My "Sandy" View of Politics

I've never been one to heavily deal in the stress-inducing game that is political discussion, especially around the Presidency. Maybe it's because it's not in my nature to believe any one person could have that much power. Within my daily life, the only person who can really "change" anything (for better or worse) is me.

So I'll admit that the first time I ever voted was in the 2008 election. And yes, I voted for Obama. There were two main reasons; I believed in him and I wanted to see something unprecedented happen in our history. Oh, and I also thought Sarah Palin was batshit crazy and feared that McCain could die while in office, allowing her to take over the Presidency... And after watching Obama take the win, I returned to my little non-political world and continued life.

Four years later, another election rolled around and I often found myself avoiding water cooler talks about the candidates and Facebook arguments about policies. To be honest, I wasn't convinced anyone could undo the damage our economy has suffered, but I also wasn’t sold on the idea of jumping ship and into the arms of a guy who only seems concerned with money. “But that’s what we need!” some of my left-siding friends cried. They aren’t wrong. I recently learned the value of property I bought four years ago has tanked and I nearly had a heart attack. But the economy isn't the only issue our country faces, and knowing that left me with this question: is it better to vote for a guy whom I feel entirely unconnected to, but who MIGHT help the economy grow a little bit in the next 4 years? (And I say a little bit because if anyone takes over and drastically changes our economy it means at least one class of people is getting totally screwed.) Or do I reelect a man who did ok (not great) with the hand he was dealt? Up until a week ago, I really wasn’t sure.

Then Sandy arrived.

Like pretty much everyone on the East Coast, I shooed away the idea that Sandy would bring us anything more than some rain. Friends in Florida told me she had barely bothered them, so really, what could she do to the North? Well, a whole lot.

She arrived near my birthday, turning my celebration into (at first) a three day weekend. I only flinched slightly when the Mayor announced he was shutting down our transit system. “It’ll be OK ” I told myself. The next day, as we sat watching preparations unfold on the news and the wind starting to whip passed our window, the power went out. I slept restlessly that night.

Twelve hours later I left my apartment with a suitcase and a hope that I’d be able to return home the next day. With power on in my temporary home, I once again returned to the news and what I saw left me speechless... Lower Manhattan was dark and under water... Staten Island was submerged... And the Jersey Shore was almost non-existent. Images of the Jersey Shore were what made my heart stop. Having not spent much time there prior to this summer, it's ironic that just two months ago I was experiencing it almost for the first time.

This is a photo I took of Casino Pier where I ran around like a child in August. 

This is the roller coaster on that pier that I rode and made me scream like a little girl.

This is that same roller coaster after Sandy...

(unknown source)

Source: STAR-LEDGER, DAVID GARD — AP Photo

And these are the streets I walked...

Source: (Saed Hindash/The Star-Ledger)

I found myself curling further into a ball as each image became increasingly more disturbing. "How could this happen?" I asked to no one in particular. And I realized then that unlike the economy, it's going to take a lot more than money to fix this tragedy. It's going to take patience, leadership and heart.

Like many others, I was glued to the TV during all the press conferences. And while I applaud Governor Cuomo and Mayor Bloomberg for how they handled New York's crisis, I was most affected by Governor Christie. He was clearly devastated by the destruction of his state, but he was also strong and humble. And when President Obama came to New Jersey's aid in record time, he pushed aside his political affiliations and was gracious and appreciative. More so,  when he was asked about the campaign (for which, up until this point he'd been a strong and loud supporter of Romney) he sternly replied, "“I have no idea, nor am I the least bit concerned or interested. I’ve got a job to do here in New Jersey that’s much bigger than presidential politics, and I could care less about any of that stuff.” I wanted to hug him. 

On Wednesday, when the President toured New Jersey's coast with the Governor, there was a genuine concern shared between them and photos like this emerged.

Source:  Pablo Martinez Monsivais, AP

And as they took the podium side by side to address the crowd of pained but coping shore dwellers, it suddenly occurred to me that they were a team I would vote for. I don't care that Governor Christie is Republican or that President Obama is a Democrat. I care that they care, and that I believe they care. And I have faith that they want and will do all they can to help rectify what nature's fury has left behind.

