Season One, Episode Eleven: The Ravages of Time Are Knocking Upon My Door

My birthday was this past Saturday. I am officially 26…and looking at what I just wrote, who the hell in their right mind would want to be unofficially 26? Perhaps a crazy person…yes, only a crazy person would want to go from 25 (which we all know is a whole ‘nother ballgame) and pretend to be 26. The only way I would do it is if there was a large monetary compensation, or something equally awesome.

Like, I don’t know, maybe this badass pegasus.

I’d consider it then.

But seriously, I’m 26. Four more years to 30. Ouch. I suppose 26 is a grand achievement. If I lived in the 1600s, like in Jamestown or whatever, I’d have like ten years left in my life before I died a horrible death from cholera or smallpox. I’d have 54516561 kids by now, all named after virtues and kings and whatever, married to a guy named James Blacksmitherson and living in a leaky shack shittily constructed out of logs and mud and no windows. I’d be all about sewing and hanging out with my equally fabulous friends, Rebecca and Prudence. We’d have the best gray bonnets in the entire village. The bitches would be jealous.

Oh yes. They would be jealous.

But anyway. Christmas is coming. Tres exciting, no? I am proud to announce that I finished my shopping for Nicky an entire week ahead of schedule. I usually am rushing around on the 23rd, hating myself for waiting until the last minute. This year, I finished on the 16th. I think that warrants a high five…so I totally just gave myself one. (I usually do this so that I am not left hanging, by well, myself. Denying someone a high five is such an asshole move, and I am not an asshole.) Perhaps this early shoppage is a part of turning 26? Perhaps.

Or I just remembered to do it early this year.

My god…I think I might just be growing up.

Season One, Episode Six: Through The Looking Glass

I was on the site 20 Something Bloggers earlier, and one blogger, Andrea Regueria, posted in one forum a great topic to blog about–writing your teenage self a letter.  I did a lot of stupid stuff towards the end of my teen years–goofing off my junior and senior years, failing a few classes that I had no business failing, not walking with my class, getting pregnant at 18 and becoming a mom at 19, getting dumped by Nicky’s idiot father at 20, failing horribly at two (count them, two!) universities and ultimately losing financial aid at both schools–some of which made me into the person that I am today, the rest just stuff that I wish I could go back in time and kick my teenage ass over.  Instead of writing a letter, which would be too time consuming, and let’s face it, Teenage Me wouldn’t have bothered to read it because I thought I knew every damn thing back then, I am going to give Teenage Me just a little advice and a heads up on the consequences that lurk ahead in the years to come.

Christ...This is probably from between 2002 and 2004, making me anywhere from 16 to 18. I'm leaning more towards 16, but anyway, I'm the girl in the middle. I look pretty much exactly the same.

*You won’t believe me now, you won’t see it until you’re about 25, but you are absolutely beautiful.  I know you think you are ugly and you want plastic surgery on the nose you think is too big and you hate your high forehead and all your curves and features that don’t exactly blend in with all your friends, but you are so, so beautiful.  I wish you would see it for yourself at 16 because that would stem the tide of bad decisions that you make in the next few years.

*Don’t worry so much about having a boyfriend.  You’ll learn that you’re completely fine without one.  I know you think you are a loser because you haven’t been kissed yet, but you aren’t a loser.  You aren’t ugly or hideous or gross.  You just go to an all girls’ school and you are insanely sheltered.  In a year’s time, you will kiss a stupid boy at Burger King who just wants to get in your pants and since you won’t give it up, pretty much ignores you forever.  You won’t even like him.  You will feel like an idiot, and I wish that you would listen to Jari, but I know you think that there is something wrong with you if you don’t kiss him.  Please don’t kiss him.  Save that kiss for someone who deserves it.  That kiss leads to a long line of stupid mistakes with guys that you still will have a hard time with when you are nearly 26.

