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.