Weird Things Happen

I love when weird things happen. I could sit and read stories about synchronicity and serendipitous moments until my head explodes.

This week in “My Life is a Whirlwind I Can’t Make Sense of, but That’s Cool I Guess”, I’ve heard The Doors’ song “People are Strange” about four times. The Doors remind me of my dad, who LOVED them, and after hours being forced to listen to them, I find that that song is the one I didn’t hate the most. Even today I heard it and turned to my friend to tell her I’ve heard it more times this week than I think they’re allowed to play on the radio anymore.

Flash forward to this evening when I was locked inside my room, following in my father’s footsteps to the recliner in front of the TV. I just started watching season one of the Sopranos, a show he watched from beginning to disappointing end. I turn in on, about 15 minutes goes by, and a character says “I keep hearing this song in my head, ‘People are Strange.’ You know, by the Doors.”

I had to pause it and try not crap my pants. Out of every episode, I watched that one today. A show shot in 1999. By golly.

In other news, I bought a K-Cup rack on sale for $4.77. They retail $25-35. I nearly spiked it in the middle of Kohl’s, I was so excited.

In even more spike worthy news, I got to interact with the lovely Mara Wilson via Twitter today. I’ve seen her in a couple interviews lately, mostly being prodded with questions about her growing up as a child-star. She seems like an incredibly intelligent, articulate, and funny woman, so I was very excited that she responded to my comment. I take any opportunity to talk or make a joke about The Wire. She even followed me back. I don’t care if it’s petty, that’s pretty friggen great to me.

I hope you guys enjoyed Daylight Savings. I’ll take a 6:44pm sunset after this winter. 50° weather calls for shorts and sunscreen in New England.

I missed Throwback Thursday, so enjoy this picture of my cat who really loves me.

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Goodnight!

Love,

Lolo von Ishovedmyretainersontomyjaggedteethowsteinberson

The End (but not really)

Hey Lint-lickers!

I DID IT. I FINALLY DID IT.  (Obligatory sex joke.)

Day 31. The final question of the Blog Challenge that I’ve managed to drag on since May. Whoops.

The Question: Why do you blog?

As I mention in every waking breath, in every medium, to every person I’ve met, I love comedy AND I love talking about things that other people feel uncomfortable talking about. Not controversial stuff (I mean, if you want!) but having conversations about emotional things that people stuff down inside them. Not necessarily a therapy session, but I appreciate talking passionately, whether about that goofy music you loved when you were 10 or that time your uncle died. Most people, when getting to know me, throw a “you’re weird” out there. But hey, I’m not going to pretend I’m a placid movie character. I over-share and reveal personal information about myself.  Just because you may not understand me, doesn’t mean you won’t, and doesn’t mean I don’t understand you.  I realized my “weird” is what a lot of people connect to on a deeper level. Several of my friendships have evolved from conversations that started with a “you’re weird” but closed with “I feel like I can be myself around you.” I don’t think I could dream up a more touching compliment.

In regards to blogging, I can reach people who might think the way I do, or who maybe are unconsciously searching for someone they can kick their shoes off with. We can toss around a few dick jokes too (because, y’know, comedy).

That being said, there are so many mediums available to throw your comedy onto. Naturally, I’m on all of them, but each outlet has it’s own crowd and it’s own set of strengths and weaknesses. Twitter is great for quick jokes, but blogging is a great place for rich storytelling. AND I GOT STORIES, KIDS.

It’s also a place I like to go to when I remember I went to college for writing and need to fill the void by writing reflective essays about myself.

Well. There it is. All done.

Thank you all who have kept tabs on ZE BLERG SHULERNGE. I think I lost the challenge in regards to the “31 Days” thing, but I answered all the questions, so there.

Until next time, my shining stars!

Everyone is Angry Over Everything

Hey chicken wings, how are you feeling?

I have some thoughts today.

Normally, I have no thoughts and just lay underneath my desk and drool. Today is a little different.

There’s some hubbub surrounding a satirical op-ed article written by Larry David, referencing the Boston Marathon bombings. A lot of people are getting angry over it, saying it just wasn’t funny and “too soon.”

I would compose a big, eloquent essay on my support of it, but that’s not my style. It’s why I got a 2 on the AP English exam 300 years ago.

I’m not saying it was the best move, but I still like the article itself. Would it have done better maybe a year or two from now? I think it would. I understand where the hurt and outrage is coming from, but as someone who grew up as a fat little kid, staring at the TV for hours on end watching stand-up and sitcoms,  I think that Larry David was just show how absurd the situation is. I don’t think it was an attempt to make little of the situation.