*School is so important.  So much more important that the kids you are going to meet at Burger King, the same kids that you try to fit in so badly with because they think you are stuck up because you go to a Catholic school and this Burger King thing is the first time in your life that you feel like you don’t exactly fit in at all.  Don’t blow your 3.5 GPA over these kids.  It’s not worth it.  You are going to screw up so bad in the next two years and everything you worked for since Kindergarten is going to go down the drain.  You never get to join NHS, you never get to graduate with honors.  Remember that you wanted to graduate with honors.  Please, please do your homework and get up and go to class.  And please stop thinking your SJA friends are lame.  They are not lame.  They all go on to four year universities while you become a teen mom who is struggling to pay her bills.  And 10 years from now you will be a receptionist who makes $10.25 an hour and is still a freshman in college.  Please just focus on school.

*You have no idea how much that postcard from Yale will still mean to you at 25.

*Stop being such a bitch.  You will regret some of the things you did and the way you treated people when you lay in bed at night years and years down the road.

*After you get pregnant, which you will do because you will become a mom to the most beautiful and amazing boy you’ll ever lay eyes upon, please just ditch his dad and do it alone.  Because you are going to do it alone anyway, and it’s easier to get rid of him before you talk yourself into falling in love with him.  You can do better, please remember that you are beautiful and you can do so much better than him.  Please don’t waste two years of your life on him.  It will take you years to finally let go and you will never trust a man with your heart ever again.  And if you don’t let go of him after you get pregnant, please don’t take him back.  He leaves you when Nicholas is 10 months old.

*Follow your dreams.  Try to become a singer.  Keep writing those stories and poems.  Don’t ever give up.

I’m sure there’s more that I could say, but I think that I covered the things that matter the most.  I think I might do another episode before my birthday in December, but please feel free to share a few things you’d share with yourself if you could 🙂


Season One, Episode Three: Alaska, Chocolatey NFL Caketastic Deliciousness, and Tornadic Tubby Time

Today was a blissfully boring day.

I worked six hours today, filing all alone in an empty office.  I know it sounds boring, but I love it.  My favorite part of my job is when all the other girls in the office have gone home and it’s just me and my thoughts and a nice playlist that I burned playing in the CD player.  I’m a social person, I love being around people and laughing and joking and having a good time, but I also enjoy having time to myself where I’m not subjected to country music and gossip about relationships and stuff that bores me.  I’ve always been like that, to be honest, I prefer to be alone in my room with a book and music in the background when I’m not out being the social butterfly that society expects of me.  I also prefer to go out places with Nicky and my mom now more than I do with my friends.  It’s weird, but maybe that’s part of getting older.  Maybe you develop more of a chill, homebody side as the years go by?  I don’t know.

After work, I came home and watched football with my dad and ate cookies and nachos and this sinfully delicious chocolate cake–and I feel ridiculously stuffed and sluggish at the moment.  Nicky came in and sat next to me, and we watched TV with his head resting on my arm all evening until it was bath time.  Bath time is actually a lot more fun now that he’s older.  I liked “bubble tubbies” when he was smaller, but he keeps more of the bathwater actually in the tub now, and he likes to wash himself up and wash his own hair.  Next thing I know he’s going to be shaving, hahaha.  I love that he still calls his bath a “tubby” 🙂  After his bath, I put on his favorite DVD, that show Storm Chasers, and we snuggled up on the couch until he fell asleep in my lap.  In our house, we all know that Storm Chasers = Nicky is sleepy.  He usually won’t make it through an entire episode.  It’s actually kind of odd that my son watches a storm about chasing tornadoes to fall asleep.  He’s my silly silly boy…Although weather intrigues me, and we will go out on our porch and watch huge storms roll in, so he probably got that from me, along with his love of cake and staying up late…and his sense of humor, his blue eyes, and his goofy, lovable smile.  He’s definitely his mommy’s baby.

I’m currently in my pajamas, typing away at my keyboard in between texting one of my bestest friends, Destinie.  After I’m done with this mindnumbingly boring entry I plan on brushing my teeth and curling up in bed with my favorite book, Looking For Alaska (by John Green) until I fall asleep.  I was reading Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer, but the story of Chris McCandless pisses me off and I’m not in the mood to ponder the sanity or motives of McCandless tonight.  I will blog about him another day, because I could write an entire post on him and how I can’t figure out if he was an idealist that we all should respect to some degree or if he was a spoiled rich brat who wanted to rebel against societal norms and his parents.

