A tale of multiple pregnancies

So in continuing the tradition of surprising people who never thought I would get married, I'm now 26 weeks pregnant, totally baffling people if I hadn't already.

"I cannot believe my best friend is pregnant, I never thought this day would come," is one of the first things my friend of twenty-five years said to me moments after hearing the news. In the list of things people thought were impossible, world peace was first and me making a conscious effort to produce another human was ranked second. While I've always been considered the mother hen of my friends, making sure everyone is okay and accounted for on trips to other countries and late nights that led to White Castle binging, I wasn't the one aching to be a mother. It's not that I haven't possessed a maternal instinct, it's more like no one planned on me purposefully enforcing it.

But, in the summer of 2015, after the life-changing experience of losing my own mother, the need to do something meaningful in my life, something beyond my career or personal goals (like learning how to perfectly roast a chicken), overwhelmed me. Creatively I was stunted. The memoir I'd thought I'd be able to write about the relationship I had with my mother wasn't flowing out of me the way I had expected it would. I wasn't ready. And while I was very busy gathering ideas to design everything from the floors to the roof of the home we'd purchased in New Jersey, I still felt empty.

I remember walking around the house, in and out of rooms that had been stripped down to the studs and thinking,  It would be ridiculous to waste all this space on just us. We should have kids. 

It's not that my husband and I had never discussed it, it was just that we spoke about it in the way you talk about wanting to visit Thailand one day, but never actually open your date book to figure out how you're going to fit that kind of epic trip into your schedule. But now, I wanted to nail the trip down. I wanted to be a mom.

My husband was immediately on board, and so, off birth control I went! I feel like there should be a parade for such events. I mean, I had spent the last fifteen years following a strict regiment of pill-taking only to stop it completely and throw caution to the wind. It felt momentous.

Within two months, I was pregnant. I wasn't deeply surprised because I never thought it would be hard. I pretty much assumed I was this fertile being who'd been suppressed for years and was now given the opportunity to blossom and deliver multiple humans into society. I was wrong.

About the eight week into my pregnancy, we visited my OBGYN for the first time. An initial urine sample was enough to make my doctor hug and congratulate me as we walked into the exam room. There was an excitement my husband and I shared as we waited to see the visual evidence of our little baby to be. The doctor situated herself, positioned the monitor so we could both see what was going on inside my lady parts, and got to work with the ultrasound wand.

"There's the gestational sac," she said, pointing to a little bubble in a sea of black.

And then she went silent, working the wand with gusto. Almost immediately my heart dropped. I could tell she was looking for something that she wasn't seeing.

"Are you sure your dates are correct? Because if they aren't, if you're here earlier than you should be, this is fine. But if you're dates are right..."

"There's no way I'm wrong."

She put the wand aside and looked at us, her whole demeanor changed. "Then what's happened is a blighted ovum, a miscarriage will follow." She looked at us sadly and explained what this all meant. The short version - the egg had been fertilized, but the embryo had never developed. So while I was showing up pregnant on any test I took, the truth was, I was not. She assured me of the "good" news: "At least you know you can get pregnant. And odds are a blighted ovum will not happen again." Oh, joy. 

Let me quickly summarize the hellish few weeks that followed as to not lose you before this story gets better... I did a lot of Googling (this is never a good thing, especially when health-related) and read story upon story from women who had gone through this and who had to wait weeks, even months before their body naturally miscarried the damaged egg. Do you know the kind of mind f*ck that is? Your body has failed you, and now it's just going to kick back and drag this situation out for an indefinite amount of time when all you want to do is forget it happened and get back on track.

My doctor gave me a few options. The first was to use pills that would force a miscarriage. That was a very fun experience, especially the part where I felt the equivalent of contractions throughout an entire night only to wake up and find out the pills hadn't fully worked. The next option was to try the pills again (no thanks!) or have an aspiration abortion where basically all the stuff that won't come out gets sucked out with a vacuum. Another option that sounded like a wonderful way to spend a day! But it was either that or fall into a lovely depression while I waited for my body to stop being an asshole. I chose the former. And let's just say, that wasn't a walk in the park either. I had a panic attack in the middle of the procedure and thought I was dying. So there's that.

With the whole ordeal finally behind me, we waited a few weeks for my insides to heal before trying again. I wasn't too discouraged when I got my period a month later. My body was still in transition, I told myself. But one month turned into four, each filled with glamorous periods. We started using ovulation kits which quickly turns baby-making into a chore and leaves you feeling even more defeated when a "perfectly" timed session doesn't lead to a pregnancy.

Finally, in April I missed my period by two days and felt elated. It was the week of our second wedding anniversary and if I was in fact pregnant, the baby's due date would be Christmas day. How perfect was that! I tested positive and when I told my husband the news he was ecstatic. Finally, we could move on!

Except we couldn't.

A few days later my period hit, along with an emotional breakdown that left me crying in bed for about five straight hours. What was wrong with my body? How could this be? I called my new OBGYN, whom I had not yet met in person, and begged her for an answer. She told me the events I'd described to her sounded like a chemical abortion - a situation where your body terminates the pregnancy so quickly you wouldn't have even known you were pregnant had you not tested so early. She gave me a new rule of thumb: don't test until TEN days after a missed period. Ten days?! That's like asking me to ignore a delectable cake sitting on my kitchen counter, tempting me with its sweet scent. And when I did meet her in person, she ran tests which only showed there was nothing wrong with me. I was in prime baby-making health, despite being on the verge of thirty-five. It just wasn't the "right time".

