"Good night, bud. I love you."

I say this to my dog every night when I go to bed.

I roll over, put the book of the day on the nightstand, pull the cord to turn off the light, and mid pull I mumble this phrase to an animal that has absolutely no idea what I am saying.

I have a hard time saying this to people. But not to this weirdo mutt of mine.

Kevin is a weird dog.  He would sleep all day and night if he could.  He has a bladder of steel and a bowel of iron.  We used to go on long, rambling walks through the neighborhood.  He now pees in the front of the neighbors house.

I knew that adopting an older dog would be interesting.  I didn't know that it would be THIS interesting. I love this little (42 pound, so guess not so little) furball with all my heart. I spoil him.  I buy him more treats than I do myself. I worry. He limps and I assume he's broken his seal foot. The doctor is very patient with me.  This is my first puppy love that's all mine. And I don't know what I'll ever do without him.

I dropped Kevin off at the vet yesterday as he was acting weirdly. They had no appointments, but said to drop him and they would look at him as soon as they could.  I figured it would be a while, so I went to Lowes for a mold test kit, grabbed lunch and made an appointment to get my hair trimmed, as I'm starting to look like Carol Brady. Not cute.

Midway through my lunch, they called to tell me he was okay and that I could pick him up.  I didn't hesitate. I shoved a couple more bites in my piehole and ran for the car. I got to the vet in 15 minutes, blowing off the hair appointment (Carol Brady is cute to some.)  $9.76 for his anti-inflammatories. New Treats.  A car ride home with him snuggled against my leg. We got home, and I gave him a bone and his first dose.

We went for a walk at around 4:15.  He started eating grass like it was his job. I worried some more.  I tried to get him to stop, as he started eating the tall, rough decorative grasses that lined the walkway and that cannot be good for him.  I got him back in the house and gave him fresh water and food to see if that would help.  He plopped down on the floor and began snoring.

I know he's ok. I'm just not ok. I don't know why my usually spry older dog is suddenly not coming downstairs in the morning for his walk.  I don't know why he is suddenly walking within 5 feet of the house and doing his business when he usually wants to walk to West Palm and back.  I don't know anything and it's really, really annoying.  I want to make him better.  I just don't know how.

I DON'T WANNA WALK!

A rose by any other name.

I am a nickname fiend.

My dad is Papajon, Shtoppie, Shtoop, Popojijo, Popsicle and Pops.  Also, Dad and Daddy.

My mom is Marm. Marmee. TMo. Mama-say.

My brother is Dan. Leinad. Danny boy. Pablo Honey.  Daniel-san.

Brooke is Bug. Brookers.

Kevin is Kevy-Kev. Kevers. Turd Burglar. Turdle. Stinker-butt. Stinker-Dinker-Doo. Chevy-Chev.

I may have a problem.

My truth.

2010 was a rough year.

I parted ways with the improv troupe that had been my family for 3 years. Personal and professional issues caused things to not be fun anymore.  I was down on myself as a human being and as a performer. I was anorexic.  I had gone from 180 pounds to 125 in a short period of time by not eating. I hated everything, most of all myself.

One night, I took out a bottle of sleeping pills.  I piled them into the lid, and put them on my dresser. I was crying every night. I cried that night. I sat on the floor, hugging myself and crying.  What was the point of this pain?  I felt that I was annoying my friends with my constant sobbing and rehashing and reopening of old wounds.  I was annoying myself.

I took my phone and stared at the number for a suicide hotline.  I stared and stared.

I clicked the phone number on my iPhone. The number popped up with the call or discard option underneath.

I clicked call.

"All circuits are busy.  Please try your call again later."

Astonishment.

Shock.

Tears stopped.

A bubble started forming in my stomach.

And suddenly I was laughing.  Somewhat hysterically, but laughing. Uproariously laughing.  Rolling on the floor giggling as snot and tears dried on my puffy face.

I got up.

I put the pills away.

I called a therapist the next morning and set up an appointment.

I'm better now.  So much better now.

Some people never get better.  And they are missed.

I'm not ashamed that I'm on anti-depressants. I'm lucky that I can afford them and that they allow me to smile more every day.   They helped me ignore a very bitter, angry person that I was confronted with last night during an improv show, who doesn't even know me but carries a grudge against me for some idiocy that occurred in that awful year of 2010.  2010 Lauren would have run screaming into a corner of her mind.  This Lauren smiled and let it roll off of her.

Find help if you need it.  There's only one of you, and you're needed.

You are enough.

I want to say it again.

You are enough.

YOU are enough.

You ARE enough.

You are ENOUGH.

Any way you emphasize it, start living it.

I had the amazing opportunity to bask in the glow of Sir David Razowsky this weekend.  I'm not sure he's actually been knighted, but he should be. An amazing person and an amazing teacher, Mr. Razowsky touched me, and not in a dirty way.  His lessons in mindfulness and letting go of the past were everything I needed to change me from a miserable person to be around to someone less miserable to be around.

I think.  Give me a week. Maybe two.

