky? So dirty?  On my first day of high school I wore my sister’s long & lean white jeans and some brightly colored Hawaiian button down. Trust me, I am neither long nor lean and I think another vest was involved. In fact, I know it was. Years passed and an obscene amount of boy jeans were bought and hemmed.  And some how, in my delusions of fashion grandeur, I allowed the infamous white shirt to sneak into my wardrobe. At first I just wore them to bed, then under sweatshirts and jackets. Within days it seems they became part of my work out uniform and matinee attire. And no matter how many times I donated them to the Goodwill or tore them up for a costume, a new set would magically appear in my drawer. I’d use the excuse: “Oh, I’ll just wear them to relax, you know like a short-sleeve smoking jacket, yeah like that” and then somebody would catch me at the Olive Garden eating a lot of breadsticks and pasta with my tucked in white-top making an awkward “You got me!” face. In my ideal world Stacey London would pop out of some door and surprise me with thousands of dollars and advice for what not to wear. Or at least usher me onto the next fashion boat with a mai tai in hand. In the mean time let us analyze the picture above. I’ve got my Martha Washington up-do and what appears to be an adult bib attached to my neck is actually a misshaped, unfortunate halter-top. Let’s not even talk about the toddler pattern navy portion. Yes, I am a white-top tucker. Yes, I have one on now.

break ups:

suck.

Where have I been?

I went on a hike and took this picture. 

Seriously, where the heck have I been the last two months? Why I haven't I written? It's not like I work too much. Interesting things HAVE happened. Geez, forgive me. Can we just talk about Fall in Seattle real quick? It is the most beautiful thing ever. As I sit with my lukewarm tea at Top Pot Doughnuts I am so happy I am experiencing this right now. The leaves are the kind of leaves you see in movies like "Autumn in New York", the wind is chilly and everyone is bundled up in hats and scarves. At this hour, 6:10pm, it is almost completely dark. Amazing. I just spoke with Joy in Los Angeles and she is at the beach! In shorts! (I made the shorts part up, but I'm sure she is in something loose and airy). I can't even picture the beach right now. Oh, this fall weather is divine. I can't wait to go home, turn on my radiator and snuggle in with my old man cat. And if I wanted to eat warm cookies for dinner, would you blame me? It is near Halloween-time. It's almost Thanksgiving. My parents are staying with me in my little Joey Ray apartment for six days. Ingenious, hilarious blog posts to follow. Trust.

Perfection.

Normal. What is normal? What is perfect? Would you be perfect if you had the choice? I wouldn't. I like the way I wear my heart on my sleeve. Even when it breaks, at least I can say I gave it my all. I love that I eat more candy then I should. I am a terrible driver and I'm not ashamed of it. I trip on things often. I'm clumsy with knives and I stutter all the time. These are the traits that make me Lauren Tiffany Wilson and to be honest I wouldn't want it any other way. This doesn't mean that I don't strive to be a better person. Better, not the best. I strive to make my relationships stronger, more meaningful and full of love. Those that resist make me uneasy. To those that encourage my love: Thank you. I want you near me forever. I want to hug you all the time.

Bruce.