And I wish that is what politics were really about - nominating someone you could believe in on every level instead of nominating the person that might help your wallet. Because, as we learned from Sandy, it doesn't matter how big of a house you have, it can be gone in an instant. And when the dust settles, it's not just a check you need, but a leader who will help instill the faith you are searching for to make it through the very hard times ahead... 

To donate money towards recovery to all areas affected by Sandy, please visit RedCross.org 

And on November 6th, when it's time to choose a leader for this nation, no matter who you cast your vote for just make sure you go DO IT.

A Case of Accidental Celebrity

Admission #1: I've always wanted to be some sort of star.

Admission #2: I never expected my claim to fame to come from a commercial promoting singles dating in New York City. 

Admission #3: Beneath the surface, I still smile when someone makes fun of me for participating in the above. 

Now that I got that off my chest, I guess it would be a good time to explain how said commercial came to be...

It's not a secret, at least not to those in my immediate circle, that I have had a whirlwind of a love life over the last two years. I will keep the details to myself (and to my best friends whom I've had sign NDAs.) What I will share is that I adhered to the advice of a friend and joined Match.com "to try something different." I wasn't on the site long before I was contacted by the [awesome] marketing team because of my outgoing profile and favorable pics. I was asked to be a part of their new campaign by participating in a group event and chatting about my experience... And what an experience it was! 

A few months later, as I vacationed in Key West, I began to receive a flurry of texts, IMs, Facebook messages, emails and carrier pigeon notes claiming I'd been seen all across the United States from flat screen to flat screen. I didn't get it. I didn't know what they were seeing... And then, as I sat beside my Floridian best friend, watching something loud on Bravo, I heard my own voice say "If I can get my flirt on, it's all good!" And then I saw this goofy smile:

I promptly threw myself under a mound of throw pillows while Marjorie giggled and pointed. The influx of commentary poured in thereafter, concluding in my office when I returned from summer hiatus. I had to confront the 30+ people that I'd gone more than a month without seeing, but whom had each seen me... toothy, grinning me. 

That was about a month ago and since then Match has continued their campaign with new ads and me with my life. I'm no longer on television, and, ironically, no longer on Match. Is it because I actually met my match? A girl has to keep a secret or two... or maybe she just needed to go back to work. 

"Dear Me at 30"

Five years ago my friend Candace and I came up with the idea that we should write letters to ourselves at random moments in the years leading up to our thirtieth birthdays. Call it self-help, call it therapy, call it nuts. Whatever you want to call it, we did it, or at least I did, and I ended up writing myself several letters at various points throughout that time span. As I battle a head cold tonight, unable to sleep, the memory of them returned to me. So I find it only appropriate that I return to blogging by divulging bits of what I learned about myself...and about life in general.

"When I think back to my childhood, I'm reminded of a little girl with brown curly hair and big brown eyes who didn't know how not to portray the emotions she was experiencing at any given moment. She possessed an undying ambition to ham it up at every opportunity and utilize her wise-cracking mouth. (Pause) I guess I haven't changed much...but, to some degree, I've evolved." - 4/8/06


They say you can't get anywhere if you don't know where you came from and my first step toward growing up may have been coming to the realization that I'm not that much different than I was when I was five. And the second step: being okay with that. Being okay with who you are. I can't say I've fully grasped the second step yet, but I'm learning to...

"I worry that my talents will not get their chance to come to fruition." 


That line is from the same letter. Firstly, why am I using words like fruition when I'm writing a letter to myself? Secondly, this was a worry that would trouble me desperately for the next four years. But it was this same worry that would propel me to bust my ass on weekends and create web content without a budget and hope that at some point it would all mean something to my future. Which leads me to a telling moment from another letter...

"I think the main reason I've never actively pursued my creative side is a fear of rejection. I hold my writing so close to my heart that if I'm told it sucks I may abandon it forever." -7/17/08


I was on the verge of completing my first web series, Linked, and feeling incredible pressure for it to be successful, not for just myself but for all those who had dedicated their free time to make it happen. I remember reaching a do or die point where I had to finalize the second half of the series, 40-50 pages of script, within a two day span. I sat on the porch of my family's beach house in North Carolina and was shaking from the pressure and fear that I couldn't finish the project. And then I told myself "Stop worrying about what you can't do and just DO." And after that...I wrote...and wrote...and I finished it. I look back now and know that I could have made the series even better had I had an actual budget, but I did what I could... and what I could turned into a project that made the series a finalist in a nationwide competition. But more so than that, it alleviated a bit of my fear. To say I am fearless now would mean that I have learned nothing at all. Fear drives me, without it I would be complacent.