I was scared the whole workshop.  Scared that he'd call me out as a fraud.  Scared to go up first. Scared to go last. We went through two days and 7 hours of workshop before I finally felt like I had the cajones to just be an improviser. And it was the best moment for me. I rarely breathe in improv scenes. I'm manic.  But I was able to slow down and listen to David tell me what I needed to do, what I needed to get rid of, who I didn't need to be.  And the bullshit went away. I feel like a gentler person. I feel like a more confident person. I am enough.  I AM ENOUGH. I need to look at everything that happens to me in joy instead of conflict.  On stage and off stage.

The show was awesome. Weird. And awesome. Casey was generous enough to share David with us at the end, and the scene I was in with him and 2 other actors was about nothing but a lamp and family dynamic. It was great.  I was on cloud nine, ten and eleven. I'm still there. My day job today has been tough but I've been handling it. An irate member started yelling at me, and I kindly asked him to leave the office and come back and start again.  I handled him with joy and caring and he left smiling. It's not an easy thing to do, but it's the right thing to do.

Thank you, David. Your lessons for life and improv have done much to improve my outlook in a mere day and a half.  I am a more confident improviser and a much improved human being.

I am enough.

Is that something in your pocket, Matthew, or are you happy to see me?

Is it me?

My doctor has made me believe that I am crazy.

And not because she put me on anti-depressants.

I went in a couple of months ago as I was having consistent leg pain.  Today was a follow up to the brain pill appointment, and I told her yet again that the leg pain was hindering my fitness and well being goals.  I had downloaded a yoga app and attempted a tree pose with disastrous results.  The muscle behind my knee and my thigh felt like a razor blade was running through them.  The veins on the leg in the pained area were dark, dark blue, and I had to stop so I wouldn't barf on Kevin's still damp barf spot.

This is what my doctor looks like. Just with dark hair and bigger eyeballs.

I told her all of this. Even poked the leg where it hurt and was tender to the touch.

Vitamin D deficiency, she says.

WTF?

I worry that she thinks I'm a hypochondriac.  That every time I leave the office with a new script and a scheduled blood test that she's snickering with the nurse, lamenting the waste of time that is my appointment. I lost 6 pounds in a month.  The nurse said, "Have you been trying to lose weight?"  I responded, "No." CAUSE I EAT A LOT OF PASTA, PEOPLE. It's poor people food.  I put butter on it. And feta cheese. EVERY OTHER NIGHT.

This is not a weight loss plan. (I have been drinking a ton of water and eating a lot of ice, so may finally be hydrated. Moot point.)  I've been eating ice like it's my job. Craving it.  Dreaming about it.  Thinking I could just run into work and grab a cup of the soft, pellet ice from the ice machine near the golf shop. At midnight. As I'm driving past work on the way home from rehearsal.  I tell her that.

"Pregnant women do that."

I'M NOT FREAKING PREGNANT.

"It may be an iron deficiency, though your blood test in June doesn't indicate you are iron deficient.  You need pre-natal vitamins."

WTF?

This is my 2nd doctor in 2 years, and I'm afraid to change again and learn that I am in fact insane. What's a girl with good insurance to do? I want my $15 co-pay to go towards making me feel better, not making me feel like I belong in Arkham. Le sigh.

I'm gonna go eat some pasta and lose another 3 pounds.  Wish me luck.

Why can't I just improvise for a living?

WORK IS STUPID.

I'm typing this from work.

I'm itchy again.  It happens a lot. Work gets a little hairy, and I want to be anywhere but here. It's been 7 years (minus one week) that I've been working at this one place.  That is crazy to me. 2 years is my limit. On jobs and relationships.  Apparently, this job is the first thing I've ever really committed to and I resent it for that very reason.  It's gotten to the point though, where this job chose another woman over me and I think it's time to move on.

How dare this job choose another woman over me? JILTED FACE.

There are so many options.  Move further south to be closer to improv shenanigans. Find a cheaper place/get a different job/move to Colorado/a small town/somewhere with mountains/near my grandma/anything. My mom keeps sending me houses for rent in Columbus and jobs in Gahanna, her hometown. It's tempting to move somewhere I love, where people I love live.

The problem is I've fallen in love with a troupe in South Florida called the Sick Puppies. Head over heels in love. I feel important.  I feel special.  I feel like I have a voice without needing to scream at the top of my lungs to be heard. There are so many opportunities, and no one is telling me that I can't/I'm not good enough/to stop wanting more. This is new for me. New and exhilarating.   It's fulfilling a part of me that I had sworn off on after the last 7 years of improv frustration and anxiety.  SO HOW CAN I THINK OF LEAVING WHEN I FINALLY FOUND LOVE?

Decision deadline is November 2014 when my lease at the stupid, rude flood apartment is up. Any thoughts, dear readers? What should I do?  Who should I be?  Where should I go?

UNGH.

I kissed Scott Adsit. Twice.

Then my house exploded.

It's been a weird couple of weeks.

I had a productive morning on Sunday, July 6th. I had breakfast with my friend, Tiffany. I went to a house I'm sitting and set it up for the homeowners who would be arriving the next day.  I went to work and tried to fix the phones that had been out since Friday.  I was gone from 9am-12:15pm.  The whole time, gallons of water were pouring into my home per minute.

