My mom is awesome

I absolutely adore my mother. After putting up with my shenanigans for the last 21 years, she deserves a really big trophy and probably some sort of monument so that everyone can be aware of the saint-like patience she exhibits, despite all the crap I've thrown her way. I always thought her parenting life would get a little easier when I "grew up" and went to college. Instead, I started drunk-texting her. I'm sure my drunk texts have often left her worried for my safety and/or health. I know she's stayed up till the wee hours of the morning waiting for my drunk call to tell her that I didn't get roofied and no one is walking around in a laura-skin suit. She actually calls me after last call now if she hasn't heard from me, because sadly, me not drunk dialing/texting my mom at some point in the evening is the rare occurrence.  I think I've finally worried her to the point that she now just accepts my behavior and takes it all in stride. I don't think anything I say really surprises her anymore. She no longer questions my antics or tries to talk to me sensibly. She has swiftly moved past the denial and anger stages and now rests comfortably in acceptance.

please note: my mother is not one for the technology... she still doesn't know how to work our DVD player, so the fact that she knows how to text at all is miraculous. She is actually an educated, articulate woman who does not speak the way she texts, just so you know.


I had talked to my mom after class in the afternoon, I told her I was planning on going out but I had not talked to her since then...

Naturally, this is how I choose to make contact:

(10:49pm) Me: Please bring me your fanny packs tomorrow
(10:49pm) Mom: What u planning
(10:52pm) Me: 80s & 90's party!
(10:54pm) Me: All spice girls wear fanny packss!
(10:54pm) Mom:What u wearing besides fanny pack and big hair
(10:55pm) Me: You should also bring the vanna white dress in my closet lol
(10:55pm) Mom: Ok
(12:08am) Me: I now have 2 vday dates :/
(12:09am) Mom: Feast or famine
(12:37am) Me: story of my life
(12:38am) Mom: Yeah


Most importantly: My mom is awesome because she owns multiple fanny packs.




NOTE: two of my guy friends have asked for the pleasure of my company this valentine's day, and I accepted both offers (one for movie, one for dinner? I'm not sure how I'll work it out, but they do it in movies all the time. & i like to think I'm smarter than the average bear, so ill make it work). Perhaps they read my blog and realized how pathetic my love life is and want to turn things around for me, or they read it and came to the conclusion that I don't have the highest standards and am probably getting desperate. Either way, I figure the more suitors I line up, the more likely at least one will go well, or horribly badly and keep the valentine's day humor alive for yet another year!

My Romantic History: A Series of Unfortunate Events

It’s that time of year again! That time of year that reminds everyone whether or not they have someone special to hold hands with. Even if you, like me, relish your independence, and have the “I don’t need anyone to complete me!” attitude, you are still forced to endure months of cardboard hearts and chocolate roses and aisle after aisle of the red and pink pandemonium that declares Valentine’s Day is upon us!

I like the idea of Valentine’s Day. I really do. A day for special gestures to show the people you love just how much you care about them is a nice thought. I don’t like what Valentine’s Day has come to mean to me as a single gal. It’s now become a special day set aside to remind me of everything I already knew about my life. I repel commitment, I make dinner for one every night, and the last time there was a naked boy in this apartment,  someone else’s name was on the lease.

But Valentine's Day makes me reflect on my romantic past and if i've come to any conclusion it's this: Valentine's Day and I have a long and pitiful past full of disappointment, which will someday be the stuff of a romantic comedy. (AND the romantic comedy based on my life will be much funnier than 'Fools Gold,' I promise.)

My Valentine’s Day woes can be traced back to the first February 14^th I can remember. 

It was my kindergarten Valentine’s Day party. The events were typical of any elementary school shindig. I’m sure it involved treats and valentine boxes and cards for everyone. Then we played a “heart match” game. The game involved big cardboard hearts that had been cut down the middle, each in a different pattern or design. Every student would be given one half of a heart and then race to find who had the other half to match their heart and make it whole. Even in kindergarten, little-5-year-old Laura was stupidly competitive. I remember running around the classroom in rampant excitement to find my “heart match” faster than all those other kindergarten fools. Even in kindergarten I knew who was cool and who wasn’t. I knew who was an acceptable heart match and who would make for heart match social suicide. Much to my dismay, my heart match was the weird boy in class, the boy we all knew was ‘different.’  Even at five years old, I just knew there was going to be no future there, and my heart match finally came out of the closet in 6^th grade. My Valentine’s Days were off to a rocky start.

