Lauren Locks and the Three Bears

I'm very persnickety. I always have been and I always will be.
Sometimes being picky is an asset. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's just there.
I spent, like, a hour today at Target picking out a Christmas card. It wasn't even for me, but I had to find one that wasn't too cheesy, or too schmaltzy, or too whatever. I had to find the ONE card that was just right
I am always looking for that 'just right' thing. It kills me because, sometimes 'just right' only exists in my imagination...Maybe I should learn to let go of silly things like Christmas cards, but I think there are some areas where I can still afford to be picky, such as:
My hair. We don't always get along, my hair and I, but I at least try to get it 'just right'. Last year I got this horrible hair cut...I wish I'd been pickier with the hair dresser.
Shoes. They have to be cute and comfortable. They can't be just cute. They can't be just comfortable. If my shoes aren't both, forget it. The true test...can I stand a whole day walking around Disneyland AND want to post the pictures on Facebook? Obviously this test isn't for EVERY shoe, I have some heels that I wouldn't wear to Disneyland...but don't upset my feet too much for normal day-wear.
Purses. Can't be too big, can't be too small. I hate purses that are just one big pocket, but I also hate purses that are so structured getting everything in and out is like a jog saw puzzle. And if it's my day-to-day purse, it has to be a neutral color so that if I'm wearing black, brown or blue I'm not going to clash.
And last but not least...
Boys. For me this is where my pickiness comes in as an asset...mostly. I turned in my rental car today, and the cute enterprise guy was driving me over to the body shop to get my car. Commence small talk. Then he said 'hella'. Maybe I'm too picky, but that's a deal breaker (not that there was a 'deal' or whatever, but y'know)
HELLA?!?! Who says that?! Ew.
Am I being too harsh?

My Poor Thea

Thea, being my car, of course.

I am seriously going to pack up all my stuff, sell anything unnecessary (including my poor baby) and move to New York...or somewhere else with public transportation that will allow me to never have to be behind the wheel of a car again. I don't deserve a car, and my poor Thea definitely does NOT need me as a driver. My first brand new car. My first car that is MINE...and what do I do? I got us pulled over back in June (although, I partially blame her and her super enthusiastic accelerator for that) and then today...I hit a pole.
A pole.
A pole that wasn't moving. A pole that I've been parking next to for the past four months. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!!! As much as I'd love to blame the pole for this, I can't. I wish I could blame the engineer who designed the parking structure...since I'm the only slot that has to park between two sets of poles. Our carports look like this:
|_ _|_|_ _| aka: set of poles, spot, spot, set of poles, my spot, set of poles, spot, spot, set of poles...given my propensity for disaster, it was really only a matter of time. But my baby. My less than a year old, new off the lot, my name on the registration baby...has a giant boo boo on the panel thingy between the bumper and the front passenger's side door. Which will need to be replaced. Which will cost me lots of money and leave me carless for some time.

We've been over my dislike for the southern part of California about a MILLION times, and I'm not even the biggest fan of driving...
Yep-I think it's time for me to wake up in the city that never sleeps!

I Wish I Could Go Back to College...

This is the title of a song from the musical Avenue-Q. A show I haven't seen yet, and could probably give or take, to be honest. Most of the songs I've heard from this show are pretty raunchy (even if they are mildly entertaining). But some of them are pretty applicable (I've thought about adopting 'There's a Fine, Fine Line' as my personal theme song several times), and about a year ago, the song 'What Do You Do With A B.A. In English' seemed to echo my thoughts exactly. In fact substitute 'English' for 'Religious Studies' and that song described my plight to a 'T'. Now, I've moved on. I have discovered exactly what to do with a B.A. in Religious Studies. I became a youth director. And a grown-up. Which means I have more responsibilities than I have ever wanted in my life. I hate being an adult. I love being a youth director though. Especially on the third Thursday of the month...Network Lunch day. Today's lunch, however, was held at CLU. It was so strange to be back. On my drive over, all I could think about was the pressure of Rally Day this Sunday and the thoughts that kept going through my head were I wish I could go back to college, life was so simple back then and I wanna go back to my room and find a message in dry-erase pen on the door
Then I got there, I drove through campus on my way to the chapel and then end of the song came to me But if I were to go back to college, think what a loser I'd be-I'd walk through the quad, and think "Oh my God...these kids are so much younger than me."
Really...I'm three years old than the seniors, which means I am six years older than the average college freshman. Being back on that campus made me feel so OLD. The campus hardly looks the same, there are so many new buildings, and yet somehow it seems so much smaller.
I see all these students in their tank tops and flip flops and cut offs, and I drive in in my grown-up car in my khaki pants and my knit top and my flats. I looked like an adult, and I looked older than these...these...kids. I didn't feel older than them though, or I didn't want to. I am definitely hitting my quarter life crisis. This is the worst feeling ever. I am rebelling against adulthood as best I can, and it's not an effective rebellion...

I came, I saw, I fixed the problem

I got in my car this morning, and one of the hieroglyphics on my dash board was trying to tell me something. There was this little symbol lit up in orange (the -warning- color) that looked like an exclamation point inside a cauldron. Was my car trying to tell me I was late for potions class? Then I remembered I don't go to Hogwarts. So, I decided to try and decipher this message using my decoder (aka-owner's manual); the verdict: low tire pressure...so I look up the tire section of the manual and I'm supposed to be packing 32lbs psi in each tire.
I went to the service station on my lunch break, and after getting over the initial shock that the Shell station charges for air--I was very proud of my self for fixing the problem on my own. While it's probably a completely normal thing for people to put air in their tires, and I shouldn't feel special for having done so-I always feel a little 'I am woman, hear me roar' whenever I can tackle a car problem by myself.

That's the story of the day. The End.