Have you ever been on a date when you didn't know it was a date? Me neither, until this afternoon. I just got back from one of the most awkward encounters of my life. But before I delve into these details let me give you a little back story for reference -- Turns up music, Neo Soul please -- Last week these two great, gregarious gentlemen came into REI looking for size huge hiking boots. They were hilarious together and I loved them immediately. One of them made an off colour remark regarding boot straps and moments later asked if I was a Jewish woman in the city. I told them I was half white half black and the bigger guy, the cooler one, whispered in my ear, "Wait, you're a mulatto?"Then I told them I had a girlfriend and they looked at me as though I had confessed being a closeted 'Frasier' fan. Both mouths agape. They guessed my age to be about 19 and were shocked to find out I was in my mid-twenties. We bumped video-phones and exchanged information (I wish I had you, iphone). Done and done, I thought. My new silver fox friends and I were going to tear this town up. But, were they gay together? Was one of them gay? I just couldn't figure it out! On their way out they handed me their business cards and information. The cooler one, William, is a professional photographer and Bruce, well, Bruce's card said just that: 'Bruce' with a phone number. Alright, this guy likes to keep things low key. He's a low maintenence kind of man. As they walked out of my life that afternoon, I remember thinking how badly I wanted them in my life. These two great guys, so funny, so gay. Just perfect ..
That evening I texted Bruce asking when we could hang out. We planned to meet at a coffee shop the next week. . I was totally looking forward to it and before I left my apartment I even put on the 'good' deoderant.
Long story long: Bruce is not a homosexual. He won't be my new silver fox friend. He told me about his recent divorce and how he's not quite sure his current girlfriend is someone he wants to be with forever. He said when he told her about our little excursion that she became incredibly incensed. You heard me correctly. A date, I was on a date? He told me I was beautiful and confessed wanting to be my boyfriend. He's been looking for an excuse to break things off with this woman and in his heart of hearts I think he wanted it to be me. Mid terriyaki bite I finally put all the pieces together. I almost spit out my food but it was so delicious I decided to swallow it instead. I inquired, "Are you trying to date me? Because clearly that isn't going to happen." I told him I had a girlfriend and was lesbian. I so badly wanted to recite that lesbian line from 'Mean Girls' but was afraid he wouldn't get the reference. Silver fox. My new silver fox friend was not gay at all. And despite my refusal to be his girlfriend he continued to try and convince me to date him. He spoke of his lesbian fantasy, blah, women are so much nicer, blah, I have a lot of gay friends, blah blah, I survived cancer, what? blah, I travel and work out, blah. I don't even know what happened next. I think he told me about having an inflatable penis. Is that a real thing? I think he asked if I worked out because I looked like an athlete. Is that a compliment? I was hanging onto my video-phone for dear life, anxiously hoping for a call or text or video text or voice mail or low battery vibrate - anything! He paid for my lunch -- so, thank you Bruce. He walked me to my apartment -- again, thank you?

And all along, even before shit got real, I wondered where the other guy was. The awesome one. The normal one?

So. That. Happened.

I won't be texting or seeing Bruce anymore .. But can I hang out with his friend without him knowing?

Also, why are people so crazy?

August-ish.

Thighs and Rompers. 

I live in Seattle and people visit me here. My dear San Francisco friends came for a hot minute. During their stay, we attempted to float down some river. In retrospect, I should have known better. I'm clumsy. People like me don't do well in numerous situations including but not limited to: a burning building, an airplane experiencing turbulence, around a ferocious dog or in an alley late at night. A river with water and rocks as been added to the list, my list. Without any hesitation or thought, I jumped on my floatation device with all the confidence in the world. I'm on crocodile, I'm 26, I'm pretty strong for my size -- random thoughts that popped in my head as I let the water sweep me away from the safe, solid land. When I looked back a few seconds later it appeared as though Callie had the hang of it as well. Jenny was messing around being clumsy and the other girls weren't even in the water yet. I was moving down that thing with such speed I started to get nervous. Then, as though I was on land, I tried to stand up and stop the experience immediately. It was at this juncture that bad things started happening. The river stole the flip flops I had borrowed, people kept tumbling off their inflatable animals and Michelle Duffie got caught under a branch and almost drowned - as I stood helpless in the water watching it all go down. Sad, right? And through it all: all of the screaming, pain and frustration only Callie and Hoover could say they had an okay time. I think. So .. that happened. But to make it all better, Duffie hosted a rad party full of grilled meat, sherbert, amazing terry cloth rompers, laughter, family, beer, braiding sessions, singing, a beautiful baby, the most awesome nanny and lots of chips - all kinds. It was a lot of fun. Thank you J&C for making the trek. Duffie, you know why I'm here. You know how I feel. A week after they left, Mariana came for a lil' visit. Needless to say, a river was not  floated. We ate a lot of things and drank these weird tea slushie things that made our stomachs angry and confused. I worked a ton and her and Duffie became fast friends. Mariana, to sum up your trip I'd use these words/phrases: flannel, Jersey Shore, can I make a sauce from scratch? Yeah, I can make a sauce from scratch, blackberries, according to the book, pin ball, beach+nirvana+woodfire pizza, Oh My God - Oh My God You Guys, we suck at trivia, we should have gone to Quinn's, two doughnuts - why not, they're small, wat bot, so: do you guys want nachos?, I have to lay down, etc. You're a great friend. I love you. I love your laugh. I'll catch you on the flip side, in San Francisco, on 18th and Valencia. You know the place, save me a seat.

Bff. 

So, to sum things up:
Clumsy people should stay away from the Cedar River.
Friends are dear hearts.
Blackberry cobbler is delicious.
I think the summer is over.
My Dad watches the hell out of the Lifetime Movie Network.
I've composed a letter to John Legend asking him to sing at my wedding. All I need is his address.
I love you.