The remaining memories of my youthful Valentine’s Days are a blur of classroom parties and saving the best cards for my best friends and the cutest boys. Let's just jump ahead to the good stuff…

As a junior in high school I was so happy to be spending my first real valentines day with my oh-so-dreamy college boyfriend. (He turned out to be not-so-dreamy….and also not-so-college, but that’s another story.) We’d been dating for about a year, and I was really looking forward to Valentine’s Day. I spent a lot of time planning the perfect gift for him. I think I ended up choosing an assortment of his favorite candies and a photo album filled with pictures of us (just what every 19 year old boy dreams of, I know, but at 17 I probably thought it was cute). Now, the oh-so-dreamy college boyfriend didn’t have much money so I didn’t expect an elaborate evening but I figured I’d get a love letter or something romantic….

He made me a card on the computer….

Now there is nothing wrong with homemade gifts. I much prefer a meaningful homemade gift to a thoughtless store bought one. And when you’re as broke as he was, a homemade gift was really the best and only option… 

but why did he choose the clipart picture of two mermaids holding a giant heart as the cover image? 

Was that supposed to be us?

Were we the merpeople?

Were the merpeople mocking me that they had found their heart match?! 

I didn’t get it. But whatever, ok, I’m a weird girl maybe he thought I’d dig the mermaid theme so we’ll move on. Seeing as oh-so-dreamy college boyfriend had aspirations of being a writer, I anticipated poetic gold. Instead, he had scribbled: 

“Sorry, I know it sucks to have me as your boyfriend. You deserve more. I love you,” across the inside of the card. 

Seriously?!

….yeah… just let that romance sink in. At least he acknowledged that it was a shitty gift, because I was in denial about that, and the relationship in general, for a long time.

Fast Forward 1 year and 1 DUI later: 

He chose to take me to see a movie for Valentine’s Day (I had to drive, obviously because he had his licensed revoked). We saw “Fools Gold,” to satisfy oh-so-dreamy-college-dropout’s obsession with Matthew Mcconaughey. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this wasn’t a great movie, even by romantic comedy standards. But the cherry on top of this perfect evening was that we had gotten in an argument on the way to the movie, which had left me distracted and as such, I locked my keys in my car. I didn’t realize this until after the movie, of course, and had to call my mom, who was an hour away, to bring me the spare set of keys. End Scene: me crying in Barnes and Noble waiting for my mother to unlock my minivan….

I left for college that fall and my high school romance fell apart (hard to believe, I know). By the time February rolled around I had a few failed “relationships” under my belt. I had recently begun dating a new boy. He was beautiful and I’m not ashamed to admit that his looks were the biggest, if not only, reason I was interested in him. It was a very new romance. We had only actually gone out a few times, and the rest of our relationship was based more or less on texting. For Valentine’s Day we had agreed to go see a movie. For me this was a low key, no big deal, perfect we’ve-only gone-out-twice Valentine’s Day date. When he showed up with roses I was a bit floored. I am not the kind of girl who asks you not to get me anything, but then secretly harbors resentment if you don’t show up with a gift. He, however, was the kind of boy who expected a gift in return.  I didn’t have a gift and in my socially awkward panic, I told him that I had gotten him a high-five! And that he was welcome to that high five then or he could choose to save it for later. He didn’t think it was funny. He actually didn’t seem to recognize that it had been a joke at all. Instead, he just starred at me for a painfully long silent minute. That movie ended up being our last date. He has never redeemed that offer for a high-five.

My sophomore year of college left a lot to be desired in the dating department. The last date I had gone on was actually the high-five Valentine’s Day movie. I was certainly ready to give dating another whirl, and opportunistically reconnected with a boy from my hometown who was a few years older than me. He had joined the marines out of high school and we had lost touch. We started talking again (Thanks Facebook!) and soon we were texting and calling and skyping everyday. Nothing had really happened because I was at school and he was back in our hometown a few hours away, but there was chemistry there and well let’s face it, you don’t spend hours a day for weeks on end talking to someone you don’t like. Things were going really well, and I was beginning to think this newfound friendship held serious potential… until one night I awoke to a text from an unknown number.