I related to it and thought it was pretty funny. Comedy is subjective, and that can make it seem insensitive to some people.

There won’t be a right answer, either way. Read it!

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/28/opinion/sunday/my-son-the-terrorist.html?_r=0

What do you think? Can you remove yourself from the emotions caused by the bombings and see the article alone, or  is it something you cannot separate (or should it even be)?

It’s different for everyone.

Those are my thoughts of the day. Underneath the desk I go.

Until next time, fart nuggets!

Attempting Normal

Hooray!

Marc Maron’s new book, “Attempting Normal” comes out today.

I pre-ordered mine in hopes to get the signed poster that was being offered. I sent my e-mail requesting one last week but didn’t get a response (to confirm or deny) being able to get one. My neurosis and paranoia set in, so I figured I’d e-mail them today. I was panicking that they would hate me for my pestering persistence.

I tried to make the e-mail sound polite and professional as possible, but I accidentally left the subject as “FWD: YOUR BARNES AND NOBLE ORDER HAS SHIPPED.”

Shit. They might think it’s spam. But I’m not spam! Just a girl who wants a poster. Why do you think I bought the complete Rocko’s Modern Life DVD set? Free poster. Why do you think I sign up for road races and never run them. Free t-shirts. Any event I ever went to in college regardless of what it was in support of? Free. Friggen. T-SHIRTS.

LIVE FREE OR DIE NAKED/POSTERLESS.

I think there are still some posters left or if you just like reading printed words on dead trees, go here: http://www.wtfpod.com/dispatches/entries/pre_order_attempting_normal

I don’t know how to get links to say a phrase and not just say the whole link, so ignore my quackery*.

In other news, I left my granola bar on my desk and a sunbeam warmed it up so the yogurt part of it tasted like warm frosting. Normally, warm yogurt would make me want to throw up out my ass, but this was really good.

I also recently found out my favorite place to get coffee doesn’t sell strawberry or vanilla frosted doughnuts. I also recently found out I am not confident when writing the word “doughnut.” I figured I can at least get the strawberry ones around Valentine’s Day or maybe ever Breast Cancer Awareness month. I can’t really think of a holiday that would warrant vanilla frosted doughnuts.

Okay, my little circus freaks, until next time!

*I’m not entirely sure that’s a word, but WordPress isn’t telling me I’m wrong so I MUST be right.

Going Berserk

I got this fortune yesterday when I was at my favorite Chinese food restaurant. I’ve gotten some pretty shitty ones before, but I was really hoping for something profound. This didn’t just ring some bells, it shot off a few cannons and some fireworks for me.

Will Sasso Giggled

Little things make me extremely happy.

I don’t really tweet to celebrities a lot but I love the Ten Minute Podcast with Bryan Callen, Chris D’Elia, and Will Sasso. The other day they asked their female audience to “Ask Shawna,” the queen of urban comedy, (and one of the many hysterical characters Will does) life advice questions.

I tweeted a question and, to my surprise, Bryan read it on air. AND WILL SASSO GIGGLED AT IT. 

A small thing, but it really made my week. 

Check the 2:55 mark!

 “LoloVonK” is me, only it’s pronounced Lolo Von K. (LoloKirby was taken).

http://tenminutepodcast.com/2013/04/11/tmp-ask-shawna-one-mo-gain/

GAHHH!

I had to share that before I burst.

Until next time, kittens. 

Meeting David Sedaris (But Really This Time!) : Part Three

I think I can finally make it through this post without sobbing.

Here’s the story.

The past few months I’ve been having a bit of a quarter-life crisis. It dawned on me, as I was sitting on the work toilet counting the dead flies caught in the fluorescent light, that I didn’t know what the hell I’ve been doing with myself for the past 23 years.

I’ve always been a sheep. I like  doing what I was told and begging people to tell me what to do. That meant I wouldn’t have to take responsibility if I sucked.

Thankfully, I finally had breakthrough. “I NEED TO DO SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE,” I shouted at my fly friends, startling my fellow employees outside the restroom.  I pulled up my pants and went back to my desk (don’t worry I wiped and washed).

