Life Crisis #476,325: The Time I Skipped A Date To Buy A Puppy

Life is so weird.

And in that weirdness comes a certain number of existential crises that happen, usually per year. My number feels a bit higher than the average.

A couple of days ago, while sick with a virus and plans for a dinner date the same evening, I sat in my living room looking at dogs online (one of my favorite pastimes). I found a Welsh Corgi, and my bored, tired of sitting around and being sick, fed up, corgi-loving butt decided that it would be a good idea to get off the couch and feverishly, dizzily drive an hour away to a town called Castle Rock to look at the biggest ears I have ever seen on a dog.

I listened to the Halsey album “Badlands” the entire way there and felt badass AF.

When I got to the rescue center, I was brought into a room to meet little Banjo, the Corgi with ears the size of my face. He was so cute and nice to me, a good reminder that I don’t currently need to resent all living creatures.

I also may have looked at a puppy or two when I was there. Little Nala and her stub tail had me lost in love. She got along with my current canine love, Louis, and I convinced myself that “Yes, I need to adopt her. Louis could really use a friend.”

And of course, my motherly instinct kicked in, and through my nurturing blinders, all logic went out the window. All I could see was this helpless little creature who needed love and care.

So I did adopt her. (Obviously, I cancelled my date, because puppies > boys. Duh).

She slept all cute, curled up in a tiny-dog bed in my passenger seat. Things were going well.

And then when we got home, sh*t hit the fan. I would say quite literally, but I don’t have a fan in my room. If I did, I’m sure there would have been sh*t on it.

I should have known really. Making these sorts of big, life decisions while in a tornado of an existential crisis is far from a good idea; even when they are well-intentioned.

Little Nala, too young to understand the concept of going to the bathroom on a floor even, thought that peeing in my bed was the best option. Twice.

The shy, quiet Nala at the shelter turned into a demon when she got home, using howls instead of horns and cuddles instead of fire to lure me in. Laying on me, kissing me, doing her absolute best to not make me feel like a f*ck up in life.

And that damn nubby tail…

It feels wrong to talk about a puppy and a night from hell in the same sentence, but sometimes, we have to accept that we are wrong.

I knew the next morning I had to bring her back. I wasn’t ready for a puppy. Louis was certainly not ready for a puppy to take over his window seat or his current sleeping arrangement.

If there is anything more depressing and traumatizing for a dog-lover than having to call a rescue league and tell them that you have to bring a puppy back because A. Your current dog wants to bite its head off and 2. “It just sunk in that my life is about to become a nightmare if I keep her,” please let me know.

I thought little Nala and I would have a smooth ride back to find her a new, suitable home, until she decided that pooping in the back seat of my car was a better idea; on top of my down jacket and all over the dog leash. That delayed our trip a bit when Lauren(that’s me) had to clean up dog sh*t from various surfaces, including my own body.

When we got to Castle Rock, The words “return” and “refund” were brought up a few times, and honestly, I could barely use them in a sentence when responding to the nice lady at the desk. You want me to “return” a dog? It was as confusing as the time I walked into the registrar’s office and dropped out of college.

This sweet lady saw the tears coming through my depressing eyes, and tried to comfort me with reassuring remarks and an opportunity to volunteer at the rescue league.

I handed little Nala off, walked away with my head down, and drove home contemplating how I would wash away my sins. But first, I had a lot of bedding to clean and a car to de-sanitize.

I learned a really big lesson. And it made me feel really horrible about myself. But the truth is a b*tch. And we all have to face it.

Nala has a new home now, which lessens the sting a little bit.

I’m also really glad to have excellent birth control, to avoid the possibility of a human baby entering my life anytime soon.

I heard you can’t put them in crates.








The Interruption of Transition

The best way to transition

is to do it with kindness.

To allow yourself time

to accept the change

that is occurring inside of you,

to turn your healing into love,

and give it to those who need it.

I hate to say

that jumping back into romance

that is not really romance,

is not the answer to your problem, dear.

Do not let strangers kiss your lips,

only for you to pull away from the foreign taste of their mouth,

only for you to feel bad about it in the morning.


Photo at


Bumble Bee

(For the record, I’ve decided to stop apologizing to my mother for these articles. She already knows that she can’t control me. Love you, Mom.)

Like Miley Cyrus said, maybe I just can’t be tamed.

It started on a Thursday, when I decided that I was going to download Bumble. For those of you not into the online dating scene, it’s like Tinder on crack. I pretty sure they have to reach some sort of quota of good-looking humans to stay in business.

If my guess is right, this company is THRIVING. Out of all of the dudes I matched with, I only received one unwarranted dick pic(This was a first for me).

In the last five days, I have probably spent at LEAST 20 hours total sucked into the vortex of Bumble. Really, my fingers need a massage from all of the swiping. Anyone up for the job?

The best part was that my roommate and I did this together, introducing our bumble bees to each other and helping each other to come up with witty sh*t to say to our hot, internet matches.

This was immensely entertaining considering that I also spent two days/nights drunk on Vodka. Vodka helped me through Friday, when some buttplug of a human dumped an entire beer on my friend’s head. She then proceeded to punch him and scream something along the lines of “I’m going to mother f*cking kill you, you piece of sh*t.” I can’t quite remember the details. Vodka helped me through Saturday, when my hot water heater stopped working and I had to bathe myself with my dog’s deodorizing bath wipes. Most of all, Vodka helped me through Sunday, when I decided that getting drunk on my favorite day of the week was more important than getting anything substantial accomplished. So maybe it was three days, if leftover vodka counts.

