Nothing says Christmas like a little Ray Kroc

I’ve been told my Thanksgiving post made people sad. I disagree with them because I thought it was funny, but, like the weather, I’ve learned I can no longer control people’s feelings. (dern broken magic!)

For whatever it’s worth, every time I’m in Kansas City and turn on the CNBC Biography channel, I catch “Ray Kroc: The Story Behind the Golden Arches” at least once. And it may be that he is from Chicago or his Czech heritage or maybe my expanding, McDonald’s-esque waistline, but his sassy success and complete domination of America’s appetite reminds me of both my family and Christ’s birth. But before there was Ray Kroc and the McDonald’s brothers, there was the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. And so, last Saturday, it was Christmas.

On the 24th I decided to take the MegaBus from Chicago to Kansas City, a mind’s seed that was planted to piss my Father off who thought it was a terrible idea. By proving him wrong, I proved him right and arrived in Kansas City 45-minutes late, on 2-hours of sleep and with a lovely case of the dossays due to a stale roadside breakfast sandwich.

With the help of a hot shower and a little holiday magic (wink), I headed down to the Kansas City Plaza with a couple of family member for a few Christmas Eve cocktails. Funnily enough, Christmas Eve cocktails mixed with Christmas Eve cold medicine leads to Christmas Eve shots of Jameson at the dinner table and ends with a blacked out me at Christmas Eve midnight mass.

Oops.

So the next morning (Christmas!) I awoke a little sluggish and opened stockings. After we prepared for the rest of the clan to arrive for dinner, drinks and holiday cheer. As a child, Christmas represented a time for carriage rides, gifts and familial goodwill. I am the lucky owner of two amazing grandparents and a special aunt who always went out of their way to make our family Christmases (Christmasi?) the most memorable, the most special and the most magical time of the year. What I am left with are warm, wonderful memories that feel like my very own personal Christmas carol...or coke commercial.

But just like America’s eating habits changed over the years (cue Kroc), so do the holidays as families evolve. Instead of days filled with ice-skating and sugar castle building, things are more quiet and reflective. My Grandparents are aging and with that brings stories of their youth - lessons learned, victories gained, goals achieved and dreams recognized.

Earlier this afternoon I was showing my Grandpa Facebook. We wrote, “Hi Aunt Annie, I’m showing Grandpa Facebook,” on my Aunt’s wall, we commented on the status of a cousin/Grandson and chatted with one of my sisters. “It is a miracle this all happened,” my Grandfather said to me after going through page after page of his family’s online profiles. Before I answered with some praise of Zuckerberg, he finished by saying, “You guys are my miracles. I just can’t believe this all happened to me. I’m so lucky.” And like Jesus unto the world, we are my Grandfather’s miracles, his passion, his joy, his proof that he was here and he did good.

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season…and the chance to be someone’s miracle. Merry Christmas.

My 26th Thanksgiving

First, before I start, I think you should know I just spent almost the entire day alone. I say 'almost' because I left a party last night/this morning around 2:30am, so I had interaction with the late-night lingerers; a cab driver and a few other sloppy-unsobers as I stumbled into Walgreens for some snacks. I also ordered a pizza today, which means I had brief contact with the deliveryman. As he handed off my regular-crust Thanksgiving feast, our eyes met with a similar look of empathy. "I feel sorry this guy has to work on Thanksgiving...even if this isn't his homeland," I thought. And I'm guessing his internal dialogue sounded a bit like, "It's sad this poor, sloppy girl has no one to spend America's holiday with. And why would she ever wear that terrible sweatshirt - it looks awful."

"Happy Thanksgiving," we both said in unison before he turned around and headed back into the night and I turned around to eat off my coffee table directly from the box.

Leading up to this holiday, I was asked multiple times how I would be spending it. When I answered, "Alone," I was generally met with sad eyes and, "ooooh, why don't you come with..." and "My cousin always puts on a..." or "Are you okay? November is a hard month - high rates of suicide - call if you need to talk."

But the thing no one really seems to understand, unless they have spent the holiday alone themselves, is that if I'm going to be with family on Thanksgiving, I'm going to be with MY family. Big Thanksgiving family dinners are exhausting, and even worse when the family isn't yours, especially when the drinking and fighting start. If I'm going to be in the middle of a family fight on a major national holiday, I'm going to be in the middle of my very own, loud and inappropriate family fight until we drink an uncomfortable amount and pass out on the couch in each others arms, thankful we all have someone to fight with.

So I had my plan: Attend the artsy and hipster-ridden party my friend T threw in her West Side neighborhood Wednesday night, drink copious amounts of liquor, and then on Thursday, sleep in, eat junk food, wear sweatpants all day and avoid thinking of a) work and b) school.

My plan worked.


Maybe it sounds lame, but I woke at noon, watched "Arrested Development," napped, turned on "Beautiful Girls," spent time researching Martha Plimpton, made some coffee, watched "Space Camp," ordered pizza, spent time thinking about Tom Skerritt and then I watched "So I Married an Axe Murderer." Day complete! Now I blog!

