The first time I met Lauri B was at a little place called Cleo's. Actually- I don't think it was called Cleo's then, I'm just one of those old people who refers to everything as they once were... ie: "After I get my groceries at Buttrey's, I'm going to head over to the Bon Marche and pick up a casserole dish..."
My friends frequented Cleo's not because they were gambling fiends, but because of the $2.99 steak and eggs special. I don't trust discount anything, let alone bargain-priced casino meat, so naturally, I never partook. But everyone else did. And by everyone else I mean Jevon, who ate his weight (his college weight, of course, as he's quite petite now) in dime-store ribeye.
I was supposed to meet Jevon somewhere on the vast casino floor, already aware that with him was his friend, 'Lawrence, from WSU, he went to Richland High, he's pretty cool.' I was under the impression that I'd already met all the cool people that existed in Richland, ergo I was a bit skeptical.
They were congregated near the darts, so I came up behind them and just watched. Like a creep.. standing there, not making myself known. I do this a lot. At WSU I'd navigate the main mall, and literally go out of my way to avoid people I knew. If I was in the Bookie, I'd ignore them, and hope they wouldn't recognize me without a drink in my hand. Lawrence saw me lurking in the shadows of the casino that night, but didn't say anything. He later confessed that he figured I was just some freak girl who was standing a bit too close, watching a bit too carefully, and shrugged it off. This happens to Lawrence a lot, I've come to find.
Jevon finally turned, startled by me. "Oh! Scary, Booze. This is Lawrence." We exchanged hellos and they continued their game. I, of course, pulled out my phone and texted a few friends, "Jevon's friend Lawrence? Hot." Okay. I admit, here and now, when I first met Lawrence, I thought he was good looking. We all did. I have since gotten to know him, and his looks no longer dazzle me into incoherence. Instead, I'm now captivated by his sparkling personality... :/
Anyway, while texting the girls, I probably launched into the part of my personality that's overly sarcastic, a little bit mean and maybe/kind of funny--- AKA the person I pretend to be when I'm too nervous or 'dazzled'... If the aforementioned is the only part of me you've ever seen, it's either that I like you, or that you intimidate me into incessant cynicism. (Usually it's the latter... there are only about 20 people who don't make me nervous- Lawrence being one of them. He puts me at ease with his constant fumblings- be they words he doesn't quite understand or curbs he trips over...)
We all hung out over the next few days, eating cheesecake from a tupperware tub, and visiting a place called, "Cheapskates"- where soup was spelled 'supe'. We hung out at Shari's until our parents were rising for work and drank obnoxious amounts of Busch Light at any opportunity (Mike's Hard for the ladies... and Lawrence). Also, one time, we spiked 32 ounce sodas with the cheapest vodka ever, and then went to Kohl's. I still don't know why.
That summer he became one of us, he was always around. It's still weird to me when I realize he has real friends- ones before us, because when we found him it was as if he'd been raised by wolves---
There was the camping trip, where he threatened to jump on the tent, flattening it, if we didn't let him in. You can't lock a fucking tent, he was just too drunk to figure out the zipper. He then screamed, "Someone shit on my shoes. I see it, I know what it is! Someone shit on my shoes!"
That first camping trip. We should have known then.
For the record, no one did anything to his shoes, but that didn't stop him from bitching constantly throughout the rest of the night about the conspiracy against him and his footwear.
Then there was the time Lawrence and I visited Jevon, hard at work, at the Sports Authority. Jevon was wandering around the shoe department, hiding from customers and waiting for his next bathroom break- just another day on the job. As a man wearing a turban walked by, Jevon gave me a quick look. "Hey, Lawrence," he said, gesturing to the man. "Isn't that your dad?"
"I'm fucking Catholic, you asshole," Lawrence replied.
Ah, my friend Lawrence... he has a way with words. From his Xbox handle, 'Mussyjams' to his catchy signature phrases- ("Yeah bitch, I guess" and "nutbags" being two of my favorites), his every utterance delights me. When we were going through security at the airport on our way to the Vegas senior year, his eyes narrowed as I emptied my pockets, dropping my Bonnebell into the personal-items tray. "What the fuck, Booze, are you popping at altitude?" Translation: "Liz, why do you have lip gloss on your person? Are you going to apply it on the plane? Why would you do this, there is no need." He's also fluent in babeonics, something that I find disgusting and fascinating all at the same time.
Lawrence is always on the cutting edge of fashion, and he once told me that he has "eyelashes people lust for."- an undeniable fact. During that first summer, Lawrence decided (was forced?) to get in touch with his feminine side. We (Megan, Ashley, Kaylee, Erica and myself) were gathered around Ashley's kitchen table, when we overheard Lawrence in the kitchen, on the phone. "When are you coming here?" He demanded, sipping out of a princess cup. "I'm stuck here with all the dumbass girls!"
He loves us, he just pretends to be bitter and angry and violent- of this I'm sure.
Also, check out the princess cup clutched in his grenade hand.
Also, check out the princess cup clutched in his grenade hand.
Our influence was all too great, I'm sad to admit, and I can only imagine what his friends thought as they saw pictures of him in a dress all over Facebook. Yes. You read me right. It was a lovely green and white striped frock, with spaghetti straps and a v-neckline. In all honesty it was a bit slutty. But, he looked smashing. What, you never saw the photo? Pity. I guess you could just look here, or here, if you so desire.
