tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17623419212959515872024-03-04T22:00:06.106-08:00Lauren's buh-buh-blog in yo fa-fa-fa faceSo you know what's in my brains.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-72781631730606435612012-03-21T15:56:00.001-07:002012-03-21T16:00:44.764-07:00101 DaysI just looked at my wedding website, and it says "101 days to go!" Holy crap. I'm going to be married before I know it. A wife. And Frank will be my husband. I'm beyond excited.<br /><br />I was never really one of those little girls that envisioned her wedding. I saw myself getting married one day, but didn't have all the details planned out. I know there are girls that know exactly what they want and how they want everything to look on their big day, even before they are engaged. This was not me. Not that I dislike pretty things, don't get me wrong, but when it comes to sparkly, glitzy, glittery things, I can usually pass. A diamond studded brooch for a bow on a chair cover? Really? No. Flower petals strewn across each guest's plate? Nope. All the planning has been a really fun process though. Now that we're in the thick of planning, all I do is envision. I see pretty flowers and dresses and fancy suits. Colored lights and fluffy white swans. I need more swans. Wait, I don't have any swans? <em>Where are my swans?</em><br /><br />The next 101 days are going to fly by. Before we know it, we'll be on our honeymoon, sipping margaritas on a warm, sunny beach in Sayulita, Mexico. I haven't had a full week of vacation in a very long time. I will welcome it with open arms.<br /><br />And by that time, 101 days from now, I will be Mrs. Lauren Leon. Lauren Eleanor Leon. OH. EM. GEE.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-52986700326257710712012-02-02T11:16:00.000-08:002012-02-02T14:01:30.378-08:00Art and WeddingsMy blog has been quite empty for some time now. I'm sorry, blog! <br /><br />When I look at my last blog post, I think of ALL the things that have happened in the last 7 months. Funny enough, I was on an elimination diet at the time, and now I'm finishing the last few days of a 21 day cleanse. I have definitely given myself plenty of healthy breaks. Ample breaks. I'm ready for a beer.<br /><br />I started my own jewelry line recently! In case you don't already know, go take a gander at my stuffs: <a href="www.etsy.com/shop/lovelaurenlanning">www.etsy.com/shop/lovelaurenlanning</a> <br /><br />I've always wanted to make jewelry, and for years, I didn't know how to do it or if I'd ever be good enough. When I first posted a few items to Etsy, I was so nervous. That mean voice in my head was telling me that I'm not a real artist; that so many other people in the world can do much more amazingly artistic things; who was I kidding? I finally told that voice to shut it. When my very first order from a stranger in Canada came in, I wanted to blast the news through a loud speaker...instead I ecstatically whispered it to Frank at a Taco Bell. <em>A stranger willingly purchased one of my necklaces.</em> This was my validation.<br /><br />On another note, I'm getting married in less than 5 months! 149 days, to be precise. And I'm already having wedding nightmares. I can't imagine what kind of dreams I will have when I'm 2 weeks away from my wedding. The only part of this planning stuff that has given me a headache is finding a venue. What a pain in the ass that is! All the packets and brochures and pricing and packages. Ugh. And some of those catering coordinator people are very self-rightous about their really awesome hotel. Give me a break. "Well, our pricing starts at $90 a person." OH. No thank you. "Mmmmm hmmmm, I'll send you the pricing." No thank you. Some of those people are nuts. I'm happy we found our venue and that our coordinator is normal.<br /><br />So things are moving along nicely now! Very busy but going great!<br /><br />...promise I'll be back sooner than 7 months...as long as I don't die in a cake-tasting fury..Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-10098337551086548962011-07-12T10:38:00.000-07:002011-07-12T12:11:43.173-07:0020 Days in; 8 More to Go20 days ago, Frank and I embarked on an elimination diet journey. No gluten, dairy, soy, corn, sugar, alcohol, or caffeine. It was sudden, and we were ill-prepared. One Thursday morning, he said, "Oh, today is the start of elimination diet. You don't have to do it, but I'm starting." I could have said no. I could have held tight to my "I love sugar too much" mantra, but instead, I said, "Um, ok." And so it began.<br /><br />Of course, Day 1 was easy. No coffee this morning? No problem! And for lunch, we'll eat chicken and brown rice and sweet potatoes! So healthy! We scrambled to make a dinner that followed our new guidelines - we came up with ground turkey and brown rice. Strange, and kinda gross.<br /><br />By the next day, we were starting to gather ourselves, and came up with a shopping list so that we could feel more organized and not so miserably starving. And on Day 3, we felt like death. Headaches, body aches, fatigue, irritability - every terrible symptom of withdrawal. It's pretty crazy how addicted our bodies get to sugar, fat, wheat, caffeine, alcohol, etc. I was miserable, and all I wanted was a donut.<br /><br />I will save you from reading the entire span of 20 days of cravings and recipes. But I will say that by Day 5 or so, I felt great, and have ever since. Sure, I've had a few days where all I can think about is a chocolate chip cookie, or shoving 14 slices of pizza into my face, and chugging 8 beers, but those things come and go, and can usually be side stepped by a delicious glass of coconut water and perhaps some bean chips. That sounds like a joke, but seriously, Beanfields brand of bean and rice chips, Pico de Gallo flavor, might as well be chips made of crack. They are just as good as Doritos, and way better for you. So there.<br /><br />I am pretty surprised by the amount of energy I have every day. There are bits of me that think "how could you go back??" I feel my body slimming down, my skin is clearer, and I don't feel sluggish after eating. I'll just have to find a balance.<br /><br />I'm excited to have a cup of coffee in the morning again. I don't think I'll be cutting that out for good - my one cup a day is just fine. More than anything, I'm excited to know that there are so many other healthier options for so many food allergens. Not that I ate that poorly before, but I'm happy I've given my body the break. 8 more days, and we start introducing one food at a time. I do wish it could be pizza, but that will come in due time.<br /><br />Til then, I will merely dream of this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKTxtzcM5ikEGHualHaa8ry5teHiB_58JZzInWZ2lUloL_Ibvo6J0r_qTi4IheIX1DOupn3YzZAGA0LjHYQNa4N9pF8BmGIWYIALMhkIiYszOEHWpG-_caNcwyIX0V0JXYeMq8Vy-Bo5k/s1600/candy-2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKTxtzcM5ikEGHualHaa8ry5teHiB_58JZzInWZ2lUloL_Ibvo6J0r_qTi4IheIX1DOupn3YzZAGA0LjHYQNa4N9pF8BmGIWYIALMhkIiYszOEHWpG-_caNcwyIX0V0JXYeMq8Vy-Bo5k/s320/candy-2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628544908612056770" /></a>Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-88432947239002796602011-04-25T17:26:00.000-07:002011-04-25T17:27:00.801-07:00In All SeriousnessLet’s take a moment to be not so serious. <br /><br />Maybe it’s living in LA, or even living in America? Perhaps it’s because I work in a corporate office environment that discusses the IRS and tax forms all day. It could be the collective weight of the world. Do I have a “case of the Mondays”? Oh god, NO! But I feel a heaviness sometimes and I want to shrug it off a bit.