Five minutes later, I got a text from one of my best friends. She asked if I had read Me Talk Pretty One Day. Being favorite of David Sedaris’ books, I told her it was my Bible. “I’m convinced I’m reading a book you wrote” her next message read. Naturally overdramatic, I sobbed and looked up David Sedaris show dates. It just so happened he’d be in Boston the next month. Click. Two tickets bought.

During my crisis, I visited some different people, who I like to refer to as I’m-here-so-you-don’t-ruin-your own life advisors. Naturally, in every interaction with a human being I had, I let them know I was going to see David. “Can you get some of your work to him?” one of the advisors suggested. I just sat there staring blankly. “Well, I guess I could.” I had four weeks to prepare something, I guess it was worth a shot.

It was an hour before I had to leave for the show and I was still staring at a blank word document. Shit.

I then unloaded the insults onto myself. “Lauren, you fuck! You have to leave. BUT YOU HAVE TO FINISH THIS.” I had never done something so bold for myself and I knew I’d have to throw myself down a flight of stairs if I didn’t bring something for this opportunity. So I wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more about a time I had find a way not to take a piss in my dad’s ashes (I’ll explain later) and edited it down to four pages of semi-funny shit, and flew out the door.

I picked up my friend and we drove into Boston, passing the venue David would be speaking at. There were hundreds of people outside the theatre waiting to get in. “Oh…other people are going to this?” The fantasy of me, my friend, and David, laying around in robes talking about what type of cheese we’d like with our tuscan flavored Triscuits, did not include the mod scene forming around us, fighting for their favorite types of cheese. The essay folded in my pocket burst into flames.

We got in the theatre and watched an amazing reading. When it was finished David said “I’ll be out in the lobby signing books after.” A collective swoop sounded and the entire auditorium made a dash for the doors. After the smoke cleared, my friend and I made our way behind the others, as we were pushed and shoved like we were passengers running the corridors of the Titanic.

“Welp, I guess we’re never going to find the lobby.” In my heart I felt like a moron for thinking I could fight my way through these people. We stopped walking amidst the chaos. Goddammit. We should probably just head home. At that moment, a man behind us shoved open a set of doors nearly invisible to the naked eye. Behind ehind them was the signing table.

I don’t want to say we tuck and rolled into the lobby, but I can’t really remember from all the tumbling. We claimed out place in line, 10 people deep. David came in, and we slowly made our way front.

He signed books and chatted with the other fans, and I tried to keep myself grounded in the moment. I have a tendency to let my mind go on autopilot (similar to a coma) and I don’t come out of it until the moment has passed. I wanted to be present when talking to him. I wanted to be professional and fun, but not “fan girl”. The couple in front of us left in what looked like slow motion, and David sat there waiting for us to move forward.

A normal person would have shaken his hand, gave him their book to sign, made a little small talk, thank him, and move on.

We ran up to him and said hello, and immediately I knelt down in front of him, like a child, and stared in his eyes. My friend held the conversation beautifully, and I made incoherent comments every so often. David liked my outfit, and confessed his displeasure of Cold Stone Creamery. I hate Cold Stone. I hate that when you tip them, you have to sit and take their singing as if you’re being rewarded. I didn’t make any witty comments though, I just shouted “YES.” Original. Professional. Fun.

As the moment wrapped up, he signed our books, and the nervous rash I developed flared up my neck and to my face. I stood up and like an ostrich, I shoved my entire head in my purse in search for the essay. I pulled it out (with my mouth? I’m not sure).

“I WROTE THIS FOR YOU!” I shouted, and shoved the folded chunk of paper at him.

“Oh. Thank you, I’ll read it later!” He said and smiled, as he stuck it into his back pocket.

I don’t remember what was said after that, but I know I stumbled away, my shirt see-through from the gallons of sweat I poured out.

I kept laughing hysterically out of nervousness the rest of the night. Myy friend and I talked and fantasized about our future visits (robe-wearing dates) with David. I dropped her off at her house, and as soon as I hit the highway to go home alone, I sobbed.

And I sobbed the next day.

And I sobbed the next day.

And I weeped a little today.

I hear that when you are around someone who does what they love, they emit a different kind of energy. I’m no new age hippie, but I like hummus, and every time David looked down at me, I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t cry.

It was awesome.

I don’t know if I’ll hear back from him. I don’t think it really matters (Yes it does). I did my part, which was in a nutshell (teehee) to grow a pair. Sure, the essay wasn’t my best, but I’m the type of person that still makes my mom order the pizza so I don’t have to interact with anyone.

This was a huge step. What the hell have I been waiting for (aside from the pizza)?