Archive | November, 2012

I Hugged Howie Mandel.

26 Nov

 

UPDATE: My episode is airing THURSDAY DECEMBER 13, 9PM on NBC!…And I hugged him so hard I almost knocked him down. I’m no delicate flower, people. I pack a punch!

You guys remember how I went to a casting for Howie Mandel’s new game show “Take It All”, beginning December 10th in NBC Primetime, where you can win hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash and prizes?

Well, I’m on it.

In case you haven’t caught this yet, here’s the promo.

Look out, America. Lauren Bair is coming to your television! (I heard that people who refer to themselves in third person have narcissistic tendencies to be narcissists, but trust me – I’m just a small town girl – livin’ in a lonnnnnnnely worrrrrrrrld…)

It’s a crazy fun show. I’m also crossing my fingers for some sweet deodorant commercial work from this glorious arms-up-shot. Flawless pits! Thanks mostly to the pantyliners that were stuck into my sweater. Cinemagic!

XX,

L

Torani Holiday Spot.

20 Nov

This Thanksgiving, Friends, do whatever you can to dominate in your kitchen. Really go for it. Everything from scratch. Milk your own cows, grow your own wheat, harvest your own cranberries, weave your own napkins on a loom. Because it’s worth it. Everyone you invite will be live Tweeting and Instagram-ing the crap out of this meal. You are creating your own legacy. GET. IT. TOGETHER!

Nothing matters more than impressing your family — these people who have been around you for years, who’ve maybe seen you barf on yourself at some point, who know deep, dark secrets about you. They will for reals instantly unlove you if you can’t whip up a friggin pumpkin pie like a bizarro Martha Stewart with a different last name. And first name, probably.

OK, ok. Not really. I seriously contemplated ordering Chinese this year. (Fah-rah-rah-rah-rah). Because as much as I love smashed potatoes, Thanksgiving is really about being thankful for something (and not thinking too much about how the first Thanksgiving must have gone: “Hey, how do we grow corn? OK, we got it, get outta here so we can enjoy our dinner.”

I wanted to show you this Torani ad (remember the spot I shot at the mansion in May? Finally, it’s seasonally appropriate!). I love to show behind the scenes on my sets, but I forget to show the finished product! Here it is!

It’s pretty close to how I will be celebrating this year. Except I’ll be in not-a-mansion, not making pie. I WILL, however, be mixing up some cocktails for friends and definitely pitting-out in my turtleneck. A string of pearls draws the eye away from the stains.

Happy Thanksgiving you guys!

XX,

L

Roadkill.

19 Nov

It’s the holiday season. So, while everyone else is being grateful and growing mustaches all the days of November, I am willing my ladystache away, and appreciating the simple joys. Like, the one where I did not kill this giant deer the other night with my car.

I was working my delivery dinner shift, cruising up Bellagio Road in Bel Air (picture the house in The Fresh Prince of Bel Air intro. That’s actually there. Along with many bigger mansions. That’s the neighborhood. Home to my beloved Bob Newhart and other extremely wealthy people).

Not totally sure about the address and the curvy, switchback-style roads, I was glued to my iPhone GPS. A little Thrift Shop playing on the radio, some kind of Italian food getting cold in my car. Someone had rear ended me earlier on Sunset Blvd (just a little tap, for which we exchanged glances and a wave in the mirror), but things were going great. One of the bartenders at a restaurant had given me a free chocolate chip cookie. That’s the closest I’ll get to eating in one of these places…

“Shit.” Some kind of sportscar zoomed up behind me. Its blueish headlights shining like Lasik eye surgery into my retinas. I always break out into a sweat when I’m looking for an address and someone’s up my car’s butt about driving fast on unlit woodsy roads.

I came to an intersection and glanced down at my phone. “OK… left…” I made the turn. “OK, what’s next….?” I located the following street on the map, then looked up and saw [OMG BROWN!!] immediately in front of my car, my headlights illuminating nothing but [GIANT FUR BODY ANTLERS!!]. I slammed on the breaks and screamed as a huge buck hopped across the street and into the hill along the side of the road.

“OhmygodIalmosthitadeer.” My car would have been flattened and the deer probably would have walked away all “What was that?”, but still. I try not to make a habit of hitting animals. Just ask the squirrel I half killed the other week during the day. I gave it my best shot. Hit the breaks, thought about reversing over him because I could see his little body twitching and his hand reaching into the air for help. What is the humane-est thing to do?? Crying, I drove to the house I was delivering to, then back to find that squirrel. He was gone. Good thing I didn’t run over him twice in order to kill him. Now, he can enjoy his life, slightly maimed. He will have the best stories to tell over peanuts.

