I'm From Ethiopia! What?

It's been a while, but let's skip the "where have you been?" and the "I know you don't have anything better to do with your time other than write hilarious anecdotes about your mom and your vagina." I have some blog worthy stories for my 12 followers and I think I need to enrich your lives by sharing the many splendors of my life.

Splendors:

1. I celebrated the Super Bowl this year. That's a big deal. Why? Homegurl knows football like the back of her hand. I AM SORRY BUT NOBODY KNOWS THE BACK OF THEIR STUPID HAND, SO I AM CHANGING THE MEANING OF THE STUPID SAYING . I celebrated by going to a private SuperBowl-ing party. When I party, I party like a Golden Girl. ANYWAY, let's cut to the chase, they had free alcohol. I like free so much that I would make out with it. I did make out with it. Four hours later, this happened:

Me: Omg, I love your accent. Where are you from?

Cab Driver: Ethiopia.

Me: GET OUT OF TOWN! Me too!

Cab Driver: No you're not.

Me: You're right...my mom is. 

Who's the most offensive person in the car? THIS GIRL. Why did I tell the cab driver I was from Ethiopia? Because the History Channel once told me that the original Jews are from Ethiopia and the history channel must be quoted in life. Free alcohol makes me smart. Later that evening I threw up into my silver trash can. Free alcohol makes me classy sick. Brush off these shoulders because I see a little dust.

2. I recently turned 28, which means that I am more mature because I have more wrinkles and less baby eggs. It's science. I celebrated maturity with sake bombs and other beverages that I no longer recall. I then celebrated maturity by handing out my business card to two cab drivers and a bartender with the preface "you guys get into a lot of accidents and they are usually your fault, I'll fight for you." Finally, I celebrated maturity by making out with two different men, on the same night, on different dance floors. Different dance floors is exactly like the zip code rule. Right? Again, it's science. The good thing is that this was very out of character; the bad thing is that I happen to remember everything.

Quotes of the evening:

Me: I'M A COUGAR.

Me: I am not sorry for making out with someone else. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY AND I'M NEVER SLUTTY.

Let's just end it here for now. Also, I only said vagina once in this post, well, twice now, so let's end this on a high note. 

Umm, Yeah.

I would just like to let my readers know that one of the traffic sources to my blog is whoresex.com. I don't know who you are, but I am pretty sure you were disappointed when you clicked on this link and didn't see a bunch of whore sex. Also, I should probably stop using the word vagina in my blog so much. Probably.

Momism: Pickle Woes

There has been this stench wafting from our refrigerator for days. I cannot explain it. It's like garlic and onion, mixed with mustard. But this house of two is a professional microwaving household. That means anything that contains garlic or onions is most likely not in our presence because that would require cooking...which we don't do. So, we are left with, a simple process of elimination. Here is my mom's process of elimination:

LAUREN, GODDAMMIT! IT'S THE FUCKING PICKLES.Those fucking pickles. Get them out of the goddamn fridge.

My mom has some pent up aggression towards pickles. I blame childhood. She also has an affinity for the words fuck and goddamn.

January Is A Karma Test. Don't Screw Up.

It's a new year. Time to resolve all those pesky problems that plagued you last year: weight, alcohol intake (wine counts. Your teeth should not look like you made out with Grimace... everyday), and the weird nail on your pinky toe that you should probably have a doctor look at. All of these "issues" can magically float away into the mystical universe because a new calendar means your slate is CLEAN.

However, karma is a naughty minx and will creep up on you like a dirty old man on the bus. That's not a hand groping your butt, it's karma. I strongly believe that the month of January is a test and if you fail that test, God will cut you. Theoretically. Are you truly grasping my point? Let's use my life as an example, per the usual:

Yesterday was a beautiful day; it looked like a Lisa Frank sticker. Everything was going swell. Got to spend the day in the sun and then spend my evening with Rachel. As I was leaving to meet Rachel, my mom asked me to help her fix the vaccuum cleaner (because I am 12 and I live with my mom. Turns out this whole lawyer business is not as lucrative as we thought it would be. #liesmyjewishmothertoldme). However, I was in a hurry, so I told Mindel "later."

