Far Too Curvy To Be An Androgynous Hipster.

well. that was something.

Two hours on a Friday night and I have a new template and playlist. I even had to troubleshoot and go through six pages of HTML code to fix this template and get it to work. I was coding. On a friday night. While my husband played Call of Duty. That’s COD for the XBox crowd out there.
I also spent a good deal of time reading my friend’s blogs and stealing all their good music for my own playlist. (PS, Kari, I wish I could be an androgynous hipster too… I want to be that stylish and cool) Sadly enough, it is some of the more enjoyable time I’ve spent this week.
As some of you might know, I had an interview Monday with another ad agency. I’ve been waiting to say anything in general for fear of jinxing it, but they’ve called me back in for more “evaluation” on Tuesday so screw it, on with the jinxing, bitches.
The point I am meandering towards is that this week has been no fun because pretty much since I drove my car home from somewhere off Allen Parkway I have done nothing but mentally re-answer each and every interview question I was asked.
A blubbering fool when cornered in a conference room, I am conversely a brilliant linguist at three in the morning when I wake up from turbulent food-stamp related dreams and my mind spills out answers so eloquent you’d think they were opening lines to the I Have a Dream speech.
I even had a theory cooked up called the “Dan Brown Effect”.
Interview Question Most Obsessed Over: As a writer, what is your biggest pet peeve?
Brilliant Re-Answer: Well, you see, it is what I like to call “The Dan Brown Effect”. I have a strong distaste for content-based literature. Using words simply to convey a story, a plot-line. Not packing each word with meaning. Good writers can say so much with so little because the words they pick are so…. distinct. Succinct. The Da Vinci Code made me want to keep reading to unravel the mystery, but in terms of writing style I found it bland and boring. Somewhere along the line people started equating Best Sellers with great prose, and it bothers me to see the deterioration.
Actual Answer: Dehhhhh. When people use words that sound the same wrong. Like affect and effect. Yeah.

By yesterday my condition had become almost irreversible. I drove to Sugar Land in a stupor of neurosis for a change of scenery and a stolen dip in the Obeids’ pool. Eventually my mom forced out of me every question and answer I gave during the interview and convinced me I managed to let some spark of intelligence shine through. By the time I got home I was already feeling better (God bless mothers) and checked to find an email asking me back to the agency for a follow up proof-reading test.
So if you’ve all been wondering why I’ve been MIA, it’s because frankly with all the crazy-talk going on within my head, there just isn’t enough time to converse with anyone else.
I’ll be so glad when this whole process is over.

The Apartment.

The man at the corner apartment has a Lexus.

It is convertible and silver and he leaves it parked on the side of the street that is ungated. The part I can’t even bring myself to leave my lesser car parked, for fear of window breakers and ipod-takers.
He leaves the top down on occasion.
The man on the corner looks like Ralph Lauren- seventy something years old with white hair and weathered orange skin. He wears sunglasses from Oakley and dresses like a twenty year old night club promoter. Sandblasted tight jeans and a button down shirt with painted on fleur de lis. 
Where does he go? What does he do? Why does he live in this shitty apartment complex? Between the ensemble he adorns and the busy street corner his Lexus frequents, I surmise he is a risk taker. But who exactly is this man? What round-about set of seventy years of life choices led to this?
I spend tens of minutes each day contemplating his existence as I let my dog poop in the grassy area outside his window. Twelve noon and still in the clothes I slept in. I wonder what he thinks of me or if he has ever given as much thought to my lifestyle as I have to his.

Bucket List

1. Swim in the Dead Sea. Feel the healing powers. Feel excessively buoyant.

2. Stay in one of those exotic luxury hotels with huts on stilts over crystal blue water.
3. Live in one of the “Painted Ladies” in San Fran, if only for a day. Think more Charmed and less Full House. Work for BeneFit in San Fran….if only for a day.
4. Greece. Sights, sounds, sun. Food. Ocean. Gluttonize on all of the above until utterly incapacitated.
5. Pyramids
6. New York Fashion Week. Or Paris fashion show. Either will do 😉

Lady of the House

Now that Aaron has officially started law school and I am officially terminally and acutely unemployed, I have begun to domesticate.

Today I ran errands, I walked the dog. I talked to the neighbors, I washed dishes.  I sorted and filed bills. I flipped through the Pottery Barn catalogue. I made dinner the real way- by chopping vegetables and cutting meat. At no point did I unwrap a Totino’s. I went to Dillard’s and bought my husband a couple of Polo shirts he wanted.
I went clothes shopping for my husband. 
I am 47 years old.
It’s scary to think that for many American women, this is all they could hope and dream and want out of life. I’ve been “housewife” for precisely three days and I’m already planning my escape.


I’ve become more of a crier in recent years, and I still have yet to decide if this means I am a weaker or stronger person than I used to be. I used to always bottle up emotions, but I always felt it took an enormous amount of strength to do so. I felt in control. But I suppose as a result of my relationship with Aaron, if nothing else, I’ve let go. He can tell anyways, he can read my stress. And this awareness opens the floodgates. Only now I can’t close the damned things. I wish I could say this makes me feel open, relieved, more in touch with my emotions, but somehow the release makes me feel more disconnected from them. When you bottle something up, you own it, you cultivate it. It belongs to you alone. To share emotions is to dump them into a whole new arena of analysis and action.

Friends, Sex and the City, Seinfeld, Bliss.

Aaron claims that for a blog about the two of us, I write about myself a lot. Well it’s my blog dammit, but for the sake of staying on topic, I shall talk about the topic of sharing.
A note on marriage and sharing:
When you live together, you watch TV together. But when your “together” includes such stratified interests, compromises must be made. Apparently Aaron can’t handle a six hour block of sitcoms. Likewise CSPAN, Judge Judy, and Sports Center don’t exactly make my day. Consequently we have watched only the shows we can both agree on, which means nothing but Law & Order, the olympics, and what seems like hundreds of hours of the Food Channel since we moved.
The things we do for love.
Aaron went to sleep early tonight because tomorrow is his first day of law school orientation. I promptly switched over to CW39 for a 2 hour binge of Seinfeld, Friends, and Sex and the City.
A girl has needs.

This One Goes Out to the Ones I Love

I think we can all safely say that since the birth of Facebook we feel far more entitled and addicted to entering and spying other people’s lives than ever before. And the less you actually know someone, the more seedy and wrong it feels to spy, the better it feels.

But since I’ve moved to Houston I’ve found myself a bit isolated from the ones I love. Katie left for Orlando last weekend, Jen has been in Chicago since before the wedding, Chelsea just got back from LA, Rachel and Christine are still in Austin. These days I find myself concentrating my efforts on far more benevolent purposes and looking mainly at my own “real” friends.
Now that everyone is graduated, life seems to be taking off for everyone. New loves, new jobs, new cities. I’m so excited and happy for everyone I wish I could watch each of you as characters on the real world and see things change.
I miss being a part of your lives.
Anyhow, I hate to be so sappy, but the point is I am way excited for all of you as the world realizes how truly amazing you are. So throw me a bone every once in a while and let me know what’s up.

Aunt Lauren

One thing I never took the time to consider until now is that when I became “wife”, I also became “aunt”. Aaron has three nephews and a niece that for the most part have always felt like siblings because three out of the four are closer to our age than anyone else’s. So spending last week having my new “niece” Kaitlin stay over and hang out with us has felt more like spending time with a fourth sister I never had.

It’s been nice.
But it’s taken until this very week of family visits to realize how integrated into The Family I really am. Aaron’s sister called to tell us that on the way home she attempted to explain to her three year old that Lauren was her aunt now. He accepted this as truth, fell silent for a little while, before bursting out in confusion “Lauren is my BUG?!”
Yes. I am your bug now. I belong to you and them and they belong to me. Very strange feeling to have an entire new family.
I am also Aunt Lauren for one VERY exciting reason. I know everyone just loooves to use blogs to talk about their husbands and babies and friends’ babies and show off all those wonderful pictures….WELL. Thanking God every day that my friends are thus far baby-fever vaccinated and immune, I shall now introduce to you MYYY newest niece, 
Roxy Beary Reynolds:

Realization #682

I am addicted to cleaning because it is the only non-destructive form of immediate gratification in my life.  Pounds take weeks to come off. Dust is gone in one swipe. No matter how much collects, gone just as fast.


Up until three weeks ago I kept all of my important documents filed in a velvet covered Lisa Frank folder.

Some things from Walker Station truly are ingrained in our DNA.