"My life has changed so rapidly in the last few weeks that I can't seem to make sense of anything. I'm stuck on a ride that spins uncontrollably with a broken brake and I have no idea where I will land." -8/1/10


This was the beginning of a new chapter in my life...Scratch that.  This was the beginning of a whole new book! The year I spent as a twenty-nine year old (and the few months leading into it) would prove to be the most eventful (sad, happy, life-altering) year of my life... Or at least to date. I would spend the full year without a strongly significant other in my life, something I hadn't done since...since...Crap, was I ever single before this?? Simultaneously, I would attend four weddings of very close friends, then have several friends also give birth to children and through it all have my mother giving up on me and fearing she would never have her own grandchildren. She means well though, and when she found the cutest puppy in the world to call her own, she stopped beating me with the pressure of being the only child and continuing our family lineage. So with that off my plate, I relaxed and started to learn the difference between alone and lonely. And I was okay.

And in the midst of that biological and emotional chaos, I made a career change and left my stable and secure job in the corporate world for the ever-changing, never 100% stable, always energy-draining life that is the television business. Within one TV season, I learned and propelled to heights I'll admit I hadn't thought I could handle. And when that first chaotic season was behind me I stopped to reflect on it and realized that for the first time, I had to give myself some kind of credit. I may not be the best, but I'm good at this. And I can be better, and I will be, and then I'll try to be even better than that. I'll keep learning from others, their fortunes and their mistakes. And I will be grateful for having known them all.  

As if I could pack anything else into my 29th year, I took two amazing trips; one to my family's homeland of Puerto Rico and one across the Atlantic to Europe. In PR I learned that what is usually familiar can become something wondrous when you're the one in charge of showing others what you know. And in Europe, as I made the journey on my own, I learned friendships aren't hard to come by when you're stuck on a bus with fifty people or viewing some of the most amazing sights our world has to offer us. And from both I learned that the places I've been are only the first steps towards where I will go in this lifetime.

So, as I sit here, writing all this and wondering how I should end it, I realize that there is no end...just more of life to look forward to.

"Dear Me at 40...I hope you are still learning. I hope you are not fully satisfied so that you keep striving to make a difference in your own life and that of others. I hope there is still some fear in you so that you will push yourself to reach greater heights. I hope that you have evolved... but I'll he happy to know that, deep down, you are still that little girl you first wrote about when you were 25..." 

Planned Spontaneity

I wouldn't say I grew up the most rambunctious and free-spirited of kids. I planned my Saturday morning cartoon marathons according to a schedule that included a breakfast break and cleaning duties. Twenty years later, I haven't proven to be much different than that little chubster. I make weekend plans several weeks in advance, organize my day around a timed distribution of snacks, and search for summer weekend getaways in February. It's just how I am.

But, in the last year, there are things outside of my control that take the luxury of planning away from me. I have a job that keeps me working around the clock and a diminishing list of single, childless friends to keep me company. The times I find myself free are usually last minute and, unfortunately, not when my my friends are available. I've been a bit cranky about it. Three weeks ago, on a Friday night, I desperately wanted tacos and cupcakes. (I know that's random, but one block length of Mott Street will bring you to both.) Sadly, no one was free to accompany me and I couldn't stand the thought of going alone, so I didn't. Instead, I pouted and stomped my way home.

This past Thursday, I regained a sense of purpose because I had a clear plan for my evening. I would take an uneventful subway ride to Houston & Allen Street to see my friend Nicholas Howard perform at Rockwood Music Hall. Simple as that. But, when I jumped on the F train, that plan immediately swerved off course... 

I took a seat on the train, tired from my day, and pumped up the volume on my iPod. I did a little seat dancing to a Rhianna song in hopes of waking myself up. That's when I noticed the girl standing in front of me was doing the same thing, tapping her foot to a beat I couldn't hear. I was so caught up in admiring her stylish snow boots that it took me several minutes to look up at her face. When I did, my mouth nearly feel open.