Fast forward to 7:30p.m. meeting Rachel at restaurant and being in aw of her brand new Lexus: 

Me: No. Bullshit. You told me you were getting a Kia you butthead. (I now exit my vehicle, purse in hand, drooling at the sight of her car.)
Rachel: You have to see how I unlock it. LOOK.
Me: I'm happy for you, but I think I equally hate you too.
Rachel: Oh, Lauren, you are the funniest person I know. (She may or may not have said this.)
Me: Okay. Let's eat. Your car is making me nauseous. Your car is still on...or does the devil car also turn itself off?
Rachel: My car is not on.
Me: Oh. That's my car. With the keys in the ignition. Locked.

Karma just cut a bitch.

Like my professional image of Karma cutting me? I have mastered Microsoft Paint...and the 90's. Obvi.

Serious Conversation: Jon, Katy Perry and Russell Brand

Jon and I had an actual conversation about this now defunct couple. Our conversation spanned a good 20 minutes, however, you get the highlights...like the fact that Jon's knowledge of the Perry-Brand relationship is far superior.

 Jon:...related: Russell Brand and Katy Perry have to be the most annoying, self-absorbed couple on Earth, right?

 me: oh god

4:17 PM Jon: like, there's no way they're not completely obnoxious together right?

 me: haha

  I actually like them as a couple...

4:18 PM Jon: really? Katy Perryi saw several interviews o her and she just seemed so hilariously vapid

 me: vapid yes

4:19 PM but in the context of talking about them as a couple...Jon: if you ever get a chance to see her E! True Hollywood Story/it's on when you're hungover it's somewhat entertaining  POINT: Jon seriously watched the Katy Perry E! True Hollywood Story and several interviews. I have never felt closer to you Jon. Danielle, good job.

Serious Conversation: Audra Has This Jewish Charm

Me: I want to set you up with my cousin.
Audra: No. I only like blondes with blue eyes.
Me: Who are you? Hitler?
Audra: You gotta problem with that?
Me: Seeing as that I am Jewish and have a soul...probably.

Dating Advice From The Bachelor: It's Legit

More likely than not, you remember my healthy obsession with the Bachelor. Baby just want a rose and a man who does montage push-ups. Montage push-ups. Heeeeeeeey. Enough of that. Well, you can only imagine the joy rainbows I barfed when God (formally known as the American Broadcasting Company) blessed this heavenly earth with season…umm…season “you have been watching this show since high school and even the people who still watch the Real World are shaming you.” Sorry for my long sentences, it has been awhile and my fingers are all excited. Asdlfjoencas. See. Looks like 2012 is going to be a good year. I laugh in your end of the world predicting face, Mayans. 

Accordingly, every year I learn a new dating technique from the most appropriate people to learn dating do’s and don’ts from: desperate single pageant girls who most likely spraytan their vajewhas (I don’t know why, but I am kind of falling for this new childish word for vagina). So, please, let me share my newly acquired knowledge as a Happy New Year present for my readers…all 3 of you.

Things I have learned: 

• Bring Your Grandma to Date Night

Turns out, I have been dating wrong. Your personality can get him interested, but your grandmother can take Baby right out of that corner and sell her faster than a Princess Leia blow-up doll at Comic-Con. A grown woman actually brought her Grandmother on the show because she’s “super close” to her Grammy. Meaning, the Bachelor will never dump her bedazzled face while under septuagenarian pressure. Lo and behold, the blonde with a mediocre personality and a golden girl on her arm got a rose.

Hence, next man I date is going to meet every family member over the age of 60. Ba bam.

• Props

Again. I have been doing this dating thing wrong. But honestly, you cannot blame me. I was in law school and then there was that drunk birthday problem…point is, I am getting back into the swing of things. Apparently, things have changed a lot since I have been gone. I always thought that the guy calls you, he picks you up or you find a good spot to meet if he seems like he might be a crazy serial killer stalker type, you talk a little bit, maybe make-out if he at least appears sane, and then you go home. 

