The Twenty-Third

As some of you may know, the twenty-third of each month holds a certain significance for me. I was born on the twenty-third, and like a true nerd (and eight year old at heart), I like to calculate what my age is as each twenty-third of the month goes by. Yes, this summer I actually referred to myself as twenty-seven and a half. (Mmhmm, I wish that I was joking too).

When I turned twenty-seven, I had some reservations about it, but what could I do? Stop time? I wish. Instead, I focused on what someone wise once said to me, and that was this: Twenty-seven is a sexy age. And, I had to agree. But, what about twenty-eight? What does twenty-eight bring to the table? Other than the reminder that my 20's are slowly nearing it's end...

With December 23rd's passing, the timer had been set. This is the last month that I will spend at this age. Home over the weekend, having a nice Jewish Christmas, I overheard my dad on the phone telling someone how old his kids were, I heard him say thirty-one, (Jeremy), twenty-eight, and twenty-three. (Heather). PS-- Dad, I'm not twenty-eight yet, so let's just hold off on that. But, PPS--Holy smokes! When had my family grown up?

Later in the kitchen, I told my mom that I was kind of dreading my birthday a little this year. (This is very unusual for me, I normally LOVE my birthday). But for some reason, twenty-eight feels like my thirty. It just sounds sort of old and scary. And, in some ways I'm not where I thought I'd be at this point. I just don't feel old enough for that to be my age.

When I told my mom this, she just laughed and said, "Do you think I feel old enough to be (insert typical mom age here). FYI: She would cry if I posted her age. But, then my mom continued and said, "Lauren, you keep getting better with age." (Just like a fine wine, right?) And, in a more serious tone she said, "It's true. In the past few years, I've really watched you mature, and I am so impressed and proud of the person that you grew up to be." I am getting choked up typing this. And, not because what my mom said is so lovely. (And it is). But, it makes me think...Could anything be harder than being a parent? What could be harder than watching your babies turn into toddlers, who grow into children, who morph into teenagers, and finally come out as adults? My god. I can hardly cope with the fact that my friends and I are growing up, let alone watch this happen to someone who I have birthed and raised myself.

So, as another year comes to an end, and another one begins, I will do my best to remain positive and find some redeeming qualities that twenty-eight has to offer. Signing off, Lauren, age twenty-seven and eleven/twelfths.

When You're Here, You're Family

When my close friend Dan and I met for drinks tonight in Chelsea, we never dreamed that after a few rounds of drinks at a bar, our night would end at the Olive Garden. Yes, that's right. Of all the incredible restaurants that New York City has to offer, we simply could not help ourselves. We suddenly craved unlimited bread sticks and salad, and we could not be stopped. No, we did not plan to go to the Olive Garden, and also be the last two to leave. But, it happened. And, we are the better for it.

Winter Bacation

Greetings from Winter Vacation, Official Day #1.

This past weekend was definitely a good one. On Friday, I had my school's holiday party. It was literally Teachers Gone Wild. The entire faculty and staff were drunk by noon. It's a funny thing, day drinking, in your work clothes, with your co-workers. A funny, but also amazing thing. The holiday party was done right. The party was set at the Boat House in Central Park, and a DJ played my favorite tunes. (No, really. He actually played all of my favorite songs). Everyone danced. Not just a few people, I'm taking the entire staff. It warmed my heart. Our after party went until 7:30 pm. (Mind you, our holiday party started at 11 am). I was a champ, making it to the finish line. That is, until I came home, took a shower, passed out soaking wet, completely naked on my bed, and did not wake up until morning.

On Saturday, one of my highschool besties got engaged. Not only is she my bestie, but her boyfriend, (now fiance) is also my friend too. In fact, he maaay have even been my boyfriend in sixth grade. (It's fine. We never kissed with tongue). It was magical celebrating the engagement, and it makes me even more excited for the wedding. (This excitement may also have something to do with ninety-five percent of the wedding party attending Livingston High School).

I'll be honest. Usually, when I hear about engagements and weddings, I tend to feel the exact opposite of happy. I'm not a bad friend, and I want my friends to be happy. It's just...I can't help but wonder when my time will come too. It's not that I want to get married tomorrow either, but I wouldn't mind getting past the stages of booty calls, and deciphering instant messages. Basically, I'd like to evolve past the age of twenty-one, in my romantic endeavors. It almost feels like being left behind a little. Sure, I know it's certainly not a race, but when Facebook tells me that eight more people I know have gotten engaged or married... it does hurt my single lady heart a little. And, though most engagement announcements bring some conflicted feelings on my end...this one did not...and, I cannot wait for this Livingston High School wedding!!!

#300

Hello! And, welcome to my 300th blog post.

It's been a long week. And, to be quite honest, not the best one that I've had in a while. You, (or Daniel Powter) could say I had a bad day. (Or four). But, what cheered me up through a somewhat crappy week? Well, this: Thinking about Ryan softly singing in my ear...Had a Bad Day...in Danish. And, suddenly...not such a bad day anymore!

But, now it's FRIDAY! (Heyyy, Rebecca Black!!) It's time to put the blues of this week behind me and say some things.

When I like a new song, I REALLY like it. Last week I walked home from work. (A sixty-five block walk, the equivalent to a little over three miles). My walk took about forty-five minutes. I listened to We Found Love, by Rhianna, the whole way, on repeat, for sixty-five blocks. <3

To the girl, who makes my morning commute, soft and sometimes somber--Adele. Even though, your lyrics make me want to die a little on the inside...and, I'm so sorry that you got your heart broken... please don't ever stop singing the way you do.

I've worn the same pair of sweatpants and t-shirt to sleep every night for the last three weeks. Am I gross?

Also, no matter what time of day, (even if I have to go right back out again), Upon getting home from ANYTHING, I must change into my pajamas, immediately.

And, ladies. What better feeling is there, then taking your bra off at the end of a long day!!!? BOYS. You will just have to take my word for it. It's da bomb.

Also, I have gone to bed by 9:30 every night this week. I have the same bed time as some of my ten year old students. Help!!

Last weekend, I was talking to a handsome Australian man at Beauty Bar. Mid conversation, Becca Girl walked by and yelled in our general direction. "Isn't my friend really funny and pretty?" Subtle? Well, no. But, sweet and supportive? Absolutely.

You know that e-mail that is going around? The one from that crazy guy Mike to the girl he went on a date with one time, Lauren? It's been posted to like every website of social relevance. To those of you who have asked me if I am the Lauren in the e-mail. No, I am not. Though, I do agree, that is most definitely something that would happen to me.

And, finally...it's been almost three years, and 300 blog postings later, since I began writing Go Fish. My class that inspired me to write...are now 7th graders, looking more awkward and uncomfortable than ever before. And, me...I'm an almost twenty-eight year old with a 9:30 bed time. Here's to the next 300...

My Thanksies

It can be easy to get down on yourself for the things that you don't have. (In my case that might be lots of money and a boyfriend). But, then I remember this: I am a lucky girl, and I have much to be grateful for. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I thought I'd share just some of the things that I feel thankful for this year.

1. My parents. For a million and twelve reasons that I could never even begin to list. And, while I'm here--I'm pretty dang grateful for Fatts and Judy too. (Heather and Jeremy, ya herd?)

2. Funny, friendly people. You're just the best.

3.Camp Schodack. If my parents hadn't sent me here seventeen summers ago, (Thanks Lil' Mimi and Craig!) I would never have met and fallen in love with the best friends of my life.

4. My Friends. Having friends in my life who I can be one hundred percent myself with. No inhibitions, uncensored me. Gassy, fun, and moderately repulsive. It's really something else.

5.The Return of Pop-Up Video. You've revolutionized my afternoon programming, and I'll never be the same.

6. DVR. How else could I watch Pop-Up Video, 90210 and the OC each and every day?

7. My job. Sure, I have spent a lot of time in the last couple of months saying how much I miss my old school. But, I'm learning that my new school has a lovely plus side too. And, more importantly, I have a place to come to each day, a well earned paycheck twice a month, and children who are happy to see me each morning.

8.Frosted Flakes--my Saturday and Sunday mornings wouldn't be the same without you.

9. Ketchup--we go way back, and I'm pretty sure I can't remember what food tastes like without you.

10.New York City, god--I love you. You are my home, and the best city I've ever been to.

11.Bar Birthday Parties. You give my weekend nights purpose.

12. Music that makes me want to immediately have naked alone dance parties.

13. Naked alone dance parties

14. LHS c/o 2002. Could convening at our lockers in D-Hall really have been almost ten years ago? It feels like ten minutes ago, and I'll always feel incredibly lucky to have had such a positive high school experience.

15. Sexual experimentation. Well, at the very least no one could ever say that I missed out on my twenties.

16. Gchat. You make my work day much more entertaining.

17. Rhode Island. I could never forget how much I loved this little state from 2002-2006. (Even though you suspended my driver's license). DT, Katiekiwi, 80Sak and the SeaWatch Boys. You'll always be my Rhode Island.

18. Friendship bracelets. You fancy up my wrists real nice.

19. My cell phone. A piece of machinery that I rarely use as a phone. It's hard to remember my life without it, and I never want to again.

20. Elastic waist bands. Could anything be more comfortable, and yet also fashionably acceptable? Leggings, Jeggings--my wardrobe will forever thank you.