Unless this woman has an identical twin in NYC, I was staring at America Ferrera. I nearly lost my sense of control and tugged on her arm. For those of you that don't already know, I had a serious love for the TV show Ugly Betty. It reminded me (almost too much) of my life as an assistant and of being the only Latino in my workplace. When the series ended I wrote a tribute to it on Huffington Post and caught the attention of Michael Urie, an actor on the show. While I love Michael, this moment with America may top my list of celebrity interactions... Except we never actually interacted.

I think the air changes the moment a person recognizes a celebrity, and the celebrity notices them stalking staring. I could almost feel her quick look into my eyes tell me "Please don't say anything, I just want to get home." Had I been standing next to her I would have simply mouthed the words, "I loved Ugly Betty." But, from my seated position this wasn't possible and so I rode with her standing three inches from me all the way to 2nd Avenue. When the train came to a stop, I gathered myself, and my longing need to expose her identity, and exited. 

When I got above ground I immediately called Jonathan, who shared my love of UB, and left an explosive voice mail on his cell that was both rushed and, I'm sure, incomprehensible. I then got wind whipped back into sense and made my way down Allen Street toward Rockwood, all the while smiling and finding it hard to believe in my unplanned encounter. 

I grabbed a table with Nick's parents, their friends and my mom who had actually made her way into the city for the performance. If you haven't seen it, Rockwood's stage 2 is a sexy venue, lit in such a way that everything looks hazily red except for the stage. I prefer the word intimate to small, but whichever you use, it is only worthwhile to know that it was filled up rather quickly. Nick jumped on around 7:30 and started things off with a newly written song that easily hooked the crowd and grabbed their attention for the rest of his set. The boy did his thing and (as his friend I can tell) is finding his comfort zone with the piano, making beautiful arrangements pulse through the air.   

After Nick, the headliner, Maiysha, took the stage with her band. I'd heard her music briefly on iTunes but, if I'm going to be honest, it was only a small glimpse of what this gorgeous woman is capable of. I connected with nearly every song she sang, less because of the songs themselves and more because of her voice and performance. She was sassy and sexy, but only in a way that was wonderfully compelling instead of tacky. The emotion in her voice had a way of resonating with me. By the time she was done I was fully aware of the new fan she now had within me. 

Hours after I had entered Rockwood dazed with the sighting of my TV icon, I left dazed by the vocals of two super talented musicians. I was on some weird entertainment high. My mother asked what I planned to do next and for once I wasn't really sure, I only knew that I didn't want to go home. That's when I got an unplanned text message from my friend Chris asking me if I was in the city. As it turns out he was only a few train stops away. So, I went along with this unplanned turn of events and joined him at Florencia 13 in the Village. 

Chris and I met in March of 2006 when I stepped outside a club for fresh air and he decided to chat me up while he smoked a cigarette. One month away from exactly five years later, we're still close friends regardless of the fact that we rarely see each other. I ordered a glass of wine and he suggested I eat some tacquitos when I told him I hadn't had dinner. Over the next hour we caught up on our work lives, love lives (or lack thereof) and whatever else came to mind. We laughed at the fact that had we actually planned to get together, it may have taken months. 

"That's the thing about life in New York, it's a plethora of random, unplanned moments," Chris said. I smiled. 

The next day, I started writing this blog and planned to finish it at home that evening, but I was sidetracked by a conversation I was having with Jonathan via text. 

Me: It's Friday and I'm going home to write a blog. I'm a loser. 

Jon: Call me right now.

I call Jonathan. He answers and before he can say anything I jump in with, "Before you tell me I need to stop whining and man up and remember what's good in my life, let me just tell you that there's a box filled with nails that I'd rather go stand in barefoot." 

"Listen, hot mess, that's not what I was going to say. I was going to ask you if you want to meet up for happy hour," was his answer. Well, that was unexpected. Locking down plans with Jon is something I usually start to put together at least two months in advance. This was a treat. 