.. Please?

Goji.

O M G oji

We rolled in three. As the newest edition to the group I was in the back seat, clearly. It was a humid summer evening. I had my legs out in some janky cut-off shorts and this beautiful fashion scarf that made all the guys holla. Gross. Michelle and Cassi laughed in the front, the closeness they have for one another is truly a delight to see. I was set in the back with a box of granola bars, an infant seat and numerous fun size candy bars. Little did I know that morning that an impromptu hunt for the infamous and quite rare Goji berry slurpee would fill our Saturday night. For that evening (and perhaps all evenings), for Ms. Cassi's mouth, a traditional Wild Cherry slurpee would not do. Our epic expedition began at 9:30pm. We hit every 7-11 between SeaTac and Ballard -- perhaps 20, perhaps 17 - I lost track on Rainier Ave.. In this order these things happened: Cas parked the car, we jumped out like gang-busters, a race to the slurpee machine, disappointed faces, the "fried chicken for a quarter a piece?" debate, answer: no, water instead, king size snicker bar also, a chat with the locals, laughter and uneasiness to follow and back in the car. On to the next one. Repeat. It is true my shoes were off for most of the the trip. It is also true we almost got into a wreck and I freaked out (of course) and screamed like terrified toddler. Within the three hours our journey I slipped into a sugar coma, slept it off, ate more candy and gave a speech telling my new friends how much I appreciate having them in my life. I'm pretty sure I told them I loved them? I mean, what's the harm in that? Life is too short for people to not know or have to guess how you feel about them. Simple as that. We didn't find Goji that night but I can honestly say it was an epic try. Hella laughter. Alas! These women! Did! Not! Give Up! In Kent the next morning the illusive Goji berry was found, bought, admired and devoured. An amazing night full of memories I won't soon forget.

Yoga.

I think it is time I come face to face with yoga again. My last attempt occurred in 2000, I had just turned sixteen. I'll never forget it because it ended up being some 'power Yoga' ruse and I was quite sure I'd pass away before the class ended. The breathing and the sweat. That music. Everyone seemed so calm and relaxed. Why the heck was I struggling so much? I was on the j.v. basketball team for goodness sake! I mean, really. And worst of all, the instructor insisted on calling me out. Once with: "Lower your back, hun - no, not yet .. Now!" She also assured me the class would wait as I caught my breath before continuing. It was awkward. I was in basketball shorts too, of course, so I stood out like a sore thumb in a room full of people wearing yoga pants and tank tops. It was quite possibly the longest fifty minutes minutes of my life. Leaving that damn facility I was delirious, incoherent and starving. And the soreness I felt the next day cannot be described in very nice words. So it's 2010, a good ten years since the incident. I'd say I'm in pretty good shape: I run here and there and have recently (just this hour) agreed to cut butter and sugar from my diet? If not now, when?! YouTube has some pretty neat 'Yoga' videos. It's free and I can do it in the privacy (shades up!) of my own home. I've got yoga pants this time around and a sweat band. What's the worst that could happen? .. Lastly, what the hell kind of friends would drag a novice to 'Power Yoga'? Katie & Carolyn: that's you. I'm going to need some type of explanation.

A Case of Curiosities.

Do you ever wonder where 'Curly Sue' is these days? Is her hair still long? Is she okay? Do people recognize her on the street and yell things like, "James Belushi!" or "Hey, it's that girl from that movie with James Belushi!" I wonder. Would '90210' would have been the same if an asian woman played the role of Andrea Zuckerman? Where the heck is that annoying girl from 'The Blairwitch Project'? Is she wealthy? Do her friends make fun of her for crying so much and being so annoying? I'm a curious bear. The television set just informed me I could send Pizza Hut a text saying 'cheese' and win pizza for an entire year. How would that work? Would they deliver a pizza every day to my apartment? What if I couldn't finish the one from the previous night? How many toppings could I choose from? Could I swap a salad for a pizza once a week in order to regulate my bowels? I'd actually rather win a Publisher's Clearing House game. Or that Ms. America contest. I dream of holding that super-sized check and screaming "Mo' Money, my money!". I'd take that thing everywhere. I'd move to Vermont and open an ice cream shop. Wait. I'd probably just move to Greece and live happily ever after. I can't wait ...

A Lady Leg Party.

Classy.