What followed in the next few months was more trying and failing. Sure, it wasn't really failing, per se, but when you're in our shoes, there's no other way to feel. It didn't help that people who didn't know our situation liked to say things like, "My kid needs a playmate, when are you guys going to get the ball rolling?" or "You've been married more than two years, isn't it time to start a family?" Granted, I heard this mostly from people who never had issues having children. So here's where I'd like to insert a PSA: HOW ABOUT YOU DON'T SAY THINGS LIKE THIS TO PEOPLE. Never assume you know someone's story despite anything you think you know about them, because more often than not, you're probably wrong. As a side PSA, for those that do learn of a couple's hard time, how about: DON'T JUST SMILE AND TELL THEM 'WHEN YOU STOP TRYING, IT'LL HAPPEN, JUST RELAX.' After I heard that for about the seventeenth time I thought about just wearing a sign that said "F*ck Off", but I do realize the people behind the statements meant well and believed encouragement was the best they could offer. Personally, I'd rather just hear: THAT SUCKS. IF YOU NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT, I'M HERE FOR YOU.

By the time the summer of 2016 rolled around and we were creeping up on a year of unsuccessful attempts, I made a choice: if I wasn't pregnant by the early Fall, I was done. I'd redirect my efforts towards something else and leave this process in the past...Then my mom intervened.

In July, I met with a psychic medium a friend of mine swears by. Aside from channeling my mother and having her talk to me about other pertinent things going on in my life that the psychic could not have known, mom wanted me to know that I would be pregnant before the year was up and that I'd be blessed with a child that was just like me. 

It's not that I left that session with tremendous hope, instead I just left with a validated plan. Let's see if you're right, mom. And that's all there was to it.

September rolled around and I was on the same exact cycle I had been a year earlier when I'd gotten pregnant the first time. I missed my period again just as I had then. Despite my doctor's warnings, I tested the first day instead of the tenth and the test showed a strong double line. Did we smile? Yes. But excitement was no longer something we could feel in the way we had that first time, we'd been robbed of it. Instead, we took some deep breaths and waited it out. On the tenth day, my period still hadn't come and I was well aware that it wouldn't be. Still, I wasn't jumping for joy. I'd made it passed this marker once before as well, only for things to not turn out as I'd hoped.

I called my doctor and, based on my history, she scheduled an immediate visit. I figured it was too early for them to see anything and that only blood tests would be performed, so I didn't bring my husband along. When I walked into the exam room, my doctor brought out the ultrasound machine and I did a double take. Flashbacks hit me like a harsh wave and I felt incredibly uneasy.

"But you won't be able to see anything. It's too soon, no?" I asked. She told me there was a chance we would and to just relax. A few minutes later that familiar black sea was on the monitor and the small gestational sac sat inside of it.

"See this," she pointed at a fluttering white dot, "That's the baby's heartbeat."

I looked at her like she had three heads and so she went on to explain that the baby's development appeared perfectly normal and she wanted me back in a few weeks to check on the progress. If my husband had been there, I would have burst into tears, but without him I held it together, acting like I'd just been told my Wendy's order was ready. "Oh, ok, great."

I left the office in a state of shock and, after snapping out of it, called my husband. In that moment we were both incredibly happy, but the scarring of our year-long experience remained and so we were cautious, not spreading the news or believing in it too fully ourselves. And we remained that way with each week that passed, especially when I spotted and was put on bed rest for a week (why would any of this be easy?), and into my morning sickness and extreme fatigue and every other wonderful thing that comes with a viable pregnancy.

It's crazy to think that was twenty weeks ago, that I'm still pregnant with a healthy baby growing inside of me, and that the little baby is a girl who, when the ultrasound technician caught her posing for the sonogram photos said, "She's quite the ham" to which my husband turned to me and replied, "Just like you."

Just like me. 

Just like my mother said she'd be.

Now, I'm roughly three months away from meeting this little being and while I could spend the next six paragraphs telling you all the ugly  wonderful 😁 truths I learned about what pregnancy does to your body, I'll save that for another blog post. Instead, I'll leave you with this... It wasn't until I started sharing my fertility issues with other women that I began to learn how hard it's been for others. Miscarriages and complications aren't the first stories you hear when it comes to pregnancy, sometimes you don't hear them at all. But they are important. They are a way of helping us understand the struggle of others and that we're not alone when it happens to us.

Ah! I'm almost married!

And there's one thing I've learned that may surprise you: http://everyonesweddingbutmine.wordpress.com/2014/01/15/holycrapitsalmosthere-says-my-brain/

How My Job Saved My Life…Probably

Over the last six months, I've been asked again and again what prompted my twenty-five pound weight loss since 2011.

“Tell me the secret, Lauren!”

“What’s the quick fix?”

“How do you keep it off?”

“Is it a special workout?”

“Is it a pill?”

It’s all of these things, and yet none of them at the same time. But, to better explain, I need to start at the beginning… August 2010.

When I was twenty-eight years old and loving my carb-and-grease-filled-life, I began working on the Dr. Oz show.  Most people start a new job and are inundated with the elements that go along with that job, and yes, I had some of that, but what really overloaded my brain was the sudden injection of knowledge about how I was probably destroying my body from the inside out.

I was learning things about diabetes, heart disease, Alzheimer’s, every cancer known to man, thyroids – you get the gist – and for the life of me I can’t remember having heard any of this during high school or college biology and anatomy. My God, what did I learn in those classes?

And the resounding lesson was clear: suicide isn't the only way to end your life, ignoring your health is a much easier route. I know that’s a dramatic comparison, but that’s how real this revelation was to me. And it took about a year and a half of being with the show for it to really sink in.