Nope. Wrong. Props. (say it like you are Tom Haverford on Parks and Rec – if you do not know to what I am referring then shame on you and 2012 is going to suck unless you figure shit out). Almost every girl on the Bachelwhore (like what I did there?) had a prop. One girl had a large hat, then there was grandma chick, one had a soccer ball…a girl had a flipping HORSE! Yep. A girl rode in on a horse, as if she were some exotic beauty from a Harlequinn Romance novel. 

Point: Mama’s getting a horse.

• Don’t Be the Psychotic Blogger Chick

Now, although I love to start a first date with a some awkward moments and I usually am the psychotic blogger chick, but this girl just took the cake. On the very first night she managed to screw up a quote, yell at someone for not being into Ben enough, and cry for hours in the bathroom. She started off the show with this introduction: “Ummm, so, I’m like a blogger. It’s what I do for a living. I blog about relationships and how I over-analyze them. I just really over-analyze relationships too much. Hahaha!”

Okay, cra-y cra-y! 

• Don’t Ask a Girl to Share a Tampon with You

Wait. Why exactly not?

I Passed The Bar

*11/19/11 edit: I passed the Bar and when I found out I did pretty much everything but vomit. I cried, I shook like Jesus was remove-en the sin from muh body, I screamed, and then I bit my mom (I had to know the moment was real). Honestly one of the best feelings ever. I had convinced myself I failed and I would have to spend another 3 months studying and hating cute babies. That's right. Studying for the bar even makes babies suck (babies might also suck if you are 16 and Pregnant. See MTV.). Then, when I typed in my code and RED writing showed up, I thought I definitely failed. But, as it turns out, someone at the Office of the CA State Bar thought it would be a terrific idea to tell people they passed/failed in red writing. Yeah. Then my vision cleared, the clouds parted, yada yada yada, I bit my mom.

 

Sometimes Your Vagina Is Going To Burn

Evening of Day 7 - 

Michael: Everyone! Listen up! Okay. So, I have some advice for tomorrow. First, do not shave ANYTHING. You will burn. Second, MEN, I recommend that you wear a condom. Just trust me. Third, LADIES, I know it does not sound pleasant, but if you have vaseline, you should make good use of it and put it all over your lady parts.
Everyone Else: Ummm...

Afternoon of Day 8:

Michael: Do not throw that used condom at my face. Do not do it. I can't believe you just put a used condom on my face.

So, I guess all that is left to do is explain how we got from A (condoms and a vaseline hole) to B (used condom on the face). Birthright was showing us how to make Jewish babies. Obvi. Fine. That's not what happened. You can't make Jewish babies with condoms, unless you make a condom balloon baby (glad my name is officially linked with condom balloon baby). Turns out that Birthright or as I prefer to label us "Shnoz with a Cause" was making its way down to the Dead Sea. Fact: the dead see is the lowest point on earth.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Dead Sea, it is the saltiest sea on the planet. Meaning, hoes be floating:

Exhibit A: I am not holding myself up. Nor are my two watermelon colored children floaties for boobs holding me up, despite what it may look like. It's all salt. Sorry peppa, but it looks like you're the Jan Brady of this trip. 

Since the Dead Sea is the saltiest sea on the planet, there are certain precautions that must be taken to avoid injury, but mainly embarrassment. First and foremost, you must not shave. Shaving is like having an open cut waiting to get burned. And let's be honest, Jews aren't necessarily known for their lack of hair. That means a million burning open wounds. But, not shaving was common knowledge. What was not common knowledge was the vulnerability of those natural holes in our body.

Michael, our group leader, was kind enough to share some tips to avoid burning sensations that should only come with an STD or a fire in your pants. Men were told to wear condoms to avoid a salty stinging sensation in their flopper. Women were told to lube up with the container of Vaseline we brought to Israel. Right. Because when I pack for vacation I always remember to bring my Costco sized jar of Vaseline.

Well, Michael's advice caused quite a bit of commotion. The men did not know how they were going to keep a condom on their ding-dong if they weren't aroused. Okay, time to grow up: penis, penis, penis. See, I can use the real word. Now that that's over with. The men were stressing, but then they figured out that they were only floating in the water and not flopping around (pun intended). So, condom on the floppy ding-dong problem solved. Don't worry Israel, your Dead Sea won't have a bunch of used condom balloon babies floating around. Now for the whole Vaseline issue. Yeah, why don't you tell 25 girls to smother their vagina with petroleum jelly and see what kind of reaction you get. "Are you trying to give us a bladder infection?" Needless to say, we all learned a lot about each other that evening.