The text read:

“Hey laura its [Military-Boy’s ex girlfriend] I just want you to know that [Military-Boy] is back with me and has been lying to you I also want you to know that we have two kids, a girl and we have a boy due may 8^th I know he likes you bc he’s told me he’s confused with what he wants but I just thought you should know that he comes home to me and isn’t who you think he is”

WAIT, WHAT?! This kind of stuff happens in real life? When you’re me, yep; it does.

If waking up to that at 2 am doesn’t shake your foundation of trust a bit, I don’t know what will. That whole situation was far more Jerry Springer than I cared to deal with, and needless to say, the relationship never blossomed. All of this took place a few days before the 14^th of February so there wasn’t much time to jump back in the dating game before the dreaded holiday. Instead, I opted to spend Valentine’s Day at a bar that was hosting it’s own Valentine’s Day contest. The contest was for the worst break up story and the winner won a vacation for two. I thought my recent “Surprise! He’s got KIDS!” text messages would certainly win! (Sorry for those of you who’ve been cheated on or got dumped at your senior prom, but I think that text message is the epitome of relationship enders, at least when you’re in college.) 

I didn’t win the contest. I received an honorable mention. Which was pretty much, Happy Valentine’s Day Laura! Your love life sucks, but not quite enough to be awesome. 

I spent the rest of the evening taking shots of tequila and consequently vomiting all over my bedroom floor.  

Nothing makes you feel like you’re gonna die alone more than being the hungover ‘runner-up’ and scrubbing vomit out of your carpet.

This brings us to the present, with Valentine’s Day less than a week away. I’m still single and this Valentine’s Day isn’t looking like it’s going to be the one that turns things around for me, so hopefully the world doesn't actually end in 2012. But I haven’t given up hope completely and I absolutely refuse to settle for less than my perfect ‘heart match’. I have faith that someday I’ll find someone out there appreciative of all the baggage I bring to the table. But until then I’m going to continue to only shower every other day, curse like a sailor, wear men's sweatpants, eat popcorn for dinner, sleep in the middle of the bed, and cuddle with my pride and independence! 

Wait-Why am I still single?

Britain's Got Fashion!

My professor always shows a video clip at the beginning of class to get us motivated or something. Today her video of choice was from the last season of Britain's Got Talent. Generally these videos have no major impact on me, but today I found that I could really relate to the man on the screen. 

For you see, Michael Collings is an awkward man who discusses how he proposed to his significant other at an all-you-can-eat chinese food buffet. The camera shifts views between the lovely couple shoveling muffins into their mouths. Predictably, Michael heads to the stage, guitar in hand, to wow the judges and audience with his vocal talents. (Apparently this audience had never seen Britain's Got Talent before, because this is not the first time an underdog has stolen the show, but whatever!)

Now, perhaps most people would choose to spiffy up a bit for their national television debut, but Michael Collings donned his athletic wear proudly. While my classmates mocked his clothing, I found myself reviewing my own duds. Similarities? You tell me. 

Lesson learned: The reason I'm not famous yet is a simple matter of location! All i need to do is get an instrument and move to Britain! 

So Thank You Michael Collings! You taught me not to change for the world! 

I'll keep rocking my sherbet leisurewear proudly!

Why I hate grocery shopping

I feel like most people complain about having to go to the grocery store or supermarket. It’s an annoying activity. It’s really expensive and it never ends. You’re just gonna have to come back to the same store to buy the same stuff next week!

That being said, I personally take my aversion to grocery shopping to extremes.

When I say that I have an aversion to grocery shopping, I honestly mean that I will postpone grocery shopping until I literally do not have enough food in my apartment to create any sort of human meal. I can stretch canned vegetables and rice and condiments and cereal and popcorn and cheese slices to create some of the strangest (and not particularly appetizing) meal combinations ever. Canned carrots for breakfast (and lunch) are not unusual for me. Not because I like carrots that much, but because it’s the only thing left in my cabinet.

 But before you begin to feel sorry for the poor college student with no money who must live in these conditions, I feel that it’s only fair to explain that I do in fact have money for groceries. My food situation only get’s to this level because I hate going to the grocery store. 