I come from a family plagued with stomach cancer, breast cancer, uterine cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, stroke, and God knows what else. As I considered this history and compared it to my new-found insights, I was overwhelmed by a need to rethink the relationship I had with my own body. At the time I treated it like the boy next door whose love I wasn't aware of and maybe took advantage of, and the relationship I really needed to have was one of mutual love and respect.

And that helped me understand something incredibly significant - as someone who’s dealt with body image issues and yo-yoing weight since they were twelve, my goal had always been a vain one: get skinny. And I was suddenly aware that it should have always been bigger: stay alive.

So the first phase began. I started with my diet…by not going on one. I changed the diet I was already on, the “I’m only twenty-nine, I can still eat whatever I want as long as I get on the treadmill once a week” diet. That diet was a huge, monumental lie and it needed to be buried far beneath the deepest sea.

I jumped on the Weight Watchers bandwagon at my office. My mind was blown by how efficient the program was at teaching me just how horrible some of my favorite foods were based on their points value. I remember forfeiting something like eleven points on a milkshake one time and hating myself later when all I had left to eat for the day was vegetables and it was only 1:30pm. And that’s when I thought, this thing must have a lot more fat in it than I thought, and it did. And that same experience started to play out over and over with foods I’d never considered to be detrimental to my health. Foods I’d grown up eating on a daily basis because my mother and others who raised me didn't know any better, like most of our country. So I began minimizing my interaction with them or eliminating them all together. Which lead to the next phase…

What can I eat?  

I circled back to the show and paid closer attention to our go-tos: Greek yogurt, quinoa, whole grains, kale, walnuts… I had an entire shopping list at my disposal for quite some time and had never paid attention to it. I started eating new things, healthy things, things that weren't going to wreak havoc on my arteries or clog my intestines. And the thing that was probably most surprising is that they were actually enjoyable. I’d spent most of my life thinking that reducing carbs and adding more vegetables to my diet was going to be a Fear Factor-like experiment. I really thought it’d be like eating roaches. It wasn't.

So there I am, watching my own show, taking notes on new foods I could try and soon I’m noticing other things, non-food things that I think I should give a shot, because health isn't just what you eat, it’s how you think. Doc (as I've come to call him) really has a thing for meditation and yoga. I used to giggle over this stuff; I just couldn't take it seriously. But when you find yourself on a shoot at a yoga studio and you don’t dare giggle, you start to pay attention and you start to think, “Damn, these people are really calm.” And you start to realize how not calm you are. And next thing I know I’m sitting with twenty of my coworkers, meditating in our conference room or bending in ways I didn't think I could at a yoga class.

It didn't stop there. When your host is the kind of celebrity that actually practices what they preach, and when you spend hours in the presence of that host, you start to really pay attention. I began questioning what nutrients I was missing on a daily basis, what natural supplements I should be taking, what could help me build myself up to combat any crappy illness that might come my way. I ate good things, I followed a supplement regiment and I started to feel good, genuinely good, throughout all of my body. And around this time, almost two years into working with the show, I met someone who took health just as seriously as I did. Which led to one of the most important phases…

Support.

Bless my family for being such loving and wonderful people, they mean well, I know they do, but they can really be crappy eaters. I constantly have to defend myself for plating only a spoon of rice at Sunday dinner instead of half a plate. “Lauren, you've lost enough weight, stop dieting!” I’m not dieting and I've tried explaining this a million times, but people are just set in their ways sometimes. And here’s a tip: you know all those greasy, delicious foods you grew up loving (especially if you come from a Puerto Rican household like mine), when you haven’t had them for months they are still going to taste just as decadent, but there’s a good chance you’ll be sick for a day or two after eating them (firsthand experience). It’s like your body says, “Please don’t go back to eating that. You never noticed it before, but now you see how much I hate it.”

Luckily, there’s my fiancé, Matt, to help balance the scales. I can’t remember at what point in our relationship we learned that we both adhere to the healthiest lifestyle possible, probably after the first few months of dating where all you do is eat awesome food and drink awesome cocktails at awesome restaurants. (See, I still know how to enjoy food and life. Take that, non-believers!) Turns out he ran the NYC marathon, does yoga and tries his best to limit refined foods, but boy does he love cheese. I think he derives from a line of mice. I digress… The point is, I never had to explain myself to Matt, because he felt the same way and he could care less about losing weight, he just wants to live his life without a barrage of health scares waiting for him at every turn. He gets it. Thanks, babe!

So you see… it’s not one thing that helped me lose weight, and yet there is one goal that definitely did: not aiming to lose weight. I just celebrated my thirty-second birthday. My vitals are better than they were in my twenties, and I’m not only thinner, I’m stronger, both inside and out.  I don’t give people advice on how to lose weight, I ask them what means more to them; fitting into a pair of jeans from their thinner days or living until they are a hundred and being in the best shape throughout? Working on this show helped me understand the real difference between those options. And now, you know not just how I did it, but why.

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. 

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.

Photos, Gardens & Friendship

When it comes to female friends, I don't have many. I've always been somewhat of  a tomboy and felt more comfortable around dudes (and what a surprise that I'll be releasing a web series about that in October!) So when I find a girl I genuinely enjoy being around, I latch on like a sea barnacle. 


One of my best female friends is Judie. We met maybe 4 years ago through an online book club than moved our friendship out of cyberspace and into the real world a year later. Since then, she's gotten engaged and made me her maid of honor, and in turn, I force her to listen to stories about every aspect of my life. Even if her ear starts to bleed, the woman continues to hold that receiver to it. A saint I tell ya! 


