You know her from old classics, like playing oboe in the high school band and refusing to slow dance with her prom date.  But where are all your old favorite Laura Deans now? We checked in and we found some things you would expect, and maybe some things that would surprise you!

Angry Laura

Laura is still so incredibly angry, which we all totally saw coming! Though instead of focusing all of her anger on herself, she tends to hate more abstract concepts like people who hate Britney Spears and men. Typically she funnels her anger into a series of incoherent tweets or sarcastic Facebook status updates, except when she’s jealous, in which case she writes “WHY” in her diary over and over again. Typical Laura, right?

Desperately Attention Seeking Laura

Still very much present, attention seeking Laura is learning to adapt to being alone almost all of the time. Is she more desperate than in the past? It’s hard to say, but we can be sure that the answer is yes. Right now, Laura spends most of her time trying to figure out how to turn every opportunity into a moment of “PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO ME.” Just look at what she’s doing right now! Crazy, right? And when she’s not doing that, she’s poorly managing her money on the Kim Kardashian Hollywood app, buying expensive clothes when she should be saving up to buy a vacation home. She plans to keep playing until her avatar dies, because do people follow or unfollow someone when they die?

Gorgeous as Hell Laura

Now she is doing great. Cute as heck, rocking that t-shirt/no bra style like nobody’s damn business. Would we expect anything less?


That Weird Girl Laura


Fitness Laura

The other day Laura went for a two mile run and now she feels like dying. Never fully maturing beyond infancy, fitness Laura struggles to complete simple activities, like bending her legs properly and feeding herself things that aren’t mini Twix bars. This will probably the last time we ever see her, despite thoughts to the contrary. So cool we got this rare glimpse while we could!

Independent Laura

Present solely due to necessity, Independent Laura is doing great despite the circumstances. Last night, she got drunk independently of anyone around her and shouted at the Queen of Versailles documentary alone her room. So chic!


It just goes to show that no matter where the Laura go or what they’re doing, they’ll still always be our classic faves! Who was your #laurafave? Do you like the timeless Sensitive About the Stretchmarks on her Thighs but Hates Feeling Bad About Them Because It Show’s She Is Manipulated by the Patriarch Laura? Or the long gone My Chemical Romance Fan Laura? Either way, you can be sure she’s left rotting mac and cheese on her bedside table. (thumbs up emoji)



Dear Blog,

I’ve been avoiding you. I avoided you long enough that the “open letter” joke is now so irrelevant it’s not even funny, but I’m using it anyway, because it may have circled back to being funny again.

Truth is, I miss you. It’s been too long.

Every day I think of something that could make a good blog post, I feel sad because I don’t write on you any more. It was a great summer when I had all this time and very little worry, but now I’m back in school and writing projects that I have to do for grades have taken over my life.

But so much has happened! I live in an apartment now! There was a while when my lights couldn’t turn off and all those moments are just squandered. I suppose I can revisit those moments retroactively, but I don’t even know if it matters anymore.

My life is in shambles without you, blog. Granted, it’s in shambles with you as well, but at least I can be kind of funny about it and not feel like dying in a wasteland of nothingness.

Was that overdramatic? You seem to inspire that in me, blog.

And, as always, I’m terrified to set a schedule, because I’m going to ruin that about ten minutes after I post it, and I don’t want to write another sad, open letter to you, apologizing for all the days I had promised something and you got nothing.

But I want to hang out with you more. It was fun, and cool, and I think we both had a good time. This shit is hard to figure out! You’re so lucky, you’re just a blog. You don’t have to deal with things like not getting a job, or not having money, or being overwhelmed by the amount of shampoo and conditioner options at CVS.

Let’s get in trouble again. Let’s be reckless. Remember when everyone in high school hated me because of what I posted on a blog? Let’s be terrible together again.

I’m kidding. I think people already hate me, for the most part, a blog isn’t really going to change that.


That was more for me than for you, blog, but whatever.

I’m going to try this out again for a week, and we’ll see how it goes.

I hope this dear experiment goes well.

I love you.