My parents didn't call, but I didn't call them either. I received a nice text from a sister, a call from another sister and two calls from sweet Aunts. I suppose the Kevin McCallister in me still measures those things. Regardless, I am thankful. I am blessed. I love and am loved. Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you too share my blessings.

As parting words, I would like to leave a few discomfited quotes I took from the enormous breadth of boob-tube I watched, which I also feel best represents my 26th Thanksgiving:

"Yes, and I've enjoyed that. It's just that I was constantly being called to the phone, or I was asked a question, or I was being resuscitated and it was really hard to get a good work flow going."

"John Glenn winked at me!"

"I didn't say real astronauts, because at space camp, you are real astronauts."

"I believe most Scottish cuisine is based on a dare."

"I AM an undercover cop trying to look hip."

A gChat Between Friends

David: lauren

me: David
me: i smell like fish

David: lol..why?

me: because I have been in a studio around fish and hot lights since 4 am

David: come over and hug me. I want to smell like fish too

me: No, David. No.
me: Are you back from your trip!?

David: yes...finally
David:And i am never leaving you again
David: how was nelson's party on Sunday?

me: good
me: I felt like you were missing
me: I said that to people like 3 times
me: I said, "where is dave. Oh. Yes. I remember."
me: and then i sat silently and sadly

David: i doubt anyone missed me

me: how was camping? tell me everything
me: i don't know anything about you
me: so start from the beginning
me: start from when you were born and tell me the entire story

David: good...i was born by a wet nurse in the jungle of east afraica

me: okay. then what?

David: i was put in a play pen with a beautiful girl baby named amanda...it was made of reeds and mud

me: okay. then what?

David: this robot stormed into the jungle after we played together for 3 years...and took her
and said i could not see her again until i found her soul sister (ss)
David: amanda was very special...and could only be totally happy with me and her ss

me: okay. then what?

David: i trained from 3 years old to 29 years old how to ride horses....I was trained by a tribeswomen named koriiii
David: and when i was finally ready, koriii told me to swim the ocean, steal a horse and ride to Kansas City

me: okay. then what?
me: this is good

David: i went to a huge castle in the middle of three 100-foot water falls
David: there were sparkles and light coming off of the water
David: something was drawing me to this convergence of power and love
David: i cut vines for 5 days and wove a rope that was 90 feet long
David: i tied one end to my horse, Christian Slater, and told him to hold on and pull me up when i cawed like a crow

me: And then what? you turned that rope into a $60 bra?

David: i climbed down the water walls and I saw the most beautiful girls in the world
David: it was amanda and you, lauren. It was you in the water fall!!

me: amanda and i were the convergence of power and love?

David: yes

me: how did you know that? Was it Christian Slater's wish? His passion? His dream?

David: he rode without proper feed for 5 weeks to bring me to you.
David: he wanted us to be together
David: and i needed all my horse training to navigate the rocks and moss surrounding the water falls

me: but why? what was the point? the purpose?

David: because amanda needed to find you before we could all be happy

me: then why am i here?

David: to smell like fish

The Unicorn Club

Kristi Kay was the first best friend I ever made. We met at an art table in first grade and bonded over Crayola created sea creatures and Caribbean Green. It was my first day at a new school. She was good at drawing whales. I was not.

During our elementary school days, we were lucky enough to share a classroom every year, and by 4th grade, Mrs. Worth was our teacher and Kristi and I were the best of friends. It's funny how kids start to rank each other socially. In addition to learning about the great state of Missouri and how to divide fractions, kids were being labeled as cool or nerdy, "the fast runner" or "the kid with really good handwriting." Neither Kristi nor I had reputations or labels of our own. We were simply known for being best friends - exclusively. We spent our recesses playing tetherball or making dandelion rings and bracelets while telling each other ghost stories. It's not that we didn't want to play with other kids, it's just that nobody else was as much fun as we were.

There was one other exclusive group in my class, Stephanie, Christine and Roxanne, also known as The Unicorn Club. While Kristi and I were private, we were approachable. The girls in The Unicorn Club were slick and cool in a way that made you nervous to speak to them. They used hairspray and were good at rollerskating, had an awesome Disney movie collection and you sort of knew they had families that ran their air conditioner all the time. At Clardy Elementary School, they were mythical creatures and I was mystified.

Sometime after Christmas break, which would have been January(ish) 1994, my phone rang. It was Christine and Stephanie on 3-way and they wanted to know if I wanted to join The Unicorn Club on a trial basis. I did.

After telling me this invitation did not extend to Kristi, the first thing I had to do was have my parents take me to Dillards and buy me a black tracksuit with gold stars on it. This was a very important part of being a Unicorn, as everyone always wore the same outfit on Thursdays. It was ridiculous and loud and I wore it every single Thursday.