Earlier in the day, I was talking to my Mom who has her own history of accidental animal hittings. She is heartbroken and destroyed any time it happens. Like, for days. There is an infamous story about her running over a mama duck and all her baby ducklings, as they were crossing the street on a blind curve. At least my Mom wiped out the entire family. Hopefully they all went to Baby Duck Heaven. Which just sounds soooo adorable, right?

My Mom got off the phone by saying “Well, we’re taking the car in to the shop. Something’s wrong with it because I hit a skunk, so…” She wasn’t sad.

“You hit a skunk? Why are you acting so casual.”

“Well, it was already dead.”

“Oh, so you re-hit it.”

“Right.”

“I hit a squirrel recently. It like half died. Maybe it survived, I don’t know.”

“Oh, that’s ok.”

“It’s ok to hit squirrels?”

“They are so unpredictable. My friend Kaye had one she raised from a baby and one day it just up and bit her!”

“So you have a list of animals it’s ok to run over?”

“Well it’s not like the skunk had a collar with a name-tag on it.”

I immediately texted my Mom after the deer thing, asking her if it was on the list of acceptable roadkill.

It’s not.

Glad I didn’t make contact. I don’t wanna be that girl with a bloody buck strapped to the roof of her Honda Fit, driving around Beverly Hills, delivering dinner to people. “Oh, the deer? I’m taking him to the hospital right after this. Just — don’t worry about it. And here’s your sushi.”

XX,

L

Fun With Road Rage.

14 Nov

I used to like to drive.

I liked listening to the radio. The feel of the open road. The freedom of being able to go almost anywhere, anytime.

I never used the horn. I would simply mumble the situation to the other car “Oop! Too close! Ughhhhh… ok, there ya go…” or say “honk”. It was a relaxing time, those previous years of driving. Long trips back and forth from college in Florida to my house in PA. A drive across country. I even missed my car a little when I lived in NYC.

Then I moved to LA. Where in two short years, I’ve developed Stage 4, fully blown, ROAD RAGE. RoRa as we affectionately call it here (no we don’t – do not spread that rumor). We pronounce it like “Everyone Drives Like An Idiot”. And it’s true. Everyone but you. And you feel this in the very core of your being. My blood is Type A Badass.

My car is great on the road. It has quick pick up, zippiness, cupholders – THE WORKS. It will lose all battles between it and sportscars or luxury old people wagons (Bentley!), but who’s counting. I drive almost every day in straight up rush hour traffic for my job. I’m becoming very good at driving.

My tolerance is — wait, where did it go?? Patience? Um, no time for that! I have somewhere to be and I need to get there NOW, and the way that I PLANNED, and if you cut me off, signal like a bitch, or stop at no stop sign, I will destroy you.

First, with my horn. [MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP]. Ugh, ok my horn sucks. It’s a toy that sounds like a clown nose. But – oh what? You didn’t move! I told you t— ugh. [MEEP! M-MEEP!] Seriously. GO! (I still yell out “go” to people all the time. My other RoRa catch phrases are “Let’s do this” “Drive like you’re going somewhere” “Cellphone – knew it” and “Are they having a stroke? It looks like they’re gliding to the side like they’re having a stroke”).

Then there are the times (all the times), where the offender makes an aggressive move back. A honk. An angry shrug. Hands in the air! (That’s a favorite of almost everyone). Yesterday, a car started moving into my lane, so I honked to let them know I was there. They honked back. And then so did I. With a specific finger raised outside my window so that they could be sure to see it. Fingers speak louder than horns.

The car lurched back into its lane, then zipped around the back of my car and into the right lane. We both came to the next stop light at the same time. I pretended to be totally cool, listening to KOST 103.5 on the radio, but secretly hoped they couldn’t hear that it was some Rod Stewart love song dedication. My eyes darted sideways, trying to catch a look at the driver. I was hoping they were all “Oh! A girl’s driving! She’s pretty badass to be putting me in my place like that. I totally respect her!” But no. People here want to slam into you to teach you lessons. They speed up when you’re a pedestrian crossing in their way. If they hit you, they can pay for it. And so will you!

I’ve tried tempering this RoRa by bringing tea with me in my car. Playing soothing music (sorry, Rage Against The Machine, not right now…), being a generous driver, letting people go ahead, being patient when some sedan with the touristy “Arizona” plates is slowly driving through Hollywood Blvd like it’s a sunny Sunday afternoon in Binkleberry, Georgia, like we’ve got ALLLLL the time in the world to stop and go and sway between lanes and stop for pedestrians who are really homeless people dressed up like Spongebob Squarepants and aren’t using the friggin pedestrian crosswal—–rrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!

So, I really think it’s helping me.

XX,

L

Image before I typed on it.

%d bloggers like this: