Aunty Woovin.

I love this kid. Not only for his ability to double fist milk and water.

After a rough day at work yesterday, I put a call out to my friends for some alcoholic/revelry time. I needed some sort of distraction, as the things that were going down at the job were pretty intense and will probably change my work environment in major ways. I got an offer from my best friend to hang out for a little while with her and her two year old son, who are two of my favorite people on the planet.

I decided to head over before the alcoholic beverage consumption occurred and parked my car in their driveway at 6:45pm, just after bath time. As I got out of the car, I saw a little blonde head bobbing up and down in their front window. I heard the sound of a little boy screaming, "Woovin's here, Woovin's here!" as I made my way to the front door. As I turned the doorknob, I heard him yell, "I'm gonna hide, Mommy!" and I feigned surprise that my little pal had disappeared.

I walk out of their home after a visit and leave feeling refreshed and wonderful. I love when this little boy tells me he knew as soon as his mommy told him I was coming over that I was gonna be funny. Cause I'm always funny. His mom told me that my little guy said that when I came over, I was probably going to call him a giant. And I did. It's moments like this where I realize that I am supposed to be right here, right now, if only to be the silly aunt to this amazing little boy.

I got to hear about the dragon ride at a festival the family went to over the weekend. About how his dinosaur has a spiky tail. I got a kissed finger when I pretended to have a booboo after touching it. I ate toddler toes, then put the imaginary chewed toes back on his foot, to which he said, "Now I can't walk, Woovin!!" I got to listen to his reaction to seeing Yoda and Darth Vader on a television screen for the first time, and about how his favorite character was R-Do-Tee-Too. I heard a two year old do a Darth Vader impression, and say, "LukeIamyourfather" as one word, and a long drawn out "NOOOOOOOO!!!" in response.

Who knows what path my life will take from here. Who knows if I will ever have children of my own, or if I will be the cool aunt until my dying day. I don't know, and right now I don't really care. I do care about my little guy, and my friend, her husband and their entire family and I am blessed to be allowed into their lives. I want to make sure that he knows me, because knowing him makes me a happier, sappier person. (Obviously. See above post.) And I'm gonna do the same for his baby sister that is due in June. They're my family, and it's my job to spoil them rotten.

Love is a funny word.

I say it to my family. I say it to some friends. I say it to my dog. I say it about my favorite restaurant. I don't say it to myself.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has this problem.

As a single lady with a lot of interests, I find myself more and more spread thin in terms of time. I say yes to everything whether it be a part in a play, or an errand for work.

This morning I put on a pretty dress, did my hair and make-up, and slipped on some rocking purple high heels. I looked down at myself and felt happy that I had so lovingly chosen an ensemble that made me feel pretty. Then my eyeballs locked onto my toes. With little time for pedicures, the red polish was chipped on both exposed toes, and I decided to remove it and go fresh footed into my work day. But as I removed the layers of lacquer, I noticed that my nails looked like my dad's. Cracked, bruised, damaged, and gnarly, my tootsies looked a little like how I have felt lately. There's no specific reason except that it's the holidays and the single jokes increase in frequency and dig just a little bit deeper at this time of year. Friends and family are moving onward and upward and though I'm ecstatic for them I am bogged down by the fact that I am standing still.

PMS is on hold. My improv career is on hold. My stand up career has yet to begin. My singing career is non-existent, barring a performance scheduled for January. The highlight of my acting career this month is playing a talking sheep in a nativity scene at a church. I feel lost, and I don't like it.

This morning I googled "Nicest Small Towns in America." I started looking for jobs in Black Mountain, NC and Hanover, NH. I'm desperate for a change. A change in job, a change in locale, a change in anything that will take this nagging feeling of panic and pending doom away for just a little bit. I know it's probably a change in me that needs to happen. I've had it pointed out to me ad nauseum.

For now, I'll cover it up with a smile like I covered up my nasty toes with a quick layer of purple potion nail polish. It's a temporary fix, and I know there's more work to be done on both myself and my cuticles. After this weekend, I'll put the effort in and maybe see a change before the birthday of some guy who did something to save some people. Here's hoping.

Bucket of chicken...I mean, bucket list.

A friend of mine recently posted a blog listing all of the items on her bucket list. I was blessed to be with her when she almost died on a flying trapeze (Item #46 on her list.) And it got me to thinking about my own personal bucket list, which is currently non-existent. The lack of a list is strange, as I have always been acutely aware of the fragility of life, having lost several dear family members while at a young age. I've never thought about what I want to do before I die, but have focused mainly on what I have done already should I kick it tomorrow. Here's that list. Let me note that I am in no way trying to brag and make everyone jealous that I am super awesome and cool. BUT I am trying to brag and make everyone jealous that I am super awesome and cool.

I was born.

In three separate instances, broke my nose, arm and paper cut my eyeball.

Have visited almost all 50 states. Still on the list-Wisconsin, Idaho, Hawaii and Alaska. Have traveled to Europe and British Columbia, and Canada, visiting these European countries: Denmark, Germany, Belgium, Austria, The Netherlands, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Czech Republic.

Seen and done these things: The Little Mermaid Statue, Berlin Wall, St. Charles Bridge, Bergen Belsen, Mozart's Birthplace, Anne Frank House, Praha Opera House (saw Rigoletto), British Columbian Rain Forests, Bungee Jumping, Flew a Cessna, White water rafting on 6 different rivers, hiking in 12 states and 3 countries, parasailing, rollerblading at a Vans Skate Park, went camping at the Red River Gorge, Rock Climbed in North Carolina, did a back country trip for 5 days in the woods, flew on a trapeze and performed a catch.

Performed in:
Deadlock (ha)

Oklahoma!

Fools

Guys and Dolls

Steel Magnolias

Roads (175 shows) Baby with the Bathwater

Naomi in the Living Room

StoryBox

Standprov

Page to Stage

3 years of Shadowbox Shows

A Christmas Carol (2 years)

2 years in a row Rock and Roll Karaoke Semi-finals

Vanities

3 years of Jove Shows

Beauty and the Beast, Really

I'm with Stupid

Performed with-Michael Winslow and Garrett Morris, met Bruce Campbell.
Duffy’s commercial
Labor Finders Video

Wrote a Comic book

Lost 35 pounds

Gained 35 pounds :)

Been on Burn Notice 3 times.