When Christine decided she had a crush on a boy in our class named Curtis and found out he didn't feel the same, I was instructed to make him my boyfriend, but not to develop feelings for him. This way no one else would "go out" with him, effectively keeping him single for Christine. On a bus on our way to a field trip, Curtis held my hand. Christine saw this, had us switch seats and by the end of the bus ride, Curtis and Christine were a couple. At 10, I was basically a prostitute and Christine was my pimp.

Unicorns were also known for using 3-way calling, excessively, in order to spy on each other. It was evil and hurtful and fun. A conversation usually went something like this:

Stephanie: Hi, Lauren. What did you think about Roxanne's bow? I thought it was terrible.

Lauren: Yeah. I mean, I guess it wasn't that great. Bows aren't really my style.

Stephanie: I can't believe you said that. Roxanne did you hear that?

Roxanne: I hate you, Lauren. My grandma gave me that bow.

Throughout all of this, I maintained my relationship with Kristi. She was understanding when I played four square during recess with the Unicorns instead of hanging out with her. She never got jealous when I went to their slumber parties and never said a mean thing about any of them.

Around the time I was planning my birthday party - slumber party, duh - the Unicorns had one final request before I became a full fledged member. Uninvite Kristi to my birthday party or lose them as friends - and half my party guest list. With butterflies in my stomach while curled up on my kitchen counter with my cordless phone, I called Kristi. I told her that I was going to have two separate birthday parties. One with a big group and the other one with only her. She started to cry.

It was then, after making my best friend, the girl I could play MASH with for hours, sob and feel rejectied that I realized The Unicorn Club was filled with fucking bitches. The next day during gym class while lined up along the wall before pony races, I told the Unicorns I was out. Kristi was my best friend and I wasn't going to do that to her. The general response from the girls was shock, but then Stephanie said something that has haunted me until this very day, "If you leave, you will never be a Unicorn again."

And I never was.

Being almost famous in some circles feels almost awesome - and I miss some of you

The other day I was having a conversation with my friend Dave. It wasn't an original topic by any means, but still, it made me think. It made me laugh. It did all of the requisite things a good conversation should.

Dave: Who would be your celeb eff?
Me: Easy. Ira Glass.
Dave: Public radio celebs don't count, Bodaface.
Me: Who would yours be?
Dave: Tom Selleck
Me: Too late. I've already had Tom Selleck. What about Duffy?
Dave: Duffy my roommate?
Me: Yes. I'm sure he is famous in some circles.
Dave: No.

The point of this blog post, which started out being something completely different, is I disparately miss my friends, Catherine and Kate, who have both left Chicago, and me. One was married off and taken to a faraway land. The other turned into an American Penguin and now teaches english to little children in a place I can't really even imagine. Thank God for Wikipedia.

This week, Kate resent me an old blog post she wrote...about me. She is a girl I met when I was a sophomore or junior in college and is someone I've always considered a sister. In life, I am usually thought of as being the most unusual or quirky (or some other adjective I hate) that said person knows. Kate tops me. She is bigger and twirlier and braver. She makes me better and dream grander. Kate reminds me that life is short and if I don't take the time to read great literature or sit in a coffee house discussing silliness or make up songs on a guitar after I've had 6 bottles of wine and outstayed my welcome at a Thankgiving dinner - I might forget what it's like. "It" being the excitement and passion awarded to a lucky few in adulthood. I miss her. I hope she swims back soon.

Catherine. Oh, Catherine. She was a lucky find. We worked together in a terrible terrible place and bonded over Chili's chips and salsa and margaritas. We both got laid off on the same day and grew closer over meals of animal crackers and stolen booze. After she left the city last August to marry a wonderful guy, she also wrote a little blog post about me. Well, it is not really about me so much as her experience in Chicago, which I just so happened to be a large part of. What was so great about Catherine is that she taught me the beauty of being silent, to listen, something that is very difficult for me with my long crazy stories and love of whiskey. What you miss when you are surrounded by noise and flashing lights, either yours or others, are the small, quieter parts of life's beauty - the smell of communion bread, the knowledge gained from listening to others thoughtful perspectives, the silent love shown by actions a daughter can express for her mother and siblings. She has been gone for about 6 months - almost a third of the time we actually knew each other - and I'm starting to lose some of the memories. What I'm left with when I think of her is that really good feeling you get right when you wake-up in the morning after having an amazing dream. The feeling something really great just happened, but you're not sure exactly what. I will never forget the most important things - john slattery, animal crackers, warm CBJ, dog sitting, talks of vampires, crying at her wedding reception, etc. - but most importantly, I will never forget the person I got to be in my early twenties because I met her.




After rereading this post

1)I sort of made Catherine sound dead or like a nun. She is neither. Catherine and I got into our own share of trouble - she wasn't all silent thoughts and communion bread. Just felt I needed to point that out.
2)Dave isn't gay and his roommate isn't famous.