The Little Things

It's funny the way that a 2000's relationship progresses; it's ususally the "bigger" things that happen first; and the seemingly smaller things don't happen until later. For example, in a new relationship of boyfriend and girlfriend, chances are the couple has been "dating" or "hooking up" for months prior to that official title. Twenty-somethings really take their time when getting into an "official" relationship. Where we don't take our time is with sexual progression. And, chances are high that sex probably happened pretty early on between the couple, long before they became "official." And, it's the other stuff--the smaller stuff; like kissing in public, during the day, (soberly). Or holding hands, in public, during the day, (soberly), that probably didn't happen until later. Much later.

It's funny to think about. As a person with different sexual experiences under her belt, I still get nervous about those little things. Like, the moment right before I walk into a bar or a restaurant for a first date, or right before I know I'm going to kiss someone for the first time. I still get nervous. Even when I'm about to kiss someone that I've kissed before. I get nervous. Like, butterflies violently flapping their wings inside of my stomach, kind of nervous. In a way, I hope these feelings don't change. I'm not sure that I ever want to get to a point where I feel immune to this stuff. And, even though I've come a long, long way from hand holding...it's still amazing that sometimes it really is those little things that make all the difference.

When Do You Tell?

This blog post is dedicated to ABBS. I love you.

A couple of years ago, I was at a bar with one of my female friends, a wingwoman if you will. My wingwoman for the evening was an excellent one. She had just one drawback. She was not single. Her being in a relationship does not stop her from being a good wingwoman, except for one thing. Any two-some of guys that approached us would eventually lose interest in talking to us because she had a boyfriend. I'm not saying, I wasn't enough to hold someone's attention. (Thank you, very much). But, the two guys came as a package deal, and as far as they were concerned, onto the next duo where both girls were actually single.

Learning from her mistake, (of saying she had a boyfriend in the first thirty seconds of a conversation), she decided to keep that information to herself a while longer. Shortly after a duo of boys approached us. I found someone that I kinda liked. We were starting to really hit it off. And, what happened next is a tale for another time. But, what about my friend and guy # 2? Well, I'm sure he thought that they were hitting it off too, until an hour into the conversation when she revealed that she had a boyfriend. Poor guy. He never had a chance, and he never saw it coming. And all he got was a bar tab of drinks for a girl who already had a boyfriend.

And, so. My question is this: In a social situation, (be it, a bar or a party), when you are talking to someone for more than just a quick conversation, when do you tell them that you're in a relationship? When this occurs too soon into the conversation, you sound presumptuous and arrogant. But, if this occurs too late into the conversation, there is nothing more frustrating. There simply has to be a happy medium. But, what is it?

I am writing form the perspective of a single person (as per usual). And, I'm not knocking the coupled off person either, it's tough for them too. Don't they have a right to talk to other human beings? And, I'm sure their first instinct is not to say "I have a (girl/boy)friend/fiance/wife/husband"
1. Nothing ends a conversation quicker.
2. Like I said earlier: Reveal this too quickly, and I think we're all likely to think: Relax asshole. I'm not trying to get into your pants.

On the flipside, if you buy me drinks, and talk to me for too long, knowing you're in a relationship? Well, then I want to murder you a little.

Recently, a friend of mine spent two hours of her evening talking to a guy that she had met that night at a bar. They were talking, laughing, and just generally having a good time. Then the unthinkable happened. The guy dropped the girlfriend bomb. TWO HOURS INTO THE CONVERSATION. That is too late, pal! When a girl meets a boy at a bar that she likes, she thinks: Omg, I just met my future husband!!

I'm just kidding. Girls don't actually think that. But, we do get excited to be talking to a handsome stranger.

Should people in relationships have conversations with single people at bars or parties? Yes, of course. But, should there be a cut-off time before hopes are raised and crushed? Yes, I think there should be. But, what is that cut off time? I don't know. Do you?

First Date

What happens when a person you're going on a date with (who you don't know very well yet) suggests an idea that you're really not feeling? You want to be agreeable, and easy-going. (Especially, if those characteristics actually describe you), but, you don't want to spend your night doing something that's your own version of a nightmare.

As far as first dates go, I feel that dinner can be kind of a bold move, and a little intense. I'm a first date, drinks girl all the way. Perhaps long ago, dinner was an appropriate first date, but in 2011, I have to disagree.

Now, hear me out: I am a girl that can eat. And, I don't have food issues where I can't eat in front of the opposite sex, however eating on a first date can be a little scary for me. And, here's why: I have some less than stellar eating habits, and almost all of them involve ketchup. (An aside: Once on a dinner date, I poured milk all over my Caesar salad thinking that it was the dressing on the side. Yeah, that wasn't embarrassing at all).

I went out with someone last week who suggested going to a pizza bar for our first date. Yes, a pizza bar. A bar where we could literally eat pizza and drink beer. It was low key and casual, and I liked it. So what if I get pizza on my face, and cheese dangles from my mouth? In the end, my date spilled his beer on me early on in the night, so any qualms I may have had about eating in front of him were quickly diminished.

After date # 1 ended, I was asked to go on date # 2. He very enthusiastically suggested that we head to Dave and Busters. Oh no, he didn't!!!! I can't think of anywhere else that I'd rather not be. (Except for maybe Home Depot, but luckily he didn't suggest that). Dave and Buster's is one of those places that is kind of my worst nightmare. Mostly because it is a glorified arcade in the middle of Times Square.

When that idea crashed and burned. (I will give him credit for picking up on my subtle hints), He suggested we go out for dinner. I know I said I don't like dinner dates for date # 1, but I also don't really like them for date # 2 either. Dates # 1 and # 2 can be dedicated to booze. That is fine with me. (Also, I realize that here is a guy who is trying to go out of his way to plan something fun and nice for us to do). But, I guess my point is, in the first couple of dates, simplicity is what wins. And, I will have fun just about anywhere. (Except for Dave and Busters and Home Depot). The truth is: I'm easy. (Insert slutty joke). All you have to do is take me to a bar, supply me with atleast three Bacardi and diet cokes, and I will be just fine. Deal?

November...and Boys

My heart broke a little this weekend as I watched restaurant employees stack tables and chairs away, until sunnier, warmer days are here again. It's hard to believe that tomorrow is the first day of November; (Summer, tanlines, and flip-flops, I really miss you). It's just a long descent into winter from here on in...

Now, for something new: a blog post about boys! Because I never write about them, right? Okay. Why do guys text/call about wanting to meet you/see you/spend time with you/hang out with you/bone you, and then do not follow through. Here is an example (of many I've experienced) to illustrate this very frustrating point.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine from highschool asked if she could give my number to her older brother's best friend. After looking at him on Facebook, I said, Yes, please! This guy was a thirty-one year old hunk! I heard from said hunk later that night, when he texted me saying, "Heard we'd really hit it off, when do I get to meet you?" I gave him two different nights that I was free that week. Of course he was busy both of those nights. (In truth, I was actually free every night of that week, but felt it would be best if I kept that information to myself). Hunk said he would get back to me the following day with some free nights he had the following week. A new prospect on the horizon? I was excited! Guess what? He never followed through, and I haven't heard from him since. Wow, I love boys.

This is a completely frustrating situation because he never met me, so it's not like he decided he wasn't into me. (By the way, if it was a case of, he's just not that into me; I could deal with that). But, seeing as we never met, that can't be it! And, I assume he also checked me out on Facebook prior to agreeing to be set up. But perhaps most frustrating of all is...he texted me! He initiated the first contact with me, and then without a trace disappeared to the island of lost boys. If I ever visit that island, I'm pretty sure that I'd have a word or seventy to say to quite a few guys there. Grrr.

Did You Know?

The return of Pop-Up Video has brought great joy and excitement to my weekly afternoon programming. Vh1 recently brought back Pop-Up videos, after a decade long hiatus. These music videos that give tidbits of information in "pop-up" bubble form were a staple of my 1990's television watching. Most of the pop-up videos featured are current, but every once in a while an older music video is shown.The following is a sampling of some of the information I've obtained from watching this Vh1 treat. Enjoy!

1. The average person poops 416 pounds a year.

2. In Britney Spears's Toxic video, she is dressed as a flight attendant, and makes out with a passenger in the bathroom. The passenger's boner had to be digitally removed from the video.

3. Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock dated right before he married Pam Anderson.

4. In the Pussycat Dolls video, Dontcha, there are seven "dolls" in the group. The Pussycat Dolls had no idea who the seventh girl was. She was never seen or heard from again.

5. 50 cent was shot nine times. Yes, I knew that. But, I did not know that this happened in front of his house.

6. In R Kelly's Remix to Ignition, the scenes are set in a bar. All the good looking extras were served alcohol. The not-good looking extras were served colored water.

7. Scientists say that if the world ends, cockroaches will most likely outlive humans.

8. An extra on set farted in front of Britney Spears and was fired.

9. Tupac Shakur took ballet lessons as a child.

10. And, last but not least...Swedish women are said to have the smallest breasts around the world.

You're welcome.

What's Your Number?

I'm sure many of you have seen the movie preview. A twenty-something girl is on the quest to find true love before she reaches twenty sexual partners. And, she's at nineteen...

I recently had two very different experiences involving people's "numbers." (People's sex numbers, that is). And naturally, I wanted to share them here. The tale begins in Boston, where I spent my weekend visiting my college besties. (Love you guys!!)

