Hernia Sue

Hello! I’ve been bedridden for a week, let’s check out my sores together!

Last Friday as the day was wrapping up at work I started to feel a little… ill. I figured it might be my body winding down from a busy week and with the weekend in sight I might’ve been letting go of holding myself so tightly all week. There was a comedy show I reeeeeaaaaaalllllllly wanted to go to, so I got home and laid in bed in hopes it would go away. When it came time to get dressed I was sweating and swallowing hard. Haha! Must just be the weather making me crazy!, I thought as I was hunched over snapping the crotch of my bodysuit and mouth breathing.

The whole ride over I sipped seltzer water and blasted the A/C on my face. You’re okay old girl! It’s just nerves about going to a super fun event!,  I tried to asure myself as I burped and gurgled and barely held the seltzer down.

It didn’t help that it was 90 degrees and humid as fuck, like the kind in a steam room that makes you hack your lungs out onto your towel-laden sisters. Why bother even going, Lauren? Why not just stay home? Becccccaaaauuuuuuuse, I said I reaaaaallllyy wanted to go. Going out to shows gives me a sickening personal high, between the performers, the people in the crowd who I fucking love and admire (and I get to call some of them frenz!), I get VERY jazzed about it. So cue me 5mins into standing and watching the show being like “I’m gonna ralf” and booking it out of there in a whirlwind. Torture is waiting for the goddamn WALK sign to turn on before I start running into the middle of the street. I felt like a giant asshole too. I have a complex where I assume everyone is watching and scrutinizing my every move. I wanted to run back in and scream I’M NOT LEAVING BECAUSE I HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO, I’M LEAVING BECAUSE OH-OH GOOYAARFFLARBAGARFLURF*” (*me throwing up).

I went home and slept until Sunday morning. THAZ ALOTTA SLEEP. I kept getting a weird cramp  that felt like my liver was shriveling and squeezing itself out through my rib cage. I was tempted to call my brother to bring me to the ER as I was sweating bullets and had the spins, but I was so goddamn tired that I just cried and fell back to sleep like an idiot annnnnd also my health insurance really only covers the flowers they will send my family at my funeral so what can I do, y’know?

I ended up going to the conveniently located Arlington Urgent Care (it replaced a Bagelville, R.I.P., they had a great vegetable spread) and they were very lovely and were like “uhhh here is some Prilosec OTC and nausea medication, go the fuck to sleep there’s a stomach bug going around.” I worked from home Monday and went in on Tuesday, left early Tuesday because I thought I was gonna die, and went into work Wednesday, sat in the dark because the lights are generally upsetting, and cried at my desk like dumb tart. I should mention I rarely cry unless it’s to a song or a movie. This post is making me out to be a blubberpus but I’m noooooot, goddammit I’m NOT. By God’s sweet divine gracias, my chiropractor said he’d see me, so I drove 60+miles for him to be like “Jesus Christ you have a giant hiatal hernia in your chest” and promptly stuffed his fingers under my ribcage and ripped it out. I suggest finding a chiropractor who knows how to do this stuff because other than that it’s SURGERY which still doesn’t really relieve the pain, or so I am told by Dr. Internet (not a real person, or maybe it is, I don’t know). Also I am not a doctor and don’t want to be because ewww icky so if you need a surgery go get it, baby.

Soooo, I didn’t drive back to my house after the appointment and ended up sleeping at my mom’s house (conveniently located near the chiropractor). I worked from her house Thursday, drove up to work Friday morning with a lunch cooler that looked like my liver was in there (as seen below).

my hernia


I like driving up to work in the morning because I have to leave in the wee hours. It’s quiet, dark, and the dew on the grass and in the air smells ever so lovely. Thankfully, I survived the day and went back home to mom’s house after. Just me and the open road again trying not to dry heave and listening to Liz Gilbert’s books on tape (or “audiobooks” as the kids call them.) An enema or two later, I’m back to being at least upright for the week, hooray!

Hope you all enjoyed your Labor Day weekend where people keep saying it’s the last day of summer but it’s not, did you see this week’s forecast it’s like fuckin’ 90 and raining fireballs. I don’t like talking about the weather because it’s the same (but worse, because science) every year, SO WHY DO WE COMPLAIN, WE KNOW IT’S COMING, YOU DON’T HAVE TO TALK TO YOUR COWORKERS ABOUT IT, WE KNOW.

Okay, time to pack it up since I’m still at my mom’s house pretending I have no obligations in this earthly realm, BYYYYYE.

smooch 143 xox





Hi BeanBags,

I’ve been single for almost 5 years now and for the past year  I’ve been dipping my furry little toes into the dating pool. I’ve been wondering around long enough now to enlist someone to watch  and do the commentary for me. Also, I use the word “dating” very loosely here, as it’s more like me falling in love with a stranger who happened to catch eyes with me because I was blocking the exit of the Starbuck we were in. WHATEVER, BRAD. ENJOY YOUR FRICKEN LATTE.  #LoveQuest2016

I tried OKCupid and it was a fun experiment to see if this ol’ girl could still turn up the charm. However, the crippling fear that my picture was better looking  than the real life version of me had me too scared to meet anyone because I can tell myself I’m ugly. I don’t need BingBong from Dorchester telling me I should get a nose job and veneers.

According to The Secret, I should start making room in my life if I want a buddy to hang out with and smooch me and tell me my hair smells like lavender. I like living in clean spaces and, that being said, my room is a rathole. Everything is fresh and delightful and I have fun trinkets you can play with but storage is not on the top of the selling points for the apartment. Everything doubles as a shelf. Bed, desk, windowsill. All shelves. When one is in use, you just have the rotate which one is going to be the main shelf, then disperse the rest accordingly. I’ve been cleaning up and making room on my shelves so my beau, which I’ve conjured with the law of attraction, can sit down and watch me brush my hair for 45 minutes and talk about how small cotton balls are getting.