Went to ComicCon

Was interviewed on a podcast.

Met Christopher Moore. Sent him my web comic. Met Jim Butcher.

Published an online comic.

Met Jenna Busch.

Spoke on a panel at a comic book convention.

Took 2 Stand up Classes. Performed my first routine.

Wrote and Produced 4 shows on my own and donated over $3,000 to Gilda’s Club.

So. This is my "have done" list. The bucket list is pending, as I explore further in life what I want to do, be, do, be, do. I'll put the first thing on my list, which will actually be happening in February.

1. Visit New York.

I booked my flight today. JetBlue was having a sale. So, I'll be going in February to see my lovely friend, Tiffany, and to sight see. I may even get up the nerve to move there. We'll see. I only said, "visit" on the list. That may change.

What's on your list?

Tryp(tophan) to the dark side.

My mind is fried as I sit at my desk at work and type this after one hour of sleep. I'm feeling achy muscles in places I haven't for a long time. My eyes are red, with dark black smudges underneath them. Not mascara, but plain ole exhaustion. It was my first Black Friday experience, and it might very well be my last.

Due to excessive brain drain from waking at 8:30AM on Thursday, cooking Thanksgiving dinner for the family, visiting with friends and eating cheese, and Scattergories prior to the main event which lasted from midnight til 6:30 this morning, I will make a list highlighting the best parts of the entire Thanksgiving Day.

1. Waking up in anticipation of the Thanksgiving feast I was about to prepare and learning the turkey was frozen. Solid. A long bath in cool water whilst I watched the Thanksgiving parade remedied this problem, and the meal was a success...if garlic-tastic.

2. Watching the Thanksgiving Parade and mocking the lip syncing, then laughing out loud when poor Scotty Mc-whatever from American Idol missed his cue to start singing for a good minute.

3. Pie for lunch.

4. Phone call between mom, grandma and me to discuss pre-basting or roasting for an hour prior to a baste. Mom bastes. Grandma uses a bag. I wanted to baste per Betty Crocker's directions, but conceded to Mom.

5. Missed my brother and Amanda, but had a great meal with Mom, Pop, Brooke, and Nick who were super lame and "mistakenly" wore matching shirts.

6. Attempting a nap after two glasses of champagne.

7. Driving to Emily and Stephen P's house for cheese, potatoes and nerd talk. Meeting a new friend and hanging with Jess and her pups.

8. Getting to Tiffany's house, eating a strawberry rhubarb parfait, giggling like idiots in her room as if we were teenagers, and the most ridiculous game of Scattergories I've ever played.

9. Blaring Adele as we drove to Target where there was a LINE AROUND THE BUILDING. Subsequently, sitting in car listening to Jessie J. and having a dance party.

10. Entering the melee that was Target and NOT BUYING ANYTHING as the lines went from the back of the store, around to the front, and in between all the makeup aisles. Instead, we picked out movies we would buy for each other (I wanted to get her Big Trouble in Little China as she has NEVER SEEN IT. I honestly don't remember what she wanted to get me as that part of my brain has died.) We ask each other board game questions from the back of boxes as people dash to grab Apples to Apples for $10. We then grabbed a mop and broom and danced in the aisles to the amusement of the shoppers in line. Headed for the accessory area and played characters with different pairs of sunglasses, hats, and scarves.

11. STARBUCKS IS OPEN at 1:30am. We majorly goof off and sing our orders. They laugh. Attempt a faux hawk while sipping a latte.

12. Walk to Kohl's in high spirits. Spend 2 hours there and I learned how to accessorize from the master.

13. Mess with the cashier at Kohl's, and create a theme song for her name.

14. Walk back to Target, at this point completely exhausted and paranoid that we're gonna get mugged.

11. Just checking to see if you're paying attention. That's the WRONG NUMBER.

15. This is the right number. Drop purchases at car, move it closer and GO BACK IN TARGET. We try on clothes. We pick out makeup. We buy things.

16. It's 5am now. Decide to skip Urban Outfitters and go to IHOP. Enter the restaurant, and there is a line. No one will seat us. I noticed lights on at a hole in the wall restaurant on the way to IHOP. Tiff calls them on her 4G iPhone. They're open. We loudly announce to the other waiting parties that Debra's is open and that we're going there. They follow us out.

17. We park our butts on somewhat twirly stools at the chipped counter in Debra's. There is no Debra. But there is a Donna, who is the owner and slings breakfast food with an efficiency and culinary attention that borders on terrifying. Myra, our waitress, has a deep smokers cough that throws me off for a moment. Two cups of weak coffee, eggs perfectly over medium, grits, bacon and toast do it for me. Tiff gets an omelet and hot tea. We contemplate a somewhat famous Peach Cobbler, but Myra is quick with the bill and we head out.

18. Get gas and head for Tiff's house. The morning sun is starting to peek from behind dark clouds. We are zombies, but we hug and gush about the fun we had being ridiculous people during the most ridiculous day of the year.

19. I head home, meet Dad heading out to the links, stumble upstairs and hear the Muppet Theme song an hour later.

20. Brains......

It was fun, but I don't believe I will ever, ever do it again. I'm too old for this crap. My legs hurt. My feet hurt. But, in the end, I guess it's good that my pocketbook doesn't hurt. And I got to spend time with a dear friend who I don't get to see often as she is fabulous and lives in NYC.

I'm thankful for the fact that I am free to make the decision to go and do something that completely silly. I am thankful for friends who see the real me and love me regardless. I'm thankful for a family of jerks who love razzing each other. I'm thankful, for the most part, that I am alive today and able to laugh with all of these nuts. It's precious, this thing called life. Embrace it.

Vegetarian fail.

