Smeagol is Free!
A hermitudinal view of...stuff...



R. Lauren Duncan is known to the majority of Boyce College students merely as "Lauren". To a select minority, however, she is known as "Ridiculous", or "R.", for short. Since Ridiculous has commented rather bluntly on several occasions that I ought to create a blog post in her honor, I've decided to take the opportunity set before me and do so. Before I fully enter into that venture, however, allow me to repeat something I've said to Heidi Marlene Johnson once before, and have already quoted here: I live for embarrassing my friends; that, and Jesus.

R., you have been warned ;)

One of her brightly shining attributes is her ability to have a conversation with someone...and not really listen. As I've told her before, she has a very "R.-centric" outlook on life, which means that somehow, with fatalistic inevitability, all of life ends up revolving around her. This includes conversation. Say she's speaking with someone, usually a dear friend of hers. Let's say that this friend could be openly pondering the glories of God's saving grace. R. would somehow get that all-too-familiar faraway glint in her eyes, squint just the tiniest bit, purse her lips, scrunch her nose, and in the middle of the said friend's impassioned exultation cut in and ask with all sincerity, "Do you think he even noticed me today?"

For all the ease with which she can be distracted from any serious sort of conversation, R. has other traits that are equally fickle yet fastidious, endearing yet incorrigible. These include: a delight in all sorts of animals; a delight in all sorts of babies; a delight in all sorts of baby animals. Do you see a pattern developing? Last Summer, much to my confused amusement, R. tried to save the life of a baby bird. The bird was obviously dying, yet R. was pleading with me and all present to come up with ways to save the poor thing. I told her that I knew of communities in Hawai'i that would gladly "take care" of the tasty bird, if only they were here to do so.

Unbeknownst to all but an elite handful, I recently taught R. how to spit. We covered three different techniques, the hardest of which to master is the Baseball Spit. Such a technique requires and allows the spitter to spit with barely moving his or her lips, yet forcing all the spittle through the spitter's front teeth. Here is R.'s glorious first attempt at such a spit.

While R. is not known as one of the Mullins Stalkers, she can occasionally be seen sitting out on one of the benches. This depiction here shows her on one of the said benches, on an afternoon during which she'd confessed to having sweaty armpits.

Yes, she's still single, gentlemen.

But, she's on the lookout...

If all else fails, one can occasionally find R. at the Homemade Pie & Ice Cream Kitchen. In fact, one can also find me there as well, as R. has taken it upon herself to make a weekly contribution to my stomach's appreciative attitude. I usually occupy the seat opposite her. The seat next to her, however, is usually quite empty...

I would be remiss if I did not make mention of the fact that R.'s eyelashes have, upon occasion, been the topic of conversation amongst her close friends. What do we say? We ponder what they're made of, for surely 'tis not mere keratin that would be able to flutter in the breeze so! Nay, as we think upon those long tendrils of temptation, someone will usually utter, "Maybe it's Maybelline!"

Like I said, I do live for embarrassing my friends :) The good thing is, R. has wholeheartedly put her stamp of approval on this post, and in doing so, has given me the liberty of making light of her life...'cause it's not like I don't do it all the time already.

posted by Bolo | 11:11 PM
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