To add to the atmosphere, I have lovely beeswax and coconut oil candles. However, the faint scent of farm fresh potting soil from the flower bed outside never ceases to waft in at just the right time. No, Brad. Maybe YOU shit your pants. #LoveQuest2016

I’ve been going out to events and social gatherings more than usual, because unless he drives the pizza delivery car, then I’m most likely not going to meet anyone inside my house. I’m one step away from walking around Boston asking “Are you my mother?” but only replace “mother” with “boyfriend,” “soulmate,” or “twin flame.” There are a lot of people, someone is bound to respond favorably.

I’ll report  back if any of my rituals calls forth a worthy mate for my hair brushing ceremony. How’d you guys meet your partners? Tell me. Is it close by? I’ll be right over.




Minimalism is Cool and Good, I am Told.

I’ve been trying to downsize all my shit because I almost suffocated under the mass of stuffed animals I had comforting me as I slept. Like every other tiny book loving woman, I too read Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and I too began dumping my belongings  onto the floor, laying on top of the mound, and then shoving them all back in my drawers and deciding to do it another day.

Why do I still have this shirt that doesn’t fit, I don’t wear, and I don’t even particularly like?

Because I saw the Brave Little Toaster and I know my things have FEELINGS and if I abandon them they will die of little broken hearts.


…or something like that.

I also have a small room in a small apartment with minimal storage so my 47 flannel shirts and 10 pairs of  jeans get folded and crammed into a drawer made for delicate things like  pocket-watches and  handkerchieves.

I have the perfect selections for a capsule wardrobe but what would I do without the 4 giant sweatshirts I never wear? Or the wool sweater I’m allergic to with the giant gnome embroidered on the front? I’ve been entering contests to get a day with an interior decorator who destroys your rented apartment and puts nice trinkets in it that your guests will pick up and think to themselves “Huh, that’s neat…why don’t I have a tin elephant waving a dandelion on my coffee table?”

Yeah, why don’t you?

Hopefully by the end of the week my closet will be 87 pounds lighter and I can turn it into one of those 2×4 reading nooks that you need to leave the door open to or else you’ll lose oxygen after the first chapter.

Okay, it’s time for my 6:30pm ice cream break! K love you bye.

It’s a Miracle I Can See

I’ve been wearing contacts and glasses since middle school. Sometimes I wish that I would wake up and be able to see 20/20 instead of blurry/blurry. One time I even read about a woman who used The Secret to correct her vision. She is possibly  full of shit but I’ve been obsessed with the idea of having my vision corrected without lasers burning into my eye.

And that dream obsession came true!

For about 2 minutes this morning.

I woke up on my back and opening my eyes. I blinked a couple times and rubbed my eyes. Wow, my ceiling fan seems awful crisp looking.

I let my eyes wonder around looking at my clear lamp, my clear closet, and my clear pile of dirty clothes bulging out of the hamper.

Oh my god, I can see! It’s a miracle!

I rubbed my eyes a few more times. It’s real! I can see! Wow, I am a success story!

I rubbed my eyes again. Oh, that feels weird.

Everything started to get a little less crisp. My eyes felt a little scratching feeling under the closed lid when I rubbed them.

Oh noooooooooo.

If you have ever slept with your contacts in, you know the variety of pains associated with it. My usual pain is more of a sting that comes from taking the contacts out in the morning and having clean air suction itself to my eyeballs. The sizzling noise is near audible.

I’ve never gone from such extremes so quickly. From  “It’s a miracle!” to “This is the exact opposite of the miracle!” I’m lucky I survived.

Needless to say, today was deemed Glasses Day in order to let the broken blood vessels air out.

It’s truly a miracle, I can see. Omit comma as needed.


Waking Up

Sleep is not my forté.

I love it and could lay in bed all day but I rarely do it. I wouldn’t say I’m an insomniac because I could easily fall asleep if I wanted to. The “problem” is though, that I usually stay up until 1am-3am depending on my motivation. This becomes upsetting after only a few hours of sleep considering my full night’s sleep is usually about 10 hours.

I feel like my days are my meditation. I kind of drift along and do the routine which is pretty unexciting and quiet. The night seems to be when my brain turns on. The second I climb (Really, climb. My bed is on risers.) into bed it’s like OKAY! WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE? 

What is even more interesting to me though, besides my bizarre sleeping habits, is my bizarre waking habits.

I’ve been researching more on the “hypnopompic state” and unfortunately been coming up pretty dry. This state is that lucidity between the sleep state and the wake state. The little place where you can still see your dreams but you can also hear your mom vacuuming outside your door. You might even be familiar with the babbling that comes in this state. When you’re at a sleep over and your friend wakes up and says something like “give the cat his maple syrup” then rolls back over like a scary sleep zombie.

I am very aware of this state. I get a lot of information from it. When I’m depressed or unhappy, I’ve found that  I linger a little longer in this inbetweeness and have a inner monologue about what I’m really experiencing and feeling. Not like a day time talk show either. I mean real, ego removed, assessments of my life. I’ve even been hanging out there and heard very specific phrases, only to wake up and see those exact sentences waiting inside a text from my friend. 

Has anyone experienced anything similar? Any true insomniacs or even night owls who have stories to share? Comment!

Okay I love you I’m actually tired for once 143 bye