Gone Baby Gone

I guess this concludes my travel blog. It took me a while to get into it but it was actually pretty fun. This class was monumentally less painful than a lot of other ones I've taken at Loyola. I kind of enjoyed writing about my travels and the day to day. It added a little extra stress during the summer, but I'm glad I took the class. Also, I'll be a bit more prepared when I get my first fall semester assignment in about a week and a half. More prepared, but not any less bummed. Yippe, school work. Check ya laterrr.

Long One

I just finished my huge Longer Piece so I figured I'd put it up on the blog because that way I can add photos...I took way too many pictures! It's about my trip to Colorado over the 4th of July, I visited my friend who was working out there and we camped in Colorado Springs.

You’re so dumb Lauren how did you not notice this before? My mind swarmed with confusion, followed by panic. It felt like I had stuck my hand in an electrical socket and the pulse hit my brain. My ticket says LGA, not EWR. I did a quintuple take, until I finally accepted the information; it is 5.35 a.m, and you’re in the airlink shuttle going to the wrong airport.

I was going to Newark airport, but the plane ticket I had was for LaGuardia. I was already out of the city; we had made the crossover to NJ. My trip was doomed, so I did what I do in any questionable situation, called my mom.

“Mom.”
“Yeah?” a groggy morning voice asked.
“Sooo,” I began, totally embarrassed, “I’m going to the wrong airport, what should I do about that?” I made sure to be quiet and sneaky in the back of the freezing, over-air conditioned air-link shuttle to avoid the driver and other pass passenger from listening.
“Wait, what?” the voice woke up fast, “you’re going to the wrong airport, where are you?”
“Well, the airlink we booked is for Newark, but I just looked at my ticket again and my plane takes off from LaGuardia,” I explained while becoming progressively more upset.
“Okay,” now almost fully awake, my mom reached her problem solving tone, “What time is the flight at LaGuardia? Are you already out of the city? What time is it now?”

At this point, I ignored the part of me that felt like a waste of life for going to the wrong airport, and furthermore, calling my mom because I couldn’t figure out the situation on my own. But I knew instead of beating myself up, I should focus on solving the problem.
“I don’t know where we are exactly, we’re actually stopped at a gas station right now, definitely in New Jersey. It’s 5.42. The flight takes off at 7.30 in LaGuardia.”
“Okay, ask the shuttle driver what to do, he may have a suggestion, they deal with this kind of stuff all the time. Maybe you can make it back. Call me back after you ask him. If not, we’ll figure something else out. I’ll call United [Airlines.]”

Dreading the sentence I was about to say, it occurred to me how smashed my pride already was, and I went for it. “Excuse me,” I started once the shuttle driver got back in the car from cleaning the windshield, “I realized I’m going to the wrong airport, and I actually need to be going to LaGuardia, so do you have any suggestions?”
“Oh man, you’re going to the wrong airport! Hm, I mean I don’t know, at this point I just have to take you to Newark. There’s buses once you get there that bring people to LaGuardia, on the bottom floor you have to go downstairs then...”
I tuned him out once I realized he would be of no help. I called my mom back, “He didn’t know anything.”
“Well maybe you can still get back to LaGuardia. I’ll call United and see if you can change the flight, but you may end up just not going.”
“Yeah,” I replied, now completely crushed and humiliated. I felt a lump start to form in my throat, the negative thoughts spewed out of me, “I’m 20 years old and I can’t even manage travel alone. This sucks, how did I not realize this until now. And Dad booked it, he didn’t see it either,” I complained to my mom.
“Babe, it happens. One time I missed my connector because I got distracted reading a magazine in a store, I’ll call you back.”10 minutes of anxiety later, my mom called.
“Okay, you’re on the 9.20 flight to Denver out of Newark.”
“So, that’s it, I can go on that flight?”
“Yeah, there’s a fee but you can figure that out later, I think it’s like fifty bucks.”
“Alright, thanks so much mom, sorry I woke you up.”
“Call me when you’re boarding, bye babe.”