<br /><br />Here are some ideas for a lighter mood:<br />Hug a tree. <br />Sing in public.<br />Smile at a stranger in the hallway/store/elevator (this happens in other cities, I know, but I notice that people here do everything possible NOT to look at me sometimes). It’s ok to say hi.<br />Run in a field.<br />Write a terribly awesome poem.<br />Explore your city like you are a visitor – Frank and I plan to do this on Saturday…I’ll let you know how it goes!<br />Take a day away from television.<br />Try something new; food, an outfit, something that makes you nervous but have always wanted to do.<br />Make something; a new recipe, a piece of art, or craft.<br /><br />I think a very important thing is also letting someone know how much you care about them. I realize that this sounds SO cheesy, but it’s kind of the most important thing we can do. We get caught up in our worlds, our every day, our sadness, happiness, loneliness, work, projects, etc. Time goes by really fast. We have each other, and our experiences. Our memories, laughter, and stories.<br /><br />Let’s just try to not take it all so seriously.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-50449660454355879872011-03-18T13:36:00.000-07:002011-03-18T13:40:45.027-07:00$5 to Japan = Free EPFROM NOW UNTIL MARCH 25TH: To help with the recent damage and loss of life in Japan, all proceeds of <a href="http://theslatersisters.com/store">No More I'm Sorry</a> EP digital download sales are going directly to the American Red Cross. Purchase must be made directly though our website's store March 18 - March 25. You get music, they get money!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theslatersisters.com/store">www.theslatersisters.com/store</a><br /><br />Think about it as a $5 donation!Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-2131929239059276112011-03-10T17:41:00.000-08:002011-03-10T18:09:01.268-08:00A Compact Life & A Strangle in TimeI have been fighting against time these days. I want to wrestle it to the ground, strangle it for a few seconds, just long enough for it to get a little scared, and then point at it, while walking away, and say, "STAY THERE FOR A YEAR!" And in the meantime, I could do all the things that I want to do in a day. Hey, you could too, because I'd be making Time lay on the ground, paralyzed for an entire year, for everyone! I realize that my logic is slightly skewed...if Time was paralyzed, how would it be able to tell you that its one-year paralysis is over, and it can start moving again? Whatever; details, shmetails.<br /><br />I love music and it will eventually be my career. After work, I work on music. I also like to paint and make fun jewelry. I also like to act and do improv. I also want to write a book. Where does every day go? Today is Thursday, and I feel like I just came back from the weekend. I am not complaining about being busy, because I don't mind that, but I am just wishing that I had more time in each day. Being at work for 9 hours every day is dumb. I don't care if that's "how it works". I'm saying it's dumb. We should all work 4 day weeks. Or how 'bout 4 and a half days? Who says that a 40 hour week is necessary? It's dumb. Here are your two days off - Saturday is the best day of the week, and Sunday, you feel a little depressed that it's not Saturday anymore. If I was aiming for a lifelong career in tax software, I'd be living the dream, man. But I'm not. I like those artsy things, and I get antsy when I don't have enough time for them. So I think my original idea is going to have to suffice. I will attempt to strangle Time. <br /><br />If only I could find the time to do that...Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-24825851933184901162011-01-30T22:33:00.000-08:002011-02-04T12:37:57.599-08:00A Beautiful WeddingTwo weeks ago, my brother Josh married the loveliest lady. I couldn't be happier to have Emily as a sister-in-law. She calms my brother in a way that no one can. They are a couple that is truly meant to be, and I'm beyond excited for what their future holds.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Rehearsal Dinner</span><br />The rehearsal dinner took place at Josh and Emily's friend Eric's house, and it was an amazing, fun, beautiful night. Bridesmaids and groomsmen, parents and siblings filled the room, and excited chatter bounced off the walls. We sipped on wine and feasted on Mexican food. Emily looked stunning; she had a pre-wedding glow. Josh looked dapper, and very proud. He had a smile that just wouldn't leave his face, as he looked around the room at his best friends, his family, and his soon-to-be family. People toasted, and gave some of the best, funniest, and most heartfelt speeches I've ever heard. We laughed and cried. I stood up to speak, without having a real plan of what to say, and I became completely overwhelmed with emotion. I wanted to represent Josh's siblings, and convey to Emily how proud we are to have her in the family. I wanted to say how much I believe Ian would have loved her as a sister, and what great friends I imagine them being. I could barely speak to get my point across, as tears welled up, and emotions choked my every word. I've never had that happen before; I've seen award show winners break down like that, but always thought "Ok, get a hold of yourself." But it was real and true, and the whole night was splendid. We all floated home, anxiously awaiting the next day's excitement.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Ceremony</span><br />Josh and Emily's friends' parents opened their home and had the ceremony there, in the hills of Calabasas. Their friend Wes built them a chuppah to be married under, and it was outside in the beautiful backyard, overlooking rolling hills. All the bridesmaids, dressed in pewter and red, gathered at the ceremony site early, and we bustled around, getting ready and fawning over the beautiful bride. She looked like a Hollywood starlet from the 1940s. And as always, she was calm and collected. As the time drew closer for her to walk down the aisle, she was studying her vows and staying very quiet. My brother and all his groomsmen started showing up. They sipped on whiskey and helped each other fasten their boutineers. Josh was pacing a bit, and doing his famous nervous leg-kick. <br /><br />And then it was time to walk down the aisle. We all lined up, and prepared ourselves behind the groom. As I watched my brother standing at the alter, the tears came a'welling again. Jillian was standing in front of me, and I whispered to her "Make me laugh so I'm not crying." She whispered back, "I could punch you, if you want." I said, "Yeah, keep that up." And we walked down and took our places in our seats. Josh hadn't seen his bride yet, as she had been hidden in the house since he got there, so it was amazing to watch the look on his face when she came down the aisle. Ben Folds' song "The Luckiest" started to play. Josh looked over at me briefly, and saw tears in my eyes, and said "Oh great, it's all over now." Their friend Eron married them, and did such a great job. I read a little speech that I had written. Josh and Emily wrote their own vows, which were incredibly sweet. The ceremony was beautiful, and even included the word "Slurm", a popular nonsense word in Josh and Emily's vocabulary. And before long, they were married, and the celebration began.