Dresses, I think, are just a natural thing for Lawrence, as wearing pants, for him, is entirely bothersome and difficult. Our friend Chester (Lawrence) has a tendency to 'chesterize' (flash his ass 'accidentally') all the God damn time. This photo is proof- as his tan line starts well below where it should. I always thought it was a recent thing, something that happened during college. Lawrence never seemed very gangster, but who was I to judge? Maybe low slung dungarees were some sort of style statement, some sort of 'message' to the man.
It wasn't until winter of 2008 that I got the truth. After a rousing game of beer pong, Lawrence slipped, or something, and ripped his underwear, leaving a gaping hole- or in his world, plenty of room to chesterize. His cousin, Paul (who is far and away one of the nicest guys I've ever met, so I don't hold his relation to Lawrence against him), hearing the phrase for the first time, said this, "Chesterizing? Is that what that's called? He's been doing it every Christmas since age seven!" After all the wondering, it finally dawned on me. He must be prone to buying ill-fitting pants.
Lauri B trips and falls and splits open his chin. He's baffled by the English language, even though he's been immersed in it for 22 years. He swears, he bitches, and he complains about every single drink he's ever ordered. He doesn't understand that when the guy tells him it's a chicken burrito, just chicken in a tortilla, that all he's going to get is chicken in a tortilla. He also doesn't understand that when this happens, it's not appropriate to throw a fit in the middle of a Kirkland restaurant, even if it is his 22nd birthday. He'll also want to bitch, bitch, bitch... all the way home.
If Lawrence had his own reality show, I imagine it would be a Lebanese-American version of the Jersey Shore. Having never seen the Jersey Shore (something Lawrence would undoubtedly find punishable by death, or by the act of forcing me to actually watch Snooki and the gang), I can only speculate as to how closely he resembles DJ Pauly D, but I mean, have you seen the amount of gel the guy uses? Twinsies...
He doesn't like puppies, or music, or fun. He hates things like politeness, and walking without falling. (Don't think I didn't see that misstep on the escalator last weekend, B. It was an escalator! It does the work for you! The hardest part is getting on and off without getting sucked into the mechanism... You were just standing there, and all of a sudden, as if by seizure, you nearly fell- taking us all with you. Unforgivable.)
If you're reading this, and you don't know Lawrence, you might at this moment be saying to yourself, "Thank God I'm not friends with that nutbag. He sounds clumsy and disagreeable and kind of rude." Yeah bitch, I guess.
Truth be told, all jokes aside and bitter commentary silenced, Lawrence is one of my favorite people, ever. I feel lucky to have met him, and fortunate that he hasn't gotten tired of my equally bitchy attitude.
Love you, B. Happy Birthday.
Dresses, I think, are just a natural thing for Lawrence, as wearing pants, for him, is entirely bothersome and difficult. Our friend Chester (Lawrence) has a tendency to 'chesterize' (flash his ass 'accidentally') all the God damn time. This photo is proof- as his tan line starts well below where it should. I always thought it was a recent thing, something that happened during college. Lawrence never seemed very gangster, but who was I to judge? Maybe low slung dungarees were some sort of style statement, some sort of 'message' to the man.
It wasn't until winter of 2008 that I got the truth. After a rousing game of beer pong, Lawrence slipped, or something, and ripped his underwear, leaving a gaping hole- or in his world, plenty of room to chesterize. His cousin, Paul (who is far and away one of the nicest guys I've ever met, so I don't hold his relation to Lawrence against him), hearing the phrase for the first time, said this, "Chesterizing? Is that what that's called? He's been doing it every Christmas since age seven!" After all the wondering, it finally dawned on me. He must be prone to buying ill-fitting pants.
Lauri B trips and falls and splits open his chin. He's baffled by the English language, even though he's been immersed in it for 22 years. He swears, he bitches, and he complains about every single drink he's ever ordered. He doesn't understand that when the guy tells him it's a chicken burrito, just chicken in a tortilla, that all he's going to get is chicken in a tortilla. He also doesn't understand that when this happens, it's not appropriate to throw a fit in the middle of a Kirkland restaurant, even if it is his 22nd birthday. He'll also want to bitch, bitch, bitch... all the way home.
If Lawrence had his own reality show, I imagine it would be a Lebanese-American version of the Jersey Shore. Having never seen the Jersey Shore (something Lawrence would undoubtedly find punishable by death, or by the act of forcing me to actually watch Snooki and the gang), I can only speculate as to how closely he resembles DJ Pauly D, but I mean, have you seen the amount of gel the guy uses? Twinsies...
He doesn't like puppies, or music, or fun. He hates things like politeness, and walking without falling. (Don't think I didn't see that misstep on the escalator last weekend, B. It was an escalator! It does the work for you! The hardest part is getting on and off without getting sucked into the mechanism... You were just standing there, and all of a sudden, as if by seizure, you nearly fell- taking us all with you. Unforgivable.)
If you're reading this, and you don't know Lawrence, you might at this moment be saying to yourself, "Thank God I'm not friends with that nutbag. He sounds clumsy and disagreeable and kind of rude." Yeah bitch, I guess.
Truth be told, all jokes aside and bitter commentary silenced, Lawrence is one of my favorite people, ever. I feel lucky to have met him, and fortunate that he hasn't gotten tired of my equally bitchy attitude.
Love you, B. Happy Birthday.
PS-
SEANY.
(Oh. He wanted to be mentioned, too.)