I was going to Colorado after all. Four hours, two delays, and a few computer glitches in the master United system later, we took off. The end of the devious travel was the beginning my sweet vacation.
On July 2nd I went to visit my friend Emily in Colorado. She worked in Wyoming all summer on the Wyoming Conservation Corps. They work 10 days on, 4 days off, building, fixing, hiking, camping and, occasionally showering.
Her co-worker friend Erin lives in CO and has a car. Erin, her boyfriend Kevin, Emily and I were going camping in Colorado Springs. I had been counting down the days until the trip. I took off a day of my internship to make the trip happen. I live in New York City, and a trip to Colorado felt like visiting a holy land. There would be green luscious trees, fresh oxygen, mountains, and best of all, the trapped feeling I sometimes get in Manhattan would be non-existent.
After collecting my luggage and having a joyful reunion with my best friend, we hopped in Erin’s car. I appreciated the informal meeting of Erin and her boyfriend; no suits, no firm handshakes, just a “Hi I’m Lauren” with a laugh as I stuffed myself into the back seat with my bag, feeling the sweet relief of vacation.

Emily and I caught up while Erin and Kevin chatted in the front seat. Despite different colleges, and two consecutive summers of having completely different jobs, Emily and my friendship has not faltered one bit. Hanging out with Emily is comfortable, like watching t.v in a pair of old sweatpants. Listening to her blab like a travel agent about the place we were going, I blissfully sunk back into regular Lauren. I was out of the city, out of my corporate clothes and, out of having to try so hard. During the whole trip I didn’t have to look at a computer, wear makeup or even shower. Driving farther from the airport was like a massage, and the following cucumber facial mask would consist of dirt.

I was offered a huge brownie and gladly accepted. “Kevin’s mom does catering on the side, so she made us brownies for the trip,” Emily informed, while picking me one from a large-size zip lock bag. “Oh cool. Thanks, Kevin” I said, looking as excited as my dogs when they’re awaiting their beggin’ strips. The brownie stash depleted during the trip, and by the end there were none left. Every outing was an excuse for a brownie. They were chewy, but cake like, with crunchy chocolate chips and just the right ratio of gooey to crispy. As we munched, plans were being made for later. Should we meet up with Erin’s sister in town for dinner? Or head right out to the camp site?

Everyone gave Erin the classic “I don’t care, it’s totally up to you,” answer. After a deliberation which seemed longer than a Supreme Court hearing, it was decided. We would go grocery shopping, then meet up in town with Erin’s sister for dinner, and from there continue on to the camp site.

Erin’s sister Kathy is a 21 year old nursing student. She was babysitting two 15 year old twins with cerebral palsy. One was in a wheel chair and the other could walk with a small limp, both looked about 10. I sat next to Nathan, the brother who could walk, and we talked throughout dinner. He was intriguing, as a boy with a handicap in high school he had ideas about the way in which the school manages special needs students. He talked about his struggle in mathematics (with which I could wholeheartedly relate) and his interest in theology. He lacked confidence, as almost everyone does in high school, but he seemed driven. After conquering my manatee sized veggie burrito and figuring out the bill break down, dinner was over. I told Nathan how interesting his ideas were and how they were quite impressive for a 15 year old. He thanked me for the compliments, which I could tell he received incredibly infrequently and I gave him and his brother, Colin hugs goodbye. We walked out of Jose Ole into the fresh Colorado Springs air, hoped back in the car and continued to the camp site, munching on brownie number 2.

We checked in with the woman who runs the campsite and then drove up to find a ground. Seeing the camp site was like spending hours studying for a test, thinking you did well, and receiving a C; kind of a disappointment. None of us knew fully what to expect, but the site was packed with R.Vs and there weren’t many spots remaining. Emily and I had flashbacks of crowded New Jersey while we frantically searched for a decent spot. We settled on what we decided was the best one left and set up camp.