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Reception</span><br />The newlyweds' reception took place in Pasadena, at The Rococo Room. There was a big dance floor, beautifully decorated tables, a cupcake tower, and a candy station. The glowing couple was announced, and they had their first dance. Their maids of honor and best men gave speeches, one of which included a display of a poster-sized picture of my brother in a Baywatch bathing suit, from his college fraternity days. When I say bathing suit, I mean a women's bathing suit. That's all I'll say. It wasn't pretty. And I shall no longer digress. We danced and danced, and my dad and I did a duet: "Tonight You Belong to Me" & "Two of Us". The night was perfect, and everyone had a blast. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbt3sADfZsXQq7w5mbVx-HOhdspqb3hM4vtGZUfT9aTxB8kkyoQPqwxcwN15did0-N35dAilV7sB54VSAYlonE85YyhR9dS5Nkzotuh2gUNrVxpxAvkIoMsSGNoCxq347JCxRDdfXLE_O/s1600/theberks.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbt3sADfZsXQq7w5mbVx-HOhdspqb3hM4vtGZUfT9aTxB8kkyoQPqwxcwN15did0-N35dAilV7sB54VSAYlonE85YyhR9dS5Nkzotuh2gUNrVxpxAvkIoMsSGNoCxq347JCxRDdfXLE_O/s200/theberks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569930999505445634" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-UjAxXbxid9ZhpPFMEbbA7CgQbjo-UwQE44HOH5xRvW_04ij3K2r8Dmf6MxrvRm7ux5EUj5KrDQMrLQUjtrQRWsAnO90vGP_4v28ep4LkJSrPmdo7DoK9WL88XK9lLQ4NjUUHxPDfowH/s1600/emilywedding.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-UjAxXbxid9ZhpPFMEbbA7CgQbjo-UwQE44HOH5xRvW_04ij3K2r8Dmf6MxrvRm7ux5EUj5KrDQMrLQUjtrQRWsAnO90vGP_4v28ep4LkJSrPmdo7DoK9WL88XK9lLQ4NjUUHxPDfowH/s200/emilywedding.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569930995416999410" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">My Reading from the Reception:</span><br />When a love is simple and happy and true, it can test and defy boundaries. It floats and it dances. It sits next to you on the couch, lies beside you on the bed, holds your hand while you cry, laughs as you laugh. It whispers in your ear, and cradles you when you hurt. This kind of love is not always easily found. And this kind of love is not made up of fluff. It's not wrapped up with pretty pink ribbons, or covered in sparkly flashy jewels. But it is a beautiful kind of love. It's honest and true, and accepting. It's long-lasting. And Josh and Emily have found it. Together, they dance, they laugh, they sing, they cry...well, mainly Emily does the crying part. But with their kind of love, they can test and defy boundaries. Speak with honesty and respect. They can trust. And with their love, they can leap into an unexplored world of marriage. And here, their kind of love is bound. And they'll learn and create and grow. And here, it is simple and happy and true. And it will float and dance, as long as they both shall live, till death do they part.<br /><br />Congratulations, newlyweds. I love you dearly.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-26659942828379277162010-12-13T15:04:00.000-08:002010-12-13T17:53:28.883-08:00Strange Occurences and Tales of CornThis is a story that I just have to tell.<br /><br />When Ian and I were little, everyone tried to make us eat corn. Corn from a can. It was gross (and still is), so we threw tantrums, cried, and pushed the piles of corn around on our plates. We sat at the table for an extra hour sometimes, whining and complaining, and I gagged on every single bite. For a few months, we lived with our aunt and uncle, and they would get frustrated with us for not eating our corn. Our uncle would sing songs about corn. It was understood by all: <span style="font-style:italic;">Ian and Lauren do not like corn.</span> It was something that Ian and I bonded over.<br /><br />One day when I was twelve or so, I was at a barbecue at my aunt and uncle's house. Aunt Mary said, "Lauren, why don't you try corn on the cob?" She explained that it was very different from canned corn, was buttered and salted, and much tastier. I tried it. I liked it. I told Ian of this new discovery, thinking he'd want to try it out too. Maybe we'd both have a new Pro-Corn lease on life. Nope. He was not pleased. "You betrayed us, Lauren! You were 'The Gag'." Suddenly, my <span style="font-style:italic;">Good Fellas</span>esque gangster name in our Anti-Corn Gang no longer held true. I had let down my Anti-Corn partner. Over the years, anytime someone would bring up the word "Corn", Ian would give me a stare down. He'd shake his head, ever-so-subtly and mutter "traitor" under his breath. <br /><br />A few months after Ian died, I was working at a restaurant, and was about to deliver a pizza to a table. It was a cheese pizza, but I noticed a piece of corn on the side of the plate. I quickly brushed it off, as these things happened sometimes. A week or two later, a piece of corn was sitting on the side of a plate of a Chinese chicken salad. Again, I removed it. Another week or two later, a piece of corn was sitting inside a single scoop of plain vanilla ice cream. As I walked the ice cream (corn removed) over to a table, I thought, "Ian, you sly dog." I smiled, and carried on. This started happening every so often. I would find a single piece of corn in a salad, a cup of pea soup; in food where it did not belong. Every time, just one piece. I eventually started a jar of my corn collections, and it currently contains two pieces, although there were probably at least 10 other times that it happened. It's been awhile, and I started wondering if I would find another corn sign again. Another "hello" from my big brother Ian.<br /><br />Last week, I was packing for a trip to Nashville, and Ian was on my mind all night. I sat and ate some leftover pizza, and again I wondered if he'd drop me a little sign to say hello. I even checked my pizza, lifting up the cheese while laughing, knowing I'd find nothing. Two hours later, I was cleaning and listening to Pandora. I had Beyonce radio on, and suddenly, a metal song started playing. I stood there in confusion, wondering what the HELL this metal song was doing on <span style="font-style:italic;">Beyonce radio</span>. I also thought, "Is Ian playing some silly trick?" As I changed the song, I noticed the band: Korn. A smile spread across my face and I said out loud, "Well hello Ian!" I excitedly told a few people, and then felt the need to double check - was that really what I saw? Was Korn just playing on Beyonce radio? I remembered what the album cover looked like, so I looked up "Korn albums". I found it, and gasped when I saw the title of the album: <span style="font-style:italic;">See You on the Other Side</span>.<br /><br />Hello, Ian. Thanks for the Korn.<br />Love,<br />"The Gag"Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-91007509496734764802010-11-10T08:58:00.000-08:002010-11-10T09:08:10.017-08:00A Little and the LotI started a second blog page a few days ago. I'm not sure exactly what I am going to do with it yet, but I wanted to make a blog that was a bit more focused. I find that I have trouble writing if I don't know what I'm going to write about. So I made "A Little and the Lot". I want it to focus on little stories about humans, in an effort for us to have more understanding of each other. Little stories that make up the whole lot of us. I find that I learn new things about people all the time, and it gives me a new perspective for why they act a certain way. Instead of us all blindly judging each other and making assumptions, why not take some time to actually understand. Even a little. Like I said, my game plan isn't really in motion quite yet, but I have one post so far. If you'd like to read it, go to <a href="http://www.alittleandthelot.blogspot.com">alittleandthelot.blogspot.com</a>Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-4144364243829239522010-10-27T12:31:00.000-07:002010-10-27T12:34:12.877-07:00"Walk On"Please download this song - all proceeds will go to Run For Her, a 5K for Ovarian Cancer Research and Awareness.