I shouldn’t lie to you. I like sex with strangers. I like figuring out their bodies. I like watching them try to figure out mine. Sometimes, these experiences can be traumatizing, like the one time my Tinder date threw up in my bed. But sometimes, they are f*cking fantastic.

I know, I know, “this poor generation and their hookup culture.” Trust me when I say I used to think the same thing. I was a church-going, Nicholas Sparks-loving, hopeless romantic-type for a long time. I still like the idea of it all, but now I’m also inspired by Fifty Shades of Grey.

Society ruined me, folks. Now, I just play the game. It’s a little something Charles Darwin called “survival of the fittest.” And I’m not tryna’ die.

I like excitement. I like adventure. And if I can’t find that in one person, I’m 100% going to find it multiple people. At least for now. I’m not ashamed. I’m not hesitant. I’m really just enjoying the ride(figuratively and literally speaking). I like it when people who don’t know me call me beautiful. I couldn’t even get my last boyfriend to do that.

There are far worse things in life than people judging me and using words like “slutty” or “promiscuous” to describe my behavior. I’m sorry that I have a vagina that wants to be used. Please, sue me.

I’d be more hurt if someone made a comment against the quality of my character or intelligence, because that is something that I find substantially more important than the number of tongues I’ve had down my throat. I’m certainly not going to feel badly about the decisions I make regarding my own body, especially if it isn’t hurting other people.

Just don’t act so innocent, friends. I know you’ve all thought about this before. Or done it. Or wanted to do it. Or maybe you’re just too boring to do it, so if that’s the case, I’m sorry for that too.

I say you should just buzz your little wings and risk getting stung.

And when it doesn’t work for you anymore, then stop.

It’s really quite simple to be a bee.






As Of Late

Life is weird.

It’s like this complicated mixture of good and bad and confusing and scary(insert a few hundred more adjectives here).

So, let me tell you about my weird life as of late.

Things were smooth sailing for a while. I was like a surfer riding a wave, floating on the Cloud 9 of life, even when things were not perfect. In fact, they were perfectly confusing and I was perfectly OK with it.

But then, sh*t hit the fan. I had a 2-month friends with benefits. There was mind-blowing sex but a general lack of communication, aka, we lacked the key to a good relationship. I’d never experienced that interesting combination of emotions before, so for the sake of my morality and also for the sake of our friendship, I decided it couldn’t go on. We were like moving gears, sometimes perfectly fitting together and other times not even touching. (He said that, I stole it.)

It didn’t help that I had been falling for someone that I couldn’t even see outside of certain situations for ethical reasons. He was in a position that kept us at arms length, even though it felt like our hearts were practically touching. He went away for a while over the holidays, and I sat at the door like a sad, little puppy waiting for her owner to come home. He finally reached out, telling me that after weeks of constantly thinking about it, that we couldn’t happen, that he wished he had a different answer. It felt like this dramatic, depressing, mutual heartbreak. Or maybe I liked him more. I guess I’ll never know.

It was also an unexpected heartbreak. I don’t normally put pictures in my head of the kind of man I want to be with, but if I did, his picture definitely wouldn’t have been on the slideshow. It was his brain that I loved first, and then it was the way he dressed, and then it was the way his lips sat on his face, and the rest just fell into place…until it didn’t.

In the last month, I’ve gotten into a car accident that could have killed me, been rejected by a person that I could have loved, had to “break up” with someone that was a good friend of mine, and most recently, had someone throw up IN MY BED(quite literally one of my biggest fears in life, and I handled it like a champ. Thank you Klonopin). I was blessed with the opportunity to wipe the vomit off of his body as well. Not to mention, I was already sick myself. Though my sickness had nothing to do with an entire bottle of Gin. Karma? Probably.

In the face of all of these weird and sad and gross personal things, there has also been a constant stream of good that keeps creeping into my life, even though it really just feels like a confusing mess.

Because, professionally, things have been great. I’ve had another article published recently on Thought Catalog, just got assigned two paid writing gigs for a major national yoga corporation, and have taken on two new freelance jobs. I’m happy with my work.

I’m an assistant for both a psychologist and DUI lawyer and an at-home assistant for a few families. And then, there comes the occasional paid writing gig, though if you ask any creative person, the money means nothing when you love doing something so much.

My relationship with my family has grown tighter.I have an amazing new roommate and friend moving in soon and a list of never-ending reminders of how beautiful my life is.

I get to do what I’m good at, what I love and be around people that make me feel happy and appreciated. To feel that you are whole without the validation of a romantic partner is a wonderful feeling.

So, yeah, heartbreak sucks. It sucks so hard. All you want to do is scream at them and say “COME BACK TO ME YOU MORON!”

But, sometimes, you just have to leave them alone. You just have to let life take over.

Maybe they’ll change their mind, maybe they won’t.

But, it’s your job to keep moving forward. It’s your job to forgive yourself when you mess up. It’s your job to just keep doing you.




Those Nights

Every once in a while,

there comes a night

full of questionable decisions

and regrettable texts.

And the next day,

you wake up and wonder what the hell you were thinking,

You feel crazy,

and confused,

You do everything you can to make the feeling go away,

You try cleaning your whole house,

and doing all your laundry

and apologizing to the people that you pushed your crazy onto.

But, it’s ok to have those nights.

At least I tell myself that.

They are just symptoms

of a bigger problem

that you need to address.