Don't know much...

When I was in first grade I attended Hartman Elementary School. It was an extremely diverse magnet school in Kansas City. Actually, it wasn't so diverse. I was the only white girl in my class and the minority. A month or two after school started, a new boy joined our class. His name was Mickey and he had brown hair, blue eyes, but most importantly in the eyes of my classmates, he was white. Our class automatically decided he was my boyfriend, effectively ending my relationship with Leon.

This may have been because at 6, kids just assume multi race relationships don't exsist, or this may be because I looked horrible with 3 pigtales and they were just lookingout for me. Regardless, that was how relationships worked back then - back when we were learning to read and tie shoes and stuff. The community decided who would be best suited for you. It would be interesting if that were still the case.

Anyhow, Mickey was a sweet kid from what I can remember, except he had this thing about serenading me. It first started in the coat closet in the back of our classroom. He put his hands on my shoulders and started singing Aaron Neville & Linda Ronstadt 1989 Grammy Award winning hit, 'Don't know much.' After he was done singing, he would simply say "kiss me." That was usually enough to push a six-year-old me over the edge, breaking free of his infantile grip and returning to the classroom, bus line or cafeteria table. He really loved that song, I guess.

I do remember teachers being around on occasion when he would play Aaron, making me his Linda. And they did nothing to stop it. However, I also have memories of teachers taking us all into the bathroom to watch one of our wilder classmates get a 'whooping,' so I can't say I'm surprised.

To this day I have never been serenaded with quite the same zest or passion. So here is to you Mickey, wherever you may be. And that may be all I need to know....

Linda Ronstadt & Aaron Neville - Don't Know Much
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Girl, why am I not a billionaire?

Every time I watch Gossip Girl it leaves me feeling a bit unsettled. I look around at my 2 room apartment with cracked white undecorated walls and down at my dirty socks and plaid gap pajama pants and realize I will never be Blair Waldorf. And like a little girl that realizes she will never become a mermaid, my heart begins to break.

It isn't that I ever expect to run in the blue blood crowds or rub elbows with men that row boats and eat ivy, I don't think I would really enjoy it even if I did. I just really like the exciting fantasy of ridiculous wealth. A fantasy where I don't have to work at a job I hate and I can go back to school without taking out any loans and say things like, 'Margo, I'm off to Necker Island with Sir Richard and the kids.' But alas, I will trick myself into thinking I'm living the life of an artist for a bit longer. Just for a bit longer....

Hey, Catherine. You're a liar.

So. I have a friend and her name is Catherine. She's pretty awesome and I like her a lot. She is a writer and I think she will go on to do some big deal things, but there is one problem. She is a liar.

Sometimes she lies about big stuff like inventing recycling and her love of One Tree Hill - she DVRs it off SoapNet everyday. Sometimes she tells smaller lies about the smell of her feet (she claims they smell like bandaids, but I know better) or the color of the sweater she is wearing (Hey, Catherine. Stop telling me your sweater is brown when it is clearly taupe!)

But what I hope for her in the future is that she learns that her lies, like small ivory handled daggers, hurt. Yesterday we spent the day together. First we had burritos and went to World Market and then to see Sunshine Cleaners. After the movie we headed to Duke of Perth for some beer. After my 5th, I started telling her about my past - things like how the Horse Whisper, staring Robert Redford, was a fictional tale based off my horse whispering skills. She responded gleefully, occasionally even giving me a high-five and a pat on the back. Today she told the world she didn't like horses.

I've seen her business plan to create a t-shirt line filled with images of Chad Michael Murrey parading around on horses with Lisa Frank heart nipple stickers. I know she is a liar. She lied to the world.

So, I just want to say one thing in response to her lies:

Shut up, Catherine. Stop telling lies.

Love you.

Government Subsidized

Lets just face the facts, ladies, lets just face ‘em. There are a few innate truths about being a girl. The first is obvious, we just want to have fun, and among other truths, it is simply more expensive to be born with and from a vagina. So, to get to the point, there are a few things I believe the government should subsidize for women. They are as follows:

1. Tampons. I think this is the most obvious item on most “the government should subsidize this and that” lists. We have to have them. Have to. Because we have to have a period, which already sucks, bleeding and such. Why should we have to pay an extra $30 a month for pads and tampons?
2. Alieve. This pretty much goes with number 1. Maybe just 2 bottles a year – let’s not get greedy.
3. Toilet paper. The fairer gender has to wipe both front and back. We use more toilet paper which means more $$$
4. Eyeliner/Mascara/Foundation/blush: I know not all women wear makeup, but most do. And do you know who doesn’t really wear makeup? Yep. Dudes.

Now, I’m not saying I expect the government to pay for my children, cell phone, home or food. But, since I am a lady I have to pay more for all of these things, which decreases my already small paycheck (women make 75 cents to the dollar men make).

Okay. That’s all. Sorry this post is not that great, but I’m real hung-over.

Sights & Sounds from Saturday at a Salon

I have two jobs. If I didn't, I may not be able to afford things like food and cable and electricity and iTunes.

Though I really dispise giving up my Saturdays, especially in the summer, it's not all bad. I like the people I work with. I like the fact they are all in their 30s and 40s and gay or pregnant and treat this place as a mini high school that is actually the center of the universe.

The drama is constantly roaring strong - Chrissy refused to cut Naz's hair. Patrick (Patsy) is always telling the other stylist which Redken colors to use - and they don't like it. I mean, what does he know?! Michael's iPod is always playing effing country music, and who does he think he is? (the owner, that's who) People gossip and stab each other in the back and I love it.

A few weeks ago I told my boss I was resigning my post at said salon at the end of May. In my heart of hearts, I would spend each weekend filled with street festivals, bike riding and beaches. But alas, today I realized that just wasn't in the cards - the credit card bills, that is. I am now destined to spend a few more months or years gossiping with clients, talking hair shows and learning about new waxing techniques.

Turning 25, the audasity of it all

Twenty five years ago today I was one week old. I assume in the 2 o'clock hour of March 20th, 1984, I was being held or laying in a crib of some sort, basically just feeling new and stuff. I also presume my presence probably really pissed my older brother off a bit, who at the time, was rounding out his second year. Oh Charles R., how I once held you in the hypothetical palm of my tiny little newborn hand.

25 years later, I've done some schooling, learned to read and write and count. I've saved a life here and there, quoted some movies, made some friends, told some truths and some lies, had a few laughs and a few cries - basically, I became an adult. And what better way to celebrate becoming an adult than with a party.

Okay, this is what I'm getting at, I had a freaking themed party - Sparkly Glasses & Fancy Mustaches; Lauren Christine is 25! - and the theme, well, it was sort of re-re.

But, I did want to thank my friends for being such good sports.

Rachel, you came super prepared, bringing glasses for everyone. That was awesome.
Dan, Mr. Gertrude, you grew a real stachey stache. What a man you are. A tip of my hat to you, sir.
Mandy, my ment, your face may have had a slight affliction against mustache glue, but you looked great.
Ms. Randle, way to be prepared. Way to look awesome in 17 laminated staches of different shapes and sizes.
Strawberry Tree, you play your guitar like a demon.
Lady Monahan, you rushed over after your show opener and lost your glasses in a cab and got drunk really fast, but you still looked great. Thanks for buying me that drink when I said, 'hey, it's my birthday. Go buy me a drink.'
Everyone else, you rock.

Love you all. In the future, I will try to think of better themes.

lcs