Mannequin Babies

Mannequin babies like to go to work with Mommy wearing the same exact outfit.
Skippy is giving Mommy problems with his beret. He keeps wanting to take it off.
Mommy doesn't understand why Skippy keeps taking off the wool beret.
Mommy is wearing the beret so Skippy has to wear it too.
The beret makes you look nice, Skippy!
Don't take off the damn beret!

This kid is a real pain in the ass, Mommy thinks.
So what if it's 102 degrees out?
The beret compliments the outfit!
The outfit will not be the same without the beret!
Mommy and Skippy have to match!

Smile for the camera, Skippy!
Look up!
Don't touch the damn beret or we're going back inside and we're changing out of matching outfits.
You want that?
I didn't think so.
Now smile.
SMILE!

Look in that window, Skippy.
See what happens to mannequin babies that talk back to Mommy?
They get placed in American Apparel windows and forced to wear lamé leggings.
You don't want your bow tie taken away from you, do you?
DO YOU?

Foot Patrol! (Or Having Your Feet Licked on a Saturday Night)

-Foot Patrol is a band from Austin.

-Foot Patrol consists of seven full-time funkalicious musicians.

-Foot Patrol sings about feet.

-Foot Patrol is quite possibly the best band that ever existed.

Last Saturday eve, Mandy, Adley, and I attended Foot Patrol's 80's Dance Party at the east Austin railroad saloon The Scoot Inn. We walked through the 138 year-old watering hole and into the backyard, where eager fans waited for the shenanigans to start. Everyone was dressed to the nines in 80's garb. I was attempting a Deborah Harry look that did not work out well because I look nothing like Deborah Harry and I will NEVER look anything like Deborah Harry even though I SO DESPERATELY wish I looked like Deborah Harry.

I love Deborah Harry.

Though the band has a large repertoire of their own music (all about feet, of course!), this party was about honoring the best of the decade that brought you Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, "Less Than Zero", hypocolor shirts, and me . The band killed every song they covered- "Part-time Lover" by Stevie Wonder, "Close to Me" by the Cure, "Genius of Love" by the Tom Tom Club,"Maneater" by Hall & Oates (wait, did they play this song?) They jammed for over two hours and by the last two songs, "Billie Jean" and "Kiss", the crowd was in pure ecstasy. Everyone seemed to forget that it was 96 degrees with a humidity index of 900% at 11:30 at night (I only realized this when I couldn't pull my pants back up in the bathroom).

Foot Patrol is just as much a showcase of wonderful musical talent as it is a visual and audio spectacle. Though I'm sure lead singer and keyboardist TJ gets the most attention for being the second funkiest blind keyboardist in the world (sorry, TJ, Stevie comes first...however you're probably the first funkiest blind keyboardist in the world with a very public foot fetish), it would be unjust to not point out the individual talent of the rest of the band. The tight and bumpin' rhythm section consists of Hung Hnuyen on the bass, Jeff Hoskins on the drums, and Austin Schell on the guitar. These guys would make the Talking Heads proud.

And talk about channeling some Earth, Wind, and Fire! No band is complete without a vibrant horn section. Rick Redman on trumpet, Nick Smith on trombone (I swear to God this guy is Kevin McDonald from "Kids in the Hall"!), and Kerim Peirce* on tenor saxophone (my axe of choice in high school) add that little extra something that most bands lack nowadays. The two lovely backup singers threw in some flair as well and I have no idea what the hell their names are. I'm sorry.

After the show, Mandy approached TJ to congratulate him on an excellent show. TJ is known for giving foot rubs after his performances. Adley and I watched the exchange from a distance.

Lauren: "I'll bet you five bucks that within in two minutes, TJ will coax her into a foot rub."

Adley: "She's already got her shoes off."

Lauren: "Dammit."

We headed over and within seconds, I was taking my shoes off as well. I don't know what came over me! I sat down next to Mandy and plopped my feet into TJ's lap. We squealed and giggled as TJ rubbed, sucked, and licked the bottoms of our feet. Adley walked away, shaking his head, having lost his entire entourage to the charms of TJ.

Let me tell you something, having your toes sucked on at a dance party can be quite problematic. It's not embarrassing. No. It's just difficult not to drool all over yourself. I had to frequently look up at the crowd to remind myself that I was indeed in a very public space getting my toes sucked on to avoid doing or saying anything awkward.

Mandy finally left, but there I sat for an additional 25 minutes until TJ's band member walked by and said, "You know, you can tell him to stop at any time". I took that as a cue to let the man share the love. However, before I could leave, Mandy came running back with two additional ladies to form a "forgy".

After another twenty minutes of foot rubbin' euphoria, we begrudgingly pried ourselves from the scene, thanked the band for a wonderful evening, and trekked to Taco Cabana where we promptly ate a bunch of sour cream in taco cups.

