Canned Salmon Fallout

Last week, something that seemed so funny and innocuous turned into utter chaos! My Facebook family turned on me. It made me wonder, is it possible that I am Larry David’s lost-long progeny, Lauren David? 

Boom, Boom, The Attack of the Broom

When I moved into my place years ago, my neighbor slipped a note under my door, kindly asking that I not engage in any activity that involved my oven.  Cooking, in her mind, was a crime and any odors that were emitted from using the oven would not be tolerated.

I thought that was ridiculous and pretty amusing given that I hadn’t used the oven. I told her that, so I became “cool” in her book. Well, I told her that I hadn’t used the oven, not the ridiculous part.

She continued to spout the evils of cooking  to my entire wing.  She went off on a neighbor for baking cookies, stating that they were odoriferous.

The Curse of the Crooked Glasses

I was thrown into stardom at a young age. My first role, the result of flagrant typecasting, was that of the “little old woman” in the riveting first grade production of “The Gingerbread Man”.

It Wasn’t Your Time

Last week was the two-year anniversary of “Celebrate Lauren Day”.  An unlicensed driver in oncoming traffic, going 55 miles per hour, decided to turn in front of me, despite the fact that I had the green light to go straight.  I really thought this was the end.

The smacking sounding of the collision was deafening –  followed by the SILENCE that happened right after.  I slowly opened my eyes, scared what I would see.

Bad Boy and a Banana

I write about real people in my life on here and give them goofy nicknames. For example, my junior high crush, Bad Boy, recently popped into my mind.  

We actually worked on the same block for a few months this summer. It was pretty exciting to think he was so close and he could appear, at any moment.

He frequented the gas station, across my parking lot, many mornings for a cup of coffee and a really nutritious Twix bar.  Through conversation, we learned that we picked up our lunches from the same places, fed our vehicles at the same station, and traveled the same roads.  

Back in junior high, he called me many nicknames.  He gave me a different nickname for each year we shared at that school. The most vivid memory of the then-lad was when he played this prank on me.  It was lunch time and I was just about to devour the best part of the meal, dessert.  The cake was in my hand and I heard the familiar rebel rouser’s voice. Trouble is around the corner!