❤ phlegmmy

So far my mental quandaries are as follows:

  1. Where the heck am I supposed to put all the garbage and cardboard that has accumulated in my apartment over the past week or so?
  2. Is the person behind me in these wooden library study panels masturbating because I have heard several gasps and “oh my gods” and even if someone was masturbating in the library, would I actually do anything about it or would I just let it happen? Probably the former because I continue to be a major wimp, as is seen by the nine fucking thousand people who I let bump into me in the hallway on my way to class today.

So not much has changed since I moved into my first apartment over a week ago, just that I put curtains up by myself and that was cause for celebration even though all it consisted of was sliding fabric onto a metal rod. That’s the good thing about having extraordinarily low expectations of yourself: you’re just constantly surprising yourself with your ability to get cable installed.

That said, if anyone wants to call the bank for me, I’m looking for someone else to get on that.

What’s been the most troubling about being thrown into the big, bad world this time (how many times am I going to have to be thrown into this? I thought I already did this when I moved to college? I feel like every time I enter adulthood, about 6 months later I get told, “nah, that wasn’t REAL adulthood, now you’re REALLY going to see how hard and cruel life is.” It’s pretty frustrating, frankly. I’d like to stop that.) is being somewhat homeless while I’m on campus. I say somewhat because there are actual homeless people on my campus at pretty much all times, and I can say with full certainty that my ability to put on Britney Spears’s 2005 fragrance “Fantasy” every morning keeps me out of that category. Right now I’m essentially trapped in the library, which I assume is like R. Kelly’s “Trapped in the Closet” except I try to do a lot more grocery shopping online.

That’s another thing, I’ve been to a grocery store how many times in my life and I have just discovered now that I don’t know what food is? Seriously, nothing about life makes sense to me any more. Except for instructions on how to put together Target brand furniture because I’m actually pretty damn good at that.

Speaking of which, holy shit does it suck to be a woman in a city. These things seem unrelated, but every damn time someone needs something carried or set up it’s like CALL UPON THE MEN and, I’m sorry, but I can use a hammer thank you. I don’t mean to tease these people, but the radical feminist inside me that yearns for a society where the bones of men are ground into dough I knead into bread with my capable, feminine hands just seethes in anger whenever I encounter this stuff.

But what really sucks is having to be escorted across the street so I don’t get murdered or robbed or sexually assaulted. That’s gotta be the main disadvantage of being a woman right now. It’s not even that I live in an insanely dangerous area, it’s that I am taught from a young age that EVERYONE WILL ATTEMPT TO RAPE YOU and that’s enough to send me into a frantic panic attack.

But as long as I WALK WITH PURPOSE and HAVE MY KEYS IN MY HAND I’ll be okay. Or I might not, hahaha, who the fuck knows. Either way, life experience, right? Or also possibly horrific trauma or death! Someone else can write about me dying and how traumatic it was for them and they will make millions off of it.

Really hoping that’s my legacy.

Final Review: So far, about a C-, but I have a feeling it’s not going to do very well on the exam so…

I’m currently in school to be a writer, which is when people usually say, “but can one really be taught how to be a writer?” and yes, you can be, and it’s also probably where you learned to be a giant douche.

I’m halfway through a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in writing and I can say with certainty, this is what I’ve learned:

  1. Pretty much everyone is a jerk who I will stare at blankly while I think about how much I don’t like them.
  2. It’s real easy to get away with a B in these classes.

And that’s honestly about it. I’ve had the professor who liked me, and the professor who I’m pretty sure thought I was this blonde idiot or something, and another professor who I didn’t like until literally the last class. I’ve had good workshops, and I had one fucking terrible one right before my birthday and I actually thought my life was crumbling to pieces.

It’s possible that I’m just not up for this kind of stuff. I’m not a huge fan of it. It doesn’t help that I’m the sort of person that creates silent enemies. I have several of these enemies that I kind of view as the ultimate nemesis that I must conquer in the course of my life, but they probably have no idea who I am and also would not be able to recall the situation in question which solidified them in the nemesis status in which they currently reside.

Also, it really doesn’t help that every single comment in these classes sound like a weird, passive-aggressive put down. I hate “good effort!” or “great start!” but I put them on every single thing I read because what the fuck else am I going to say?

There are people who are outright cruel and mean, and you can just feel all of our egos just squishing up against each other, and I spent nearly $20 on paper for one story and then I went to class and, like, five people were absent and were like “Hey, could you please e-mail me your story?”

Yes, that will be $4, thank you.