I wanted to try to become a vegetarian. I don't know why. The impulse hit me as I was driving through the back roads of Pennsylvania. We were passing farm after farm, and I started contemplating life. What is it that allows us to believe that animals were placed here for our consumption? I also freaked out a little when I read an article stating that hamburger patties were being created in petri dishes. Turkeys were being bred to have larger breast areas and were running around, falling over from the weight in front. My brain exploded, and I started to feel gross every time I put meat in my mouth.

So, I started to research. I asked my friends for advice, and went 100% into the life of a vegetarian. Cold turkey (pun intended.)

It lasted a few days, and a couple of friends called to take me out for a belated birthday dinner. We'd made plans before I left (and changed my eating habits)to go to Outback. We got there. And I caved.

I was also sick all night. My body had been adapting to no meat, and meat made it angry. So I got back on track. Started eating better and starting to cook for myself more often as a result of requiring more iron. I was feeling good.

Then I decided to go audition for a show in Orlando. I was done at 11am, and was told by work to come right to the office. In a panic, thinking I was about to be fired or that there was something wrong at the club, I drove through. And bought chicken tenders. Vegetarian options on the go are hard to find especially when there is little time to get out of the car.

So I failed. I had a tuna melt yesterday. I'm hormonal and needed the comfort food. I resisted the beef stew my mom made last night, and made a salad with fresh veggies and goat cheese. Today, I have an Amy's organic meal, but a turkey sandwich is calling my name. I have a feeling this is going to be harder than I thought. But I'm going to keep trying and if I can at least decrease the amount of meat that I am eating, I will be ok with that. 20 years of a habit is hard to break cold turkey. Mmm. Cold Turkey. Think I may order that for lunch.

Meh.

Life's complicated. Love is worse. Something that was once two people meeting and having a connection has turned into a series of auditions that make me more nervous than any play in which I have ever tried to get a part. As an improviser, I have the utmost faith in my ability to get on a stage and make stuff up in order to entertain people. But get me in front of a strange audience of one male or on the phone for more than 5 minutes with a male I have yet to meet and I turn into a mush-mouthed mental 12 year old.

You know you've been single too long when your best friend's mom is trying to set you up with guys. My very best friend, Jen, knew a guy when she was 12 years old who still lives around town and works at a restaurant where her mom, Corinne, frequently dines. She loves this man. So much so that when he complained that he was just looking for a nice girl to settle down with, a light bulb went off over her head and she thought, "Lauren!" A slightly convoluted meet cute occurred. Corinne got Jen to send her a photo of me, he saw it, liked it, gave his number to Corinne, who gave it to Jen, who texted him my number after asking me permission to do so. See? Convoluted.

He called me last night while I was in my writer's meeting, and left a nervous sounding voicemail. I called back, and in the midst of leaving a message actually said, "I'm sorry I missed your call. I was presenting at a writer's meeting at the library...yeah, fun stuff. Anyway!!" Doh. I received another vm today, while at work, telling me he had to be at work at 5, which is when I get out of work. Not looking too good on the communication side, but Jen vouches for the guy and one date won't hurt. We keep missing each other on the old phone, but I'll keep trying. You never know who you're going to meet and why. This guy may be my new best friend. Who knows? Not me.

I do know I'm starting to get tired of this area. Not only because the available men have the mental acuity of a pre-teen. There is just too much history here and too many connections with people whom I would rather never see again. I've been seriously thinking about moving to L.A. in November, riding the waves of the Comic Convention season out there and just seeing where Bailee and I can go with our web comic and our general comedy shenanigans. I feel as if she and I are destined to do something bigger together...maybe I'm just re-directing the general need for a soul mate to one of a creative partner and kindred spirit. All I know is that she makes me feel like I am funny and it's been a long time since I felt that. I have things that I need to do before then, like produce another Jiggles and Giggles. But it's about time to actually start that "living like there's no tomorrow" thing that all the country singers like to sing about.

It's time for a change. I've already changed myself enough...now I just need to change the world.

Family

I've often wondered why I am the way I am. There are times when really fantastic things happen, and I systematically tear them and myself into little tiny pieces, over-analyzing every bit to see what I could have done better. I have started to do this most recently with my web comic. Though it is out of my control in terms of how many people read it, I keep thinking that I can affect it somehow, by being more witty, charming, out there. I even added it for a brief moment on my online dating profile, to see if I could up readership that way. I realized the folly of this choice and quickly removed it from the site, but the insanity that inspired me to do it in the first place is still going strong.

I was discussing this with my mother last night, as she is pretty down to earth and wise to the world. She is usually quick to point out my bullshit. During the course of our discussion, I discovered that I have ALWAYS been this way. I was potty trained at 18 months because I didn't like being dirty. I learned to read at age 4, because I felt if my parents could read to me then I could certainly do it myself. When I was 6, I had imaginary people in my life. They weren't friends, they were parents. Mother Snow and Father Magic lived in the North Pole and were going to come and get me someday. Six year old me wanted to control who was making the rules for me. I'm very glad these two weirdos never actually manifested in my life and love both of my parents as they are both strong yet different parts of who I am today.

After my mom and I were done chatting, I continued to think about who I am and why I feel as if I am constantly silent on subjects that I should be more vocal about. Looking to my family, I decided to elect a new mantra for myself that is based upon both my maternal and paternal grandmothers. Both of my grandmothers are named Nancy. One is living in Ohio, the other passed away while I was in college. Nancy Blake is a sweet woman who makes homemade ice cream for the 4th of July and likes warm, ankle length cotton robes. Nancy Pottinger was a spitfire, who taught me sarcasm and chain smoked until she passed away from emphysema. I've always been a little more like Grandma Blake, and will continue to be so in terms of how I deal with the people I love. In terms of my creative outlets and perspective on life I am going to become more like Grandma P. I will no longer take shit from anyone. I will recognize shady characters and bypass them before they can take advantage of me. I will call out indecencies and injustices and I will burn peoples faces off with my sarcastic wit.

What would Nancy do? That is the question.

Life is ridiculously funny.