Despite the advice, I decided to skip the Vaseline facial and risk the burn. I tip-toed into the water because just like your "first time," moving slower will obviously protect the hoo hoo. This needs to be a song:

Girl if you forget to take it slow
you're probly gonna cry
cuz the stinging's gonna blow

I digress. About ten minutes later, my whole body was in the water, floating stiffly. As you can see above, I floated. As you can see below, my vagina was in immense salty burning pain:

Can you see the fake constrained smile? I am not pooping in the water. In between my gritted teeth I am saying "ow,ow,ow,ow,ow."

And that was my experience in the Dead Sea. But, the story is not over. Remember that little "do not throw that used condom at my face" incident. Well, turns out the whole "wear a condom and Vaseline your holes" was a practical joke, which no one knew of until it was too late. I guess one of the boys was not too happy about the practical joke. Hence, condom to the face. Michael sure is lucky a female did not get angry about the joke.

A Onsieless Wedding

Danielle and Jon, this post is dedicated to you, mainly because it was your wedding and it would be selfish to dedicate this post to pictures of me in onesies. Nonetheless, here's one for the road:

Me doing the robot in a onesie. Jeeeeaaaaaloooouuus.

Almost a month ago, I got to attend one of the most joyful, fun and creative weddings EVER. Caps means business. P.S. This is going to look more like your kindergarten reading assignment than an actual post. Sometimes life just needs to be a photo montage with a sentence. CUE MONTAGE.

Danielle (my witty/cat loving/maxi-pad wearing besty) and Jon (the practical/cat loving/converse but used to be NB wearing new addition to my extended non-Jewish family)

NB. Oh memories.

Check out the GIANT maxi pad she is wearing. I love the internet.

 married in a beautiful and heart warming ceremony on the beach.

That's what the ceremony looked like before the people arrived. Once the people arrived, it looked like this, but with people.

 I had the pleasure of helping Danielle make sure the day went smoothly. Meaning, I got to kick hippies off of the beach and be in complete awe of how beautiful she looked,

Beautiful right?

 and be impressed with how handsome the groom looked,

Eat your heart out, LOLCATZ.

 Even the sun thought they were really really good looking. Cue God music and parting clouds.

No wedding is complete without the sun taking siesta to give you perfect lighting.

Soon they were married and walking down the aisle to Taio Cruz. Fiiiiine, their recessional was Queen.

CUE THE DRINKING. I began mixing my champagne and wine like a booty-hoe in a rap video

which obviously helped me give the most awesome speech ever. Awkward body language? Check. Mention Danielle's crush on John Cusack? Check. Tie love into speech? Check. Someone take me to the bank because I got a lotta checks!

But then Cory gave his speech and wore his tight pants and of course he was way funnier...

you can tell by all the people who were laughing during his speech. It was like David Bowie was doing 15 minutes of heartwarming stand-up comedy. Jon, stop trying to one up me with your funny friends who look better than I do in pants . Thanks.

After the speeches, we got to dance. I personally forgot how to do the "look like an angry Stevie Wonder" dance. However, seems like Danielle is up to date. Let me know if you want to contact her about some lessons.

Jon and Danielle totally pulled off their first dance without looking like any blind singers

Soon the night was over, leaving the most beautiful day to our memories. But, thanks to these pictures, we will never forget the moment Jon and Danielle had a very deep political conversation about cupcakes. Typical.

Thank you Jon and Danielle for sharing such a special day. You are an inspiring couple.

It's Legit.

Guess what this little Jewish drummer girl did? Israel. Wait. No, I didn't do Israel, but I did take advantage of my Moses blood and go on an all expense paid 10 day trip to the motherland. Charlie Sheen's tiger blood may come with two schichsa goddesses, but my Moses blood comes with multiple rich menches who like to send impressionable young adults on free trips to Israel to facilitate the production of Jewish babies. Winning.