Out at the bar on Saturday night, I met a guy. (One whose name I can't remember, and he is simply "Boston Boy," in my phone). Through, texting the next day, Boston Boy revealed his sex number to me. I never asked him for this information, he shared this all on his own. Boston Boy told me that he had only slept with three girls in his life. This seemed somewhat shocking to me. A twenty-seven year old, single guy, who had only been with three girls. I understand that everyone's numbers are different, based on different life experiences. After all, I have friends that have a low number of sexual partners, because they've been with the same person for so many years. Maybe Boston Boy had three really serious girlfriends? Or maybe he had one really serious girlfriend, and two flings? Or, maybe he is just sexually inexperienced. The possibilities are endless.

(An aside: I did not share my number with Boston Boy, for many reasons. Most of which being that my number is not three).

It was interesting to me that a single, twenty-seven year old guy had only slept with three girls in his life. However, if a single, twenty-seven year old girl had said the same thing, it would not be as surprising to me. The reality is, gender does play a role in this. We know this, because girls are the ones who are called sluts and whores. Not guys.

I was talking on the phone last night with one of my best friends from college. Without knowing my Boston Boy story he asked, "Fisher, what's your number these days?" I'm not shy about this. (Though, I'm not going to share that number here). I told him that I would tell him, if he told me his. And, so he did. A twenty-eight year old guy, and he had just hit the forty mark. Forty girls. And, I will get personal about something. I am one of those forty girls.

His number did not surprise me. And, I passed no judgement on him. However, if I had told him that my number was forty. (Which it's not), I can't help but wonder if he would judge me, just a little.

Another factor: Since we've been close friends for years, it's been a while since we've done it, and I'm not looking to date him, knowing his number didn't bother me. However, if this was a guy I was interested in becoming serious with, and I knew that he had slept with forty girls before me...it could have the potential to make me think differently about him and his intentions.

Is this fair? I'm not sure. Do I want people judging me based on my number? No. Of course not. But, I'd like to think that I still fall in a somewhat age appropriate range for a single girl living in a city.

We want the perfect balance. No one wants to sleep with someone who seems inexperienced, and yet at the same time, too much experience can be seen as a flaw, and could potentially make the moment feel less genuine. When you are in an intimate setting with someone, no one (I imagine) likes to think about the people who came before you, and who may come after. In the end, I conclude that someone's sex number is not so important. Sometimes, you have to have different experiences to help you understand what it is you are looking for. And, girls. I'm pretty sure you can still find love, even if he is # twenty...

Whoops.

Well. I literally just spent the last two hours crafting two blog posts, that I felt quite proud of. One was about the glory of Vh1's Top 100 Countdown of the 2000's. (A life-changing event for me, if you will). The other, was about my visit to my old school on Friday. (A truly amazing day, and I never wanted to leave). Both posts just vanished from my computer, and I feel like I did back in 2004, when I lost a twelve page research paper the night before it was due. I may have yelled, and slammed my fist into the computer. (It's fiiiine). Sure, no one is grading me on this, but I really liked those posts, and really dislike technology right now. I don't have it in me to start again. (Womp, womp, womp). Another post is on it's way just as soon as my fingers stop burning...

Did This Really Just Happen (Continued)...

In my last post, I wrote about a perfect stranger who told me to "take my sorry and shove it up my ass," when I finally let him know that I was not interested in meeting him. And, oh yes. The craziness continues... On Saturday morning, I woke up to a text message from the same mentally unstable stranger. The text said, "Wow, you are such a loser."

Oh really? I'm the loser?!? I am not the one texting a complete stranger hateful messages at seven am. Mmhmm, that's right.

Did This Really Just Happen?

I'm...not...that...into...you. (To the tune of Oops, I did it Again--I'm not that innocent. C. Britney Spears).

Something quite interesting happened to me tonight. You see...I was ripped a new one, via text message, by a guy who I had never met. Ahh yes. Allow me to explain.

Over the last ten years, I have endured many painful experiences involving the opposite sex. I've had my feelings hurt, and my heart broken. I've been lied to, strung along, and even cheated on, back in high school. However, an unfortunate truth of dating, is that there is the potential to get hurt. I always try to treat others how I would like to be treated. And, in the situation I am about to describe, I agree that I was the one at fault, at first...but, this guy, (who I have never met before) brought it to a whole new level...

In my last blog post, I spoke about a Jdate guy who had scheduled a phone call with me. After we chatted, it was clear on my end, that I was not interested in meeting him. Part of this was due to the fact that he texted me twelve times a day. And, no. That is not an exaggeration. The problem was, he had nothing to actually say, and what he did choose to text were actual electronic annoyances. In addition, he added a smiley face to EVERY text he sent. (That's 12 smileys X 7 days a week--you do the math).

Do not misunderstand me. At times, emoticons can be necessary. For example, the occasional wink face, or a smiley face to clarify that you are kidding; as humor can often get misinterpreted via text or instant messages. I welcome that. But, to place a smiley face in every single text? Well, now I don't ever want to meet you.

Furthermore; every time this guy would ask me to go out there were two problems. The first: He did not give me any notice. This is different once I have been out with a person. Feel free to text me at 6 or 7 and ask me what I'm up to. But, if we have never gone out before, I'm going to need some advance notice. In addition, I am a girl, and if left to my own devices, I could spend three hours getting ready. (I seriously love getting ready). So, giving me a half hour to choose my outfit, take a shower, blow dry my hair, apply make up, and arrive on time at chosen destination? Well, it's simply not going to happen. And, lastly...the only thing he asked me to do (besides sit in a park and enjoy one another's company). Yes, he really said that...was to go to Starbucks for a cup of coffee.
1. I do not drink coffee. But, fair enough--I never told him that.
2. And, more importantly--if it's a blind first date. Alcohol is a must.

I was not interested in this boy and yet, I kept responding to his text messages. I admit that was wrong. I felt too guilty to just ignore him. And yet, I knew that I was not doing him any favors by continuing to respond. I should have been a woman about it, and just told him I was not interested. But, I also did not want to send a premature "It's not going to work text" to someone I've never met. It almost felt too cocky in a way...

What I was hoping for, was this: He would get the hint on his own, and slowly disappear. This is what happened instead: Our text message conversation as stated earlier today.

Him: So how about that coffee tonight : )

Me: I actually have plans tonight, I'm sorry.

Him: Easiest thing for you to do is to say you're not interested in meeting up. (HE IS TOTALLY RIGHT, AND I COULD NOT AGREE MORE!!!) Had he stopped here--well, I would have no blog post for this evening...

Me: You're right, and I'm sorry. I should have been upfront sooner.

Him: No worries, you are not a genuine person. You lack integrity and honor.

Me: Okay, well I understand why you would feel that way, and again, I'm sorry.

Him: It's not that I FEEL that you lack integrity, it's that you actually do lack integrity as you've demonstrated.

Him: And, you can take your sorry and shove it up your ass.

Do I feel bad that I caused this sort of reaction from a person I never even met? Of course I do. But, do I think I'm the first girl who received a string of texts like this? Of course not : -)

Me Again!

It's been a while since I've last written. Below, you will find some things that have occurred recently.

I started a new job, at a new school. This is kind of a big one, and requires a post in it of itself. I will say this: It's been a big transition. And, the change has not been easy. And, while things are getting better, I miss my old school, every day...

On Sunday, I had lunch in the West Village with DBA. I picked DBA up at his apartment, where I met his new roommate and new roommate's friends. Hubba-hubba. Hunk Alerts, that's all I'll say. I asked Dan if he would have a party. Not only was his roommate cute, but he also had five friends with him. That's five new boy faces that I haven't seen before, and I like to maximize any and all potential. Is it okay that every time a male friend has a change in his life, I think of ways that it may benefit me? Does this make me selfish? Well, maybe a little. But, at least I own up to my shortcomings.

Last night was Back to School Night. This means that the parents of my students came in and listened to my teaching partner and I speak about the curriculum for an hour and a half. Needless to say, this is an exhausting day, and I didn't get home from school until nine pm. Yes, some of you reading this keep those kinds of hours, but you are investment bankers, lawyers, and do other things that I do not understand. And, you probably make an extra figure or two in your salary. I am a teacher, and like to be home in time for my four-thirty pm dinner. Just saying.

I expected the parents of my new students to be welcoming and warm. I expected them to be curious about who I am, as the new teacher on the block. I expected them to think that I'm a young, twenty-two year old, brand new teacher. And, in fact--until I introduced myself, and mentioned that this is my sixth year teaching, this is what they thought.

What, I did not anticipate was, having the parents of the girls in my class tell me that their daughters have come home telling them that "Miss Fisher has "feathers" in her hair." Yes, I have a feather, or two, or five currently. One is hot pink. I kind of love them. And yes, I know. I'm such a professional. One of the moms told me that her daughter was at home on the internet, "researching" where she could get a feather for her own hair. I'm a trendsetter for nine year olds. Sioux me.

And, lastly. I'd like to discuss a new phenomenon. And that is this: When meeting someone "online," before actually going out on a date, there has been a repeated pattern of scheduling a phone call. I enjoy talking on the phone with my mom, and a select few. But, if we have never met before (Ie: You have my number through a dating website), then well...there is really no reason for us to talk on the phone. Let's just text, until it's time for us to meet in real life. Okay?

This morning I received a text at 6:30 am, from a J-dater, asking me what time is good for us to talk tonight. Sure, thats considerate of him. And, I do appreciate planning ahead. But, just call me whenever you want. I probably will screen anyway.

I had one of these mandatory phone conversations on Tuesday night with a fellow J-dater. And, although I was annoyed that I was talking to a stranger on the phone, when I would have rather been doing...well... just about anything else. I am glad that we talked. The conversation made me realize--I did not want to go out with this guy. I just saved myself a painful first date. Maybe that's a judgmental thing for me to say after a fifteen minute phone conversation. But, I do think you can get a certain vibe from someone. And, most importantly: I hated his phone voice. I'm sorry, it's true and a good phone voice is key. Things that I have been told about my phone voice are that I sound like a 900-operator, or a twelve year old boy. You can decide for yourself.

Oh, Just a Visit to The Neighborhood Psychic!

Back in 2006, when a psychic opened her doors in Livingston, New Jersey. I was ecstatic. For five dollars a palm, I thought this was a real steal. Shortly after moving to NYC in 2007, the psychic went out of business. I'm fairly certain that I was her only customer, solely responsible for keeping her in business that year. At the time, I was seeking the answers to many unanswered questions involving a certain boy that held a special place in my heart. Mostly, I wanted to know if we would end up together. She told me that we would. In hindsight, she was probably telling me what she knew I wanted to hear, and when things with that boy crashed and burned; I knew that my days of seeing psychics were over.

I spoke to Meelz this morning, and she told me that she had stopped at a psychic on her way to going out last night. (Don't you just love New York City?) She too was lured by the mystique of the five dollar palm read. Amelia was impressed with what the psychic told her, and felt that her psychic was right on with many things.

Amelia's visit to the psychic inspired a visit of my own. I walked to my own neighborhood psychic. I was invited in, where I sat on a stained couch, while a woman looking close to ninety years old chain smoked two feet away from where the psychic (Pam), and I were sitting. An albino cat rubbed up against my shins. So far, this was not a great sign. I think most people would agree with me--unless of course, you are my friend Derek. And, then a cat rubbing up against your legs would be a fantastic sign.

Pam began by stating some things about my personality, and my background. Some of her assessments of me could not have been more wrong. For example, she said that I am "a closed book" and keep everything inside. (Raise your hand if you've ever received a Lauren Fisher feelings e-mail, know the inner most details of my bodily functions, and or have heard a story about my sexual past that should have most likely stayed private). Seeing as I get joy out of blogging about the personal details of my life, and most recently wrote about a thirty year old Indian man unexpectedly sticking his finger up my ass at a routine checkup. Well, a closed book, I am not.

But, Pam redeemed herself. She knew that I was a teacher, and that I have a positive, youthful energy. She said I am a people person, and care deeply about the people in my life. She also mentioned my discomfort and disdain for change. Okay, Pam. What else you got?

After she gave me a reading of my lifeline, I asked her the two questions that brought me there in the first place.

Question Number One: Will I be happy at my new job?
Translation: When will I stop crying every day after school?
Pam's response: With great change, comes great opportunity, you need to ride this one out.
My takeaway: (Well, duh. I'm not planning on quitting and becoming a professional homeless woman). Pam's answer was common sense, and did not entirely satisfy me. But, for now it will do.

Question Number Two: Will I end up with someone, in the long term? Find a partner, a marriage etc?
Translation: When will I stop having to sit at the "singles" tables at friends weddings? When will I stop having to decipher the hidden meaning of Gchats, BBMs, and text messages? When will I no longer have hilariously bad first dates? Or have a guy ask me on date # 2 if "I mind getting this one?" (I'm still not over that one). When will I not meet guys who sleep in twin beds? When will twenty-three year old guys stop approaching me in bars because they think I'm in college? When do I get to stop nodding and smiling, as some arrogant asshole talks for way too long about private equity? When will my grandma stop asking me to please get married before she dies? When can I stop enduring the chaos of dating in NYC, all in the efforts to find the right person?
Pam's Response: November. You'll meet someone. Keep your eyes and ears open, he's coming And, don't worry, I see one marriage, and no divorces in your future. That will be twenty dollars.
My Takeaway: This is why I'm broke.

Poo-Poo Platter

Today a thirty year old Indian man stuck his finger up my butt. You?

This was not quite how I thought my afternoon would be spent...but sometimes, life throws you a little curveball. After work today, I went to visit the doctor. I won't get too into details, (because I'm pretty sure ninety-eight percent of you reading this post want to vomit a little).To keep it brief: I'm having a little poo-poo problem, and decided to seek some medical attention. I thought the doctor and I would talk some medical talk. He'd throw out terms like "bowels, and stools," and I would continue to use the word, poop. He'd ask me my symptoms, I would share them, and he would give me a diagnosis. Good as new, and I would go my merry way! But, not so fast. The doctor (who looked like an Indian Doogie Howser) gave me a rectal exam instead. My very first one. My rectal exam cherry has been popped! Amen.

Lorna loves Luke

In honor of the almost one year anniversary of 9-02-10, I decided to post a larger picture that is near and dear to my heart. Here we are, the happy couple. Don't we look great?

The End of Summa

Nothing like a small natural disaster to put things right into perspective. I woke up on Saturday morning, threw some things into a bag, and headed to New Jersey to take refuge with my parents for the impending storm. And, here I am....thirty-three hours later.

I spent last night in a way that I would probably never like to again. And, that is this: Sleeping in one room with my family. My roommate was away this weekend, and I was nervous about being alone in my apartment during the hurricane. Yes, I have friends that I could have stayed with. But, my mom's fridge is more stocked than yours. Priorities, you see.

As it grew later into the evening, my parents became increasingly more nervous that the large tree in the front yard would fall onto our house. If it did fall, it would fall onto my parent's room, or on to my sister's room. Their solution to the problem was this: We would put all of our mattresses together, in the living room, to avoid a potentially life threatening situation. (Although, a tree crashing through a house, regardless of whether or not you're sleeping in that particular room sounds concerning to me). But, what do I know?

Anyway, there we were. Mimi, Craig David, Heatzbabi, (Judy was at his own apartment), and me. Just in case you wondered, my bed was positioned directly beside the front door. (Just like a pet dog). I love my family, I really do. But, I'm mostly sure that as a twenty-seven year old woman, I am not meant to be spending my Saturday night tucked into a bed four feet from the sound of my parents snoring.

Being home, and marooned indoors gave me lots of time to think. I got to thinking about this summer, and what is next for me. As always, summer ending remains a very hard pill for me to swallow. And, it's not just because I'm not ready to begin working again. (Though, that is certainly part of it).

In short, it all comes down to this: I love summer. I love shorts, sundresses, and flip-flops. Tan lines, Rooftops, outdoor spaces, eating outside at a restaurant, and sitting on an East 9th street stoop, with some Sixteen Handles. I love the beach, the smell of suntan lotion, and going for an early morning run before it gets too hot outside. I truly believe that I am a happier person in the summer time, and am not ready to let go of my favorite time of year. (Surprise, surprise. I don't want something to end).

This past month (of not working) has been kind of magical for me. Without any form of work, I have literally been a free Willy! I have explored different NYC parks with my best friend, I went saddle boating, I visited mediocre East coast vacation spots (c. Derek), I've slept as long as my body let me, I watched one of my college roommates get married, I drank a lot of bacaaaardi, I did not endure the Sunday night blues, I visited Camp Schodack, and perhaps most importantly of all: I made out with a boy in a bunk bed.

In a couple of days, I begin work again. Only, I am not returning to familiar lands, but am beginning a new job, at a new school. I've known this was going to happen since May. It's only hitting me now, as August comes to a close, that this change is taking place whether I'm ready or not. And, let's just say...I'm not. Summer Vacation, I miss you already.

Schodack Weekend

It is a rare, and truly lucky thing to feel so comfortable around a group of people that you can completely be yourself, and share anything. I'm talking, no inhibitions, no filter, just completely uncensored you. Even if this includes sharing your daily pooping schedule, sharting, the many uses of a wifebeater, (ie: as toilet paper or a tampon substitute), playing numerous rounds of whose face would you rather sit on, and letting it be known that you maaaay have accidentally peed on someone. (Whoops).

It is a rare thing to have these types of co-ed friendships. The type in which a male friend, in an attempt to maintain the well-being of the other passengers in a long car ride home, says to you, "You either get five free farts, or one free shit your pants." (Please love me still: Brooke, Jeff, Nate and Marla). I know that I can be a semi disgusting human at times, and for me to be me, and share that openly...it kind of means everything.

Who are these people that I am referring to? This group of friends that I feel one hundred percent myself with. Well, they are my camp friends. And, while I certainly value the other relationships in my life outside of camp, I visited camp this weekend for our alumni reunion, so, that's what I'm gonna write about here. Okay?

For fourteen summers, Camp Schodack was my summer home, and to this day--probably the most influential experience of my life. Camp helped shape me, taught me invaluable social skills, and most importantly, helped foster some of the most important friendships I have. I am very lucky to live in the same city as these friends. For my group of friends, a camp reunion is not necessary for us to be reunited. But, to be able to spend time together, at camp, outside--that's the amazing part. When was the last time that you woke up in a room, sleeping in bunk beds with fifteen of your best girl and guy friends?

Being at camp this weekend felt special, not only to reminisce and laugh with my best friends, but also to spend time with my old campers (many of which have become close friends). This Schodack community ties us together, and keep us together. And, I think that it always will.

My voice is very hoarse. And, sure that may have something to do with the multiple Bacardi and diet cokes I consumed at camp. But, mostly... it has to do with all of the singing, cheering, and laughing I did. Pretty much, all I did this weekend was laugh. Laugh, and wonder why there were ants in the parmesan...and in the cereal. 12123, you never let me down. Amazing weekend.

Eighty Sak

Back in college, I lived in a neighborhood called Old Eastward Look. A small beach community, just footsteps from the ocean. My roommates and I lived at 80 Sakonnet Boulevard during our junior and senior years of college. 80 Sakonnet Boulevard, or 80Sak as we liked to call it, was our second home; and we loved it there. We even had a sprial staircase connecting the first floor to the second floor! Our bedrooms were on the first floor of the house. In the two front bedrooms lived Caitlin and Maurin. (Yes, I had a roommate named Maurin. And yes, our names rhymed. We didn't sound obnoxious at all when we introduced ourselves).

In the back of the house were mine and Taylor's bedrooms. Coincidentally, the four of us were split by the front and the back of the house, and there were some similarities that we shared. Taylor and I are both brunette, hailed from New Jersey, and had (have) D+ boobs. We were the back of the house girlays. Living in the front of the house were Maurin and Caitlin. Both blonde, from Massachusetts, and also sharing the same cupsize. For years, it was those defining characteristics that divided us, (and also united as at the same time). But, now as we enter into our late twenties, there is something else that both divides and unites us. The former residents of 80Sak have now been divided by marriage and singlehood.

On Friday night, we attended Taylor's wedding in Maryland. (And, a lovely time was had by all). On Saturday night, Maurin got engaged. Hmm. Are these the same girls that I used to take atleast seven shots with before going out at night, eat raw brownie batter with, and dance around the house in our underwear? Yes, they are. They're just getting maui-ed.

See? We're all being proposed to, just some of us on different levels. At Taylor's wedding, on Friday night, a guy that I was talking to, proposed that we go back to his parent's RV (!?!?!?) after the wedding. Unlike, Maurin's marriage proposal, (to which she said yes), I turned my RV proposal down.

Even though I can't believe that you bitches are growing up on me, a sincere mazaaaaal to Moho and Flint. LYLAT, girlfriends.

August

The season of summer is my very favorite. And so, it's hard for me to believe that it's already August. Please summer, never leave me. Today was my official first day of summer vacation. With school ending in June, and my summer camp job ending on Friday, I am finally freeee. And, it feels so good.

On Sunday, I went to the town pool in Livingston, with Little Mimi Girl. (Yes, Meelzy--I know. So, sioux me if I am a townie). The funny thing about the town pool is that the people there are either under the age of twelve, or over the age of forty. There is no one remotely in my age demographic. (Well, unless you count the sixteen year old lifeguards). Just as my mom and I were leaving the pool for the day, we bumped right into my second grade teacher. She looked about eighty years old. I remember thinking that she was "old" when I had her back in 1991, but now, she actually looked elderly. She recognized my mom, (not me though). When I shook her hand, and told her my name, she smiled, but I could tell that she had no clue who I was. That's okay though. All I remember about second grade is that my grandparents visited my class on "grandparents day," And, Grandma Eva (my ninety-six year old grandmother) was introduced to my class as being born before radio was invented. (True story). My other memory of second grade is accidentally stapling my finger. I guess some things don't change...

I love New York City in the summer time, during the week nights. I took a stroll down to Urban(uhhh) in the East Village tonight. My first wanted stop and chat (the literal, exact opposite of an unwanted stop and chat) was with one of my camp besties, Nate. Nate is great. (And, I'm not just saying that cause it rhymes). It was a real treat bumping into him. Next, I ran into, yet another Schodack alum, (holla!!) Lastly--I bumped into someone who I worked with at my old school, outside of a bar, and she was wasted. See? Aren't NYC summer nights the greatest?


I love having things to "check" online each day. You know. There's Gmail, and Facebook, my work e-mail, People.com, and all of the other websites I just love to check in with. One of my newer websites is Thought Catalog, an online blog all about pop culture, dating, and other topics relevant to 20-somethings.

An article I recently found, detailed a straight man's encounter blowing a zucchini. Yes, you read that right. The author of this blog is not bi/gay-curious. He is a straight male, who was in his bed wishing to be blown, thus leading him to imagine what it would feel like to be the blow-er. He found the most phallic object possible in his apartment. (Hence the zucchini), and thought that it would be interesting to put himself into someone else's shoes. (That of a woman or gay man). What did he discover? Well, a new respect and appreciation for all the women and gay men in the world, who perform this act. He learned that blow jobs can be tough work!

He experienced neck cramping and some light gagging. As a woman, I appreciated his appreciation. And, while I am not going to find an edible object around my apartment to practice cunnilingus, I will still give a special props to straight boys out there. It can be a crazy place down there, with the flaps, folds, smells and secretions. (I winced, typing that). But, when a boy knows his way around, and (knows it well), we girls are pretty grateful. (But, probably not grateful enough to practice on edible objects found around our homes).

I don't really want to end this post with blow jobs, but my eyes are beginning to close. Blow jobs it is. Good night.

Nobody Likes You When You're Twenty-Three

Or do they? When Blink182 came out with the song, "What's my age again," back in 1999, they sure knew what they were talking about. Why is it that all of the boys that I meet lately are twenty-three (or twenty-four) years old? If age ain't nothin' but a number, how come it matters to me?

Single guys my own age can often times be immature, selfish, and still trying to get their shit together. (No offense, boys). So, you can see my concern. The younger you go--the scarier it can seem.

That being said. In my time as a single gal, I have not let age hold me back. (Well, to a degree anyway. I am not looking to meet a fifty year old, or a twenty year old either, for that matter). I have been open minded when it comes to age. I have hooked up with/dated older guys, younger guys, and guys my own age. (An aside: With one exception, this past winter I accidentally made out with someone born in the '90's. He had an English accent, I thought that he was older!! This event has scarred me for life).

Are the older boys not going out as often? Do the younger ones not know to leave the city on weekends in the summer time? Or, do I just attract a younger boy, because I myself look young? Last night I was saying goodbye to a close friend that is moving out of the city. (My first friend to leave NYC). After his party had died down, the rest of us went to celebrate Sheetly's birthday at a nearby bar. Accompanying Sheetal, was her younger brother and his tall handsome friends. This is when I realized that these tall handsomes were... sigh...only twenty-three. Oh...what could have been...

I have some experience in this arena, as I recently went on a four date stint with someone in this age range. (Twenty-four). A very attractive guy, with a super, fun personality--but there was something missing...and our age difference, though not huge, did come up in conversation, and yes. It did seem to matter. We have since gone our separate ways. I can't help but wonder if that age difference really did make an impact. I wonder if being in your twenties can be compared to your first few years of life, where every week, month and year counts. Both are time periods where many big changes occur in a small amount of time. And though, we are both in the post college phase of our journey...I am a little bit further along.

Recently, a close friend of mine told me that she had been semi-dating a forty-five year old man. Wow! Forty-five sounds like an actual, real man's age. (When my dad was forty-five, he was married with three kids, the oldest kid--sixteen). I asked my friend what it was like to date a much older guy. (Mostly, I was just curious what the sex was like). What she said surprised me. To her, it really felt no different than dating someone our own age, because this particular guy had the emotional maturity of a twenty-five year old. Mmhmm. So, there you have it. Can I rest my case?

BGbabe Birthing

Well, here we are at our Dewey Beach Motel, arriving back after a night out. It's simple really. Just your average twenty-something year old girl, birthing another twenty-something. Mmhmm, totally normal.

Are You a Gentle Lover?

Disclaimer: If you are not one of the five people in this picture, then you may or may not hate this blog post.

Here we are. My Camp Schodack gals-Martha, Roberta, Me (Loretta), Bonnie and Amanda. Sioux us if we have fake names.

I've made this statement before. And, I will certainly say it again. Sending me to Camp Schodack was quite possibly the best decision that my parents ever made for me. And, not just because camp taught me confidence, invaluable social skills, and provided me with some of the happiest memories of my life. Camp Schodack did do all of those things, and more. But, camp did something far more life changing for me. It introduced me to some of the best friends of my life, who make a four hour car ride, and spending a weekend in a dirty motel, fit with a pube and discharge covered comforter one of the greatest weekends ever.

This past weekend, my travel companions and I (Schodack besties), hit the road and headed to Dewey Beach, Delaware. I don't know how to write this post, without listing inside jokes. This weekend was literally one really good laugh, after the next. The facebook album entitled, 3...2...1...Go, says it all.

We eat dank ass pizza, and the beached whale special. We drank our body weight at da Rusty Rudder. But, most importantly, we spent our weekend laughing. Real, stomach hurting, little droplets of pee escape (whoops), laughter.