<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/p-zbqXLaKok?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/p-zbqXLaKok?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-68154987273175397912010-10-07T15:20:00.000-07:002010-10-07T15:23:42.635-07:00Things I Try to Avoid While Walking in or Around my Office Building1. Old Man Polyester’s Cologne.<br />2. My Gawky, Weird, Blonde Stalker.<br /><br />Old Man Polyester:<br />He’s pretty classy. I’d say he’s about 70-75 years old, and he walks with a bit of a strut. Every time I see him, he’s wearing really nice slacks – very 1970s. The guy rarely smiles, but I just think of him as all business, all the time. But he wears more cologne than anyone I’ve ever been around. He must take a bath in it every day. I know when he’s been in the hallway and in the stairs, or in front of the mailboxes. His cologne lingers like a house guest who has overstayed their welcome. It lingers, and then it punches me in the face. Every. Day. <br /><br />My Gawky, Weird, Blond Stalker:<br />I’m not sure how long ago it was that I started seeing this guy around my office building. But I slowly starting noticing his intense staring. Now, I’m not one of those girls that thinks every guy is after her, or everyone’s always staring at her. But I’m pretty sure this guy has a giant crush on me, and he is very awkward. And his skin is very pale and his hair is very blond. This sounds like I’m being mean, but I feel the need to say that there is a slight creep factor to this awkward fellow. If he sees me coming down the hall, he suddenly gets really nervous and says, “OH…” I give a “Hey”, and walk on by. Or he just stares at me while I’m in my car in the parking lot. Last week, he actually broke the ice. As I was getting the mail, I saw him coming. “Uh oh,” I thought, “Is he going to speak to me?” Ugh. He did. His line? “Jeans on a Wednesday?” I couldn’t understand what the hell he was talking about for a second. OH. I’m wearing jeans at work and he thinks that’s weird/funny/interesting. “Yep. Pretty casual at my office,” I said. He replied, “I’d get skewered for wearing something like that.” Skewered. After a few minutes of talk about casual wear at work, I was finally back to my office door. See ya! Guess what he talked about the next time I saw him? My casual outfit. “Wow, so casual again today…jeans, a tank top, flip flops…” Hey, remember that Wednesday a week ago when I said that my office was casual? It still applies. He wears a white collared button-up shirt and blue slacks every day. Like Ronald McDonald, he wears the same thing every day, and I think he may have 100 pairs of blue slacks and 100 white collared shirts in his closet.<br /><br />These are things that I attempt to avoid every afternoon. I’d rather not suffocate on Old Man Polyester’s cologne. I also rather not suffocate in the trunk of my gawky, weird, blond stalker’s car. I’m sure I’m over-reacting, but I like to be cautious when I can.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-5225879300051459082010-10-05T10:22:00.000-07:002010-10-05T10:23:21.196-07:00Lauren’s Random Thought of the DayThe contraction “let’s” means “let us”.<br />Let us work together on this.<br />Let us go to dinner.<br />Let us walk across the street.<br /><br />But sometimes if you actually want to use the words “Let us”, the contraction does not work.<br /><br />What if you and a friend were kidnapped? You’d say, “Let us go!” <br />You couldn’t say “LET’S GO!!” That just sounds crazy.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-77175086109155437502010-09-09T09:22:00.000-07:002010-09-09T10:25:08.045-07:00It's early, and I'm tired and at work and I don't want to be, so this might just be a complainy blog. The coffee hasn't kicked in yet, even though I have been kind of guzzling it.<br /> <br />I came back from the Strawberry Music Festival on Monday, and now I feel inspired and frustrated. Inspired because I heard a lot of music, played a lot of music, and heard a lot of stories about people playing music. Frustrated because I returned to a messy, hectic desk, in a quiet, busy office where they make tax software, and I talk about the IRS all day long. I'm inspired because a place like a music festival brings out the best in people - you walk into a stranger's campsite, and they happily welcome you in. Frustrated because I'm back in LA, having to drive in a car next to strangers - you want to merge into their lane, and they do everything possible to keep you out.<br /><br />I don't think I'm a cynical person. I'm just having a moment. I feel tired and cranky, and I just don't want to be sitting at this desk. If the people playing at music festivals can make money doing what they love, can't I too? I think so. Let me clarify though - I really cannot complain all too much about my job. I have a job. And it pays me well, and that is an amazing thing these days. Do I want it to be my career? No. But it is allowing me to start paying down my debt. And to feel the feeling of having no debt will one day be a very exciting thing. And it will also allow me to one day go to Greece. And it <span style="font-style:italic;">did </span>allow me to go to the Strawberry Music Festival. Ok, so maybe I won't pack up and disappear into the woods just yet.<br /><br />Alright. I got all that off my chest, so I feel better now. The coffee is doing its job, and my tired head doesn't feel so heavy. I think I maybe need to wake up a little earlier and have coffee at home. This would make for a less miserable first hour at work. I have rambled and half-complained enough. I am going to make the choice to have a good day, and continue the feeling of being inspired, and try not to be frustrated. Because that does me no good. Frustration just leaves me with complaints, while motivation and inspiration leaves me with goals. My goal for right now: wake up and stop complaining.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-43409326684120482952010-08-04T10:29:00.000-07:002010-08-04T11:10:18.805-07:00August and IanWell here it all comes again. Every year, as Ian's birthday approaches, he's in my mind even more than usual. I think back to all his other birthdays in his lifetime, and each one since he died, but I also reflect on my life now, and how he would fit into it. With every new friend I make, and important person that comes into my life, I get a stinging feeling knowing that they won't get to meet Ian. But a good friend recently told me that he feels like he knows him, because of all the stories I tell, and the picture I've painted about who he was. I find comfort in that somehow. Knowing that I am still doing a good job of keeping his memory alive is very important to me. But I can't help imagining what life would be like these days with him around. Now that I live in LA again, I know that I would see him a lot, like I see my other brother Josh. Ian would be so supportive of my band, and he'd be friends with my friends. He would probably try everything he could to get our songs into the movies or tv shows he was working on. He would recruit friends to our shows and brag to anyone he could. He'd still make fun of me and tease me whenever possible, and tell me to stop being the "fashion police" when I'd make a comment about his wrinkled pants or mismatched outfit. He'd be goofy Uncle Ian to baby Stella, Ben and Elliott, Josh and Emily's kids, my kids. In some way, he still is. Because we don't let go of all these memories. We don't stop talking about him. So on August 6th, what would have been his 32nd birthday, we'll celebrate him and his life, and have a drink in his honor. And live it up, like he did. He'd be happy to know we're all happy and having fun. So that is what we will do.