All silliness aside (yes, I can be serious...occasionally), this was the most influential and inspiring trip I have ever been on. Since there were so many emotions (ups, downs, and any other direction an escalator travels), I am breaking this vacation into multiple posts. The serious aspects will be respected and get its own post. Prepare yourself because it will lack awkward and reveal some of my other layers. That's right. Baby's got layers like a cake. Vanilla. The amusing and funny parts will get their own post as well (all I have to say is burning hoo-ha).

Sababa.

Momism: Calorie Counting Queen

While driving on Ventura Blvd. like a Tom Petty song:

Mom: So Cal Sushi...hmmm...we should try that one day.
Me: I'm down.
Mom: I wonder how they make it low cal...
Me: huh?
Mom: So Cal Sushi...do you think they use brown rice?
Me: Wait. What? Why do you think it's low calorie sushi? Wait...
Mom: So Cal?!
Me: Mom. So Cal means Southern California.
Mom: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Me: hahahahahahahaha! Thank you for that.

Grandma Say Whaaaaat: Wizard of Oz Complex

My grandma was a 5'8, buxom Polish woman with boobs that could throw punches. No, really. I used to love buckling her bra because it had like 40 buckles... it was massive, but so were her boobies. I digress. So, besides my G-ma's awesome boobs, she knew how to tell a great story and LOVED to get a great laugh. Grandma Hela (Oh, you can bet I will be making hella slang references with her name...sorry Grams) usually got her laughs at another persons expense and that was always the most entertaining part. Thus, every once in a while I will dedicate a post to my Grandma Hela. You're Welcome.

Hela was my after school babysitter/my version of summer camp. Who needed to play with kids that crap their pants and pick their nose when I could eat mashed potatoes all day long while watching Bonanza? Exactly. In addition to watching awesome '70's reruns, Hela and I would also watch old Shirley Temple movies, which initiated this conversation:

Me: Grandma, when did movies change to color?
Hela: Well, a long time ago, all movies could only be in black and white...
Me: I know, but what about the Wizard of Oz? That movie is both.
Hela: Well, that movie changed it all. See, the whole world used to be black and white, which is why movies were not in color.
Me: Really? (said with wide eye innocence)
Hela: Of course! Then, when they were making the Wizard of Oz, the Wizard didn't like the black and white anymore because it wasn't pretty so he gave the world color.
Me: Ohhhh, so that's why all the old pictures of you and mommy are in black and white.
Hela: Yep.

That's the Wizard giving the the world color.

Now, if you know me, I am sure this story explains a lot about me. I didn't learn the truth until I was 7yrs old, when my mom started laughing at me and then got a worried look in her eyes. However, this really explains why my teachers, at the very religious school I attended, did not like me:

Religious Teachers: God made the world.
Me: Yes, but the Wizard gave it color!

Thanks for building character, Grandma.

In A Pickle

No, not literally. That would never ever happen, because I would eat myself out of the pickle. Take that pickle. I am in a job pickle. But wait Lauren, how can that be when you have been such a success at every job you have had and you graduated law school? Well, let me explain:

I AM OVERQUALIFIED.

Yes, it is true. I am overqualified to work. At least that's what three out of four employers have told me.

Employer #1: You know after looking at your resume, your qualifications exceed the highest position I can offer you...
Me: Ummm...thanks? So, are you going to hire me?
Employer #1: I'm sorry, but you're too much of  a risk.
Me: Your outfit is too much of a risk. (I didn't really say that, but I should have. Who the hell wears jean on jean and is actually serious about it? Exactly.)

Employer #2: Wow, your resume is quite impressive.
Me: Thank you. I really tried to be a well-rounded law student.
Employer #2: Unfortunately, you just seem too qualified for this position...how do I explain it...a flight risk.
Me: Right. Yeah, someone who is unqualified for the job will probably be a better fit. Dildo. (I didn't say any of this either, but my imagination did. Imagination burn.)

Employer #3: I'm sorry but I just think we are looking for someone with less experience. But don't worry, you are a very intelligent and pretty girl and you'll find something.
Me: Are you fucking serious?