For those of you in New York City, the band will be in town next week. I HIGHLY recommend checking them out. I have no doubt that they won't become huge stars!

Aug. 1st Room 710 in Austin @ 10PM

Aug. 5th Goodbye Blue Monday 1087 Broadway Brooklyn@ 9PM FREE

Aug. 7th Union Pool 484 Union Ave, Brooklyn @ 10PM $8

Aug. 8th Highline Ballroom 431 W 16th St. Chelsea District, NY @ 8PM $10

*Kerim, you're a cutie!

Austin Day 302 Pt. 1 (Klosterman)

This weekend was epic. It was objective. It started where it all began....

Saturday 7/25 1:01PM

...At Jo's Coffee on South Congress. A scenester joint that never expires in people watching options. The last time I wrote in this journal, I spoke of a lone cow named Molly who daydreams about taking a road trip. It was my five second attempt at writing a children's story. It was boring.

I have a run in my pantyhose. However, it's only in one leg. So does that make it a run in my pantyho?

I'm trying my best to look like Deborah Harry today because I'm going to an 80's dance party/concert this evening fronted by a blind keyboardist with a foot fetish*.

Every time I attempt to look like Deborah Harry I'm disappointed because I realize that I look nothing like Deborah Harry and no amount of red lipstick and hair bleach will change that. She has a near perfect face. I'm told I look like Sarah Jessica Parker. She has a very imbalanced face. I'm not saying she's ugly. I'm just saying that her eyes are wildly disproportionate to her nose which is wildly disproportionate to her mouth.

Like every good twenty-something who'd like the think of herself as self-aware, I'm reading Chuck Klosterman in between intervals of writing this. I used to defend the accusations against Klosterman of being "supremely grandiose", but upon reading a second time what I thought was one of my favorite books, "Killing Yourself to Live", a diary of Klosterman's roadtrip to rock n'roll death landmarks for an article he's writing for Spin Magazine all the while lamenting about the troubles he has with beautiful women in his life, I've realized that he's indeed one of the most pretentious contemporary writers on the market. I think he loves the thesaurus a little too much. I think he likes to hear himself talk on paper. I think I love him.

*I'll elaborate on this more later, along with mannequin babies. Trust me, it's good. It involves my toes getting sucked on by the lead singer of Foot Patrol and me parading down South Congress Avenue with a mannequin baby dressed exactly like me in a bow tie and suspenders.

It's a David Byrne Kind of Friday

1.) My main man, David Byrne, has a new book out on September 17th, titled, "Bicycle Diaries". Byrne shares his observations and photographs of his travels across the world using a bicycle as his main mode of transportation.  In old news, Byrne recently created imagintive bike racks for the New York City Department of Transportation. There are nine designs located through Manhattan and Brooklyn, including a guitar, a cup of coffee, and the trucker mud flaps lady. 

In other words, David Byrne really really likes bicycles.

2.) I recently attended a screening of David Byrne's Texas-centric "True Stories" (1986) at the Texas State History Museum. After the screening, members of the crew shared their stories of Byrne and the making of the movie. Though there were no new and revealing stories, everyone agreed that they had no idea what the hell the movie was about but were excited to be working with David nonetheless. Also, interestingly enough, I believe everyone in the state of Texas was casted in that movie. If you've never seen the movie, it's a love letter to Texas. I envision David Byrne having a child-like wonderment for the Americana of state and wanted to capture it in the most narratively absurd and visually minimalistic way possible. It's a beautiful, nonsensical movie. It's worth checking out. Plus, Spalding Gray is in it!

3.) And if you've never happened across his online journal, it's worth taking a look. Oddly, the seemingly shy and indifferent entertainer has been keeping a well manicured blog for five years now. He's quite the talker. David Byrne loves to eat up his surroundings, wax poetic on current events, and support up-and-coming bands and artists. In fact, a few years ago, he would stay at local musicians' houses while on tour. He's so dreamy.

California Select at American Apparel

Today, my mug made the American Apparel Daily Update email. I'm not sure how and why for I'm probably the least American Apparel looking employee that ever existed.

See? Do I look like them???

Oops....never mind...

Anyways...

The photo and update above are advertising American Apparel's vintage line, California Select.

Select American Apparel retail stores in North America, Europe, and Australia carry hand-picked vintage items from around the world. You can see examples of the items we carry at our Cali Select blog. Yes, come look at us silly hipsters frolicking through L.A., NYC, and Austin wearing stuff we used to make fun of our parents for having in their closets.

*Side note- I work at American Apparel on the weekend. I work at this fantastic multi-media production company in Austin during the week. We're called Super!Alright! and we are super alright.

When Parents Join Facebook!

