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.