Did we have more fun pregaming in our hotel than we actually did out at bars? (Ehhhh, nahhhh, dang). It's highly possible. Did we play Never Have I Ever, and actually learn new things about each other, even after all these years? Hell yeah!! Learning about each other is in. (c. Amelia). Did we play the question game, otherwise known as every day conversation? Did we feast on The Full Monty at breakfast (which sent us RUNNING to the nearest toilet). And, did Amelia get her wagon master? She sure did.

We were all foul humans this weekend. I won't go into details on this, but I will leave you with a quote inspired from the weekend. A wise woman (Amelia) once said to me, "It's a choice to live your life like a filthy bitch." It's not easy taking a bath in a dirty hotel bathtub, but someone has to do it. Aw yee.

Backwards Dating

As a single, twenty-something gal in New York City, there are certain dating rules that we try and comply with. But, it can get confusing. Because, you see, the rules. They keep changing...

For a long time, I felt pretty okay with a rule that I had made for myself. A simple rule, really. It was this: Don't do it the first time that you hook up with someone. I had my reasons for this rule, all of which were important to me. A famous comedian once joked about his response to women who asked why a guy suddenly stopped speaking to them;"It's simple, he said. Either you slept with them, or you didn't"

But, somewhere in my mid-twenties, my sexual moral compass went slightly astray. I broke my "rule," and I thought to myself: Oh well, fuck it. (Literally). Does this make me a slut or a whore? No. It doesn't. It makes me single, living in a city filled with other single people.

My single friends and I were discussing one night stands at brunch one morning. (How very Sex and the City of us).What came out of our discussion was that, we don't have one night stands/sleep with people the first time we hook up because we are particularly slutty. (We're not). We do it for the same reason that guys probably do. And, the answer is not because, "we can." It's because when you are single, (unfortunately), the opportunity for s-e-x can be scattered far and few between. We've always been taught that when an opportunity comes knocking, we should take it. Right? Well, perhaps that very same theory has been applied to sex.

From the worst case scenario, to the best. Here is what can come from first-time sex in a first-time encounter.

1).Never hearing from the guy again. (A girl can only experience this a couple of times, before she decides it really is not worth it).

2). Only hearing from the guy at two am on weekends. (This is to be expected I suppose. If you give it up the first time, this guy has no reason to think he can't get it from you again, on his terms).

3). The emergence of backwards dating. (Backwards dating is what I refer to as going on a first date with a person who you have already seen naked).

Backwards dating, is like regular dating. It's almost as if that sex never happened between the two of you, and everyone is on their best behavior.You go back to drinks, dinners, and movies. Sometimes without even kissing at the end of a night. And, if and when you do finally do it--it's like that first time never even happened...

This past January, one of my best friends said that her New Year's resolution, was to make choices that she felt okay with the morning after. I kind of love this resolution. Whether you are doing it with strangers on the regular, whether you don't sleep with someone the first time, or if you are in a long term relationship--we each need to do what feels right for us, and make choices that we can live with for many mornings to come.

Oh, hello!

Oh, hello again! Here, in no particular order are some things that I've been thinking about...

1. Are girls crazy? If you are a boy reading my blog, then you are probably nodding along, with an emphatic yes.

On Saturday night I experienced true girl craziness at it's finest. At a friend's birthday party, I saw an acquaintance and his girlfriend sitting at the bar. I did not immediately go and say hello, because he is not someone I know well, and quite frankly, I needed to get my Bacardi on first. As soon as I got my drink, I went to say hi. I experienced what can only be described as DAGGER EYES coming from the boy's girlfriend (who I had never met before). I extended my hand to her, she shook it with a violent squeeze, and a furious wrath. Ouch. (Emotionally and physically).

About an hour later, while said girlfriend was in the bathroom, boyfriend came up to me and said, "My girlfriend doesn't like you, because she thinks we hooked up." There are two things troubling about that statement. The first: Everyone has a sexual past. Everyone. Do you know how many boys I've hooked up with in the past that now have significant others!?! I'm sure every (single) person reading this could say the same thing. I could have a small army of girlfriends attacking me, if this is a shared mentality.

Second--and, more importantly...I had never hooked up with this guy- not even once. Not ever. I asked boyfriend if he had told his girlfriend that we never hooked up. He said that he did, but she didn't believe him. When girlfriend came out of the bathroom, her eyes narrowed, as she stared at me with pure hatred. My goodness. What could I have done to deserve that?


2. While recently shopping at Bloomingdale's, I was lingering over a necklace. I loved it, and wanted to buy it. But, if purchased, I probably wouldn't be eating for about a week. On the other hand, I'd have a really pretty necklace. This was a tough one. While eyeing the jewelry case, someone came over to assist me. The woman asked me if the necklace was a sweet sixteen gift. I laughed and said, "Oh no. This is for me." Then she said, "I know it is, dear!"

This is when I realized that the Bloomingdale's associate thought that I was a sixteen year old girl. This is not the first time this has happened, in fact it's not even the second. Most recently before this, I was carded at the Hangover Two. The boy who worked behind the counter at the movie theatre (who couldn't have been older than twenty) didn't believe that I was over seventeen years old, thus allowed to see a Rated R movie. All I can say is this: When I'm forty, I can only hope that people think I'm twenty-five.

3. On Wednesday of this week, I visited Medieval Times with the day camp that I'm working at. It made me think about the people who work here. I thought about them "practicing" their choreographed fight scenes, and their medieval accents. When these people get up each morning for work, they know their day consists of men in tights, elaborate costumes, and falling off horses for large groups of children. Who are these people? And, how on earth did they get this job?

4. And lastly, on my walk home from a glorious Sunday spent with my Meelzy, a small black man tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, and the tiny man said to me, "You have a better tan than Rihanna." I'm pretty sure that was a compliment. But, I'm also pretty sure that Rihanna has a better tan than I do. Just saying.

The End

It was September of 1994. My first day of fifth grade at Harrison Elementary School, in Livingston, New Jersey. I excitedly packed my backpack, grabbed my lunch, and took our annual Fisher family first day of school photo. (My older brother was going into the ninth grade, my younger sister was beginning first grade). I kissed my mom goodbye, and ran ahead of her and my sister, all the way to school. I was about to become the oldest and the coolest in school--finally a fifth grader. I loved the idea of ruling the school. I was a ten year old girl, hardly the ruler of anything, but to me being a fifth grader kind of meant everything. Later that night, after telling my mom what a great day I had, I burst into tears. Though, it was only the first day of school (179 days away from the last), I cried because I didn't want fifth grade to ever end. Ahhh yes, and here I am seventeen years later...

If ever a situation described me more, it is this. I cried about not wanting something to end a year before it did. People don't really change. (Or, atleast, I haven't). I am still the same 5th grade girl at heart. And, though I have survived all of life's "endings" and successfully transitioned into new beginnings, I still wish something so good didn't have to come to an end...

This past week was my last week as a Center for Ants employee after five years. Yes, I cried like it was the last day of camp, in front of all the children and their parents. (I am soooo professional). As I come to terms with a very significant chapter of my life coming to an end, it is comforting to know that I get to adjust to this transition slowly...over my three month summer vacation...

The Big Moments

It's funny how the big moments in life are never quite the way that you imagined them to be. In the spring of 2001, I was a junior in highschool. I did not make the Varsity lacrosse team, and learned that I would be playing on the JV team. All of my friends my age, had moved up to Varsity. I was disappointed at first, but would soon learn what a joyous blessing in disguise this turned out to be. While the varsity team ran four miles a day, the JV team took team strolls to Baskin Robbins. And, most importantly of all, I met my new found sophomore lacrosse teammates. Teammates who would grow up to become my real life friends.

On Sunday, I attended one of those sophomore lax girlay's bridal shower. (No longer a highschool sophomore, but a twenty-six year old woman; Lindsay O, or soon to be Lindsay L). While catching up at our ladies lunch, the topic of losing our virginites came up. I'm not quite sure why or how. Maybe it was the fact that we all had done it for the first time with people we went to high school with, and consequently many of us had even slept with the same people. (Ahh yes, I do love you, Livingston High School). Either way, it made for some entertaining conversation.

I won't go into explicit detail on my first time. Mostly because, I am not looking to exploit anyone. (Or am I!?) But, I will say this: when a p first entered my v, I had no idea what to expect, I had only heard stories from my more "experienced" friends. Although, in hindsight--this "experience" is almost laughable. We were teenagers. We were the sexual blind leading the sexual blind. As we laughed about these boys from our past, (whose identities shall remain anonymous), we all knew one thing: these sexual escapades were disasters at best.

It's the big moments in life that never feel quite how you imagined them to be. I am coming up on a big milestone now. It's a strange feeling knowing that you are about to experience one of life's many turning points. But, this is mine. And, I'm not sure how I should feel.

I am leaving my very first job. The only real place that I have ever reported for duty, day after day, week after week, month after month, for the past five years. For many people my age, this step has already occurred. But, in true Lauren Fisher fashion, I am slightly delayed.I have planted my feet, and stood firmly in this place that I have grown to love. In the last five years working as a teacher at The Center for Ants, I have learned a great deal, and it will be very, very difficult for me to say goodbye.

Endings have never been easy for me. Like graduations, and the last episode of Beverly Hills 90210, endings tug at a piece of my soul that I didn't know was there. I am moving on. But, I feel I am moving on before I am ready. That's the hard part. The truth is, I would probably never be "ready," to move on. I know that change is a good thing. (Atleast, that's what I hear). But, regardless, I don't feel ready to leave a work environment where my co-workers have become close friends, and a building has become like a second home.

What is my message here? I'm not sure. I only know that when I first stepped foot into The Center For Ants back in September of 2006, I never would have dreamed of the all the learning, the growth, and the development that would take place. (And, yes...I am talking about my own). It has been a hell of a five years. Center For Ants, you've been a pivotal part of my twenties. And, I'll miss you, a lot.

Wedding Weekend

It has arrived. And, it has passed. The moment that I had been waiting for since graduation day from Livingston Highschool occurred this past Saturday night. I attended my first "highschool wedding." A wedding in which both the bride and groom not only graduated from Livingston High School (Class of 2002), but have been dating since that time.


As expected, the wedding was pretty much the best time ever. And, who doesn't love dancing and drinking with their childhood friends? This particular wedding had such a special vibe. Every vow, speech and story that was told, ached with history and deep connections.

However, this wedding taught me one very important lesson: Well, actually it taught me two. The first is this: Wearing a dress that JUST fits you is only a good thing at the beginning of the night. By the night's end, I was carrying a food and alcohol baby in my stomach. I'm sure this looked quite attractive.

But, more importantly, I learned this: If you are single at a wedding, you have one major disadvantage. You will be sat at the singles table, otherwise known as table: miscellaneous. The Livingston Couples table was the table to my right. The majority of my highschool friends were sat here. (This is the table of my LHS friends who are either dating each other, or brought someone with them to the wedding). My table consisted of two of my highschool guy friends, and random friends and cousins of the bride and groom. Aka...table miscellaneous. Sure, we barely sat. And yes, we even took a couple of table shots. And, we even kind of became table besties by the end of the night. But, I have learned this: If you don't have a date at a wedding, you will be sat with the miscellaneous randoms. Amen.

This Will Make You Feel Old

Mmhmm, my friends know me pretty well. I woke up on Sunday morning, after remembering virtually nothing from Saturday night. (From how I left my debit card at the bar, to the cab ride back to my apartment, to how I woke up naked (by myself)--spooning my clothing from the night before). Ahhh yes. It feels good to be twenty-seven.

Upon my wake-up, I checked my blackberry. Hollaa at 2011. I saw that I had an e-mail from Jay, one of my college besties, and former facebook husband. (No hard feelings). The e-mail read, "This made me think of you." And, next to it a link. If ever, there was anything nearer and dearer to my heart, it is 1990's nostalgia, and how old 90's stars are in today's time. Some could call this an obsession of mine. And, they would be right. I hope you enjoy this link as much as I did. And yes: if you were born in the 80's, this will make you feel old.


The link is not working, but please google: 40 things that will make you feel old

(This list is amazing).

Five Years Ago...

Five years ago today, I woke up early on a Sunday morning. I put on a white dress, and over it, a long white gown. I tried to make my hair do something that went with a flat board cap. I put on my sandals, and opened my front door to find my family with flowers in their arms. Five years ago today, I graduated from college, from The University of Rhode Island. May 21, 2006 was a day that my friends and I had dreaded for four years, and it had arrived. And now, here I am. Five years later. Try as I might, I could not imagine what life after college would bring me. And, I can't say that I've been disappointed.

Earlier this week was one of my best friend from college's birthday. He turned twenty-eight. We met each other on the very first day of freshman year. (Friendship at first sight). I was eighteen years old and he was nineteen. It's funny, I always consider the friends that I grew up with, as the ones that I've known for years. And, it's only hitting me now, that my college friends have also become the friends that I've know for years. Sure, my college friends missed out on my five year awkwardly hideous phase. (Thank God). But, still...to know someone for nine years, is an awful long time.

Corey (first boy college bestie) and I were talking about how crazy it is that we are really on our way to becoming grown ups! I told Corey that I like it here in my twenties, I want to stay forever. (Though, I have a feeling I had a similar sentiment about my teens). Corey replied, (and this is a direct quote), "You respond to change with comically poor behavior, Fisher. It's one of your defining characteristics." And, well. I have to agree. But, also I have to disagree. I have come a long way in the last five years. Sometimes, it is really hard to look back and see change within yourself, but thanks to a trained professional, and being born the reflective person that I am, I have learned a great deal about myself in the last few years. And, so I give you my list. Just some of the thing that I have learned over the last five years in my post-college life. Some serious, some silly. All are true.

1. I miss a life where my parents paid for my home, my bills, my food, my clothing, and my travel expenses. I miss it every single day.

2. You do NOT get paid your salary in full upon signing for a job.

3. Disappointments happen. Both big, and small. (It seems for me--these disappointments occur especially with da boyzz). I've learned to let myself feel sad for a little while, but then it's time to stop feeling sorry for myself, and move on. My spirit is far more resilient than I give credit for.

4. As Leona Lewis once said, It will all get better with time.

5. Experiencing things that put you out of your comfort zone is a good thing. It's actually a great thing. It will challenge you in ways you hadn't imagined.

6. If you run out of toilet paper, paper towels and napkins. Old wife beaters and socks are not an appropriate substitute.

7. When Becky, Amelia and I travel together, it is always the best time of my life.

8. Going home with a drunken stranger is not the smartest or the safest idea.

9. Your apartment building is not a dorm. It is not a good idea to drunkenly hook up with your next door neighbor who you've met twice. It will be awkward when you see each other in passing.

10. Drinking more than two nights in a row has become quite challenging for me. (The college me would not be proud).

10. It is eighty-four percent certain that if BGbabe has her camera, and we are in a women's bathroom together--there will be a picture taken of me, from underneath the stall, mid pee.

11. Going to bed before ten pm on a week night feels dang good.

12. I am extremely lucky that my parent sent me to camp seventeen summers ago. My life would quite literally never have been the same.

13. Sticks and stones may break my bones, and so will large bar bathroom doors.

14. You can throw up from drinking too much, even if you are hooked up to an IV.

15. It's perfectly okay to take a couple of shots before going on a first date.

16. Attending a wedding with your highschool friends; might just make for the most fun weekend of your life.

16a. At said wedding, really hilarious combinations of people will hook up with each other.

17.It feels really good when a little kid thanks you for teaching them something that they did not understand.

18. Celebrities don't like when you give them hand written letters at their book signings.

19. I'll never stop loving anything associated with the 1990's. Ever.

20. As Ke$ha once said, "We r who we r." And, so, if I've learned anything--it is this: All we can do is be ourselves, own who we are, and hope that everything else will fall into place.

Just Me, Fatty, and Judy

Well. Here we are! Painting the town red as we celebrated my older brother, Jeremy's 31st birthday on Saturday night! I had to post this picture, seeing as it may be the only photograph taken where Jeremy, Heather and I all have our eyes open. (See! Having no eyes is actually in our genes). Also, if I knew anything about technology and computers, I would post a picture of when the three of us were small. (For nostalgia purposes of course). Love ya, Jer and Heatz!!

Teach

As many of you know, I have been looking for a new job. This next chapter in my life still remains unclear, and I'm not quite sure how it will all work out just yet. What I do know is this: For the first time in my life, the idea of change isn't scaring me. It's exciting me.

On a recent job interview, I was asked to go home and compose a two page essay about why I became a teacher. As I sat staring at my computer screen, I knew what I wanted to say: I love having three months off in the summer, and the ability to leave work at three pm. But, somehow I figured my prospective employer was looking for an answer that touched a little bit deeper. So deeper, I dug. And, this is what I found.

8:24 am. Can I get a drink of water? Is my retainer in the garbage? May I sharpen my pencil? Why does your hair look funny? I got a new puppy! My mom made me take a bath last night!! I can't find my homework. I saw a butterfly on the way to school. Did you know that I was made in Mexico, but borned in Texas?

8:25 am. I am exhausted. I have just been bombarded by eleven eight and nine year olds who do not understand personal space, voice modulation, or that I am barely awake. And still, at 8:25 am on a Monday morning, I would not wish to be anywhere else. (Well, except for maybe my bed). I would not trade my job for any other seemingly glamorous career in the world. I would not trade tying children's shoes, wearing the paper necklaces that they make for me, and receiving the hugs that they give me. I would not trade any of it for peace and quiet on a Monday morning.

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite things to do in my free time was to sit in my room and play school. I could do this for hours at a time. I had an easel set up as my board, and my dolls sat in rows in front of me as my students. I would "take attendance" and send it downstairs to "the office." (The office was my mom). Instead of going to the toy store, I would often ask my mom to take me to the "teacher store." A store which sold everything I dreamed of having in my own classroom one day. Borders for the walls, charts and posters, and plentiful amounts of art supplies.

For as long as I can remember, teaching always felt like something that I wanted to do. When given the opportunity to explain something that I knew and understood, I came alive. As a high school student, I found that the best way for me understand new material was to teach the information to someone else. When I did this, studying became less tedious and I began to enjoy the act of teaching someone else for understanding and meaning.

It was a beautiful spring day, earlier this year. I was outside in the yard with my class. Usually during this time, I sat on a bench with my teaching partner. We would observe our class playing with one another. But, on this particular day, I decided to come in off the bench. The kids were playing tag. I asked them if I could join in. They were more than happy to let me play. As I ran around and played tag with my students, I couldn't help but think to myself, am I really getting paid to have a second chance at childhood?