I met him and his friend Nicole at the Adidas store on Houston. After my shoes were complimented, which flattered me considering I see both Jon and Nicole as highly fashionable people, we zig-zagged our way through SoHo to Sweet & Vicious. Nicole suggested a frozen margarita, something the place is known for and I easily obliged when I found out it came in a mason jar. As we sipped the slushy wonderfulness, we chatted about music and the OWN network. Nicole had to dip out shortly thereafter, leaving Jon and I to our usual devices. And by devices I mean Jon saying so many hilarious one liners that I ended up quoting him on Twitter repeatedly. For example: "Why is 'Depression Advice' following me on Twitter?" and, my personal favorite of the evening, "When your undergarments can check in to separate places on Four Square, you're a whore." If you're not yet aware of why I love this guy, you haven't been reading my blogs closely enough.

By 930pm, the week was weighing on me and I was getting sleepy. Jon's friend Carolina arrived, giving me the out I needed to not feel bad about leaving him at the bar. I hugged them all goodbye and then headed out. There was only one problem...I was starving. 

I looked up at the street sign as I walked. I was closing in on Spring and Mott Street. Which meant that if I turned right I would end up on Mott between Spring and Prince...which was exactly where my tacos and cupcakes were located. This was the place I had wanted to visit three weeks ago. There I was, alone and in very cool shoes with a rumbling stomach. I took a deep breath, walked up to Pinche Taqueria and opened the door. 

A burst of loud voices and laughs greeted me, as the place was filled with a group of people who were clearly friends gathering between bar hops. I ordered my two tacos and walked over to a small, unoccupied table. No one looked at me weird and I didn't do something strange like implode. I just sat and ate the delicious braised pork tacos. 

Over the course of two evenings I had two unplanned, but totally welcomed meet-ups, a celebrity sighting, had fantastic music touch my ears, and an experience of eating on my own. Life is continually changing...and I'm starting to think it's not such a bad thing.

In the Land of Mini-Films

To say I've stepped out of my comfort zone in the last six months of my life would be an understatement. It's been more like a leap, followed by a 1000 meter dash, finished with a long jump. Between job changes and personal changes, I've all but buried the person I used to be. But I've managed to keep in tact the core of what made me who I am, and I attempt to continue a building process. I'm not sure a process such as this ever ends, but at least I'm aware of it. 


Over the last three years I've been a producer of web series, with a special interest in comedy and sci-fi. When I landed my current job on a medical/health show I nearly panicked. How could I possibly mesh my background with this new endeavor? Well, six months later I've learned, that wasn't really the point. The point, little Lauren, is that no matter what you do, you need to make it interesting. You need to tell a story that the audience can connect to. 


With this piece of knowledge in mind, not only did I begin to find comfort and confidence in what I was doing with the show, I began to incorporate it into what was once my only means for self-expression, but is now more of a hobby. I began to think of my next side project. And that's when I started to work with Nicholas Howard...


Nicholas and I met last April in the way many people meet these days... via Twitter-conversation. I had written a Huffington Post article on his and Louis Colon's iPhone App (MySneakers) and he had Tweeted me a thank you note. Our online friendship continued sporadically until we met in person at an industry function later that summer.  Meeting Nick was like buying a new car and then suddenly seeing it pass you by at every crosswalk; after meeting him we kept bumping into each other and, thanks to our shared abilities of intuitiveness and blunt commentary, became actual friends.


Among other things, like learning he's the owner of two humans trapped in feline bodies (shout out to Lucky & Cookie!), I learned he was a very talented musician. Having already released two independent albums that focused on his vocal talents, Nick was amidst the process of mastering the ability to sing and play the piano simultaneously. I visited venues where he would test the musical waters and later hear him recount his interpretation of the experience. Watching him tell these stories, and being witness to his passion for the craft reminded me of my own love for filmmaking. And that's when the idea came: Why not shoot my first documentary and make Nick's music the subject? Granted I have not the time nor means to pull together a full feature production, but 5-8 minutes? Sure! 


Over the course of a few weekends, we made a couple of runs around NYC, and gathered videos and photos of Nick's past. I interviewed his friends and family, grabbed shots of him playing the piano, working in his studio and giving candid commentary. I started to pull together a layer of sense. While in other productions my involvement topped out at producing, acting, directing and editing, this new attempt also included being the director of photography. It wasn't the easiest of tasks, but I found myself loving every minute of it. 