It's been a strange couple of months. I've been on some dates and gotten booked to speak at a comic book convention, and gotten into some hijinks and shenanigans. This blog will be a free for all to really detail some of the things that are going on in the Guarded Area.

The dating front. It is hard out there, people! The moment you feel a connection with someone, a shinier minnow comes their way and they are gone. It's good that people are so ADD because if genuine affection was actually created, there would be tons more heartache than there currently has been/is in my life. I have a date lined up this weekend. I planned it. We're going putt putt golfing. I couldn't stand the idea of sitting down in a coffee shop and making awkward conversation. We'll see how it goes. The guy enjoys the fact that I use Simpson-isms when I speak. Plus one.

On the negative side of dating, there are the absolutely ridiculous things that people say and do when they are on an online dating site. I have actually been guilt tripped by people for not writing them back immediately. The expectation is that if you are on an online dating service that is all your life is about. Finding the one. Sorry, I have a job, friends, family and a creative life that keeps me distracted. These guys also don't know how to market themselves to women of quality. I got a message from a man today who's screen name is Lovesblackpuss. Sorry, sir. You will not be hearing back from me. I'm not even sure why you messaged me, to be honest.

If this weekends date goes poorly, I will probably be removing myself from all sites. The pressure and judgments on who you are in 500 words or less and based on the images you carefully pick to represent the real you is a little overwhelming. If only I had stayed with my high school boyfriend and popped out a couple of kids at the get-go, I might have missed out on this stress-fest. Regardless, the time has come to focus more on my career.

I recently interviewed for a part time teaching position at a Christian school, teaching drama to 7th and 8th graders 4 hours a week. If I get it, my boss at Ironhorse has said that I could change my schedule to do both things. I am incredibly blessed to be able to do what I love and also have a career that pays the bills. Stating that...

Bailee and I are doing the web comic thing, and it is going incredibly well. We're still looking into how to market it better, but we've been invited to speak at a comic book convention Comikaze Expo in LA in November by a lady who thinks our comic rocks. Comediva is stupendously supportive, and we may be writing a whole series of articles about our upcoming trip to Comic-Con in July, which we will be attending as nerds.

The only downfall is that while I am extremely excited about this and the potential it has to be great, there are still and always will be people in my life who are more logical, who believe that the trip is a boondoggle (a Kirk Pottinger term.) It's really hard when you are excited about something and the people who are closest to you nay-say. I've always been a pretty sensitive soul, and it completely sucks to be so excited about something only to have the negative creep in to taint it. It's a constant source of stress and though I'll deal, it's just how I'm feeling today. My family is constantly supportive of my creative endeavors, and for that I am grateful...I just need to be making more money at it for it to mean anything solid. It'll happen. I'm putting that out there. Thoughts become things.

Stay tuned for a separate blog about my recent visit to the set of Burn Notice!!

Hubris...aka A Lesson Learned.

There's something called hubris. I experienced it today, and I'm comfortable enough to tell you about it.

I had a show last night. It was called The Jiggles and Giggles Comedy Fest. I may have mentioned it once or twice. It was an idea birthed in January, and brought to fruition last night from 7pm-9pm. Or more like 7:15pm-9:30pm. We had so many people show up at the door to buy tickets we held for 15 minutes. After all 97 of them bought their concessions and bid on silent auction items set up by the lovely Wendy Pottinger, and after a two hour show of improv, sketch and stand up (as well as musical comedy and dance all by some of the best friends a girl could have), we had made $1900 for Gilda's Club of South Florida. We had a fun after show at the Brass Ring Pub, and I slept well knowing it was over and that people enjoyed themselves. Win.

Today I headed to Stuart to see some friends in a show. My friend Nathan and I got so turned around we missed the curtain. But we had fun regardless, and even ended up lost near a chocolate shop and got some candy. Yay. Win.

It's Easter, and my brother and his girlfriend came up for dinner. We always have fun as a family, and tonight was no exception. Lasagna, manicotti (we're not Italian), angel food cake and my fabulous family. You can't beat it. Win.

Then I got ready for a date. We were meeting in Delray, and I put on a strapless flowered dress, red flats, a sweater and headed for the door. It began to rain, but my awesome sister escorted me out and I did not get soaked. I drove through the torrential downpour and made it to the date about 2 minutes late. We had fun. We mocked each other. We laughed. We used big words and drank adult beverages. He is a psychology professor, and seemed genuinely interested in me, and not as a patient. We kissed, and it was awkward but had potential. He berated me for parking too far from the restaurant. It was sweet, and a great way to end the weekend. Win! *

I pulled up to the gate of my neighborhood feeling pretty smug. I was feeling invincible. Confident. I am a producer now. I make things interesting wherever I go. My poo does not stink. The world is my oyster.

I rolled down the window to type in the code for the gate, and as I did, the sprinklers came on. Reclaimed water that smelled like rotten eggs started shooting out of the ground, directly into my car and subsequently onto my face, hair, and clothes. A little got in my mouth. As I blindly typed in the code, I pulled away from the geyser that had just drenched me. I glimpsed my visage in the rear view mirror, and started to laugh. Mascara was smeared under my eyes, my hair was half plastered to my head, and I smelled like an Easter Egg that was lost in the hunt and discovered a month later.

Hubris. I'd like to thank whoever is up there for that little reminder that you can never be too humble, even when things are going really well. I sorely needed it. I promise myself and everyone who knows me that it will never, ever happen again.

* After 3 dates, this "gentleman" broke things off over e-mail, saying he wanted to be friends while also stating that he hoped I had a nice life. Jack.

Well, hello, Mrs. Fancy Pants.

My mom and I decided to go to a book signing by an author friend of hers on a rainy Tuesday night, at an art gallery on Palm Beach. Worth Avenue to be exact. She dressed in a fabulous frock with pashmina and hip silver jewelry, while I tossed on my lacy mini dress, denim jacket (from Goodwill), pink chunky jewelry, brown purse ($3 at a garage sale) and cowboy boots. We are who we are, and nothing, not even a Palm Beach address, was going to stop us from representing our true selves.