As I ran, laughed and shrieked along with my students, I overheard one of the girls in my class say to another, "Isn't our teacher the funnest?" It felt like my proudest achievement yet.

I know that teaching is not always about fun. It is about dedication, commitment and hard work. Teaching brings rewarding moments, joyful moments, challenging moments and frustrating moments too. But, when the special moments come, and there are many. I am aware of just how lucky I am to have turned this into my career. This is why I teach. I teach for the moments that may seem small or insignificant to others, but these are the very moments that make difference to me, and to my students.

Spring in Suburbia

When I was in the twelfth grade, a large part of our health curriculum was studying reproduction. (I'm still scarred by the Miracle of Life video). One of the most important assignments we were given, was to carry a "flour baby" around school for two weeks. Thus simulating what it would be like to have an actual child. The entire senior class participated in this assignment. Each senior had to bring in a doll from his or her (or our sibling's) childhood. For the next two weeks, the halls of LHS were cluttered with baby dolls and their attached ten pound bag of flour.

Only one student in the grade would be chosen to receive "twins." A name was selected at random, and that lucky senior had the pleasure of carrying two flour babies, weighing in at twenty pounds, for the duration of the two weeks. Guess who that chosen senior was? Oh, you guessed it! Me. As a high school senior, I weighed just barely 100 pounds. (Oh, how I miss you, high school body). The amount I carried in flour babies was nearly one fifth of my weight. The rule set by our teacher was that if any one was seen being negligent to their child in any way, or left their child unattended, they would fail the project, and possibly fail health class. This meant that if you played after school sports, or had some sort of after school commitment, you would have to arrange for a "baby sitter."

I was getting ready to go to lacrosse practice, one afternoon after school had ended. Lacrosse practice was held on the oval. In front of Livingston High School's majestic landscape is an oval with a track to run and bike on, two baseball fields and a lacrosse field. It was common for students to park their cars around the oval. For many, the oval was a central hang-out. I was getting ready for practice, standing near my car parked across from where practice met. I took my lacrosse stick out of my trunk, and hurled my two flour babies into the trunk of my blue jeep. (R.I.P. Blue Jeep). Just as I was mid-throw of my flour children, my health teacher drove around the oval at the exact same time. Of course, he did. My teacher slowed down and rolled down his window. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't see that, Lauren." Yikes.

What triggered this memory was being home in Livingston today. I went for a run at the oval. It was a beautiful day and the oval was packed with people running, biking and rollerblading. Sometimes, it takes being back home in the suburbs to really appreciate and notice the spring time. In New York City, I know it's the spring by the outdoor tables outside of restaurants, and the pale legs that I see on the subway on my way to work. In the suburbs, spring is certainly hard to miss. There is green everywhere. People are out in their lawns, watering their plants, and children run freely in the streets. Sometimes, it's a welcome change to leave the city, and enter spring in suburbia.

Someone recently pointed out to me that I am a nostalgic person.Hmm...you think? Anyone who has known me for longer than fourteen seconds could tell you that. But, then this person said something that I hadn't heard before. He said, "You must have had a really happy childhood."

It's funny, that comment makes complete sense, and yet--I had never made that connection before. And, it's true. I did have a very happy childhood, filled with very normal things, such as playing with my brother and sister, and staying outside with our neighbors until it grew dark. There were the ice cream trucks that stopped on our street, and the amazing summers that I spent at Camp Schodack. I have two people to thank for much of the happiness of my childhood. And, they are my parents, both who I adore. And, since today is Mother's Day, a special thank you to my mom, my little Mimi Girl, who is not only the best mom a girl could have (No really. She is), but in the last few years she has also become a supportive ear, a confidante and a friend. So, thank you Little Mimi. You da mom.

Yet, Another Dating Wonder...

Oh, just a short tale that needs to be told. And, yet another example of something that would only happen to me...

I was perusing a popular dating website when I received an IM from someone that I had been out with on two dates. (In case you didn't know, when you IM someone, your picture is shown, and your profile (with more pictures of you) is readily and easily available for viewing.

Let's call this particular fellow, Sam. Sam imed me with a simple, "hey." To which I replied, "hi." Then Sam asked me how I was doing. I responded that I was doing well, and I asked Sam how he was doing. His next response was, "So, what do you do for fun besides for looking hot in your pics?"

Hmm. That's really interesting.

1. Vomit.

2. In most photos taken of me, my eyes are rarely open, and I have atleast two to three chins per picture. Yes, I am better looking in person.

3. And, perhaps more importantly: I went on two dates with this person. (Sure, I was so drunk on one of them, that I don't actually remember getting home). But, that's neither here nor there. And, while I don't kiss and tell. (Or do I?) We may have gotten to first base. Shame on you, Sam. You should not only recognize me via the website, but also by my user name which is a derivative of my first and last name. (Both of which you know).

4. Shame on me. Did I really go out with someone who would use such a player-esque, lame-ass line on someone?

I responded to Sam by asking..."You know this is Lauren, right?" His immediate response was, "Oh my god." He signed off immediately, and called me. I let that one go straight to voicemail...

A Taste of Summer

It's been a long winter, and today's sunny skies and eighty degree weather gave me the taste of summer that I've been craving. Four very exciting things occurred for the first time since last summer.

1. I have retired my tights for the 2011 winter season. Tights season is officially over, boiii. Goodbye sleek, black legs. Hellooo pasty, whites!!

2. BGbabe and I had our first night time stoop session since last summer. Oh, how I've missed you summertime stoop sessions. It's pretty simple really. All we need is Sixteen Handles, and our favorite East 9th street porch to sit on, and it's a guaranteed good night.

3. I made my first Central Park debut since last summer. Becca Girl, Loosh, and I laid out in the hot sunshine in our summer attire. (An aside: You may remember Loosh as my friend who hooked up with Johnny Harper from the OC. You may also remember that I am quite jealous).

4. I got me a sunburn today! Should this make me happy? Nah, probably not. But does it? Sure does.

Bring it, summer.

April

April; you've really done nothing for me. From your crappy weather, to your crappy news, I am so over you. As many of you know, it's been a rough couple of weeks for me. While sitting at dinner with my family on Saturday night, I felt myself becoming emotional over my recent run of bad luck. I could feel a lump forming in my throat, and tears were welling up in my eyes. My dad leaned across the table, and put his arm around me. In his most comforting voice he said, "Don't worry Lauren, you'll get a boyfriend one day." Not what I'm crying about. But, thanks Dad.

Last night was actually amazing. My friends and I went to a bar (Angels and Kings). Catering to different interests: male, female, gay and straight. We figured this bar was our best bet. There was a wide open space for dancing, and a DJ who played anything and everything that we asked for. We LITERALLY brought the party with us. BGbabe had a dance-off with strangers. And, we danced in circles around the dance floor, literally. My friends are the best, for realzies. I really don't know a group of friends that has more fun than we do when we're together. We know how to do it!

Perhaps it was today's sunshine, or that for the first time this year, I wore shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops, but today was a lovely day. I could feel my mood elevate instantly. I spent the early part of my day with Lindsay O, the middle part of my day with my Meelzy, and the end of my day at the Shake Shack with Josh. It was quite perfect. Here's hoping for a sunnier, brighter May.

Change

In February of 1988, when I was four years old; my family moved from a suburb outside of Philadelphia to Livingston, New Jersey. Just me, Little Mimi, Craig David, and Judy. (Heatzbabi wasn't born yet). I began attending my new nursery school that week, I would later learn that my teachers told my mom that I had adjusted remarkably well to my new surroundings. Within minutes of arriving at school I was comfortable, happy, and surrounded by a group of my four year old peers. As a four year old, change did not scare me.

Fourteen years later, as a highschool senior, I saw the change that was coming my way. And, it paralyzed me with fear. I loved my life in highschool, and saw no reason why any of that should have to change. I fought this change hard. Kicking and screaming, until day one at The University of Rhode Island. Within instants of arriving at college, all that resistance to change seemed silly. I was going to be happy at this place, and I knew it. I made the transition from highschool senior to college freshman, seamlessly. Four years later, at age twenty-two, college's end came looming at my doorstep. Repeat Highschool end's cycle. I cried for days when college ended. But, did I transition into the real world, becoming an adjusted, (semi)-normal adult? Heck yes!

It wasn't until a few years ago that I began to truly recognize and understand how change makes me feel. Removing the emotional component of change, and the extremely sentimental side to my personality, I am able to see that change makes me anxious. This is not shocking. Change makes lots of people feel this way. But, never before had I been able to accurately articulate the words to this feeling. I knew that often times when thinking about change, a giant pit in my stomach would form. I would lose sleep thinking about what things were to come. I knew that change made me feel scared, and unsure about what the next step would be like. But, I hadn't yet learned how to identify my feelings as what they really were. It wasn't until my decision to leave Camp Schodack, (and a short stint in therapy later) that I started to understand that most of my fears stem from the unknown, and that is very often associated with change.

Some of you may know this, and some may not, but this past Friday was a very hard day for me. All, I will say is this: Change is certainly knocking on my door once again. And, it will take all of my strength to approach this time like the four year old girl inside of me. Fearless, happy, and easily adaptable. And, who knows. Maybe, it will even be a good thing. As Sheryl Crow once said, "A change will do you good." (Eeek! I sure hope so).