Judie also happens to be a very talented photographer. She's taken head shots of me in the past, but this time around I didn't want to be just a subject. I wanted to learn about her craft which is so much more than point and shoot.  There's lighting and focusing and knowing what the hell is worth aiming your lens at. In an effort to   silence my whining, she agreed to spend the day with me at the Botanical Gardens this past Saturday. 

Considering the temperature has been rather cool in NY lately, we figured it would remain the same as we made our way toward the garden. Alas! Summer returned on that fateful day! And ironically, only for that day as the weather quickly returned to brisk 24 hours later. Despite the ample amount of perspiration that found its way to our foreheads, we both posed for each other and came home with an array of portraits and pretty memories. Check them out by clicking on the albums:







My Photos

Judie's photos of me
Judie actually added some cool photoshop effects to some of the photos which I'm sure she'll end up posting on her blog some time soon. 
After spending several hours looping around the beautiful landscape that is the garden, we took our tired butts back to her neighborhood to have some helado (yum!) and say hi to Juan before I had to bounce off to my next destination. It had been quiet an experience not just because of the beauty we were able to capture, but because of the time I was able to spend with a friend who shares more than just my biology make up. She gets me and accepts me for who I am. Love you lady! 

Make sure to watch the video in 720p - clarity on Judie's camera amazes me. 

The Difference Between Alone and Lonely

I'm a walking contradiction when it comes to being a loner...because I'm really not one.


I enjoy being solo, but only within the confines of my own home. The minute I step outside I feel the immediate need to be accompanied by someone, regardless of my destination. I'm not sure of the cause, and I'm not going to bore you with some self-analytical babble. It's just who I am. Or who I was...


Thanks to various changes in the last three months of my life, I found myself alone at the beginning of Labor Day weekend. The weather was gorgeous. Birds sang for me to join them outdoors. And a laundry list of fresh herbs I needed to purchase brought my attention to Chinatown. A trip into the city was a simple answer. The only issue was getting over the shock that I couldn't remember when was the last time I had ventured to do so on my own. It was slightly unbelievable to acknowledge the fact that I'd only ever hung out in downtown NY when in the presence of friends, family or a significant other. But, that says a lot about who I used to be. 


I set out on an 1130am Metro North train to Grand Central where I then subway hopped my way to Prince Street. When I climbed out of the depths of smelly metal, I was met by a flood of tourists. After making my way through the crowds to Spring Street, I unsuccessfully attempted to talk down a woman trying to sell me a straw fedora for $15. After crossing the street I came in contact with a similar hat whose owner had no problem letting it go for $10. I contemplated walking back passed the original vendor, new hat sitting nicely on my head, but then forfeited my spite after seeing a sign for Uniq Lo (clothing store.) A pair of $30 jeans fit me perfectly except for the fact that the pant legs fell way past my toes. Either I'm shrinking, or every store now only stocks pants for people of runway model height. How happy was I to find out the store alters pants and jeans for free! Some small part of me wanted to believe this was my little treasure, that I wouldn't have learned about it had I not been wandering on my own. 


After my purchase I remembered the Chinatown mission I had yet to complete. I crossed over to Mott street and headed South. Popping into several stores, I tried my best to pronounce the list of herbs my acupuncturist had told me to ask for. I was either met with blank stares, American accents or variations of what I was actually looking for. Although I didn't find the exact ingredients, I was enthralled by the natural medicines and smells of various herbs and tea leaves. Making a mental checklist, I added Asia as part of my future world travels then headed to Italy (aka Mulberry Street.) There I grabbed a seat at a sidewalk table and devoured a slice of pizza while watching passersby choose what restaurants they wanted to settle in. I was surrounded by noise and conversation, but at my own table I sat in silence. A weird sense of satisfaction overcame me. If I could have sat there for several hours, I would have. On a date with myself. 


En route to visiting my mother, the last stop of this trip, I climbed the Staten Island Ferry, something I hadn't done in quite some time. It had been so long, actually, that I came close to feeling like a tourist and buying a hot dog. Like a four alarm fire, my digestive system (and overall health) screamed "No!" and so I sat and took photos with my phone instead. 


At the end of my day these photos were my bounty. And as a result, I was left thinking this whole being alone thing is given such a bad rap. It's not being alone. It's just being comfortable with yourself. 

                                                          (RetroCam app rocks! Android)

Risk

I’ve spent nearly 28 years of my life playing it safe. A stable lifestyle with occasional spurts of passion. Sure, it wasn’t at all a bad way to live, but with every waking moment there was a truth I had a hard time acknowledging: this wasn’t me. I was living this life because I was told it was what I should do. It was where I should stay to secure my future. But what’s the point of securing a future if you’re not living in the moment?


Enter risk; the arch-nemesis I didn’t know I’d been battling. Risk in the flesh was a way of life so unlike the one I’ve been living it wasn’t even something I was aware of until 2007. It was then that I met someone whose belief in me and support of me brought me to realize that I may possess a thing called talent. A talent that could be fostered into a, dare I say it, career.


When this light bulb flickered I came to see there were people in this world who didn’t work simply as a means of income, but as an outlet for some unique talent. I wanted to join this group of elites, but I knew there was a price to pay. Dedication. Hard work. Sacrifice... And I was ok with that. I’d spent the last 3 years of my life dedicating Spring and Summer weekends to producing my web series and shorts while dealing with a 9-6 job during the week. All the while I was constantly asked, “Why do you spend your free time doing this if you’re not getting paid?” I’ll admit, there were times I wasn’t so sure myself. But, when my Sony commercial made its rounds, the desire to make my passion my profession was overwhelming…and the thought of making the jump was scary as hell.