Women love parties. They love wearing short skirts, tight blouses, showing a little leg, a hint of cleavage and they enjoy being off colour with their friends. In the last few months I have become this party-obsessed diva. Not booze crazy like Tonya from "The Real World" (you know the one) or anything. More like Martha Stewart crazy. She always keeps it classy. I'd host a party every day if I could. I'd buy bags and bags of mixed nuts, pretzels, and candy just to have them on hand in case more people decided to show up. I'd prepare lavish meals in heels, put on a ridiculous amount of make-up and lip sync to Kanye West in front of the mirror before my guests arrived just for heck of it. I had a party last night for Ms. Cassi Randles' half-birthday. Really, it was just an excuse to get a bunch of foxy ladies in my apartment and play spin the bottle. What a great night. These things happened: The neighbors complained and we ate a lot of cream sauce. Cigarettes were smoked, parking spots were reserved and random Facebook messages to boys were definitely a hot topic issue. My girlfriend Duffie sprinted to the corner store twice to buy everyone Sprite and beer. She is a dear heart. Most importantly, our legs were out! (In one case, a body was out!) And in a moment, everyone seemed to clear out. Empty bottles, empty glasses, a sheet pan of roasted brocoli crumbs and half a confetti cake are all that remain. I'll tackle the dishes in a bit. I'll probably vacuum too and/or sweep but mostly I just want to crawl back into my little warm bed and have dreams of the next party I get to host. Dearest Cassi, I like you so much. I hope you had fun last night. I love your voice, your stories, your laugh, your swagger and how you make me feel good about my life. I'm so glad to have met you. Would it be awkward if I started calling my apartment Party Central? What if I started answering my video phone like that? Just think about it. Obviously nothing is set in stone..

Craigslist: What?

I'm no stranger to Craigslist. Is that an awkward thing to admit? Should I have saved this for the fifth post, perhaps the seventh? It'd probably be fine if kept this information to myself? Oops, you see, I've got these loose lips that just won't quit! When I lived in San Francisco, I'd frequent Craigslist quite often. I bought an ipod mini from this dude from the East Bay. He was nice enough. We met downtown, exchanged the goods and were on our way. I sold the Nintendo 64 I had won from Taco Bell for some fast cash before I went to Europe. Now, that guy was kind of creepy. He wasn't sly about scoping out my room and totally asked if my white Northface fleece jacket was for sale too. I said, "Sir, you need to leave immediately. That is a woman's jacket. It is mine!" Lesson learned: Meet in a public place always. I also used Craigslist to meet new people. And in retrospect, as I write this now, I realize that all the women I met weren't quite right in the head. I made a picnic lunch for one woman and after eating her lunch she asked if she could finish mine. Bold move lady and no I am not done with my sandwich you need to get to steppin'. Another lady drank a whole bottle of wine at dinner and asked to stay the night at my apartment because she feared being kidnapped on the BART. Do adults kidnap other adults in public places? How would that work? And yet another girl tried to plant a kiss on my lips but in this gross kind of way I don't even want to think about it. That trickster. Inappropriate! Lessons learned: Weed out the crazies and look real hard for the nice girl. The funny one. The sweet one. Yeah, do that. In Los Angeles I went on one Craigslist date. I had to coordinate it when my Mom was out of town and my Dad was asleep. I baked this girl cookies and had her pick me up at my HOUSE, really Lauren, truly brilliant. I know what you're thinking: Perhaps it is I that is not quite right in the head. Yikes. I was so nervous I grabbed this dull pairing knife just in case things got crazy and I had to cut somebody. This lady made me incredibly uneasy from the get go. She talked about horror movies more than you and I would talk about horror movies and said she had a gun at her apartment and asked if I wanted to see it. Who has a gun these days? Truly. She also mentioned not liking high school very much because she "didn't learn a thing and it was dumb." For some reason, all reasons, I found this incredibly upsetting. It was at this moment that I faked a call to my Dad and asked her to take me home immediately. I worried she'd show up randomly with flowers and or said gun. I told my sister a couple days later and she advised if I felt the need to bring a knife on a date perhaps it wasn't a good idea to go on it. Incredible insight from a wise, wise woman. When I arrived in Seattle I had a nice little chat with Craigslist. I wasn't mean, I was firm and direct. I said: Don't mess this up. I request to meet a nice woman this time. A woman that learned many things in high school. A new city, I thought, with new ads and kind faces. That damn list led me astray once again. I met this lady for coffee and chick seemed nice enough. We (she) talked about her depression and her pet bunnies in Bellingham. We took a walk in the park and she asked if she was someone I could see myself with for the long haul. I stuttered. I had a beer with lunch, and then another. In my thai food haze (nervous eating) I thought it'd be a good idea to invite her to my apartment, meet my gentlemen cat and watch Planet Earth. Have mercy, Lauren. Get it together. She finally left at midnight after I put on my pajamas, brushed my teeth and made it a point to yawn a lot. I knew I never wanted to see her again. I wrote her an email saying just that. She wrote back asking for another chance, promising she could make me a very happy woman. I don't even know what that means, and Lord bless it I didn't want to find out. She even said she bought me a housewarming gift and wanted to give it to me as soon as possible. A gift? At midnight? Lessons learned: Craigslist is sketch-ville. Use it to find Jill Scott tickets and jobs only. Don't invite random women to your apartment. Don't make them cookies and force them to watch nature shows with you. Listen to your sister and don't bring dull knives on dates. Now you know ..