We put up our tent and I was uber excited to lie down, I was stupidly exhausted. We quickly got ready for bed and sipped on beers while chatting in the tent. We were both jolly, filling each other in on every aspect of life. Altitude and fatigue made me feel a little woozy after a whopping one beer. Emily offered another and I sucked it up, sure I had a headache and could hardly keep my eyes open, but I was on vacation. 10 minutes later we were both sleeping like drugged animals.

The following two days were jam-packed. We drove up a fourteener, visited a small hippie town, got soaked in the rain, saw fireworks on a military base and, petted giraffes at a zoo. I felt more American than ever before; being on a military base in the west, seeing independence day fireworks surrounded by soldiers families made me feel like I was in a Ford, Wrangler, and Coors commercial all together. As the trip continued I loved the campsite and bought some souvenirs from the tiny camp shop that doubled as an insect museum, I was having a grand old time.

Sunday evening rolled around and it was time to go. Desperately wishing I could stay another day and dreading the subway rides and cab horns that awaited me I got out of Erin’s car at the airport and gave everyone hugs goodbye.

I went to work Monday and replied, “It was good, really fun, but now I’m so tired,” whenever anyone asked how my fourth was. I didn’t venture into detail about how surprisingly hard giraffe’s ears are, and how much they resemble horses up close. I didn’t mention the other gorgeous sites from the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, or the humorous “Hippie-Crit” newspaper we read in the hippie town we visited after. I didn’t talk about the unwarranted amount of patriotism that overcame me while I watched fireworks on a huge military base. I neglected to share how mine and Emily’s typical deep discussions were amplified by the full moon and lake we sat by at night while having them. There was no need for anyone to know. I kept it for myself and thought about it anytime I felt trapped in the big city. The trip was insanely fun and further deepened my weird love for Colorado. Meeting interesting people and experiencing Colorado Springs was like one of Kevin’s Mom’s scrumptious brownies. It was the perfect ratio of enjoyment to relaxation.

I most recently thought back on my trip when I got hit on in the subway. For basically the first time ever I was hit on for real, not by an old creepy man, but rather a full-fledged line from a seemingly normal person. “Where did I go to school?” he asked, because I ‘looked familiar.’ I was on the way home from work, wearing my pencil skirt, oxford shirt, heels and, pearls. The guy chatted about how it was the last day of his internship, and that he is in business school at Harvard, and he was on his way to the “[Harvard] Club.” I went along with it and got off at the next stop with a simple, “Have a good one.” Sure, the guy was an MBA at Harvard, and actually pretty attractive, and I never get hit on but I knew it was only because I had “the look.” I had to smile, it was flattering, but I knew if he saw me eating a zip lock bag brownie in my brother’s old t-shirt with no makeup, a skipped shower, and dirty flip flops, he would be ashamed to have hit on me. It made me miss the trip.

As I walked from the subway to the apartment, almost colliding with a cab, delivery bike, and numerous people, I yearned for Colorado. Maybe I could roll with the elitist crowd, and I could also hack it camping, maybe it all depends on my clothes. I contemplated the “real me” while I slipped on my men’s mesh Loyola lacrosse shorts and collapsed on the couch. As I became engrossed in an episode of Scrubs I thought, perhaps the ‘real’ Lauren is just a Colorado-loving, sort of outdoorsy, almost elite, brownie obsessed, couch-potato, and then I laughed, because J.D fell off his scooter.

Mamu: The Best Grandma Eveerrrr

‘Mamu’ stems from the word Grandma. Mispronounced by my brother at a young age, Grandma became Grandmu then morphed into Mamu. It is the name of my father’s mother. She is Mamu, no questions about it; the name is used by her six children, and has been taken over by the newest grandkids- my Uncle Mike’s 3 young ones who live in Illinois. I think the name gives Mamu some kick and spice. She’s not just Grandma, Grammy, Nana etc, she is Mamu.