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-20399031341520998102010-06-30T14:21:00.000-07:002010-06-30T14:37:20.024-07:00Little BitsI have recently had some days of real sadness and loneliness. Sometimes a part of my heart has felt an aching that I don't know what to do with. So I've been dealing with it, sitting in it, and allowing myself to try to not just escape it easily. Because I know it could find its way back to me eventually if I don't face it now. In the last month, I've been more quiet and more introverted than usual. Some days, not as interested in being social or talking to people; even friends and family.<br /><br />But last weekend, I spent several nights alone at my apartment. I felt like I was fighting off a cold, so I stayed in and stayed to myself and went to sleep early each night. By Sunday morning, I felt an energy that I hadn't felt in awhile, and it's stayed with me since then. I'm finally feeling little bits of myself coming back. I feel my silliness returning, along with my sense of adventure and fun.<br /><br />I know I'll still have those other days, and I will let them come, but I'm glad to have the other little bits of me back.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-64048510528862582642010-05-26T10:03:00.000-07:002010-05-26T10:41:30.465-07:00Away I Go!I'm beyond excited for my 4 day trip up North. I've been wanting to visit my friends in San Francisco, and visit my mom, sister, brother, grandma, etc, in Santa Cruz, and I just haven't taken the time to do it. I decided a few days ago that I'm going to go this weekend. After all my moving and dealing with everything in the last month and a half, I believe that I am due for a getaway. And a solo getaway, at that. I get to make my own plans, my own schedule, leave when I want, eat chocolate all day, tie my own shoes, get into multiple bar-room brawls...ahhh the joys of traveling alone.<br /><br />Saturday morning, I leave. And will I drive and drive. An oil change is in order. And some good music, coffee, and a relaxed mind. Away I go.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-19965146057641193332010-05-19T10:27:00.000-07:002010-05-19T15:22:45.034-07:00ChangeIn just over a month, I've ended a 7 year relationship, moved out and into my own apartment for the first time by myself, and my best friends have had their first baby. Crazy crazy times. I've talked before about people being afraid of change. Sometimes you think that extreme change is going to make you feel better (i.e. getting engaged), and sometimes you're so afraid of it, that you stay in what you know, unsure of what the other side will look like. Right now, I'm pretty happy with the other side. That's not to say that I wasn't happy before, or that I have any regrets, because I really don't, but I did ignore my own heart for a long time. And that's a little bit sad, because it makes me realize that I think people do it all the time. We are comforted by the safety of the known, even if it's not always what's particularly best. I'm still here thrashing around, making my way through the unknown, but quite happily so.<br />I love my apartment. I love hardwood floors, even though I'm not used to walking on them yet. I half thud and half tip-toe. Feels weird on bare feet. I love how they look but I don't love dust. So I sweep more than I used to, and that's a good thing. And the room still a little echo-y, so I find myself whispering when I'm on the phone and in my apartment by myself. I love my curtains, even though they're wrinkled. But I don't iron. I guess I should start. I need a trashcan, a rug, a desk, a kitchen table. I need to re-upholster my bar stools. Hem the kitchen curtains. And put up art. Little by little, change is coming.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-13787970526352810072010-04-30T13:36:00.000-07:002010-04-30T13:53:36.631-07:00New things, scary things, many thingsA lot of things in my life are different right now. I'm moving into my own apartment tomorrow. It's a new thing for me to live on my own. I've always had someone else to sign a lease with, and make decisions with. Now it's all on me. It's a good thing, I know, and it will help me grow a lot, but it's also just kind of scary. I don't know why I think "scary", but it is a little. I keep picturing my first night there by myself, sitting there with all my stuff around me. Will I feel overwhelmed? Sad? Lonely? Happy? I have no idea. Why are we sometimes so afraid of the unknown? Why do I fear being alone with my own thoughts? Is there really that much there for me to still discover? There must be.<br /><br />2 nights ago, I had a really scary dream, where I think some man followed me to my new apartment, and I was trying to hide from him, and just crying out this strange cry. I was apparently making that sound out loud, and my brother came in to make sure I was ok. I couldn't even explain what my dream was. But all these fears and anxieties are playing out everywhere, in my dreams and in my moods.<br /><br />I think fear keeps people from making changes and living their life to the fullest. WHY DO WE FEAR CHANGE? What is so scary about something being different? Comfort often wins. No one likes to feel vulnerable. But feeling vulnerable and scared and uncomfortable may be just what I need to really know myself better. So here I am, trying that on for size.<br /><br />Here goes...Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-42160597517466876622010-04-05T23:28:00.000-07:002010-04-05T23:43:17.965-07:00Busy Busy BeeeeeMy dad just texted me and said, "Where is a new blog post?" I said, "I knowwwww right?!" Duh! What a slacker I am! How can my buh-buh-blog be in yo fa-fa-fa-face if I don't even write for 4 months? It's not in yo fa-fa-fa-face, it's down the stra-stra-stra-streeeet! Ohhhhhh, Lauren.<br /><br />Well, here's a quick one, because I'm tired of being on this computer today. It's all I've done since I got home from work. Busy busy work. But who wants to hear about my boring, dumb, tax-form-filled, techie-nerd work? You don't. And neither do I. Anyway, I've been busy at this computer with promoting for our EP Release show on April 18th (at 8pm at the Viper Room - in case a random stranger/Slater fan is reading this, and doesn't already know about our show). It's only 13 days away, and our songs are almost done, and the artwork is almost done, and we are just so damn excited we could squeak! Who squeaks? I don't. Am I delirious? Yes, I think so. What have I even said so far? Not much. And yet, I continue asking myself questions. And answering them.<br /><br />This is my current delirious state. You are welcome for this blog. It was this or nothing. Maybe you'd take nothing. Well, it's TOO LATE NOW.<br /><br />Peace.<br />Double LLauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-61893252160180047422009-12-30T12:48:00.000-08:002009-12-30T13:39:31.866-08:00A New YearThis particular blog has been difficult to begin. How do you sum up an entire year of your life? I decided that even if I could, I don't want to. Instead, I am going to stay in the present, and also look forward. And know that there are good things to come. Lots of lovely good things.<br /><br /><em>By this time next year:</em><br />Josh and I will most likely be engaged, if not newlyweds. ;-)<br />Jilly and Morgan will have a 6 month old baby. (CUUUTE!!!)<br />The Slater Sisters will have played many shows, including New York City, and will have a brand new EP to promote.