By far, my least favorite part about workshop classes is every second of it. I feel about 10 years old when I’m in one because, more often than not, I have no idea what anyone is saying!!

My favorite, sort of weird platitude people have about writing is “you gotta know the rules before you break them.” This was something I really worked hard at pretending that I understood, but now, I can say with full confidence, that I still pretend that I know what the fuck people are talking about when they say this.

What if that same phrase applied to other things? Like driving? You gotta know the rules before you can become a super awesome stunt driver and flip over cars on the highway. Or surgery? You gotta learn how to do the heart transplant before you can juggle several of them at a time.

What if you know some of the rules? Can you only break the ones that you know? Do I have to prove that I know them?

These are all questions I will never know the answer to because I try really hard to fit in with all these people who are usually better than I am in all possible ways. Probably cause they already figured out this whole rule thing.

When I went to school, I thought I was going to be this really literary writer and go to book parties and talk about the human condition (also something that gets said every four minutes in my classes and I’m like “yep, totally know what that is”) and society and metaphors and annoying shit like that. And then I got to school and tried to do it and I was like, “wow, I actually don’t love this so much.”

And I thought it was the classes and the people and the environment, but I think I’ve pretty much realized that it’s just me. Maybe I just don’t like doing this stuff as much as I thought.

I guess I should have figured that out when all I wanted to do was write short stories from the perspective of Kanye West instead of, like, a gay teenager whose mother is dying of cancer and also has a dead dog or something.

I mean, I’m supposed to write what I know. Or am I thinking of show, don’t tell?

No, its definitely the first one. I think.

And all I really know is that people are lying when they say they don’t like anything Britney Spears has done since 2007 because her greatest album is her 2007 album and I’ll stand by that until my dying day or unless she makes a better album than Blackout and Britney, but that’s pretty much impossible I think, but if anyone can top the legendary Britney Spears, it’s Britney Spears.

Yeah, blah blah blah, Flannery O’Connor once said, “Anyone who has survived childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days.”

But what if you’re some kind of weird woman-child, immature adult-like, person who can legally vote for the leader of the free world but not drink alcohol? Have I survived childhood?

I don’t think I really survived it, more like got shoved and pushed into adulthood somehow while also not actually getting to be an adult.

I feel like an idiot about 99% of the time I have to write something serious, so I quit.

I’m quitting everyone! You can quit too! You don’t have to feel obligated to always create things that are super serious and meaningful! Write about dumb things!!

I’m just putting that out there, because I feel like a lot of people who are like me fall into this trap and confuse “serious subject material” with “good.” And that doesn’t have to be true.

Here’s to independence from the pretentious liberal arts writing scene!

Just kidding I’ll go back to feeling inadequate in about four minutes after I publish this.

I spend most of my time trying to get people to look past my model good looks and getting them to see the hilarious, intelligent, human being that I am. People think that just because I was born with a light dusting of freckles that just naturally highlight my cheekbones that I’m vapid or shallow, and that simply is not true. I’ve seen the Britney Spears documentary now about 4 times, which shows that I deeply care for the innermost thoughts of people, and this was right after I began a re-read of William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury which is my favorite novel told in a nonlinear structure that describes the ruins of an old Southern family and the way they are or are not adapting to the changing social structure around them in post-Civil War America. At least I’m planning to start that re-read. I have to write a blog post about myself first.

I just want all of you to know how hard it is for me to write this blog post and publish it for all 20 of you to read. I constantly strive to be seen as more than just a beautiful, gorgeous face with amazing hair and a great body that I do little to no work to maintain.

But I just can’t let this injustice go on any longer. There are parts on this handcrafted by God (I don’t actually believe in God for the record) human being that I am that just don’t get the attention they deserve. Now prepare to behold, all the underrated parts of my body.

1. My ankles

Great ankles aren’t something you can work toward. There are no ankle workouts. There is no couch to amazing ankles app for the iPhone that gives you two weeks free and then forces you to upgrade so you can get the ankles of your dreams. Great ankles are thrust upon those who God (again, I don’t know why I keep bringing God up I’m really not religious at all like I don’t even care about religion and I’m not anti-religion in fact I think organized religion can be a great place to teach children moral lessons that they may not get elsewhere which is not to say that atheists can’t be good parents but of course they can be it’s just what parenting style works for you honestly) thinks can handle that privilege.


also check out dem veins

I am one of those chosen ones. I seriously love my ankles. Sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of them and think “damn girl you got some ankles on you” and then realize I’m talking to myself and then I feel attracted to myself, which can be weirdly confusing sometimes but then I just go with it.