A talk with my mentor brought me down from the fence I’d been straddling and landed me on the side of change. “Production is where your heart is. If you don’t take this chance now it may be too difficult for you to do so later on,” she told me. I knew she was right, so when I got the call to interview for an associate field producer position on an Emmy award winning daytime TV show I went for it…and landed it.


Being the crew had already been back from hiatus for a few weeks, they needed me asap. The 2 weeks that followed my acceptance of the offer were some of the most hectic I’ve ever lived. It wasn’t just the transition, I was dealing with serious personal issues, family issues, the loss of 2 years worth of editing (thank you guy who stole my harddrive!), a wrecked bathroom (thank you upstairs neighbor!), and an annoying physical reaction to all the stress (hello hives!) So believe me, I understand that when it rains, it tsunamis. And following with another cliche, I’ll add that what didn’t kill me did make me stronger and ready for the insanity I would experience once I started my new position.


Today, with a full week of being an AP under my belt, I can say that I have no regrets. I’ve already experienced a few things like...my first 14 hour day... the uncertainty of not knowing when I’ll be able to wrap up and go home...wondering if I'll be called on a field shoot in the middle of my cousin's bday party...the delicious tasting food of a celebrity chef...the feeling that I’m very much needed for the skills I possess...the adrenaline rush caused by last minute chaos. And through it all, something deep down tells me I was born for this.


For the first time in my professional life I feel I’ve landed not on a job, but a career. I have to do what I love on purpose. It’s both daunting and enthralling, but now that I’m here, I can’t imagine living life any other way.

The Reunion - Part 4 (Finale)

I'm not sure it's ever taken me this long to write a story about a 5 day vacation. Let's just say my life has been flipped upside down over the last few weeks leaving me with a depleted amount of creative super powers. However, I don't enjoy unfinished storytelling. So, without further adieu, the conclusion...

Saturday morning, after maybe 4 or 5 hours of sleep we awoke unable to continue slumbering about nor able to get out of bed. It wasn't actually a hangover, it was dehydration mixed with complete laziness. Around 2pm we finally got moving and gathered the outfits we were wearing to Pablo's wedding. Contrary to how this seems, Adonis, Bru and I did not coordinate these colors prior to the trip.

Collective fashionable minds. Purple, and its many shades, is just a hot color.

I dedicated a blog entry regarding Pablo's wedding on my other site Everyone's Wedding But Mine. Check the site for the full details of our time spent within the boundaries of El Conquistador Hotel and Resort.

In the end, we unanimously agreed that it had been one of the very best weddings we'd ever attended.We thought about continuing the evening at Drums but by the time we reached our hotel rooms, we wanted nothing more than sleep. Sunday would be our last full day on the island and we hoped to make the most of it.

We awoke fully refreshed and in the mood for some local interaction. After visiting Mi Casita and filling our bellies with yummy omelets, we dropped by Charlie Car Rental to grab a vehicle for the day before heading to Carolina's public beach. Although it is not far from the tourist area of Isla Verde, this beach is clearly of a different nature. Large families camp out across the sand with grills, coolers and BBQ pits. The smell of fried food and the sounds of salsa fill the air. Little kids run a muck, somersaulting across the waves and shouting games of hide and seek in the currents. There is a ton of laughter and an overall sense of fun. We soaked it up, hoping that on this last full day of our vacation, we might somehow bring it back with us to NY.

With the sun dipping in and out of clouds that produced rain sprinkles while also allowing through sunshine, we laid about for an hour or two before moving on to the next portion of our day trip. Knowing a bit about this North East section of the island, I guided the boys to an area called Los Pinones . As we drove through the slow moving traffic, our mouths watered at the sight of several road side shacks boasting foods like bacalaítos (cod fish), pastelitos and pollo frito (fried chicken.) We made a pit stop for some wood crafted souvenirs before landing at a shack that smelled the most oily...which means that it would have the most delicious tasting food. We were not let down.



The more I write the more I'm amazed that we didn't all gain 10 pounds on this trip. Ironically, I came home two pounds lighter. Maybe the oil helped wash the fat off my fat?

Later in the evening we found our way to Old San Juan, one of Puerto Rico's premiere historical sites. Regardless of the fact that I've visited this area many times over the years, the effect of its colonial beauty is never lost on me.

Pretty isn't it? So full of history. And what better way to celebrate history (and Spain winning the World Cup) than by downing a few beers from a microbrewery?!

After eating once more (I believe the place was called Mojito- right??) the rain began to fall yet again and so we loaded ourselves back into our rental car and joined Dex and Stephanie at the El San Juan Hotel lobby.

There are nights where the lobby is quite the party, filled with the sounds of a live salsa band. This wasn't one of those nights. Old timer jazz and the kind of people that listen to such things (read: aged) filled the lobby and so we left to pursue a younger crowd back at Drums. One problem: it was Sunday. The club walls were filled with us, a band lead by the craziest, gyrating-centric, singer we've ever seen perform and his random followers, which equaled about ten bodies. We stuck around for a bit simply because the man was entertaining in a "this is so crazy I can't look away" type of manner. However, after the long day of sunning, walking and eating, our sleepiness got the best of us and we called it a night rather early, retreating very sadly down the road to our hotel one last time.