I lost my mind when I walked into the apartment to find water everywhere. Lost it. Sobbing hysterically lost it. Too many things to do.  I had to save Kevin (who looked pretty content sleeping in the bathroom where the water was spewing out of a burst toilet valve).  I grabbed his leash and beckoned to him to go outside, while he happily splashed through puddles in the living room to get to the treat I had left out for him that morning.  I called my parents once I knew Kev was ok. I had broken my phone the week before being a bonehead, so have to speak on speakerphone at all times now. "Look for a shut off valve," Mom said, calm and collected.  "I CAN'T FIND ONE!" I screamed, the opposite of calm and collected. I scrambled under the kitchen sink and under the bathroom sink. No go. We hung up shortly after, as cell phones and gushing water rarely partner well.

I have no idea when the leak started. I know when it ended. 15 minutes after I discovered it, as the maintenance emergency phone number went directly to voicemail. Twice. The office phone number went to voicemail.  Twice. I grabbed Kev, got his soggy ass in the car, and ran into the main office with him in tow. One of the leasing agents was there. I was out of breath, my jeans soaked to my thighs, almost screaming that there was water gushing into my apartment and that I needed maintenance.  "I don't know where he is." A gentleman came in behind me in beach gear, calmly telling the lady that water was coming in his apartment. He had been talking to the maintenance guy outside. Rushed back to the apartment to see the guy looking at the water flowing out of my front door. HE calmly (SLOWLY) walked over to the shut off valve located OUTSIDE AND 15 FEET AWAY FROM THE APARTMENT.  My next door neighbor came home, and I not so calmly told her what happened. "My apartment is fine, " she said. She also complained about the water being off to the maintenance guy. Bitch.

I put Kevin in my car with the windows down.  I stood outside, crying. The gentleman who also reported the leak brought me a bottle of water and asked if I needed anything. I said I was fine. He and his mother offered to pick me up some lunch.  I thanked them but said no. I called my sister. "I know it's your day off, but my apartment flooded and can you come and take Kevin to the parents house? Please?" She came. She took Kevin. She came back. My best friend, Jen, showed up. Then Nick, Brooke's boyfriend. They got me moving. Mopped up the kitchen and put everything from the dining room in there to stay dry. Emptied my cheapo bookshelves that were absorbing water by the second. Books were everywhere. In bins.  On tables. The plumber showed up. Fixed the valve and added a shut off valve to the water heater.  Convenient. Left debris from the wall all over the floor. Maintenance shop vac'd the bathroom. Everything was wet.  They threw my bath mats into the bathtub where they stayed until Wednesday when I finally felt comfortable being in the apartment. The carpet company came (3 hours later) with a cleaner the size of a road atlas. Brooke, Jen and I put cut up trash bags under all the furniture to save it. Maintenance manager showed up and started yelling at the carpet guy. Carpet guy called his boss. Handed the phone to maintenance manager. MM started yelling into the phone. At this point, we had done everything we could. I packed some (inappropriate) clothes and walked outside.

My downstairs neighbor arrived at this point.  I heard crying and yelling. We offered to help. She was beside herself.  Brooke offered to go check on Kevin, as it was about to rain and we had packed some important items into her car. She picked up food on her way. I stopped into the office and was told by the leasing agents that no one of authority was in and that I'd have to come back on Monday.  Also, that my renters insurance covered the apartment, not the contents. IDIOTS.  I soggily made my way to the parents house.    I smelled bad. I was soaking wet. I scarfed Wendy's and Brooke and I had a couple of beers.

It was a bad day. That bad day lead to a bad week. The insurance adjuster came in on Tuesday. Put every piece of furniture on the claim. Clothes. Tables. Couches. Dresser. Everything. The bookshelves were completely ruined. I spent the next few days arguing with the office about the living conditions at the house.  I was told a couple of times that I was wrong when I mentioned that the carpet was still wet.  I took my mom's friends with me, thinking they would respect them. NOPE. The manager was not only rude, but dismissive of concerns and just kept saying, "We don't do that. No. We don't do that."  She also said that it was a "freak accident." No. NO, IT WASN'T.

No makeup, Eyeballs after discovering mold in my laundry basket.

I met with her again to discuss compensation for the time out of the apartment and electric for the 4 fans and the dehumidifier that had been running for 5 days straight as well as the A/C that had been running (after being broken for 3 days.)  No compensation except for days out of the apartment.  Also, I had just reported the A/C was broken on Tuesday. Not true. I told them on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday and was told that it was just running hard due to humidity in the apartment. BULLSHIT. Just...bullshit.

There's still a hole in the wall of my bathroom. The carpets are tacky, weird feeling under my feet. Kevin is missing a bed. There are no bathmats, as I had to toss them. My dad came home and helped me move out all the damaged furniture so I can actually get into my bathroom now. My plain, bare bathroom.

My lease is up in November.  I'm crossing my fingers that there are no further issues dealing with these idiots. Still waiting for insurance to let me know what's going on. We shall see.

AT LEAST HALLMARK IS SHOWING CHRISTMAS MOVIES IN JULY!!