I just really wish my ankles would get more attention. Instead of a random guy driving up behind me and hollering at me from his vehicle about my “long sexy legs” (real and recent occurrence also I’M FIVE FEET AND TWO INCHES the only thing long about these legs is how long it takes me to run a mile because I’m really bad at running because my legs are SHORT) someone could tap me on the shoulder and say “hey girl I noticed those ankles in those sneakers you’re wearing” and then I could look deeply into their eyes and say “why thank you I inherited them from my grandmother” and they would run away terrified because that is not how you properly respond to an ankle compliment. How do you properly respond to an ankle compliment? I don’t know because no one has ever complimented my ankles so this is just a mystery that will have to go unsolved.

2. The inside of my bottom lip

Okay yes obviously not many people would really get to understand the beauty of this part of my body because who’s going to look in the inside of my mouth. But who better to ask than a dental hygienist.


not going to give you a picture because coincidentally the part of my body I’m most self conscious about is my teeth, so here’s a picture of rap game Taylor Swift’s lip

Recently my mom went to get her teeth cleaned to find that our family dentist now does Botox injections. After inquiring, apparently the dental hygienist commented on how plump her daughter’s lips were. When presented with this information, I made a joke about hitting on our dental hygienist, and as a lesbian who kept this secret gay part of herself hidden for quite some time because her mother once said (exact words) “You know, I liked it better when everyone was just in the closet,” the dinner table isn’t exactly the best place to try out my specific brand of lesbian humor. It was not met with the uproar of laughter that it would have it was somewhere else.

But anyway, yeah, even my dentist says I have awesome lips. What has your dentist said about your lips recently, huh? Yeah, nothing. That’s what I thought. Like, if I had to pick a lip expert, it would be a dental hygienist for sure. Who has seen more lips than those people? Very few people I think.

I am a complete package people. So next time your like, “Wow, look at Laura’s beautiful, feminine hands” take a second and realize, you know what, she is just way more than that. She also has great ankles and I bet the inside of her lips are gorgeous.

I’ve run out of synonyms for “perfect” to describe my body, but I can assure you that this segment will be back when I come up with others.

Guys. I’m a reserved sort of person, mostly. Except for the one time I screamed at the television during the Video Music Awards last year about how much I hated Green Day (I can’t even get into that right now, I am not in the right headspace at all), I keep mostly to myself.

But now that I’m home (see: my parents house) for the summer and none of my friends are here to either roll their eyes at me or let me screech out another drunken rant at them, I’m blogging. I hate that word, and I hate the word “blogger” even more, but as someone that had a LiveJournal from the tender age of 14 and graduated slowly to ruining her life through exposing way too much of her personal affairs on the Internet, I feel as though I have to return to my roots.

There is definitely some kind of salmon metaphor here but it’d be reaching a little bit, you know?

So, I don’t really know what this is going to consist of. I want to write about Mad Men and Breaking Bad (when it comes back) and I want to write about writing and books and nail polish and other crap I like. I want to write about gay things, and I’m not being flip, I actually want to talk about homosexuality and Tegan & Sara. It’ll be fun. We’ll learn a lot about each other (me) and we’ll discuss really important things (me) and we can all cuddle together in a collected space of blogged togetherness (me me me).

I’m usually not completely terrible at keeping blogs (mostly because I love talking about myself and it gives me a little bit of instant satisfaction and I can get away with gratuitous use of parentheses because heyoo judgmental fellow writing students you can’t say anything WHO’S THE VOICELESS VICTIM OF CRITICISM NOW) so hopefully y’all can refresh this in, say, a week and there will be crap to occupy yourself with for weeks (again, because I’m self-centered).

Also, quick note on the title: it was just something slightly clever that I came up with once upon a time and the URL I wanted to use was taken so here we are. It’s also possible that I stole it from somewhere, but let’s just give me all the credit.

Okay, I love you all, you are beautiful, just hang around for a little while why don’t ya?