Monday's morning rays crept through our blinds in a taunting way. From the moment we all awoke you could sense the mood change. The three of us hardly spoke unless necessary, an overall emotional dampness filled the room. The boys went to return the rental car while I grabbed some last moments of sun on the beach. When they returned, I joined them upstairs where we packed our belongings and rattled our suitcases down to the La Playita restaurant for our last meal. Adonis and I chose cheddar cheeseburgers while Bru had his last mofongo. I checked his skin color. It was surprisingly red for someone who should be banana yellow by now. And how could we leave without a last taste of our favorite desserts?

Before the cab came to drive us away from our weekend paradise we snapped one last photo in our "backyard."

At the airport we were pretty quiet until the Gonzalez clan joined us. It's hard to stay quiet around that funny and happy family. While the boys gawked at some lovely ladies boarding our flight, I looked out at the airport and the palm trees beyond. I sighed so loud several people turned to look at me... or maybe they were looking at the model-like woman behind me. Ehh.

We found our seats, prepared for the three hour flight ahead of us and I pulled out my laptop. I began this blog... but not before snapping yet another photo of Bru falling asleep with his mouth open.

And then I turned to my window and caught the last glimpse of our beautiful island before it was nothing more than a speck at the far corner of the plane's wing.

As I said a silent goodbye, I thought about the four years that had passed since my last visit. I thought about all I'd been through since then, about all that has changed. I thought it was ironic that I was returning home to change. Big changes. I took a deep breath.

I got through them once before.

I could do it again. 

Extras.Dolly.Finale Pt 3

6:15pm- Dolly track is being constructed. My extras, consisting of some Work Jerks and some actual coworkers, lounge in the conference room. They’ve shown up for me and I’m very appreciative.
6:45pm- To hell with the dolly track!
7:15pm- I play host to the extras while their scene is being set up. Who’s up for a game of numbers?
7:25pm- They are over the numbers game.
7:45pm- Tom takes over the extras. Begins placing them around the office.
8:05pm- Extras scene begins. A lot of “Action so-and-so!” “Action so-and-so!” Being shouted. They walk. It’s a cut and wrap. They are awesome.
9:00pm- Extras part. I hug my friends and wave good bye. My night is nowhere near over.
9:30pm- Food break! My brain is telling me there’s something up with the food, my stomach is saying “to hell with it! Eat!” So I eat (and have a stomach bug the next day, but that’s another story.)
10:00pm- My stomach is starting to hurt but I try my best not to show it. A real actress hides pain, and I’m trying to be one so…
10:30pm- Camera is aimed at my computer. I’m trying to type but I can’t get a line across the screen without having to backtrack. Someone from the crew gives it a try…and fails as well. Jesse steps up; self-proclaimed typing hero. And fails. We laugh. Then he tries very slowly and makes it. We cheer.
11:45pm- This is still fun but my bed is winning the war of “places I’d love to be right now.”
12:30am- I’ve started napping between scenes. I feel a soft snap of light. Ah! Someone took a picture of me.
1:10am- Wonder if dying would be easier than staying awake. (I’ve become melodramatic, signs of a true actress!)
1:15am- Last scene begins. Although I’m clearly exhausted between scenes, I wake up for takes and I’m praised for my determination. I’m coaxed with words like “We’re almost done!”
1:25am- And then we are done.
1:45am- We all gather our belongings and head out of the building.
1:47am- I hug everyone. They are no longer strangers. They are my battle buddies. Majority have never been on such a long shoot before. Although I cannot wait to see my bed, I am sad to part with them.
2:25am- I am in a car headed home. It’s snowing. Badly. Of all nights. I just want to be home!
2:45am- I’m in bed. Almost 24 hours from the last time I felt my pillow against my head. This may have been the longest day of my life but it was also one of the most amazing. It has renewed the feeling that always lies in the pit of my stomach but that I often ignore. I shouldn’t be scared of this, because as hard as it is for me to admit, it’s what I’m meant to do.


Sidebar- the final cut of the video will be released in early January. I will be posting it then.

Madison Ave.Lights.Cameras -Part 2

December 08. We pick up right after 12:30pm when my director (Dan Beers) tells me I'm supposed to wear the doggycam in front of my work building on Madison Avenue, amidst lunch time traffic...

