Confessions of: A Basic, Whatever.

This life according to being “basic.”

those are pumpkin spice M&M’s (disclaimer: do NOT purchase. will result in regret…can’t. stop. won’t stop.)

so, it’s already been established that i’m old, alright? blame it on the al-al-al-co-hol, oh wait, different problem, blame it on the aging process, i.e. memory loss and/or inability to adapt and adhere to modernity–be it technology, fashion or slang–but this whole mockery of basic-ness is a new, bewildering concept to me, like butt cleavage aka “underbutt.”

perhaps this is the plight of having male friends, but apparently, some things i do are like, so basic.

basic–to most translates as simple, plain, straightforward, perhaps the opposite of acidic. keeping up with the times of 2014 here, apparently, basic means so much more. according to urban-dictionary a basic “b” would be someone who is obvious in terms of their behavior, dress and action. synonyms include: boring, white, fake. while i personally consider this a cruel description associated with “bitches,” here are other determinant factors:

*must love PSL’s. For the acronym-challenged, that means pumpkin spiced latte’s. which, hello, i obvi don’t drink because way too many cals, apparently indulging in starbucks is a contender. venti blonde roast, black please, and yes, that’s lindsey with an E. but i can also spell out b-a-s-i-c for you, if you’d prefer?

there’s a starbucks in the forbidden city. everywhere i’ve resided, i own a city mug. and when i lived in china, starbucks was “the place” to be, hello, mango frappes. sorry i’m not sorry, but starbucks is ubiquitous and peripatetic, like me, and i associate it with happy memories of travel and coffee.

*loves fall, or autumn, and quotes like “i’m so glad i live in a world where there are octobers.”

but seriously, who doesn’t love some inspiringly beautiful diction to associate with.

“but what do dreams know of boundaries?” -a.h.
“not all those who wander are lost,” -j.r.r tolkien
“write drunk, edit sober” -ernest hemmingway
…i can keep going.

also i love ALL holidays, not solely thanksgiving/halloween and ALL seasons. suck it, fall.

you watch SATC.
you wear flannels
and UGG’s.
And T.Swift is your homegirl.
you workout, because apparently “workin on mah fitness” is predictable, boring and not cool.
and enjoy yoga. not to mention wear yoga pants.
you like candles (…seriously how lame of you, B.O and dirty scents = so much cooler and unpredictable)
and your horoscope.
you brunch. (because booze and breakfast don’t mix?)
you speak in abbrevs. shortening words is too obvi, ya’ll.
diet soda is your jam. ddp, all the way.
and splenda.
you “juice” –again, being healthy isn’t cool, peeps sorry kale.
you enjoyed the notebook (so essentially you’re a girl of the 80’s or 90’s)
you quote mean girls still and love reality TV and breathe and eat and bitch about being fat and you wear clothes and you have insecurities and you have girlfriends and say like and literally and wear brands like LULU and anything “trendy” and pop and BASICally you are a normal human.

i instagrammed this flower earlier today. because i think it’s pretty.
to quote chandler bing, could i be anymore basic?
***note, post is intended to be laced with irony..this life according to lu confession: anyone who classifies others as “basic” is trying way too hard to stand out and be notably different. humans are too complex to be basic. yes, all of us are united in this endeavor.


Confessions of: Turning 26.

This life according to Lu, confessions of turning 26.
that’s me on my birthday in dc, with my fellow resident directors (WHO ARE ALL SO YOUNG)

“the trick is growing up, without growing old.” -casey stengel

happy belated and all the jazz, but more importantly, guys: i’m going to be living somewhere for 2 years. two years. that’s a snake dropping from a bamboo tree inches from your feet kind of terrifying…yes, that recently happened.

the last time I lived somewhere for two years was Gettysburg College, NOSTALGIA #bullets. But college was nearly a half decade, permanence is implied. i didn’t need a plan yet, or a career, or life goal. i remember feeling pride when i learned to do my own laundry, and made it to class punctually, or got up before 10am and managed to stop at the liquor store before closing. plus, i was young, i had time, semesters, opportunities, tomorrow.

but now, a week before the inception of my graduate school career, i’m officially among the “mid-twenties.”