We hop into my dad's Audi TT (cause we wanted to look good driving up) and get to the art gallery. It's filled to brimming with posh, snooty Palm Beachers who are oozing disdain and pretension all over the Andy Warhol screen prints hanging on the walls. It's a very Botoxed event, and Mom and I bee-line for her friends from her writers group, in the hope that there would be safety in numbers. One of the ladies is wearing jeans, and thanks me for showing up in denim. As we stand there, my mom mentions that I am involved with the theater. The author, thinking he was doing me a favor, very sweetly grabbed me and told me he knew someone else who was in the theater at the party. He made his way through the masses to a tall, gaunt woman in a red, floral pantsuit with close cropped silver hair and glasses. He said, "You're both in theater. Talk." And then he walked away. I awkwardly offer my hand to the woman, introducing myself. Instead of a name, she utters, "I'm actually not in theater. My husband owns an Off Broadway theater in NYC. I'm in dressage. But what have you done?"

Here is one of many reasons why I feel I will never be famous. I cannot bullshit with strangers for the life of me. I answer that I just got done with a three week run of a musical at a theater in Ft. Pierce. She looks at me, questioningly, as if in her realm of existence there is only New York and Palm Beach. I say, "It's just a small place, really. I used to work for the Atlantic Theater in Jupiter...(she squints at me)... I'm an improviser, singer....blah, blah, blah." Realizing, I am losing my subject (who had spinach in her teeth, I'd like to note) I change gears, and ask her about dressage. "So, you must really like horses, then." She lightened up at this point, as narcissism is always fun, and I get into full Buffy mode. "Well, I am going to the polo match next Sunday, darling, and it shall be a smashing good time. We're bringing a hamper." The woman actually claps her hands like a school girl, gushing about how glorious it will be, and that it's so lovely to be served champagne and ice cream. I quip, "How could you go wrong with that combination?" and she falls silent again.

Both of us stood there, longing for an escape route, when the other author sidled up next to us, obviously a friend of tall and gangly. T and G asks, "Have you met our author?" and pawned me off on the other woman. I awkwardly look down at the stack of books on the table, and said, "Oh, you wrote this....impressive cover." I feigned interest in the jacket as author lady swept the horse lady away. I knew I had been brushed off. And I had never been happier.

I moved back to join my mom and her gang, and we headed for the Pellegrino. Sipping on bubbly water, we started to actually look at the artwork. The gallery owner, noting our interest, swooped in to tell us the tale of the print we were looking at, which was signed by the artists father and would have to be questioned if signed by the author himself. Mom and I looked at each other over our plastic flutes, and started laughing. We plunked our glasses down on the refreshment table, waved goodbye to her friend, and hopped in Dad's car, peeling out of there. We laughed the whole way home about our brush with society, and ended up curling up in our PJ's, making a quick dinner, and watching "Despicable Me." Ah...that's the life!

Hip or hip replacement?

My grandmother came to Florida on a recent visit, and I realized that she is really a cool person. I've always seen her through the eyes of an adolescent, as a matronly woman with a tendency to be in her robe and nodding off in front of the television at 8:00PM. She bakes, she uses the word sharp to indicate that someone dresses well, and has had the same wallpaper in her house since I was a kid. She mows her lawn like a fiend, and is the bane of a fallen leaf's existence when autumn comes around. She pronounces a light tan color with a hard g. She's my grandma.

This visit, she seemed different. She sassed, she danced to Lady Gaga, and she made snide remarks during the many Ohio State sporting events that she viewed while at our house. We were discussing an ex-boyfriend of mine, and she said that if she ever met him she'd tell him to eat worms. We went to church for Christmas Eve service, and the air conditioning kept blowing out the advent candles. Grandma thought it was amusing, and closed her eyes while trying to hold back laughter. When a lady dropped the porcelain baby Jesus two times, she laughed out loud. It was a side of her that I had never seen, even in the 3 years I lived up north and would drive two hours to spend the weekend with her.

This morning she called me at work. She was calling to see how my show went this weekend, to complain that my mom hadn't called her yesterday, and to tell me that her aunts nephew just signed a country music record deal in Nashville. She then went on to say, " I went on the youtube and listened to his music." Adorable. I mentioned that a review had come out on the show I am in, and she, without missing a beat, said, "Send me the link and I'll find it on the internet."

No more do I see my Nancy as the stereotype of a grandmother who lives for her grandchildren. She is an active, funny woman who plays bunko, goes to water aerobics at the YMCA, and has a social life. And knows how to Google. I'm so proud.

The Gift that Keeps on Giving....

I have been working at a country club for three years as an administrator. Every year at the holidays, people bring in candy, cards, and gifts to show their appreciation of the work I do, and it's very nice and sweet. Sometimes the gifts are monetary, other times they are more personal. This year, I received a lovely jewelry set, some candy, some cash, and this...
The lady who brought it in was very excited about it, and told me I could put it on my desk so I could have pictures of my family to look at during the long hours that I am at work. I'm sure she assumed that I have children, or a spouse, or something to put in there that would remind me of why I am working in the first place.

I open the box, and these are the examples they have for me to go off of...
So, I need to find a man. Get me some babies. Dye my hair blond. Buy two adorable puppies. And travel. That's what this company says will make me happy, so I'd better get on it, stat.

I've got the travel part down. And I can put in photos of my old, arthritic dog, Bailey. And maybe a picture of me bungee jumping in British Columbia, or one from my future trapeze lesson I bought myself. Or a photo of me and my girlfriends in LA, or a picture of my cute little Mini Cooper. Or me on the St. Christopher Bridge in Prague, in front of the Mannequin Pis in Brussels, or at Bergen Belsen in Germany. And when people get confused by the photos and ask, "Where are the pictures of your family? Your kids? Your perfect husband and perfect pets?" I'll tell them what I always want to say, "I'm single, unattached, and adventurous. And that's good enough for me. Can it be good enough for you?"

Happy Yew Near!

Have I mentioned that I hate the holidays?