Goodnight, and here’s to another blissfully uneventful tomorrow to make me smile 🙂


Chasing Lala, Season One: Pilot

I give this pilot post two thumbs up. And a particularly cheesy (and well-whitened) smile.

Welcome to the series premiere of my newest blog, Chasing Lala.  The first post, in my opinion, is always the hardest because there is a lot of expectations for the blog that have to be introduced and concurrently lived up to in the first post (and then the second, and the third…hell, I guess for the remaining life span of this blog!).  The first post is kind of like the first date.  Or maybe the second or third, when you’ve decided that you’re going to have sex and you feel like you should bust out all your best moves, but then you wonder if your “best moves” are really that awesome.  The first blog post is full of butterflies and nervous giggles and word vomit and bragging and maybe one too many glasses of blueberry vodka and ginger ale (soooo delicious, trust me).

That said, let’s start.  This post is wearing its best push-up bra and racy-not-too-skanky-but-just-skanky-enough lace thong from Victoria’s Secret.  This post shaved its legs and painted its toenails with Lincoln Park After Dark because it wanted to look edgy but not too edgy.  Maybe edgy sexy chic.  This post put on its sexiest-but-not-cheap-hooker-smelling perfume for you and is wearing its prettiest sheer pink lip lacquer.  It’s feeling pretty and nervous and kind of vulnerable.  Its also hoping that you brought money for parking because it totally forgot to.

First things first, my name is Lashawn.  Well, really Lashawn with a capital S…LaShawn.  I kinda hate the way that looks, so I spell it with a lowercase S when I type or print my name.  But I sign it with a capital S because it looks dumb if I use the lowercase.  It’s silly, but I’ve been doing it since I started eighth grade and it makes perfect sense to me.  And reading those last few sentences makes me realize how stupid my explanation sounds.  And that I pretty much wasted 1.5 seconds of your life that you will never get back.  My bad…but anyway, that was a bit off-tangent.  Focusssss.

I am the product of twelve (thirteen, if you count Kindergarten) years of Catholic school, including four years in an all-girl high school.  I learned all the important things, like how to curse like a sailor, wear tube socks to avoid shaving more than once a week, fake having cramps/headache/upset stomach to get out of a test or a ridiculously boring class…Oh, and the Our Father, my Sacraments, and how to be a good little Catholic schoolgirl.  I think that definitely shaped me into who I am now, a pretty intelligent preppy girl with a trucker mouth.  I am a fabulous single mom to a hilarious six year old boy, Nicholas.  Nicky is the greatest kid ever.  I may be a bit biased, but I’m gonna say that he’s pretty awesome.  Most of my life revolves around him.  My birthday is in three months as of today (9/17), and I will be 26.  Writing that makes me cringe.  Ickkkk.  I am slogging through my freshman year (which has taken like 1.5 years) of community college, which is going to take forever thanks to idiotic 18 year old me (I have a super sweet 1.7 GPA to work with).  If I ever finish my stint at community college, I hope to eventually get my Bachelor’s in Anthropology.  I want to become a socio-cultural anthropologist and see the world.  My goal is to get my doctorate and become a professor with the most amazing field stories ever.  I am currently a receptionist, which I sorta kinda hate and hope to not make a career out of, a sentiment I feel very strongly about after almost four years.  I work at a car dealership, which is a love/hate kind of thing.  I’ll get into that later.

I am feeling like this entry shouldn’t be too long, or I’ll bore you and you’ll close your tab that this is open in.  So I’ll be brief and thank you for reading post uno.  And I hope that you’ll come back for the next one, and hopefully the next 79846343838 ones.  My Pilot post is thankful that you put money in the parking meter and that you laughed at its jokes, even the one about the priest and the rabbi that didn’t exactly make sense the first or third time it told it.  It hopes that you come back.  And it hopes that you aren’t mad that unlike me, it doesn’t ever put out on the first date.