Being that filmmaking is still a hobby for me and is treated as such, reaching the final cut of the production took a bit longer than I would have liked.  But in the end, when I sat back to watch it in full I felt...proud. It wasn't so much that I had achieved at bringing the thing together on my own, it was that, while I watched it I felt as if I was learning about Nick for the first time. I was taking it in as if I hadn't been the one to construct it, and that felt somewhat surreal. As much as I've changed, my core need to create lives on and will always finds its way to the surface in an attempt to remind me of who I've always been. 


So without further ado....



If you're a YouTube user, you can also find the video (and other performances) on Nick's YouTube page: http://www.youtube.com/NicholasHowardMusic and you can hear his music on his artist site: www.NicholasHowardMusic.com 

Culture. Schmulture.

I want to be cooler. 


Not in an overall acceptance kind of way. I want to be the kind of person who makes the most of living  in one of the world's most fascinating cities. I've been alive for 29 years and stomped my way through Brooklyn and Staten Island while making a small mark in NYC itself, yet I don't feel like I've fully seen it. And I want to...badly. 


I'm not the best at being a loner, and I don't see that as a fault. I like to share my experiences and small joys with those that will get the same fulfillment from them. Most recently, my friend Jon has attributed to this aspect of my life in ways he may not even be aware of. I think I relinquished my will to his demand after a night of theater and binge drinking months ago, but that's a whole other story...The planning of yesterday's outing started on Monday with the following conversation. 


Jon: What are you doing Wednesday?
Me: Anything you want me to. 
Jon: Galleries. Lots of 'em. 
Me: I'm in. 


Immediately my Google calendar began buzzing with invites that began at 10am Wednesday morning and extended through the afternoon. A little overzealous? Maybe. But I held no doubt that the day would prove rewarding. 


I arrived in SoHo a bit after 10am. The weather definitely felt of Christmas but it was pleasant enough to not have to build my clothing into layers of puff. I wore my sunglasses, Boho hat, and blended into the crowd. When I can walk around on Spring and W Broadway, easily stop in at any store and buy items without a second thought, that's when I'll know I've made it, financially speaking, in life... Until then I'll stick with the sale racks.


When I found myself in front of what would have been our first stop, I saw Jon was not there. A cell phone ring later, we were chatting and I was told he was still on his way. 


Me: You realize you're totally going against the gay stereotype with your lack of punctuality, right?
Jon: Go f**k yourself.


I *heart* him. 


I later sent him this photo from an Anthropolgie dressing room and told him he owed me $185 and would have to carry my shopping bags all day. 

Forty-five minutes later I'm drinking an Americano coffee in a cafe called Ground Stop. It's the kind of place where everyone looks like they just walked out of a European sample sale and are adorned with non-prescription glasses. I sip my brew and wait for Jon who arrives with his signature smile. He doesn't want coffee, he wants art, so we make our way out of bourgeoisville and across the street to our first stop... which turns out to be closed down.


Well then. A walking journey takes us to the SoHo Photo Gallery...which doesn't open for several hours.   


Me: If you wanted me to start preparing for the marathon with you, you could have just said so. No need for the elaborate "we're going on a gallery walk" cover story. 
Jon: They were open...in my mind. 


We jumped the E train and walked toward the Hudson River on 23rd street. Between loading docks and nightclubs we came to a building filled with various galleries. One floor introduced us to a set of artwork that was on the market for $10,000. I kept my hands in my pockets and made sure not to allow my inner klutz near anything in the room. 
  
  

As we made our way uptown, we found more hidden gems and popped into several more galleries. We saw photos that amazed us and artwork that elicited the following responses:
Jon: I feel like I'm camping with hillbillies. 
Me: I think my 6 year old goddaughter could have done a better job.
It's all about interpretation. 


Amongst a slew of warehouses and cobble-stoned streets we found a chain of galleries, where we stopped in on a Jeff Bailey exhibit and came across a 1950s photo of our friend Billy Yoder's long lost relative. (It's not, but sure as heck looks like him!)









It was closing in on 1pm and our stomachs were starting to grumble, but before heading to the Upper East side we returned to the SoHo Photo gallery. There we found a pleasant gallery manager, an amazing experiment with color by a photographer named Rick Sammon, and the coolest bathroom I've ever tinkled in. 




Afterward, I had an official food headache so we ended the gallery portion of our day and jumped the train to Taco Taco, a (clearly) Mexican restaurant on 2nd avenue between 89th and 90th streets. 