12:45pm- Standing in front of building with crew. People are already starting to look. You ready Lauren? I nod and lift my arms. Wiggle into the harness and smile expectantly. There's no method to my acting. I just "do."
12:55pm- We've moved across the street. Time to walk. Down a city block and around a corner. Some people stop and look, but the best part? The people that don't.
1:15pm- We stop on a corner and Dan (DP, not director) has an idea. He wants a 360 shot. I'm down for anything at this point. He clears the way and I spin a circle 5 feet wide thanks to the suspended cam. Fun.
1:25pm- Harness comes off for the last time. Phew! Done with the weird stares.
1:26pm- Find out what the next scene is. No, not done after all.
1:30pm- Adam, an older man costumed as a homeless person, makes his fake setup on the sidewalk. He's totally into his character. Asking for money from strangers. Dan sets up me. "Don't react to Adam no matter what he does," he tells me. Sure, no problem. 
1:31pm- Action! I start to walk past Adam. As soon as I pass he jumps up and starts screaming maniacally. I keep walking as if I've heard nothing. Dan's pleased. People in the street? Not so much. I think a child is crying somewhere. 
1:45pm- I receive a text from my coworker who is about 20 stories above me. "We can hear him screaming up here." I'm laughing but wondering at what point are we getting arrested for this? 
2:15pm- We don't get arrested. We're on to the next site. 
2:45pm- The two Dans and I make a quick run into Union Square station. Quick up and downs on the stairs. Starting to think this is a candid boot camp. 
2:55pm- At the Moxie office. Mike and Danny are setting up the elevator for the next scene. I take a break on the couches with Susie, Kris and Christian. We all look pretty tired already. Oh right, we've been doing this for nearly 8 hours. 
3:10pm- Elevator is ready, as is my costar in this scene. A guy named Larry. Won't give away too much by telling you how Larry was costumed. Just know that even the non-costumed version of Larry was...creepy. 
3:15pm- Light effects in the elevator. Larry is staring at me. Light effects stop. Larry is still staring at me...and asking me if I want to be in his off (way off) Broadway show (aka the subway theater.) I smile awkwardly then look pleadingly at Dan. Help!
4:00pm-Crew heads back to midtown. Two Dans, Christian, Jesse and I hit the 6 train.
4:30pm-NYC rule: no cameras on the subway. Rule? What rule? Dan takes out the cam.
4:45pm-Jesse's wearing his mask again. Most people ignore him. Except a child. Who's completely terrified.
5:15pm-By now we've swapped seats at least 5 times and we've hit 86th street.
5:35pm-Train reaches 59th street. Motion. Slow motion. Sleep motion. *Snap* oh we're here!
5:45pm-Hoof it to my office. Jokes are had. I don't know how we have energy to laugh.
5:50pm-Christian asks Dan how many shots we still have to shoot. "Something like 30." Well then, maybe I should have packed my sleeping bag.

To be continued...

 

Dan.Crew.Me - Part I

The main portion of the contest I won and spoke of in recent posts was a full day dedicated to the film shoot revolving around my essay. The chosen production company was Moxie Pictures and the director, Dan Beers. Dan, who usually directs and writes comedy created this hilarious short starring Bill Murray back in 2007.

Bill Murray in FCU: Fact Checkers Unit from Bill Murray

I didn't need to see the short ahead of time to know that Dan was super talented and shared my sense of humor. The irony, however, was that the short he envisioned for me was not a comedy. And therein lies the blank canvas that blanketed the beginning of this project. Something new for Dan. Something new for me.

It took place on December 8th. And this is how it went down...

6:00am- Alarm. The idea of getting up this early was appealing, until I actually had to do it.
6:45am- Lay on couch. Thinking I can nap just a few- buzzzzzzz! What?! It's 7 already?
7:00am- Crew arrives. Eight people make their way through my door. Steve (producer) snaps us into attention. "Make-up, asap!" He's authoritative and sounds familiar. Oh yeah, like me! Duh. Susie Sobol gets to work on my face. It may be early, but this is becoming fun again.
7:20am- Hair. Susie's finishing up my locks while Dan snaps pics for me. He's an earthy director. Has no problem taking my picture, and then promptly making fun of me.
7:25am- Kris (production designer/wardrobe) helps me sort through my wardrobe. It's cold out but a dress would look cute I say. So much for warmth.
7:30am- Three Dans and a Mike meet me in the hallway. Steve reminds us to keep library voices. Dan directs me to walk. Easy enough.
7:40am- I’m introduced to the “doggycam” also known as a “me” cam. It’s a large contraption. I’m scared. I’m told Will Smith wore this very piece. Well in that case, strap me in! I bend and twist. Oh, I think to myself as the camera points right at my face, this is…odd.
7:45am- Lauren, smile. Oh wait, never mind. Keep with the sour puss, it's more believable for morning.
8:00am- Christian snaps pics of me in the awkward contraption. Facebook! Susie I’m sweating, help! She rushes over with make-up brushes. Dan fans me. Someone feed me grapes, now! Kidding.
8:15am- All nine of us slip downstairs, hoping not to draw attention. Bump into my super in the lobby. Doh! It’s a student film… with a director that was hired. And a fully paid crew. And. Ok, yeah, it’s not a student film.
8:30am- Pile into the rented van. Susie meets me in front seat and starts touching me up while Tom asks me how to get to Lincoln. I direct as lipstick is applied.
8:35am- Dan makes my stomach hurt. Because he keeps making me laugh, not because he sucker punched me.
9:00am- Arrive in the Bronx. 241st train station. Renegade filming. Well, this should be fun!
9:15am- Down the block, Dan yells "action!" I notice. And so does everyone else on the block.
9:17am- Between takes people stop to ask me who I am and what movie I’m filming. I just smile…and run away.
9:20am- Christian buys me water and tells me to find him if I want anything to eat or drink. It’s on production’s tab. Awesome, I’ll take lobster. Oh wait. I don’t eat fish.
9:25am- There are a lot of cops around because a woman was shot in the area the morning before. Lovely.
9:45am- Up on the platform. Jesse is to my right, wearing a mask. Dan and Dan are across the platform shouting directions between trains passing. Lauren, look left. Jesse stay there behind her. Good now---skrreeeeeccchhhhhhhhhhhhh.
10:15am- Walking to the van a passerby shouts “Ducksauce!” at me. Is that a movie? A come on line? An indigenous language from Siberia? I have no idea what he meant but we’re all laughing.
10:30am- Heading to the city. Laughing.
11:15am- Stuck in cross-town traffic. Not laughing.
11:30am- Steve jumps out of the van and makes a run for it. Tries to intercept the food delivery that is happening two blocks ahead of us, which we’re about to be late for.
11:31am- Steve makes it. Food doesn’t.
12:00pm- We’re spread out in the atrium. Food has arrived and I’m talking to Jesse and Susie about the IRS and their shenanigans.
12:30pm- Dan tells me it’s time to jump into the doggycam again. I stop eating. Here? On Madison Avenue? During lunch??? Yes.
Gulp.