The cycle always begins the same way. I always have such high expectations of myself. I’m going to turn repetitive food shopping into a positive experience this time! It’s not gonna be like last time. NOOOOOO. Not this time. This time I’m going to be responsible and keep up on the grocery shopping before the situation gets dire…

So once I finally decide that I cannot go on without real human food for any longer I drag myself out of my apartment and begrudgingly drive to the nearest food superstore. Once there, it never fails that I choose the one cart in the entire store that makes that annoying ‘SQUEAAAAAAAK RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE SQUEAAAK” noise. I then begin what can only be described as ‘power shopping.’  It becomes a personal competition with myself to get this chore done as quickly as possible in order to leave behind the ruckus of that stupid shopping cart.

But even shopping at an accelerated pace still takes a pretty long time because as you recall I left my refrigerator in pretty dismal shape and therefore I must replace all of the basics, requiring that I go down every. Single. Aisle.

While I’m perusing every item in the grocery store it never fails. I have the same epiphany, I’m going to start cooking!! I’m gonna cook healthy. I’m gonna eat a balanced fresh diet! EVERY DAY!!!!

I then approach the produce section with such fervor! I am going to eat all these veggies! Lets see how much fruit I can fit in this cart!

Except for bananas.

I also have an aversion to buying bananas. First I must circle the banana tower like a hawk circles its prey. I’m trying to spot the best banana bunch of them all. This usually takes approximately 2 full loops to accomplished this. Then, once I find the perfect bunch more of my psychotic habits become apparent. For whatever reason I refuse to break up a bunch of bananas. If the bunch I decided on is made up of 9 bananas, you bet your bottom dollar I am taking home 9 bananas. It does not matter that they will begin to turn brown immediately after I leave the store and that realistically I only eat 1 banana a day and that I probably only actually want 4 bananas. I am going to take home 9 bananas.  My banana purchases are always left to fate.

 The banana selecting always slows down the shopping process but after a few more choices I’m back on track and I make my way to checkout. I always try to make an educated decision when considering which aisle at which to check out. Many factors must be considered. I generally like to choose a younger employee. I feel they move faster and are less chatty than the older employees (THERE ARE ALWAYS EXCEPTIONS!)  Like most people, I also consider line length before committing to a line however line length can be a deceiving indicator of checkout efficiency.

Yet, once I commit to a line, I whole-heartedly commit. Even when lesser beings begin to bail because it’s taking so long, I feel that I made a choice and I will stick with it. But like clockwork the conveyor belt breaks, the food scale stops working (thanks to those 9 stupid bananas!), and the credit card machine suddenly fails. Just when the end of this trip was so close I could taste it, I’m suddenly hurdled 15 steps backward as they call in every employee that has ever operate said piece of machinery hoping that they hold the magical piece of information that will restore everything to proper working order. No one ever can.

I end up leaving the store angry about the whole experience and with more produce than I will ever possibly eat before it goes bad because I am a college student, I live alone, and I don’t actually have time to cook fancy adult meals.

Also, It has invariably begun to rain and I’m fairly certain someone always moves my car 10 spots further back in the parking lot while I’m in the store. So I am left to face the monsoon, while pushing my squeaky heavy cart all the way to outer realms of the parking lot where I unload the billion bags as quickly as possible. I then sourly run the cart back to the cart return corral, because I feel that if I don’t return my cart I will loose my privileges to bitch about those inconsiderate assholes that don’t return their carts. I’m better than them. And I like complaining about them.

I wish my troubles ended there, but the battle of Laura vs. Grocery shopping is not yet over. I now must get all my new foodstuff up stairs into my apartment. This obviously must be done in as few trips as possible. Unloading groceries is my version of the Strong Man Competitions. They may lift cars, but I run 10 bags of groceries upstairs at one time.

I feel this task is similar to what it feels like to climb a mountain while carrying all 10 bags of your mountain gear. I wish I was exaggerating, but I am genuinely so exhausted after getting the groceries upstairs, that I must collapse onto the couch until my body returns to its normal resting heart rate.  

Luckily, putting away the groceries seems like a simple task after conquering my stairs. And I am then able to gaze lovingly at all the food at my disposal. This happy moment after grocery shopping is almost enough to make the whole experience worth while…. except then I remember that I have been nutritionally depriving myself for days and I begin my food binge.

I enjoy the luxury of my food binge to the greatest extent possible and then I realize there is no food left in my apartment but canned vegetables and rice and condiments and cereal and popcorn and cheese slices…and spoiled produce.