I will not write the dialogue from employer #4 because that was an Armenian nightmare. No, I am not racist. But the attorney interviewed 75 people that day and the 15 that were in my group were all Armenian. Do you even know how much my whiter than white self stuck out? Second, I could hear every single interview (I was the last one to go) "Oh, what Armenian organizations are you a part of? You speak Armenian? Perfect!) Really?! Spanish I can understand, BUT ARMENIAN?

This is my life. So, basically, if you know ANYONE who wants to hire an overqualified curmudgeon in Los Angeles, let me know.

Awkward out.

I Would Like To Thank...

Football with a vagina. It's the EMMYS! I got my spicy cheetoes ready for 2 hours of pre-show and 3 hours of actual show. Yes, I do care what famous people wear to unimportant events because celebrities matter and I love the way they make me feel insecure. And anyway it's the Emmys, which means that there is at least one person that my family can honestly say I am better looking than...such as, Jimmy Kimmel.

Now for the important stuff: Who showed off their tatas best?

Tata score: 10. However, it looks like skittles are going to start shooting out of her chesticles. Fail Brooke. 

"Yes, I would like a cup of tea and a new butt plug." You're too pretty to look like my grandma's curtains. I mean, your goddamn name is MINKA. That even sounds pretty, unlike your boner killer dress.

I want to be you Rashida. Mostly because I want to be named Rashida, but also because your are gorgeous. 

I need to end here because these two make me want to make babies with both of them. Or I could just pretend to be your baby while you let me spoon both of you. Call me.

Blog Wars!!!

Whoever said "imitation is the most sincere form of flattery" was probably the asshole in the room that everyone secretly wants to pee on. Imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery because I thought of that idea first and I deserve the credit. I don't care how amazing/funny/perfect you think I am. I understand that I am all of these things, which is why I don't want any competition. Just ruins the flava.

So what provoked this tirade? Well some chick went all single white female on me and stole the name of my blog. What the what?! Except genius pants called hers "Making It Awkard." Well guess what Making It Awkward? I'm a verb and you're a noun and verbs are action words, so my blog can make yours cry.

Me Blog Slapping "Making It Awkward." True story.

Why Does My Apartment Smell Like A Baby Diaper?

Joseph Whearty, I dedicate this post to you. But, you shouldn't feel so special because I also dedicate posts to Fran Drescher and vaginas.

Mr. Whearty recently informed me that Febreeze has a new scent called Moroccan Bazaar. Generally, scented sprays are not that interesting and definitely should not be written about in this prime piece of blog ass, but think about that name a bit. When I think of Morocco, I generally think of pashminas (fancy name for a goddamn scarf) and food that would make me wish I was in a country that had porcelain toilet bowls. But I also think of spices and other crap that could possibly smell good. Now, when I think of a Moroccan bazaar, well, why don't you close your eyes and tell me what your imagination sees...

Oh, yeah. This looks like it smells delicious. Yep.

Since mine is the only opinion that counts (take that mass media) when someone tells me that my room will smell like a Moroccan Bazaar, I don't ride on a unicorn across a shiny rainbow to vanilla scented (the only good scent) lala land. No. Because nothing happy or pleasant can come out of a scent that is supposed to smell like a third world shopping center.  Febreeze is just using an exotic country to make something sound like it will smell good. For example: Parisian Subway Breeze. Subways smell a port-o-potty, but you put Parisian in front of it and OILA. Suckers.

You know that a real Moroccan Bazaar smells like all those times you go to a party. Some asshole always eats too much quiche and ends up taking a party crap. Party craps consist of them pooping during the party but doing everything possible to cover the smell, such as spraying too much of the goddamn glade airfreshener that the dumbass host left on the toilet lid. NEWSFLASH: the air freshener doesn't cover the smell of your poop, but it does let me know that you took a massive crap and decided to singe my nosehairs even more so with the smell of poop bathing in cheap perfume.

You lose Febreeze. You lose.

