Most nights at my delivery job, I experience a series of “I wanna quit right now”, and “I hate this”, and “Secret Clinical Strength Stress Sweat deodorant really phoning it in” - type moments.
Recently, I had a conversation with a girl in her early twenties who looked like she just woke up at 8pm, the two of us standing in the doorway of her ginormous Hollywood Hills home — about how delivery driving “isn’t like, the worst job you could have”. I agreed, like a proper second class citizen. And neither of us could come up with any examples of heinous-er occupations. I said “Yeah. It’s… pretty… um. It can be fun…”
She closed the door of the home her billionaire father built for her. Well, first he bought the $8M lot, demolished the house on the property, and constructed her a nice new $12M one. Like ya do. It’s literally Monopoly come to life around there.
And I’m the iron, just trying to get a house on Mediterranean.
OK, so I’m not a babies person. I don’t coo over spit up and “oopsies!” about poopsies. I’m that girl testing different nail polishes at Target, hearing a kid throw down a tantrum, thinking “OH. See? It is so hard to raise kids. Now… should I do a hot pink for winter…” And if I catch a whiff of poopy diaper, I will gag. I literally have to breathe through my mouth and find the nearest exit. I’m almost gagging thinking about it.
But, I am deeply in love with my sister’s kids. And not just cuz they have my same coloring, and I hope they think I’m the “fun” Aunt someday.
No. It’s because my sister Les loves them so much. And I love her so much. And I can almost relive our own childhood through these new people. These very tiny people, named Hudson and (NKOTB) Hadley. I now have the complete set.
It’s been a bonkers few weeks, lately. Ervin and I have opposite schedules, so we decided to get lunch together one Saturday afternoon. (Hi, yes. We live together. Oh, life!)
I had recently watched Anthony Bourdain trip around Koreatown on TV one nite, digging into some giant steamed buns at Myung In Dumplings. Best buns In LA. Of course, I made a note of it in my phone, under “Go To Here”. I first tried this type of bun in Portland, OR. It was like *the perfect food* for Fall (Sorry, mac n cheese. And soup. And pumpkin spice everything) because it’s warm, it’s comforting, there’s something in the middle of it, and you can hold it in your hands like a baby bird.
A really fat one.
I remember seeing these buns at little street carts when I lived in the Lower East Side of NYC (basically Chinatown). I wasn’t ready for them to come into my life. I thought “GROSS. A lightly sweet bun with PORK in the middle of it? I’m from Pennsylvania! We put SWEET things inside sweet things! Or potatoes!” Continue reading
“OK, LET’S GET TO WORK!”
The GUY pulled a camera from his bag and popped out of his chair, just as his coffee date grabbed her iced latte, and positioned herself in front of the door to the coffee shop.
I was sitting kinda behind her, with no makeup, huddled in the corner like a troll, working on my laptop. [CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!] snapped the camera, as the girl did a thousand variations of “GIRL ON SIDEWALK WITH LATTE”.
— ohmigad, am I in this? I don’t want to be in this. I cowered behind my laptop. Finally – a reason for the 17″ screen! I slid lower in my plastic chair. Then I thought about my dry, white, unshaven legs, hanging out from beneath the table. Damnit. [CLICK! CLICK! CLICKITY-CLICK-SNAP-"OK I THINK WE GOT IT!"] – and he popped the lens cap on his camera. They hi-five’d, and she was off.
What the –? I peeked out from behind my monitor to get a good look at this dude. Everyone in LA is kind of “on”, or “off” — I just wanted to see which one he was. – OK both. Continue reading
There is an ad for something called Cougar Life, running in LA. Are you guys seeing it all over the world — or is this yet another “Keep Hollywood Weird” situation.
I am thinking about it because of this commercial shoot I worked on, recently. It was for Sprint (maybe you will see my face in their stores, Sprint customers!) and I was coupled-up “on a date” with actor Armen Taylor. We had a lot of fun on our Sprint date, taking selfies on Santa Monica Pier one evening by the beach.
Getting paid to enjoy a gorgeous sunset is not horrible. Continue reading
I had clear expectations as to how this would unfold. I was going to deliver this lonely elderly woman’s lunch to her, in her sweet little granny room at the nursing home. She’d smile when she saw me – a youth – walk through the door, interrupting the sound of the ticking grandfather clock – a family heirloom. She’d just be grateful for a little companionship on this sunny afternoon. I would gently touch her arm and say “Hi Mrs. Featherbottom! I’m Lauren. And this is your lunch for today,” smiling, as I laid out the delicate angel hair pasta, the healthy vegetable, and the chocolate bread pudding. We’d chitchat about her day and how I should live every moment to its fullest, she’d say. She would know. She’s so wise and wonderful.
I’d say I should go and let her enjoy her meal. She’d ask if I’m coming by tomorrow. I’d say I hoped so! I’d gently touch her arm to reassure her that we’re all in this together somehow. And we’d knowingly exchange twinkles in our eyes, as I waved goodbye and lovingly closed her door, sort of tucking her in, for the afternoon. I’d walk away, my heartstrings tugging with thoughts of my own Grandmothers. One who is in a nursing home, and the other who is probably reading this story right now. I miss them so much.
And then, the opposite of that happened.
Opposite. Continue reading