God, I remember the day like it was yesterday.

It was a Monday.

Just like any other Monday, really.

I was sitting at my desk, fielding through emails and phone calls as usual.

A notice popped up saying I had a new message in my personal inbox.

Wow...looking back, it feels like everything happened in slow motion after that...

I remember dragging the cursor to the open web browser. I remember the placement of the web browser window on my desktop. Not a full screen, and a little off to the right. I remember that the sun was shining and it was 72 degress. I remember that I was wearing a green "Ramones" shirt and I was smiling...

I was smiling.

Then I remember seeing in big black bold letters:

"Your father wants to be your friend on Facebook!"

NOOOOOO!!!!!

How did this happen???

I stared at the email for a good five minutes. I was paralyzed. I couldn't move.

I didn't know what to do.

Do I befriend my father and risk him exposing the pseudo-literate/cultured facade I've worked so hard to create for my profile as the sham that it is? I can just picture it now...I get a note on my wall saying, "Lauren, dear, I'm looking at your profile pic, why are you reading Ulysses and dressed like Truman Capote? You don't wear glasses OR smoke!" 

Or do I pretend like I never saw the email and when he asks, say something like, "Oh, you befriended me on Facebook? What is that, Pop? Never heard of it." That would never work!

I realized I was going to have to accept that my father was now becoming internet savvy and it was just a matter of time before he caught wind of this Facebook. Shell-shocked for a week, I felt like I was just coming out of the woods when I then get a phone call from my mother.

"Hey Honey! I think I'm going to join this Facebook thingy. Can you help me?"

I slam my head against the desk.

"Mmkay Mmmom", I mustered out through smooshed lips.

I felt like a lead weight, heavy with anxiety. My heart beating fast. 

Not her too!

"Are you okay with that?"

"Sure."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure."

"You don't sound so sure."

"Sure."

I breathe in deeply.

It's ok, Lauren. It's ok. Relax.

You will be able to handle this!

"Are you sure you want to join Facebook, Mom? I mean, it's not easy to figure out."

Silence.

Then the Jewish guilt trick...

"Oh...ok. Sure, yeah, if you don't want me to..."

Sigh.

"No, no, Mom. It's ok. Of course I'll help you."

And I did. 

And I accepted my Dad's friend request.

And I helped my Mom create her profile.

And I suggested friends for them.

And I pointed out when they would accidently write on their own wall instead of their friend's.

And then I get an email from my 90 year-old Grandmother asking me to be Facebook friends.

FUCK.

It's become a Facebook world and we all have to live in it.

*I should note that my parents have been divorced for 17 years and live in different states

**I have the best parents on the planet.

When Mustachioed Acquaintances Offer You Sex

While wandering my favorite book store in search of that hidden, unmarked book that only I will see that will give me the answers to all of life's problems, my pocket vibrates and I look down to see an incoming text that reads, "I can offer you sex and only that."

Hm. Intriguing.

This text came from a young gentleman I've known for a little over six months now. We're both only children and narcissists, so throwing us in a room together is like watching Truman Capote and Andy Warhol trying to put sticks of dynamite up each other's asses (that made sense in my head).

He's a good looking young man with the charm of Warren Beatty, the tongue of Oscar Wilde, the mustache of a Ron Jeremy, and the chest hair of Burt Reynolds. On paper, he's the man that I've dreamt about since I was four.

He also has the ego the size of the entire continent of South America. Though I'm typically attracted to the illusion that egocentricity brings, the reality is, I want to slap him upside the head every time he opens his mouth.

Though we do not get along, there seems to exist a mild interest in one another. We'll occasionally meet up, talk over one another, make thinly disguised jabs at each other's character flaws, and part ways. One time, in the middle of a friendly drink, I stood up and said, "I'm leaving" and I left. 

Since that evening, we've exchanged pleasant texts here and there but I was surprised (why should I have been?) to see such a blatant statement come across my phone. I asked him why he was giving me the honor to have sex with him and he stated, "Because you're lonely". 

Well shit, ain't it my lucky day!? A self-absorbed 23 year-old actor just offered to have sex with me because he thinks I'm lonely! Gosh, what did I deserve to receive this gift from above?

In the past I would have gone off on a tirade about his arrogance and presumptuousness, but I don't know if it was my concern for the man moaning every five seconds sitting next to me or the Hanik Kureishi book about abandoning your family that I was reading, but I opted to take the gentle approach and politely decline his offer. I texted back, "No thank you" and continued my quest for the Holy Grail of books.

My knight in self-reflective armor began back-peddling his bold statement by saying it would be a "fun", "mutual", and "meaningful" experience. I explained to him that I was not in a place in my life where I enjoyed such novelty experiences (though I really really wish I did...but not with conceited wannabe actors from El Paso) and that was that. 