like when the fuck did that happen? august 8th, to be exact…and now i’ve annoyingly answered my own rhetorical question. ew.

i still call my mom to ask cooking (slash general life) questions and have never attained my own car, i get excited when reruns of full house play at night and i still sleep with my childhood blanket, cleverly named “blankie,” (commenting on my coolness in this endeavor is unnecessary, it’s totally implied, amirite?) needless to say: i definitely don’t feel old.

but every new birthday cake candle introduces additional responsibility. 300-level collegiate classes soon transform into 700-level graduate school courses, rent (especially in new york city) will cost you roughly your social life & also $1650/month for a bed, bath and closet converted kitchen. Recovery from anything too strenuous–drinking, squatting/lunging, heartburn, bone-breaking will be oh-so-much harder.

26 candles. now there’s a hell of a movie title. sweet sixteen, only fast forwarded ten years, when let’s be honest, we’re still doing the exact same behaviors we were too young to be exhibiting as a teen, only now it’s more acceptable to wear higher heels, publicly consume more shots of tequila and advertise our adult-sized breasts (well, for most women, i still have bad boob growth karma, apparently, are you there god, it’s me, Lu). plus without the added stresses of retainers, pimples, homework and curfews. (remember when you got paid just for household chores like making your bed? sigh. those were the days, #teamlostboys)

age is just a number though, right? so why is it that NUMBERS seem to dominate our lives entirely (and no i dont mean #hashtags)…damn all you “destination” focused people. it’s all about the journey, baby.

26–years of existence
14–number of places i’ve lived
2–the number of sisters i have…slash years i have to complete my masters degree.
8–my lucky number. my birthday is 8/8/88, it’s just too easy.
[insert # here]–sexual partners.
[insert # here]–countdown to specified holiday, vacation, the weekend.
129–my weight [for the day]
shocking that i’m willing to write my weight, yet not the # of people (and by people i mean men) i’ve slept with because it’s wayyyy less than 129 😉
4–the number of years i have until i seriously feel old. (30….NO)

but you get the point.

drama aside, i have an admission, truthfully, i don’t mind this new # at all. the opposite to aging is dying, right? though, FINE, maybe, perhaps (definitely) i’m still (slightly) jaded in 50 shades of denial. i’ll just be 25 plus 1 until i accept this new age (ERA!). besides, there’s always 27 to freak out about.

Confessions Of: Being A Sister

This life according to Lu, confessions of being a sister.
SCAN0014The Rules of Sisterhood.

1. I promise to always tell you if you look fat in those jeans.
Because let’s be honest, who else is going to? It’s because we share genes (yeah, the DNA variety, not the denim kind), we have an obligation.
SCAN0036 2. I will always have your back.
Even, especially, when I think you’re 100% wrong.
SCAN0023 3. “I will always have gum,” –Monica Gellar.
You say “babysitter,” your future kids (Eleanor, MiKelly) shall call me “favorite aunt,” I’m always on call, I promise. Even when it’s just to house-sit the dog.
IMG00219-20120520-0234 4. I promise to try to be an honorable maid.
I do not, however, promise to not drink multiple (countless?) glasses of wine and blackout during the bouquet toss and cry when you change your last name.
drei 5. I promise to accept your flaws.
As kids, any sign of weakness was used as ammunition for an argument, as adults, we are highly aware of each others’ imperfections, but as your sister I choose to accept them, ignore them and love you unconditionally, in spite of them.
IMG_0475 6. I promise to be the keeper of your secrets.
You know who I like telling secrets to? You. I promise you always have my word of total silence.
SCAN00167. I promise to only feel happiness regarding your accomplishments.
With you, it’s not a competition, there’s no jealousy, or resentment, just pure pride and joy because I know you’re capable of fulfilling all your dreams.

And as you do, Older Sister, I’ll be right behind you, following your lead; meanwhile, you, younger sister, I’ll be beside you, cheers-ing with a glass of wine in one hand and a cookie in the other.