Since my birth until age 10, Mamu was our babysitter. She came to our home every morning and tended to us after our parents left for work. Mamu cooked, cleaned, walked us to the park, and drove us to school and practice. When the first parent got home she drove off in her Saturn back to Millburn until the next day.

In 2007 Mamu moved two hours away from us. Now she lives in Brigantine, a beach town near Atlantic City, in the same condo complex as my aunt and uncle. When we first saw the place off Brigantine Ave we laughed because it was set up the same as her other apartment; couch, chair, bed—all where they were before, just in a new setting. Plus, despite the 3 hour travel time, the place smelled exactly the same as her other apartment.

I went to visit Mamu in May, spontaneously deciding to go down on a Wednesday. I left pretty early and got down around 11. Mamu waved out the window as I parked the car. I gave her a hug, reminding me how much the 85 year old has been shrinking over the past 10 years. She patted me on the back as she always does during hugs, and I was ready to settle in. I plopped on the 20 year old couch and began filling Mamu in on my family’s happenings.

Talking to Mamu always makes me feel like an international executive of sorts; my life sounds so busy and important to her. I poured a glass of 2%milk and toasted an English muffin while we chatted. Mamu ventured out to the porch to read the paper and “watch the world go by.” I spread some apricot marmalade on my muffin and walked to the porch to join her.

I was right near Atlantic City and about a block from the beach but there was no need to go anywhere. I was tremendously excited to eat my English muffin topped with old-lady jam and just hang out. I was with one my favorite people in the world and totally relaxed.

I love rednecks and hippies

Feeling the energy of the crowd and blaring music is a fantastic sensation. The best is standing near a speaker and feeling your chest pound like being in some weird deep underwater pressure. I love to see live music. Obviously it’s better to see a band you know, but seeing almost any band is entertaining. I went to 2 shows this May, both tame, and somewhat different than the shows I typically attend.

In early May I got my family to go to the Beatle’s Brunch with me. I’m aware that to some this sounds super lame, but I enjoyed it. The “Beatles” were the former cast of the Broadway show ‘Beatle Mania.’ They were all talented, and middle-aged. They played all the typical hits and changed outfits and wigs throughout to represent the Beatles’ development throughout the decades. The crowd ranged from those who had seen the real Beatles to teenagers who felt like they missed out and wanted to capture the musical genius. It was the perfect family outing. Good food, stellar music, and we didn’t even have to talk that much.

The next show I went to- at the same venue, this time with just my Dad- was Blue Oyster Cult. Honestly, I only knew their one famous song that everyone knows. My dad got tickets, we figured why not go, even if it is just to hear one song. I looked a little deeper into their catalog and realized they had a few famous songs, and some real intense fans. We arrived at the show fairly early and there was a long line out front. I started to check out the crowd, and it was oddly diverse. Ages spanned from about 20 to 60 and it was male dominated; some guys looked kind of hard core, and some looked a bit redneck.. The herd filed inside and I noticed numerous women with stuck-in-the-80s hairdos. I could be wrong, but it seemed I was the only lady my age wearing a sun dress and sweater at the show. It was phenomenal, I loved being random.

My Dad and I sat at a table with a 30 something Asian couple, a 50 something couple from France, and two manly men with tattoos, facial hair, hunting caps and a bucket of brewskis.
At the table behind us were two middle-aged guys, one brought his son and the son brought two friends. All of them were sporting BOC t-shirts from a show they had seen in Hoboken. One of the middle-aged guys I named “superfan” because he freaking loves Blue Oyster Cult. In between swigs from his Coors he enthusiastically shouted facts about the band to his friend next to him…all of which I heard and relayed to my Dad. Before the show started we knew that only two original members remained, and the bassist had played with White Snake, Deep Purple, and Ozzy.

I pretended to be a major fan, and went along with the crowd. I think its fun to get swept up with the crowd at shows, even if you don’t really know what’s going on. I haven’t listened to Blue Oyster Cult anymore than I did before the show, and I don’t plan on doing so; but the show was fantastic; great music, entertaining crowd and an overall fun time.