Me: Is the food good?
Jon: I don't know. I only know they have fantastic Horchata.
Me: (perplexed) You mean they play Vampire Weekend songs on rotation.
Jon: (deep breath) No. Horchata, the drink.
Me: It's real??
Jon: (pats my hand) Realer than Santa Claus. 


We take a seat by the window, because that's the scenic thing to do and not because we thought it through and realized how cold we'd end up. Jon orders us Horchatas and when the milk-shake-like-thing-topped-with-cinnamon arrives I take a sip, then ten and soon enough my drink is gone. Obviously, I hated it. 

I ordered steak fajitas, Jon orders something a friend recommended. We eat like starved artists and Jon, after wiping his mouth delicately with a single napkin, proclaims, "This is amazing." I, after using not one but three napkins at once and still chewing on steak say, "Hell yes."   


Itis sets in and I'm mapping out my plan to return home. Jon begins one of his speeches. 
Jon: You have a demanding profession.
Me: This is true.
Jon: You're on holiday.
Me: I'm amazed by your power of observation.
Jon: There's no way in hell I'm letting you go home at 3pm. 
Me: But I'm tired.
Jon: Drink a damn Redbull, Lauren. You're 29. What would you do at home?
Me: Sleep. 
Jon: In other words, be a loser.
Me: Not sure I would have put it that way but-
Jon: I won't let you do this! 


My willpower is sitting on the plate in front of him. 


Me: Fine. What do we do?


Jon whips out his Blackberry as I tuck my now dead Droid into my purse. Little Fockers is playing just a few streets away and will help us kill a few hours before the Beatz & Brands showcase. If I'm going in, I'm making it worth it. 


The sun is starting to set as we walk toward 86th street. I'm distracted by wondering if we're walking in the right direction. In doing so I miss the sight of a unicycler almost running me over. I turn to Jon who is looking at me dumbfounded.


Me: What?
Jon: Don't tell me you did not see that.
Me: What?
Jon: Lauren a unicycle almost ran you over just now. 
Me: What? Where? 
Jon: You know those leashes they put children on? I'm buying one for you. Walk!


We make it to the theater with enough time to grab center seats. A guy behind me kicks my chair. A couple in front of me decides to take an abnormally long time to sit down. Then they giggle and talk. 


Jon: (waving his hat at them) You two! (to me) Shit, I thought we were obnoxious. 


We're lost in the funniness of Ben Stiller and Robert De Niro for a few hours before gathering our belongings and jumping the train once more to Bowery. As we resurface I see a familiar face walking ahead of us. Al, my brother from another mama, is headed to the same event. He falls into step with us as we're carded at the entrance. 


Me: There's liquor here?
Al: Open bar by Belvedere. 
Me: Well color me drunk!


Vodka and soda in hand, I work my way around the space checking out fashions by MadeMe and jewelry by Endless Noise NYC. Beautiful stuff. Catch up conversations with Kathy Iandoli and Nicole of Nina Sky. Then returned to my post by Al so we could talk life. A few vodkas later, my doll of a lady friend, Jenny, arrives and shares the news that she's landed a new gig after months of unemployment. If that's not a reason for another vodka, I don't know what is! 

   






By 9:30pm I'm falling apart at the seams. I look at Jon pleadingly. 
Me: Please tell me I've put in my cool time and am allowed to go home now.
Jon: You've done well, grasshopper. We can leave. 


After saying goodbye to our mutual friends we share a cab to Grand Central. Surely I rambled on about something that I'm not sure I remember and then we are suddenly at the end of our journey. 


Jon: Listen hot mess, make sure you get home safe and text me. 
Me: Same. 
Jon: Next week, Amy Winehouse and George Michael are storming Frenchtown. 
Me: Which one of us is Amy Winehouse?
Jon: (stares at me.) 
Me: Fine. But I'm not sporting a beehive unless you grow some facial hair. 


We hug. We part. 


I jump my train and start writing this blog. 


Life...

..... is Good. 

Flash. Music. Legend.

A flashy website has debuted for music legend Jay-Z. Check out my opinion on this Huffington Post blog:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lauren-j-rivera/jayzs-social-media-experi_b_783614.html