New Years Eve is no exception. It's not just that it is just another couple's holiday where singles are pressured into finding someone, anyone to kiss at midnight. It's not because of the old adage that whatever you do on New Years Eve is what you will be spending the next year of your life doing. It's not because of the champagne, and Auld Lang Syne, and watching Dick Clark fight through a stroke to still be the face and voice of the NYE celebration in NYC (Ryan Seacrest can go eff himself).



It's because of the ball dropping.

How many balls had I dropped, in terms of my career, love, life, friendship over the past year? How many times had I let someone else down? What could I have done differently? What can I do differently in the next year to make sure I'm not in the same place on December 31st, hoping and wishing and making plans for a future that is unsure and fraught with questions? I reflect on these things as the countdown starts and see the next year looming as 365 days of potential doom.

I may be a pessimist. But I'm a pessimist with a sense of humor.

You see, if this New Years is the bar to which I should measure the next year, I will be spending 2011 with friends and loved ones, slightly tipsy on Jello shots and vodka cranberry, scarfing a gourmet spread made with care by my two dear friends. It will end with me climbing up on a rooftop, still tipsy and in heels, hanging out with a handsome man until three in the morning, and will be swept off of my feet into his muscle bound arms and dumped in front of my car door before I make my way wearily home to bed. I will then wash my face by splashing water on it clumsily, brush my teeth so as to not give plaque the ability to deteriorate my tooth enamel, and pop my bleary, make up clogged contact lenses out of my eyeballs into solution to sit there until I wake up at 8:30 to start the day.

Bring it on, 2011. Bring. It. On.

Breakdown....communication style.

I'm not ashamed to post this photo. Note the Blackberry in my hand.

It seems like we are getting further away from each other as more and more ways to stay connected are created. E-mail, skype, texting, online chatting...all were created so that we can keep tabs on each other in a convenient, time efficient manner. But there is something missing, an integral piece of the puzzle that is somehow lacking. I have found lately that even my closest relationships have been compromised due to the fact that with so many ways to communicate, we all try to make small bits of time for everyone and are now spread too thin.

For a while , I was so busy that the only time I caught up with people was on facebook chat or through e-mails. I knew I wasn't able to see them, so I would check in to make sure they still remembered that I existed. These friendships that I held so dear took a back burner to my career, to my art, to my self involvement. We would text about events in our lives, and have short, quick phone conversations to confirm one thing or another. But recently, I've had time to actually reconnect with these wonderful individuals, and sometimes, just sometimes, it feels odd. Being face to face has become an anomaly. Hugging goodbye is a change from TTYL. Laughing together has replaced the LOL. And I like it. I like it a lot.

There are days when I just want to punt my iPhone. When I want to bash my laptop with a bat. Where I want to grab my princess phone from when I was sixteen and lay on my bed and have a real conversation with someone. When I want to grab all of my girlfriends and be in a room together and sleep on the floor and make forts and eat junk food until we feel like we're going to puke. But there are husbands. There are boyfriends. There are kids. There are boyfriends who act like kids. There's 9-5 and 5-10. There's life. And I get that. I want to reconnect, with hands and hearts and hugs and love. Leave the cables and the webcams and the carpal tunnel syndrome and the text speak that bastardizes this beautiful language that has risen from grunts and squeaks and evolved into something that creates poetry and prose, and get back to a life where holding refers to hands. Where chat refers to a conversation over coffee. Where a message is a jotted note. Where "You've got mail" refers to a letter, in an envelope, with a stamp, in someone's own handwriting.

I think I've blogged about this before, but I guess it's a point of mine that really needs reiteration. Check your news feed for the link, e-mail it to your friends, and look for it on my Twitter account. Or just create a new google ID and follow me. It's that easy to stay connnected. :)

Resolutions, shmesolutions.

I resolve to stop being sarcastic.

Yes, that was sarcasm.

I have never been one to make resolutions in the New Year. I tend to get distracted by life and my overwhelming need to be constantly busy, as if a life without Tums and No-Doze would be a life without water or sunshine. Un-fulfilling and drab. But this year I have started contemplating resolutions and what they mean in terms of life and growing up. I have finally figured some things out.

I do not resolve to lose weight in the New Year. I've been there, done that...with mixed results. Instead, I resolve to eat what I want but counter that with being active. I will not buy a gym membership, but I will walk my dog a little bit more and find more friends that want to walk on the beach or ride bikes. I will move my body because some higher power somewhere gave me the ability to do so, and there are many people in this world who can't even do that.

I have never smoked in my life, but I resolve to make sure that I stay away from the hazards of second hand smoke. I resolve to make my sister's life a living hell until she quits. Side note: Can you make resolutions for other people?

I do resolve to love more. To be more forgiving. To be a person that my mom, dad, grandma, aunt, and Bailey can be proud of. To be a better friend.

I am not going to resolve to try and curse less. Eff that.

I resolve to not go into "poor me" mode when it comes to being alone. Being alone and being lonely are two entirely different things. A good friend told me that I am going through all that I am so that I can prepare myself for "The One." While I have my hopes that there is someone out there, the reality is that I am preparing myself to be a better version of the me I am today. For me, for my family, and yes, maybe someday, for "The One."

I resolve to save some time for me. I will not over commit, and I will not run myself ragged. Hahaha. See sarcasm resolution above.

In the New Year, how about we all try to be a little better...a little kinder...more forgiving...gentler...and maybe, just maybe...we'll survive and thrive and leave this world a better place.

Crappy Holidays!

I am not a Scrooge. I am not a Grinch. I am a new type of holiday Villain. My name is the SATYOWATWTOYTH. It's a little long, but stands for Single Almost Thirty Year Old Woman At The Worst Time of Year, The Holidays. I wear high heels every day. I put on make-up every morning. I make myself presentable to the world at every moment of every day as everyone I know tells me I am most likely to meet the love of my life at the least suspected moment. And God forbid that moment arrives and I have no eye liner on. And during the holidays, these efforts are for naught.

It's the time of year that is the worst (barring Valentine's Day which is a crock of s&*t anyway) for people in my situation. A time when jewelry companies advertise that bauble that says to the world, "I love this person!" When visions of romance and family life are at an all time maximum on television, billboards, and newspaper advertisements. When the childless feel the ticking of the biological clock, and the loveless feel the ache of a heart devoid of romantic love. Family and friends abound, but there is still always the feeling of being the odd one out.

Not only is it rough because of the love that abounds during the season, but which always seems to elude you...it's also a time of year when a single person's bank account is stretched to within an inch of it's life. I know everyone gets hit hard during the holidays, buying gifts and food and all the accoutrement that accompany a typical happy Holiday. But with one income, things seem a little tighter. I have started getting all of my couple friends gifts that will work for both, so I don't spend as much on the individual gifts. The gift exchange amongst my family members helps a lot, but I always feel a need to get everyone a little something. Luckily, for now I live with my parents so it's pretty easy to budget accordingly. But it's still terrifying to buy gifts when one is used to only spending on the necessities.

So, no Bah Humbug. No dog with reindeer antlers pulling a sleigh. Just a single lady looking forward to a lot of eggnog and Christmas cookies.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Only Lauren sat stirring, clicking her mouse;

With foam curlers tied all up in her hair,

In hopes that some fullness soon would be there;

The family was all nestled so snug in their beds,

While gifts for their sweethearts danced in their heads;

I sat at my desk, portable computer on my lap

And couldn't sleep after my afternoon nap,

The ticking of keystrokes created such a clatter,

But there was no one awake to ask "what's the matter?"

Minimizing the windows, I updated my flash,

Grabbed some holiday candy from my well hidden stash.

Images from up North of new-fallen snow

I clicked between all the windows below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But an ad for a dating site, for me to find someone dear,

The process was easy, designed to find someone quick,

I clicked on a profile for someone named Nick.

More rapid than eagles a reply quickly came,

And I whistled, and shouted, and told him my name;

"Now, I want you to know, I'm not always a vixen!

But time is running short, and I need a date with all the fixin's!"

To the New Year's Eve gala! to the dropping of the ball!

Now kiss away! kiss away! kiss away all!"

As dry spells that before the wild hurricanes fly,

My hopes they rocketed straight toward the sky,

So into my closet to choose an outfit I flew,

With the dress from Franchesca's and my black pumps too.

I then attempted to remain aloof

As I gazed out my window, across to the roof.

I spied a man there, with his sled upon the ground

Through the front door, Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his toe,

He must have been boiling, without any snow;

Flowers behind his back he’d chosen to stick,

Though he looked nothing like his profile pic.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

Though smoking's a no-no and he set fire to our wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

I would have started working out, if I'd gained all that myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon confirmed what I had come to dread;

This online relationship just wouldn’t work,

Because I could tell that this St. Nick was truly a jerk,

And laying his finger inside of his nose,

Digging for gold, I really suppose;

He sprang to his car, and he gave me a whistle,

And away he flew, his car like a missile.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

My name is Lauren, and I'm an addict.

I realized last night that I have an addiction. It is an overwhelming thing, my cross to bear that drags me down constantly. It has created in me a furtive creature who will sneak away to fulfill the desire that burns within me. I am breathless waiting for that next fix. I wish with all my heart that someone would have meetings for it, though I have yet to hear of any church basements or YMCA's that host group sessions for this kind of craving, this kind of need.

My name is Lauren Pottinger, and I'm addicted to technology.


Ah, it's such a relief to get that off my chest. Just typing the words on my online blog have alleviated some of the strain that I feel on a constant basis. I may post it as my facebook status as soon as I am done with this entry. Potentially post it on my online acting resume on my website. I'll probably e-mail it to someone from one of my 7 e-mail addresses, as I am going to need a sponsor and I am sure that any one of my friends or family members would be willing to admit it as well.

I admit this now because of an incident that occurred the other night. I was texting someone back and forth, a very important conversation that we could not possibly had over the phone, as actually speaking to each other would be really too intimate. I found myself checking, over and over, my e-mail and my facebook on my smart phone, as I couldn't wait to see who had said what, if anyone had posted to my wall, sent a message, or e-mailed me in response to that query I had sent out. A text conversation took 2 hours, when a phone conversation could have taken one.

Here are my 12 steps for my addiction to technology.

1. I admit I am powerless over Facebook—that my social networking has become unmanageable.
2. I have come to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity. That power is named Mark Zuckerberg.
   
3. I have made a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of God as I understand him. I understand he is a multi-billionaire played by Jesse Eisenberg in a movie.
   
4. I have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself. And posted it in a note on Facebook.
   
5. Admitted to Mark, to myself, and to 456 other human beings the exact nature of my wrongs.
6. Am entirely ready to have Mark remove all these defects of character.
   
7. Humbly asked Mark to remove my shortcomings. And all gaming requests. I don't play!
   
8. Made a list of all persons I have harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. Though I probaby won't re-friend them.
   
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. I re-tagged the photos and changed the nasty captions, okay?
   
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when I was wrong promptly admitted it. On your wall.
    
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with Mark, as I understand him, praying only for knowledge of his will for me and the power to carry that out. Also, changed my religious affiliation on my profile.
    
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, I try to carry this message to Facebook-aholics, and to practice these principles in all my affairs.

Please, let's help each other. Let's reconnect without the power of technology. Let's connect with our minds, hands and hearts and disconnect the USB cables, accounts, and emoticons. I'd rather laugh out loud with you than LOL.

Mothering gene...

My mom wrote the annual Christmas letter recently, and it got me thinking. I'm going to use her own words to establish my point.

'Ah, the ever dreaded holiday letter, filled with the musings and celebrations from the Pottinger family. I told the kids this year that I was going to write one line, "Nothing has changed, see 2009 letter." Daniel and his girlfriend of six years, Amanda, have still NOT gotten engaged or set a date, Brooke and Nick keep talking about the next step but it seems to be one step forward and two steps back. Lauren is single and a workaholic. I have no grandchildren, (though I am lucky to have 10 great nieces and nephews, and two on the way) so I spoil my dog.'