<br />The economy will be on an up-swing.<br /><br />(Just to name a few)<br /><br />So, Happy New Year, and I hope that this year brings an abundance of happiness, love, laughter, and riches. Yep, I just said riches. I don't think I've ever said that before, but I'm keepin' it.<br /><br />Live the life you want. Enjoy the simple happy moments. Love yourself and others. Ok, I'll stop telling you what to do.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-68212587866485248542009-11-09T14:18:00.000-08:002009-11-09T14:31:01.714-08:00And The Ideas Just Keep on Comin'...The ocean is so neat neat neat neat<br />You make me feel complete ete ete ete<br />Let's party party party party in the street<br />You bring the fun, and one two three, I'll bring the beat<br /><br /><br />I think I might submit this song to the Black Eyed Peas. The lyrics from their recent songs seem like they were maybe provided to them from 1st graders in a poetry contest. So this could be right up their alley. You're welcome, Black Eyed Peas.Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-53724359409316165772009-10-07T15:59:00.000-07:002009-10-07T17:20:15.569-07:00Blog o' SlatersJill and I started a blog for The Slater Sisters today. Fun? Yes. Fun. Neato bandito. Torpedo. Burrito. Ok, Lauren, stop.<br /><br />Can you be bored and excited at the same time? That's what I feel like at this moment. I'm chomping at the bit to get this recording done. So excited about it, I could scream. No no, don't do that. You'll scare someone.<br /><br />Before I annoy myself and you, here's some photos and our blog, so you can ch-ch-check it out: theslatersisters.blogspot.com<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiuzUW_vyytre1I7cHimBuAuf0UAOX6gpf6z5lFjaRibkgO_9lEAhkfrsl1pBqacqc10f_Ohsme0B9NUX-3-1lQArHd_dzbdfBb-DiKZ5Y6-g3CXJec-0kNvg_qRJ8OkFx2_pA2zNM1Ye/s1600-h/_MG_1379+copy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiuzUW_vyytre1I7cHimBuAuf0UAOX6gpf6z5lFjaRibkgO_9lEAhkfrsl1pBqacqc10f_Ohsme0B9NUX-3-1lQArHd_dzbdfBb-DiKZ5Y6-g3CXJec-0kNvg_qRJ8OkFx2_pA2zNM1Ye/s320/_MG_1379+copy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390012283693270050" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyasi_IDdaDy1Ekr24LWDduSTLcSfNNmCRLcQhdrqjYm4fGhV1yuRXPH7rONyQwLBrVaZ6q64uAftLIzXJvFm68t7c7tl9AWxxvrmz1JTc-fEJgXKEHLAp21rP1V-MoVc8EDQ6u207il4c/s1600-h/_MG_1301+copy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyasi_IDdaDy1Ekr24LWDduSTLcSfNNmCRLcQhdrqjYm4fGhV1yuRXPH7rONyQwLBrVaZ6q64uAftLIzXJvFm68t7c7tl9AWxxvrmz1JTc-fEJgXKEHLAp21rP1V-MoVc8EDQ6u207il4c/s320/_MG_1301+copy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390012279021675010" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfndPjlngUSsNMd7_leULqjliJe5_foGQqhdNwF4pcj54rKoKwU0IKzuk2BsgUDajrA8ys40tKJr6GKtzCPXgyu_96CRT7MTmKqdMgGQV2qzvdIUY9YPsJDhdAipClHUndqThXgcCP9jEk/s1600-h/_MG_1362+copy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfndPjlngUSsNMd7_leULqjliJe5_foGQqhdNwF4pcj54rKoKwU0IKzuk2BsgUDajrA8ys40tKJr6GKtzCPXgyu_96CRT7MTmKqdMgGQV2qzvdIUY9YPsJDhdAipClHUndqThXgcCP9jEk/s320/_MG_1362+copy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390012265737721762" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_uuvuXveGl-_RdecPiVxfnbvD4Qzpqhs2BZF8d2slXAaJ_m5PRZyIJhhbWx43z6jJo_k4UzppC0yf4ViJA8JAOiIXMqR2Xs9G37k_zF1nNGVsBJx9vptsCQBxT6JbtxmZEmVrwkDmn_j/s1600-h/_MG_1334+copy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_uuvuXveGl-_RdecPiVxfnbvD4Qzpqhs2BZF8d2slXAaJ_m5PRZyIJhhbWx43z6jJo_k4UzppC0yf4ViJA8JAOiIXMqR2Xs9G37k_zF1nNGVsBJx9vptsCQBxT6JbtxmZEmVrwkDmn_j/s320/_MG_1334+copy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390012261211665186" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNR5txQzv5TPS98apHg6YnLSQguXVSuKcgMajx5tl8AyR-BnPTtuWamaJzQXV4IHrcn-Lp9xdlIaEgq9y-L8nR6zc2gYHEwVTXbwWSoc9MVd-dX6SO_pWxIIXhOsGAAEufvAVzqZzlFqn/s1600-h/_MG_1324+copy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNR5txQzv5TPS98apHg6YnLSQguXVSuKcgMajx5tl8AyR-BnPTtuWamaJzQXV4IHrcn-Lp9xdlIaEgq9y-L8nR6zc2gYHEwVTXbwWSoc9MVd-dX6SO_pWxIIXhOsGAAEufvAVzqZzlFqn/s320/_MG_1324+copy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390012249796717346" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxdtChQb2aESv6t9WBlt-Mq-x8uGKUmEA_Q-ROayeqzMr31E0uWsHzU-kAB5OqygxMhXaLi41EylHr_4C3JcSewAv8BzRkaNMTxD2xoEkHRFUziEOnBxIGv0sGJDnbjUvgjbCaJcHNOiKa/s1600-h/_MG_1398+copy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxdtChQb2aESv6t9WBlt-Mq-x8uGKUmEA_Q-ROayeqzMr31E0uWsHzU-kAB5OqygxMhXaLi41EylHr_4C3JcSewAv8BzRkaNMTxD2xoEkHRFUziEOnBxIGv0sGJDnbjUvgjbCaJcHNOiKa/s320/_MG_1398+copy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390012992468936434" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_mLFBxtwshzRkLwnGCh4ucvG0vuNPRcxXJyB4CkVuhQBiNOBX1JTD23Mprlksui5PsnJhhWPn0vAf5VfpBXZqAEBExPHjDuchKoQd-nHXyrV-FQUCZ2u3Sy0NzFz6WPmVj_OKpRClWBk/s1600-h/_MG_1345+copy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_mLFBxtwshzRkLwnGCh4ucvG0vuNPRcxXJyB4CkVuhQBiNOBX1JTD23Mprlksui5PsnJhhWPn0vAf5VfpBXZqAEBExPHjDuchKoQd-nHXyrV-FQUCZ2u3Sy0NzFz6WPmVj_OKpRClWBk/s320/_MG_1345+copy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390012985014687506" /></a>Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-52010669816298490612009-09-29T11:04:00.000-07:002009-09-30T09:40:28.055-07:00Avon Walk for Breast Cancer - Los Angeles - September 12 & 13, 2009After staying over at a friend’s house in Huntington Beach, Jill and I woke up to dueling phone alarms at 4:15am on Saturday morning. We uttered unrecognizable words, and then quickly got showered and ready and we were in the car at 5:00am. We drove through the streets of Long Beach and made our way to the Queen Mary, chattering anxiously about what was to come. It was still dark out when we dropped off our luggage and headed to the breakfast station and opening ceremonies. All of our preparation, training, and fundraising had finally brought us here, and we felt overwhelmed and excited by the sea of pink shirts, hats, tiaras, and tutus. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPwvOOCaDaj1KIXgQ4QSOmzG0jik-BgZlVsvz3okcpqkOUvWnaSAfBLv5JhEXYln962btYJ0BuGWSCCNGf4PLbyrYA-_JWCjAAoI640_QbUZV6vODuHc6BpTJS1XfAQ79eZAP5IcSi5fS/s1600-h/IMG_2332.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPwvOOCaDaj1KIXgQ4QSOmzG0jik-BgZlVsvz3okcpqkOUvWnaSAfBLv5JhEXYln962btYJ0BuGWSCCNGf4PLbyrYA-_JWCjAAoI640_QbUZV6vODuHc6BpTJS1XfAQ79eZAP5IcSi5fS/s200/IMG_2332.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386952293903407570" border="0" /></a><br />We ate our breakfast, drank coffee, and chatted with two sisters who were walking in honor of their mother. After a guided stretch, the opening ceremonies began, and a few speakers told stories about who they were walking for. As Jill and I blinked away tears, the crowd of walkers held hands to symbolize that in these two days, we would all be walking as one. Then, at 7am, we began our walk! <br /><br />Over 2,000 walkers filed out onto the pathway, and up a bridge, forming a snake half a mile long. We walked along the beach for 6 or 7 miles, cheered on by people having coffee out on their balcony, couples walking their dogs, groups of runners out on their Saturday morning run, children and husbands holding signs, and dancing ladies in pink wigs handing out candy. Every mile marker was surrounded by applause and excitement and picture taking. We walked and we walked. Our emotions were erratic; our eyes would well up from seeing a sign posted on someone’s back; “I walk for: MY MOM. I miss you, Mommy,” or we’d break into hysterical laughter from seeing a tuxedo black and white cat wearing a pink ribbon, standing proudly on a balcony alone next to a sign that read, “Go Boobs”. We imagined that he painted it himself. We stopped at each Quick Stop and Rest Stop to stretch, fill our water bottles, and get a snack. For some reason, it was like Christmas morning every time we saw a candy bowl with Tootsie Rolls in it.