To be continued…

California Dreamin' - Finale

Sunday (11/8)

Our last full day on the California coast. Decide to take another road trip. This time we head north to Santa Barbara. 405 to the 101 and within the next hour we are driving along the coast. The mountains take up most of our Eastern view. They rise and fall like a kiddie coaster. We exit and head towards State Street. The buildings have a Spanish feel to them. Even the movie theater blends in; unlike East coast movie theaters that stand alone like stadiums. We eat, and walk, sometimes through clouds of weed smoke. Did you know nearly anyone can legally obtain pot in California as long as your doctor gives you a medical needs card? I know, to us East Coasters it sounds as real as Monopoly money, but in California it’s legit. Blew my mind. We visit the Mission; a large Franciscan church founded in 1786. Creepy and amazing to walk through such an old piece of architecture. We rush because it’s nearly 230pm and we have one last place to visit: The Circle Bar B Ranch.

Like every other little girl in all of America, I grew up loving horses. I’m not sure why, I mean, I grew up in Brooklyn where you only see horses with police on their backs during parades. Must have been something that was whispered into my ear when I was a newborn. Anyway. I’ve rode horses several times in my life, was even thrown off one once. But what honestly brought me to the ranch was the fact that it was listed as one of the top ten things to do while in the Santa Barbara area. Simple as that. Jaime agreed because he loves me. And because he doesn’t pay attention to my itineraries. In this scenario, the latter was clearly the case. As we pulled up he asked me, “So this is a spa thing right?” Obviously, when we moseyed on up to the group of cowboys and a line of stables he did a double take. I explained to one of the horse handlers that I’m a somewhat experienced rider. Jaime offered up that he had ridden a horse once. Slowly. No surprise then that my horse was a young stallion named Rocket and Jaime’s was a gargantuan mare named Dolly. Our leader, and full blown cowboy, was named Clay and, by the lucky of the horses, we were going on a solo ride (in other words they were nice enough to separate us from the family with three whiny kids.) For the next hour we were led through the mountains with Clay telling stories about where he was from (Iowa?) and asking me about Brooklyn because his brother manages a bar there (of course!) And Jaime? Well, think about the combination here: slow horse and a guy who wouldn’t disturb a fly even if it were buzzing around his head shamelessly. Clay had shown us how to kick the horses in a way that conveyed the need for speed. Jaime would give small kicks and then, when our leader would turn away, he’d lean forward (the sweet man he is) and try to convince the horse to move faster by pleading to her. Needless to say, when my horse decided to leap over a small creek (just because) Jaime missed it because he was 100 feet behind. Regardless, we all caught up at the crest of a mountain where Clay parked our horses and told us to chill out. Breathtaking isn’t strong enough of a word to portray just what it was we saw. Green mountains rose and fell, the sun was beginning to blaze pink, and the ocean was just beyond the farthest crest. I didn’t want to leave. But we were warned the cold would come as the sun set further. Picture opp! And then we were off, back down the mountain. I recognized the final trail as we approached it and frowned knowing the end of the ride was around the corner. *Sigh?* A nature girl? Me? Who woulda thunk it? (Especially after that camping debacle. Shiver.) We were helped off our horses and became immediately aware of how much sitting in that position for an hour and a half was going to hurt in just a few hours. Again, totally worth it.

One last stop to make on this trip. We wanted to get together with Jaime’s friend Mitch, who now resides in San Diego. No, no, no. We didn’t drive down to San Diego. I’m not that crazy. We just drove to Anaheim. I was told this was about 30 minutes South of Santa Monica. What’s 30 minutes more? I said. Then I saw the red lights. The break lights. The traffic lights. And then I realized it was 30 minutes without traffic. And, considering there is rarely NOT traffic around LA, this time assumption was completely false. So we sat in traffic for over an hour instead. I thought I might die. Until we finally reached a random mini-mall in Anaheim where we met Mitch for BBQ. Food. Stress reliever. What traffic? We munched on ribs as Mitch told us about his gig as a high school teacher. An hour later we were laughed out with our bellies full. We promised to visit San Diego on our next West coast trip. I guess that’s when we first realized we’d want to return sooner than later. This trip had not rid us of the bug to discover what else this state had to offer. Before we could even give that more thought, we had to head out. Lucky for us, our return trip happened outside of rush hour so it really did only take us about 30 minutes to reach our hotel. Ah, sleep. I dreamt of horses and Dolly Parton. Weird.

Monday (11/9)

Up before the alarm clock. Gather. Pack. Go. Stop at IHop. Eat my usual breakfast. The one thing you can count on to be the same no matter where you go: chain restaurants. Return rental car. Jump the shuttle bus. There’s a funny feeling in my stomach. Ah, it’s sadness. We check in. We’re early. Why do I always book late flights? Sit around in the terminal, get some work done. Look over the pictures we’ve taken. California’s beautiful. It’s not home. May never feel that way, but beautiful nonetheless. Board the plane. Purple lights. Pussycat Dolls music surrounds us. Comedic flight attendants. Déjà vu. Not really. Just amazed at how fast six days went. Take off. California disappears below us. Four and a half hours later. City lights. A different kind of beauty. There’s a funny feeling in my stomach. Ah, it’s the feeling of familiarity. The beaches may not be nearly as pretty, the sunsets not as magnificent but we have real NY pizza, real NY bagels, real NY skyscrapers, real NY attitudes, real NY stride. I missed this. I’m home.