Neverland. Revisted

Oh dear sweet Peter Pan. I will never see you the same way again.

There are a few things you should know about me and Peter Pan. We have history.

When I was about 10 years old, I woke up crying. I mean, I remember having actual tears on my face..but I also remember feeling a deep sadness. It wasn't because I dreamed my family had all been kidnapped by the KGB or because I had dreamed that my teeth had all fallen out (those are the worst.) Nope, it was because in my dream I had found out that there was no such place as Neverland. There was no Peter Pan. And it (apparently) broke my heart. All I remember is waking up and feeling this vague, but deep, sense of disappointment. I remember thinking, Neverland isn't real. There is no magical place. I can't believe in Neverland, because I believe in God. God real. But there is no Neverland. My belief in God rules out the possibility for a belief in Neverland. (And apparently God is way less mysterious than Neverland?)

Fast forward a few years. The movie Peter Pan came out. Not the animated one. And definitely not that weird musical version that has a freaking woman (Mary Martin) playing the part of Peter Pan. (Seriously, who did not get the memo that Peter Pan is a boy? And supposed to fall in with and marry Wendy? Just saying. That movie was seriously disturbing to watch as a child.) But I digress. A fairly good version came out, and my older sister took me and my little sister to see it.

Before I go on, let me just say that I have always been a sensitive child. Especially when it comes to movies...and apparently movies involving animals. First, The Lion King. It killed me every time how when Simba's dad fell off Pride Rock and died, not two minutes later the movie would go right into the song "Hakuna Matata"--probably one of the darn most happy songs on the face of the planet. And there I would be, tears streaming down my face, boogers slowly dripping from my nose, and I would be thinking, Simba's dad just freaking died, and you're singing Hakuna Matata?! (Except that "freaking" wasn't a part of my vocabulary when I was 7 years old.)

There was also Milo and Otis, Free Willy, and worst of all...Andre the (freaking) Seal. Oh Andre. It even had a happy ending. But that just made it worse. I remember being at the movie theater with my family, me being in tears by the end, and my sisters telling my mom that I was crying and my mom saying, "but Lauren, it had a happy ending, why are you sad?" I even cried in Phantom of the Opera. When I was about 17. Pitiful.

But back to Peter Pan. Long story short, Peter didn't come back for Wendy. Stupid jerk. But more on that later. After seeing the movie, I kept my dignity somewhat in tact while exiting the movie theater with my sisters. And by "in tact" I mean that I walked out on my own two feet, only slightly blinded by tears streaming down my face. I spent the remainder of the day stumbling around in a daze, twitching uncontrollably, and mumbling something under my breath about Peter not going back for Wendy. (Okay, so that whole last sentence is kind of a lie...at least the part about twitching.)

But wait, hold on to your seats, dear non-existent readers, because I am about to crucify Peter Pan in my next post.

We Talked About It

Jesus and I talked, that is. We aren't a fan of who I become when I don't eat like the average American. Allow me to explain.

I'll wake up one day and realize how I am killing my body with the majority of the food I eat. (Now take a deep breath before you begin reading the next sentence.) So then I eat an organic carrot and all the sudden I become this snooty know-it-all health freak who can not believe that the rest of the human population hasn't also had a similar epiphany about what they're eating and don't see the error of their ways (and furthermore, why are they not also buying and consuming organic carrots?!) I will literally walk around all day, shaking my head (internally--most of the time at least) in disappointment at the poor food choices of the average American. Why don't people pick the organically grown carrot instead of the Doritos?

Oh yeah, because carrots taste like carrots and Doritos taste like the flavors delicious and amazing. And they come packaged in dynamic duos (or, "collisions" as they call it) just to accommodate (enable...) the indecisive who can't decide if they want the classic nacho cheese flavor (always a safe bet) or that new slightly weird flavor (that will be awesome for roughly 7 1/2 chips but inevitably make you feel sick around chip number 10).

Anywho, this post has gone way off topic. I like to go off topic when Jesus starts telling me that I am prideful or gives me a reality check about the state of my heart--which is not so pure/awesome/humble/Dorito-free as I like to believe it is. Hi, I am Lauren and I am prideful. Seriously, how pathetic am I that I become prideful after eating a freaking carrot?


Just a disclaimer: pretty much everything I write is slightly exaggerated. But there is truth beneath it. Unfortunately.

Keep The Change You Filthy Animals

So I have this diamond.

If I remember correctly, I found it in my room in Italy.

I am pretty sure it's plastic...but can you really be sure? I mean, it is not hugely huge. It is almost a realistic size. For a millionaire. I keep it in this little tin in my room with a bunch of other random earrings and paper clips. Whenever I dump out that little tin, I see it. And I think about throwing it away. But then I think again. And I know I can't. Because deep in the most delusional place in my heart, I believe. I believe that one day...one day that little baby is going to pay off my college loans.

I mean, I think I remember that I found in my apartment in Italy. Doesn't that add some credibility to it possibly being real? Because it's not like I found it on the floor by the costume jewelry in JCPenney's.

Oh, and at this point I don't have any college loans. (Oh yeah, baby.) So that works out just swimmingly.