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyzKFzutcZuibxWvypDZkj0f_ulp86Gw9_4UP4QrGoUXPuGp7oUiKmdLPkrlEv_CvpRiZJkTcz4eqw5ntOykA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Lunch was at mile 9.5. We rested in a nice grassy park and devoured turkey sandwiches quickly. Only 16.7 more miles to go! We were lucky, for most of the day, to have a cloud cover and a nice breeze. The sun came out at around 1pm, but we still had the ocean air cooling us down. Mile 13 was really exciting, as it marked our halfway point. We had walked half a marathon already!! We saw Cathy and Cindy (the sisters), and walked with them for awhile. Along each mile or so, there was a woman blasting music from her car, and dancing on the sidewalk by herself, just to keep our spirits up. She took her job of high-fiving and dancing to Shania Twain songs very seriously, and we just loved her for it. Little children out on their lawns gave us thumbs up, and yelled "Good job!" Cars driving by would honk and cheer out the window. At Mile 20, we could feel a surge of energy from the walkers around us. Collective determination. Only 6 more miles. Mile 22 to 23 felt like a 45-mile walk. I thought maybe the sign had fallen down, and we had passed it already. Nope. There it finally was, fastened to a stop sign, smirking at me. Mile 24 to 25 was even longer. The dancing woman said, "Mile 25 is just up ahead!" Every step was so painful, but we didn't care. "We got this," Jill said. We started skipping for about 30 seconds, happy to be using different muscles in our legs. When we stopped, we realized what a mistake that was, as the bottoms of our feet burned and ached. Then, there it was: Mile 25. Only 1 more mile left to walk. <br /><br />Up ahead, I saw a woman who I recognized because she was the biggest fundraiser for the Avon Walk. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivwn_kIFo3Ac3pIL4cR1HrUw-PEBVsbTixBU02pv9OJHiL7VQo6Zv_cRmNUL3iEmFvycIKnewMNpA3_7KoCbtIkNADMN2VEpwwzRCfEvqRX4ugvKv4naH8XujVnHVlxjOwI4_rWw1MNSQu/s1600-h/IMG_2358.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivwn_kIFo3Ac3pIL4cR1HrUw-PEBVsbTixBU02pv9OJHiL7VQo6Zv_cRmNUL3iEmFvycIKnewMNpA3_7KoCbtIkNADMN2VEpwwzRCfEvqRX4ugvKv4naH8XujVnHVlxjOwI4_rWw1MNSQu/s200/IMG_2358.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386961848336492178" border="0" /></a>I told Jill, and we picked up our pace to catch up with her and ask her a bit about her story. This was her 107th walk. The 7th Avon Walk she had done this year, with 2 more to go. She has raised over 1 million dollars. We finished our last mile with this inspirational woman. We strolled to Wellness Village, high-fived and cheered on by crew members, a high school cheerleading squad, and dozens of friends and family of other walkers.<br /><br />We were finally done walking for the day! We got our luggage, found our tent spot, and put up our tent. As we hobbled to the showers, we made a plan to visit the medical tent before dinner so that Jill could get her blisters worked on. This was not a good plan. We hadn't eaten lunch since 10:30am, and it was now 7pm, and we had to wait for Jill's name to be called from the long list of other blister people. As the nurse finally began to drain Jill's first blister, I stood behind Jill, and watched the chaos in the tent. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay5oDFzPUrh-ZytZoCqK-7mfwOqoLMA58XcjCAQB702Lt4iBkHuvD73PP61sfg0ax2ILRBpVTd90WY6REbt2uxly4xBk5rHBhRkOy8lo4oijhEJP4kqEv-t5e7ZP0Ti_Mqqoq8b4-Xeal/s1600-h/IMG_2367.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay5oDFzPUrh-ZytZoCqK-7mfwOqoLMA58XcjCAQB702Lt4iBkHuvD73PP61sfg0ax2ILRBpVTd90WY6REbt2uxly4xBk5rHBhRkOy8lo4oijhEJP4kqEv-t5e7ZP0Ti_Mqqoq8b4-Xeal/s200/IMG_2367.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387132057689448066" border="0" /></a>My low blood sugar, combined with anxiety from seeing paramedics and people laying on cots with mylar blankets around them, made me suddenly feel queasy. I left the tent and sat outside in the fresh air. I came back in to find Jillian keeled over in her chair with her head in her hands. Knowing my best friend, I thought, "she's going to throw up." She looked up at me, and her face was white, with a hint of green. Other nearby nurses began to rush over, as Jill muttered that she might pass out. As they began to take her over to the cots, I stood there, again, overwhelmed by the panic in the room, Jill's sudden condition, and my own exhaustion and hunger. I knew that if I stood there any longer, I would probably throw up or pass out as well, so I guiltily walked out of the medical tent without saying anything. It was a terrible feeling to leave my best friend alone in there, but I knew that my own possible panic attack or vomiting probably wouldn't help her much. When I came back in, Jill was sitting up on a cot, drinking gatorade and looking much better. They almost put an I.V. in her arm, but she insisted that she would be fine after some food. We ate dinner, and all was well. At last. And it was time for bed.<br /><br />We slept soundly in our tents, and woke up to the voices of two very enthusiastic women discussing food and coffee in the tent beside us. We had another 13 miles ahead of us. We packed up, ate breakfast, and started out again. There were even more cheerers out on the route, and every sign and "great job" made us teary. Having gone through so much already, everyone walking was more vulnerable, but this day was particularly emotional for me and Jill, as it marked the 5th anniversary of the death of my brother (and Jill's cousin) Ian. On September 13th, 2004, he had lost his battle with cancer. There was one moment when we were talking about Ian, and both of us couldn't stop tears from rolling down our faces. Just then, it was as if Ian had placed a situation right here just for us, just at this moment, to say, "stop crying, you babies, and laugh at this instead". A man had parked his jeep alongside the route, gotten on the hood of his car, and was dancing. In a cowboy hat. With no shirt on. He was slender, and physically looked ok, but he was the most awkward dancer I've ever seen. We passed by him, and stared up in amazement. The look on his face said, "why am I doing this," as he swayed uncomfortably back and forth to a slow song, shirtless, on top of a car, in a cowboy hat. I wish I had been there for the exact moment when this idea entered his mind. I couldn't help but explode with laughter. Soon, Jill and I were both in hysterics, and the fact that no one else was laughing at all made it even funnier. We howled as we each took turns imitating his swaying motion.<br /><br />The day went by fast, as we laughed and made up songs, and chatted with people around us. Jill's husband Morgan surprised us at Mile 8! We had no idea he was even nearby, and we turned a corner, and there he was with his camera. I could hear the emotion in his voice as he told us how proud he was. He was my brother's best friend, so to have him there on that day was amazingly special.<br /><br />Every ache, pain, bruise, and blister was beyond worth it when anyone would wave to us or cheer us on, or when a mother sitting on her front lawn with her tiny daughter would say thank you, or when we saw a bald woman at a cheering station holding a sign that said that our efforts were helping her. Every moment of this experience was amazing, and getting to the finish line was awesome. As we cried and hugged friends and family, we were so proud of ourselves. We had walked <strong>39.3 miles</strong>! It was 2 days I'll never forget, and I can't wait to do it again next year! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX_23g3ub-O_DruTcTxLbnNLIukJSPejarHLuTsz5qyhyphenhyphen54DghqY3eySy3C1Yq8f95k8Tt8SbR2eWJT0Gnt0K6Y_3637iiNKMjkAPV-3YDtqFQ0ZaBAna5-rdfjCnL_l_MJWbYkY0cmPSZ/s1600-h/finishline2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX_23g3ub-O_DruTcTxLbnNLIukJSPejarHLuTsz5qyhyphenhyphen54DghqY3eySy3C1Yq8f95k8Tt8SbR2eWJT0Gnt0K6Y_3637iiNKMjkAPV-3YDtqFQ0ZaBAna5-rdfjCnL_l_MJWbYkY0cmPSZ/s320/finishline2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387301161161569634" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnS5YH4p2aQa5qwPIW28IAp_CPg1UUsJ8LDMvdaDNg3roKkg5yR0dI0wNsxuhwjFvCCr7oQBgdqtKAnWMQ61kIeMQ4iJw20w1haikS-Wkryj25BvRKo98JK2QOWpEWbL0yFWWSkweK9T-N/s1600-h/laurenjillclovers2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnS5YH4p2aQa5qwPIW28IAp_CPg1UUsJ8LDMvdaDNg3roKkg5yR0dI0wNsxuhwjFvCCr7oQBgdqtKAnWMQ61kIeMQ4iJw20w1haikS-Wkryj25BvRKo98JK2QOWpEWbL0yFWWSkweK9T-N/s320/laurenjillclovers2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387301150493492498" /></a>Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-24570717466066158012009-09-09T20:44:00.000-07:002009-09-09T20:53:53.237-07:00The Simple Things<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" 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</xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} p {mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-margin-top-alt:auto; margin-right:0in; mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]-->It’s been almost five years since my older brother Ian died.<span style=""> </span>September 13<sup>th</sup>, 2004.<span style=""> </span>I don’t like to dwell on that day, but around this time of year, I can’t help but think back to a couple days before he died.<span style=""> </span>A good memory.<span style=""> </span>One that will stay with me forever.<span style=""> </span>
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<br />As I had done for many days throughout his stay, I sat in Ian’s hospital room all day, hanging out and keeping him company. The next morning, he was getting out. It had been two long months, and he was ready. For the last two days, he had been questioning the nurses and doctors; when, when, when, when, what time, when. That day, September 9<sup>th</sup>, we joked around a lot. He was feeling better. He was eating. And he was excited to get out of that hospital bed, and hospital gown; out of that bleak room and into the comfort of our brother Josh’s house.
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<br />I was moving the next morning, so I had to drive back home to San Diego that night. I told him I was sad that I couldn’t see him be freed of the hospital chains, but I was so happy to be there with him on his last night. For the last few weeks, I had been reading <i>The Da Vinci Code</i>, which was one of Ian’s all-time favorite books. He had read it four times, as he liked to tell everyone. I was almost finished with it, and while he would nap, I would read. Throughout the course of the evening, friends and family would pop in to say hello, nurses would come in to say goodbye, and I sat beside him, reading his favorite book. He checked on me often, making sure I was still enjoying it; wanting to see all my different reactions to the unexpected twists and turns and newly unraveled mysteries.
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<br />Two of his (odd and slightly obnoxious) friends came in to visit at around 9pm. The two of them talked over each other constantly, like loud squawking birds. Justin, the motor-mouth of the two, had constant foot-in-mouth syndrome. I’m not even sure that he had the mental capacity to realize when his foot was in his mouth. He would still keep talking, no matter how many feet were in his mouth. So here we all were. Justin and Armand on one side of Ian, and me and Dan Brown on the other. I could tell that Ian was anxious, and just wanted the time to pass, and he remained fairly quiet, watching TV. Justin would make an unfunny joke, and Ian and I would simultaneously say, “Shut up, Justin!” which would make him silent for about twenty seconds, before he picked another argument with Armand.<span style=""> </span>Any time the two arguing birds would become too loud or say something really stupid, I would look up at Ian. He would give me a little sideways smirk, roll his eyes, and shake his head. I would laugh and continue reading. It was getting late, and my reading was somewhat frantic, as I became determined to finish the book while sitting by Ian’s side. Finally, the raucous birds left when they saw Ian drifting in and out of sleep. He would sometimes pretend to be asleep when people came to visit, so that they’d leave him alone and not ask too many questions, and then, once they were gone, he would comment on the conversation we were having while he was “sleeping”. His trick worked on his annoying friends. His focus shifted to me as he looked at me worriedly and said I shouldn’t drive home too late. I had a two hour drive ahead of me, and it was 11pm. I told him I was almost done, just a few more pages. He said, “It’s good, huh?” I nodded. A few minutes later, I had finished the book. We both felt a proud sense of accomplishment. I packed up my things, said goodnight and “I love you” to sleepy Ian, hugged him tight, kissed him a couple times on his fuzzy head, and walked out of the Sylmar Hospital forever.
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<br />As I walked to my car that night, I felt light and free.<span style=""> </span>I always hated leaving, knowing that Ian was there alone, but this time it felt different.<span style=""> </span>Ian was going home.
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<br />I, of course, had no idea what was to come in the next few days; had no idea that the night I sat beside Ian reading would be the last time we would hang out.<span style="">
<br />
<br /></span>I don’t like to think of him and how he looked on the day he died.<span style=""> </span>I like to remember this night, and how we were, brother and sister, laughing, talking, joking.<span style=""> </span>Feeling free.
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<br /></p> Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1762341921295951587.post-18544916524861585692009-09-02T14:29:00.000-07:002009-09-02T15:17:55.462-07:00Doing All That I CanJillian and I are doing the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in about a week and a half, and we wrote a new song inspired by it and the fight against cancer. We're selling it on our website for a dollar, for our fundraising, and all I want is for people to download it. It feels frustrating when you want people to hear something you worked so hard on, and you just don't know how to reach them. I've asked many people to send out an email on our behalf, letting them know about this. I strongly believe in the inpirational power of this song, and the video that goes along with it. I just don't know how to get it out there. My thought is: How about doing some good with music, as opposed to buying songs about sluts on the dance floor. Sorry. <br /><br />Here's the video link: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5djuvEx_k0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5djuvEx_k0</a>Lauren Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02477854944082562561noreply@blogger.com2