A Woman in the City.

I've got this crazy curly hair and I'm clumsier then heck. I'm short but make it a point to tell everyone I'm average height. I'm flawed, of course, and often use "than" when I should have used "then". Although, I will never mistake "your" for "you're" -- promise. I moved to Seattle in March and want to tell you everything: How I am a woman in the city and what that means exactly. How I got this old man cat who tries to escape out the window every chance he gets. How I am obsessed with being topless and how my neighbors could care less. Part of me wants to jump right in and tell you how often I buy ice cream and candy because they always seem to be on sale. The other part thinks I should introduce myself, you know, to give you a little idea of who I am and perhaps convince you to continue to reading this for the days and months to come. My name is Lauren. My middle name in Tiffany. It's about to get good. I'm in the midst of tackling my twenties and am quite fond of wearing short skirts with tight blouses. "Why Seattle?" you ask. Prior to the life I live now, before I had my own refrigerator filled with Session beer and cookie dough, I was living in Los Angeles with my parents working at a restaurant making cheese plates. It came to be that I ran out of money after spending four months in Europe and had to beg my parents to live with them for awhile. I slept in the exercise room right next to my Dad's dusty spin bike. With my heart heavy from missing my friends and life I had created in San Francisco, I slowly but surely acclimated to my LA world. My Mom and I became fast friends and for reasons I will explain later I was on the bus A LOT. I was lucky to meet some wonderful people at the restaurant (and lucky to work with my big sister!) and the men at the bus stops were unique. I had the opportunity to pretend I was deaf once after this gentlemen told me he wanted a pen-pal hella bad and needed a dime. As soon as I moved back home I knew I couldn't be there long. Also, I knew if I moved back to my San Francisco, a place full of familiar faces and crazy memories, it wouldn't be the same and I could be disappointed. In January, I bought a ticket to Seattle as a birthday present to myself. With my back-pack stuffed with sweatshirts and "East of Eden" in my hand, I flew up to explore and get lost on purpose. It was then I fell in love. I'll be honest, it was the burger and beer at Quinn's that cemented the feelings I developing for Seattle. I welcomed the rain with open arms and that pear I had at Pike's Market was so perfect I just about devoured the core. I ate a lot  things, wrote silly postcards and had this incredibly dorky smile on my face the entire trip. The Victrola coffee tasted incredible in my mouth and my stomach smiles when I think of French Onion soup I enjoyed at Le Pichet. I was certainly a smitten kitten. I felt excited, eager, and scared in the best way. The motivating, get me the heck outta Los Angeles, kind of way. I had an amazing friend of a friend drive around to look at apartments for me. When he found the one I call home, with the "Rear Window" feel and beautiful view, he encouraged me to contact the manager asap. I did. I wake up to the Space Needle, the downtown city scape and the Olympic mountains. What more could a girl want? Well, to be honest, I wish my neighbors were a little nosier. I dance and sing a lot in front of the window hoping for an audience. I guess the "Look in here, please" memo I sent out wasn't well received. However, I refuse to give up. So .. the life I'm building here is one of adventure, intrigue, hilarity and includes but is not limited to: urban treks, booze, a chubby cat with an "unspecified" thin tail and dainty little legs, hiking boots, expensive laundry, dinner parties, burnt cookies, fire alarms, un-nosey neighbors, field trips, family & friend visits, dinners out, pen-pals from home, an incredible lady that happens to live on a river in the country and much, much more.. Won't you join me for this ride? I promise not to disappoint.