Momism: Sister Act

A couple of weekends ago I had a garage sale with Mindel, my foxy aunt Carmela, and my butthole cousin Samantha. Sorry, Sam, but you really should have known by now. Sam was telling her mom that the guy trying to cut a deal on the surfboard was actually flirting with her. Here is how the convo went down:

Sam: Mom, he was checking you out...
Auntie C: Really?! Nah...
Sam: Yes. He was and he's about 20 years younger.
Auntie C: Oooooooooh! I can be like one of those Coyote's
Me and Sam: Coyote? What does that have to do with anything?
Auntie C: I'm like a Coyote...getting younger men...
Me and Sam: Ummm, do you mean a "Cougar"?

Mindel, looks like you've got some competition.

The Dougie Can Suck It.

Google Images makes me feel better about my life.

 Once upon a time, I promised you a story about that time I peed my pants, and since I don't shy away from making a complete ass of myself, that time has come. Thus, the tale begins...

In my youth, I thought my bladder was superman. Meaning, I thought that I would never pee my pants. Yes, I did go to public school. Why do you ask? For some odd and overall dumb reason, I always tried not to go to the bathroom when I had to, just to test the waters. That was a good pun, now laugh. Anyway, this resulted in that first grade incident of me peeing on the alphabet carpet. But that was completely reasonable because I was getting used to my 6yr old lady parts and the letter Q pissed me off...literally.

However, you would think, and most likely hope, that by the age of 12 I had full control of my bladder. That would mean I was a normal 12yr old who was not developmentally challenged. Yeah, we all know this would be a complete misstatement of my youth. So, you are left with a somewhat challenged 12yr old girl who really had to pee and also had to take pookie (my awesome dog, not a crap) out for a walk. A smart person would have peed before walking the dog, but I chose to play the "how long can you hold it before you stain yo pants" game. By the time we were in front of my apartment building, I had to break into the most manic pee-pee dance. Imagine someone attempting to do the vertical snake, while holding their crotch Michael Jackson style. If I were any older I would have looked like a Ellen Degeneres dance segment (now you will notice how much her moves look like a pee pee dance). Worst of all, I lived in a neighborhood that was 90% old Russian ladies. Do you know what old Russian ladies do? They go for circular walks around the block with their flowered umbrellas and orthopedic shoes. I can't even tell you how many fashtinkina yentas walked around me whispering in Russian about the weird American girl touching herself in the middle of the street.

Then. It happened. I couldn't hold it any longer. You know when you have to pee so bad that you can't even move? My poor bladder was so overwhelmed that I couldn't even do the dance any longer. I had to stand in the middle of the sidewalk, one leg crossed over the other, while slightly bent over. But then,  I became determined "I am not peeing my pants in the middle of this sidewalk. Nope. I am not doing it." So, I ran. I ran as fast as I could up the stairs of the front of the building to my elevator. Little did I know, that when your bladder has gone numb from having to pee so bad, it just kinda comes out at that point. Yeah. I guess I started peeing my pants when I started running and was done by the time I made it to the elevator. Mom was really proud of me that day. Really proud.

Lesson Learned: Don't be dumb.

Momism: I'm Watching You. Oh Wait. Maybe I'm Not. Shoot.

You know that feeling when you sit in a chair so long that your butt feels taken advantage of? Not pleasant. Also, I think my butt is getting dented from sitting so often... and you thought certain things just were not possible. Ha. I laugh at your ignorance.

Well, I got that horrible butt feeling, so I decided to take a little break and call mama bear. Yeah. Here you go:

Me: Hi muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummy! (I like to sound British sometimes. I also like bah-gels.)
Mindel: Hi bubby. Did you know that my computer can search for an address and see the street???
Me:You mean like on Google Maps? Where you can get a picture view?
Mindel: Yes! Lauren, I didn't know my computer could do that.
Me: My computer can do it too, Mom. It's a website. All computers with internet can use the site...
Mindel: Oh. Well, still, it's amazing! But it was so weird because I was talking to the guy I am going on a date with tomorrow and I looked up his house. I saw a red car in the picture view and asked him if there was a red car in front of his house, but he said no. And...
Me: Wait, wait, wait. Mom, do you think the image is live? Like you are looking at his house right now?
Mindel: Yes. Isn't it? If there isn't something filming it right now, then how could I possibly see it?
Me: Jesus Christ.