I wish I had a better ending for this story. 

Let's imagine that I duped him into coming over, I handcuffed him to my bed, and I began lecturing him for four hours on how to respect women.

The Terrible Things We Do to One Another

I'm working on a project titled, "The Terrible Things We Do to One Another".

It will be a collection of first hand examples of the terrible things we do to one another in love & relationships because of fear/insecurity/anger etc. Outside of religion, I can't think of any other circumstance where humans can act so blatantly irrational.

This idea came off the heels of the passing of a two month "stepping out with" a sweet, older gentleman (that made him sound 80 years old). It's just that "dating" does not seem appropriate in this situation, but neither does "hooking up" when you're talking about someone who is twelve years older than you and actually cares enough to take you out to dinner. He did everything right in regards to "breaking up" with me (is it breaking up if it's not dating? Maybe he "unstepped out with me"? Or he is now "stepping in"?) It was the first time I encountered a man who did not do something completely clueless, cold, or irrational to me. In fact, it was easy peasy. I reflected back on previous endings of relationships and realized that typically one or both parties did some very hurtful things to the other. Mostly because we were young, confused, and emotionally immature (I really want to change that "we" to "he"). There was the one guy who only wanted to fool around a few times and quietly disappear. Of course he didn't tell me his intentions up front. When I confronted him later on the issue, he told me he was still in love with some skank from college and that he wanted to "just be friends...but I mean that in a really really really good way." As I walked out the door, he stopped me and asked, "But can I still use your discount at work?" I found out later that he does this to a new girl every month.

My stories nowhere near compare to the stories of many others, which is another reason to collect these accounts- to feel better about myself. I've heard of some pretty cold shit. I have one friend who came home to find her fiance soliciting sex to men on Craigslist. Another who reassured his girlfriend he loved her and just needed some time away, but in actuality began dating his co-worker and opted not to the tell the girlfriend. Then there is my Mom who in her twenties was seeing a man that she thought was her soulmate. She was seeing him all the way up to his wedding day that she had no idea about. She didn't even know that he was seeing someone else. On his honeymoon he sent a letter to my Mom saying that he made a mistake and will always love her. Thirty years later he's still bitterly married to the same woman and every year he calls my Mom and tells her how much he loves her. Every time my Mom tells him he's a loser.

If you're interested in soliciting a story, please email me at laurenmodery@gmail.com. It will be anonymous (unless you want your name in bold print). I will be putting them up at terriblethingswedo.wordpress.com soon.

Oh, and if you're one of those asses who likes doing terrible things to people, like breaking up with someone over email, check out Breakupemail.com That is where the above image is from.

My New Favorite Thing: American Apparel's Le Sac

I used to hate the Le Sac dress at American Apparel. You know, that huge sheet of fabric on a string that you walk by at the store and go, "How in God's name...?"

I used to glare at it and curse it, and occasionally throw it on the ground while trying it on. I would watch the instructional videos of all the different styles to wear, somehow get caught lopsided in the dress, and end up crying and feeling extremely defeated by a large piece of cotton.

In my mind I thought the dress would serve a better purpose as a tent. There was no reason why one should have to think about how to put on an article of clothing! None! I want to be brainless while putting clothing on in the morning.

Then the other day, a friend walked me step by step through a couple of different styles.

A light bulb went off.

This sh** is easy!

And it looks super cute too!

Ever since then I've been a Le Sac machine; changing into a different style every two hours. Who needs a stylist when you can constantly reinvent your own dress?

Here are a couple of different styles you can try.

The Grecian- take the non-open-ended side of the string and put it up on one shoulder. Take the open-ended side of the string and tie it in a knot under your opposite armpit. Does that make sense? Wow, this shi** is a lot harder to describe than thought. So now you have two strings hanging below your armpit. Twist them together to make one string down to your hip. From your hip, pull them apart and pull around either side of waist. Wrap around once or twice and tie in the front or back.

The Classic- do the same steps as The Grecian, except instead of tying the open-ended side under your armpit, do it on top of the opposite shoulder. You get what I'm saying? Just look at the picture!

By the way, that's Emily, isn't she adorable? She's taken though. Sorry boys.

The Jumper- I actually have no idea how ChaCha did this one.

You're smart. I'm sure you can figure it out.

And this is ChaCha. She's too f'ing cute for words.

The No Name- I'm sure this has a name because this style appears on the style cards in the store. Beautiful Jannine showed me how to do this one the other day. I like it because it makes my boobs look big.

The cool thing about the Le Sac it's only $38 and comes in almost 30 different colors with different string variations. They also sell the Le String separately so you can switch it out if you'd like. I've gotten so many compliments with this dress I can't even count anymore. You should get one. You'll get compliments too.

Don't you want compliments?