Now, I know my mom loves me and my siblings. The rest of the letter goes on to say how great things are going in all of our lives, and is really sweet and well written. This is in no way about her and her desire for grandbabies. It's about me. Which may be the problem.

I have been told for years that I would be a great mom. I get along with kids, I have fun with them and treat them like mini-adults, and they seem to like me. I remember Thanksgivings as a teenager/early twenty something spent in the front yard with my young neighbors or relatives playing, while the adults would be inside. I was the babysitter to call in our neighborhood, and I would come with a box full of books, games, and costumes so that the kids would go to bed exhausted and creatively fulfilled. I took one of the kids I babysat trick or treating one year. His costume was Darth Vader, so I dressed like Princess Leia, buns and all. I enjoy spending time with kids and helping them to become decent teenagers who will grow into fantastic adults.

All that being said, I'm just not sure it's right for me. I have the inkling that I might enjoy it, and I understand that as a woman I won't know until it's happened...at least, that's what all my married/babied friends say. But the concept is a bit overwhelming to me even in the abstract. I would be responsible for a human life? A child which cannot defend itself and can't tell me what he/she needs? I can be honest with myself and say that I am a pretty lazy/self indulgent person. If I want to stay in bed til 11, I do. If I want to go to a movie, I'll take myself. I don't know about scheduling a whole day for another person, let alone myself. I look at all the moms in my life, mine included, and I wonder how they do/did it. They have a patience I don't see in myself. A selflessness that I don't know that I have.

So, it may be a wish unfulfilled for dear old Mom. She'll have to make do with grandpuppies, and I'll be the best darned Aunt on the planet. I'll always buy the loudest toys and give them the most chocolate and soda before I drop them back off at your house. I will give them the biggest and best gifts and be the one who is there when you get in a fight with them, to tell them the exact same thing you have been trying to say, but they'll listen to me, cause I'm "Cool Aunt Lauren.".

I don't want to go off on a rant here...

...but what is with the freaking car decals indicating the number of family members, pets, and the interests of every single family member that are present on almost every mini-van I see on the road these days?

I hate them. And everything they stand for.

I think it's great that Dad plays soccer. And that Mom likes to do Yoga. And I think it's adorable that the kids love Disney. But really? Do you think it's wise to publicize a)the number of people living within your household; b) the number and type of pet you have and c)what your children like? How easy would it be for Mr. Scary Man with intent to steal from/kill/rape you to sneak into your home knowing that you have a fluffy little dog that he just has to take out with tranquilizer laced hamburger meat? Or a bag of catnip for your cute little kitty that you have plastered on there. Or for someone to watch you drop your child off at school, knowing that they are big Mickey fans to use that topic of conversation to convince them to hop in a car with them?

Back when I was a kid, my school taught me all about stranger danger. Don't have your name on your backpack, as a would be kidnapper/rapist/murderer could see it and call you by your name and make you think you know them so they could lure you into their vehicle and you would never be seen again. Maybe I have read one too many Dean Koontz novels, or maybe I am just a paranoid person. Maybe I need to trust more, and delight in this cute, seemingly harmless trend that seems to be sweeping soccer parents everywhere.

Maybe. Or maybe I have a point.

A week is a long time.

I have not blogged much this week, as I have been struck with a cold that made it's way into bronchitis land. This has meant a lot of sitting on my rump, not going to work and watching hours upon hours of daytime television and Hallmark films with my sickness partner in crime, Wendy Blake Pottinger, who started the vicious bug and was on the other couch with me pretty much the whole week. I have made some observations about myself and life in the last 5 days that I would like to share with you all.

1. I am not a good patient. I am stubborn and a control freak. My mom came into my room, a jar of Vick's in hand and told me Vapo rub would help me breathe better. I refused like a 5 year old, until she actually put some on her hand and attacked me with it. We had a good 5 minute battle, with me flailing my limbs and yelling, "No, I don't want it, I'm a big girl." The end result was both of us winded from the fight and my chest covered in slimy, mentholated Vaseline. I took a shot of cough syrup and gagged at the flavor, almost throwing it up in the sink like a child being forced to eat Brussel Sprouts. I went to Urgent Care and got 5 different prescriptions, and have been taking them every day on the dot...as well as $45 worth of vitamins and supplements I purchased from CVS. Not to mention the detoxifying tea and orange juice that I have been chugging like a co-ed at her first kegger.
   
2. My mom is amazing. Even with a horrible cold that caused fatigue after working for 45 minutes, she still managed our household like a fiend. Dinner was on the table at 6pm, the floors were cleaned, her bathroom immaculate, 3 loads of laundry were done...she is the hardest working person I have ever known, and actually makes me feel slightly guilty for the 3 loads of laundry I did over the course of the 5 days. I also annoy the crap out of her. When the woman who birthed you asks you when you are going to be back to work so you won't bother her anymore...you might have problems.
   
3. I need to work. Sometimes I complain about my job, but who doesn't? But I never realized I would miss it. The last three days I have gotten up at 7:30, showered and gotten ready for a work day and was sent home to my disdain and dissatisfaction. I didn't even make it in yesterday. My boss texted me at 8:30 and told me to stay home. I actually resisted going home today, but when my GM looked at me and said, "You look like s*&t," it was time to go. The nap from 2-4 felt amazingly good. So, I tried to do work from home, laying in bed in my sock monkey pj's and slippers, making phone calls to try to book talent for an event we have next week...texting my co-worker regarding linens for said event...checking my work hotmail account to see if anyone needs anything. Sad. And even sicker than the bronchitis!
   
4. It's weird texting with your boss. Both my GM and my HR director were texting me all week, and I found it odd. They started joking (via text)about interviewing my replacement on Wednesday, and I was replying with what I thought were witty jabs...but witty jabs on tons of meds fall a little flat. There was a bit of backpedaling to do, but I can just blame the drugs. Though they do know me and my tendency to try to be funny, so maybe that excuse will fail, too.
5. I have really great friends. Everyone has popped on FB or text to see if I was ok. I like that.
   

None of this is too exciting or fun, but I haven't written for a bit and thought I would try it out on tons of meds. Let me know what you think.