We all have different dreams, remember? And comparison is the thief of joy—(Teddy Roosevelt).
IMG_1329 8. I promise to walk away when I get irritated.
Because it’s life and we do and I don’t want to say spiteful words I don’t mean.
three of us9. But I also promise to always, always come back.
10. I promise to be your sister.
To hold your hair back, answer your phone calls and eat too many slices of cake with you. To bitch about your exes and help straighten the back of your hair, to share recipes and fears and dream your dreams with you. To tell you when you’re being an ass and to apologize when I am. To not judge you when you eat 5,000 calories worth of chocolate, or if I catch you picking your nose in public, or Facebook stalking the competition. I promise to always love you –because I do. Because you’re my favorites and I’m on your side, your team, and because our friendship, our relationship, our bond and sisterhood—was my first dream.

waiting for us :)

waiting for us 🙂

Confessions Of: A Coffee Addict

This Life According To Lu, confessions of a coffee addict.
IMG_7093“For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;”
                                                              –T.S. Eliot

I have memories of my father peppering his to-go coffee cups with vanilla & cinnamon flakes, sneaking me–his six-year-old daughter–generous sips of the greatest drink invented by man…isn’t that a bold statement considering we also invented beer? (Don’t worry, I attribute the inception of wine to God).

My obsession for coffee was instant; no hesitation or internal questioning, no plaguing doubt, but rather pure love at first sight. I have London, Starbucks, and my good ol’ Dad to attribute my addiction to.

Starbucks in Thailand

Starbucks in Thailand

It’s the word associated to my mornings, capable of forcing me out of bed at the earliest of hours and my favorite aroma; even some of my favorite memories. I love how, in most cities, you can buy coffee at any hour, the way the taste varies in different countries and its availability on every menu.


Green smoothie & coffee breakfast–California

The way I feel about Keurig machines is similar to the way I feel about ebooks & Kindles. I will always prefer the antiquated pages of typed novel running through my fingers, the smell of fresh paper and the sound a page turning to an electronic book. I love the angry whistle and grinding a regular, cheap Mister Coffee pot makes when brewing my favorite habit, the return of a second, or third, or fourth cup.


Coffee Shop in Seoul, South Korea

It’s romantic. And the kind of cool I imagine smokers enjoy about cigarette’s–only without the added repercussion of lung cancer. It’s ubiquitous, calorie-less and the culprit behind my five mile runs; the second love of my life after chocolate. I’m a sucker for well-packaged coffee grinds and intricate location mugs and the pairings of bakery goods, for international coffee beans and flavored roasts, and horribly-tasting, yet glorious & limitless diner coffee.

Coffee Art

Coffee Art–The Strand–New York City

“What’s your favorite cup of coffee?”
A beautiful question that only true coffee drinkers can appreciate and understand. An answer that can fully acquaint you with a stranger and provide a connection, a moment of intimacy. A taste that can transport you to another memory.

Petit Cafe--coffee shop in Hong Kong

Petit Cafe–coffee shop in Hong Kong

Mine’s Christmas morning. When it’s actually acceptable to rise before the sun. The coffee pot remains endless. We drink from colorful, Christmasey mugs purchased in Germany at a Weihnacht’s Market. The unwrapping of presents presumes while coffee consumption occurs. And it smells like a hybrid of nutmeg, cinnamon and sugar cookies. It implies family. And a rare moment of absolutely zero stress, pure happiness–the promise of more coffee and a coffee-cake/scrambled eggs & bacon feast to follow.
unnamed-1There’s a coffee lingo, though the truest of coffee-addicts know “trenta” and “black” are the only words you need to know. Iced coffee, cream, sugar, latte’s, ‘iato’s and ‘cinno’s don’t qualify as a legitimate cup of coffee. And even though Starbucks isn’t my favorite, they are universal, and consistent.

It says tea, but those are totally coffee mugs.

It says tea, (so regal & snobby) but those are totally coffee mugs.

Now, some of my favorite moments include sitting with my mom, dad and younger sister with a freshly brewed pot of coffee, awaiting the sun rise and the promise of the day and another cup–chatting and enjoying each other’s company while stalling time–with memories of vanilla and cinnamon sprinkles, as though every sip was the first.

Bottoms up, fellow coffee-lovers, may the grinds be never in your cup! This is life according to Lu, a coffee addict.