burning questions

last night i got mad at a picture.

this picture:


it was mocking me and my inability to recognize a joke. all i was trying to do was browse a few real estate listings (on a legit site) and then i saw this piece of work. i instantly felt self-conscious, 'am i the only moron who can't tell what the fuck this is about?'

reading further into the ad did not resolve any questions i had.


is someone seriously trying to sell this house? what is the entire fire department doing posing for a picture in front of a burning house? exactly how long ago was thomas edison's time? just how bad is the fire damage? who can i rob to get 55k cash?

et cetera, et cetera.

i was going to print out the picture and burn it just to make it feel stupid too, but then i figured it might be the type of picture that likes that kind of thing. and also because i might end up burning down my current home and wind up in a lunatic asylum perpetually mumbling something about fire and cash offers.

on that note, fuck you, picture. you and your weird fire scenario are no longer going to bother me, unless you want to play nice and tell me what the fuck you're all about. then i'll invite you over for tea and we can chat about property lines and vinyl siding.

i've been a good girl this year

dear hannukah harry,


please don't be pissed that despite being a relatively uninformed jew for the past thirty years i still don't know how to spell chanukka.

and also, please don't think i'm a sellout because i have a christmas tree and a menorah. that tree is so pretty and when i put a piney scented candle near it, it makes me feel all forresty and wintery.

hanuka candles never smell that good.

now that i've gotten that out of the way, i'd like to ask you to pretty please hook me up this year with a new phone. you see, the last one you got me was a little outdated, and never really got good reception.


plus it started to rust after i dropped in it the snow.

so the next year i went over your head and got myself a stylish new phone all on my own. it looked like this:


but then i dropped it into a pot of watercress soup at work and it smelled like sour cream ever since that day.

the one i got to replace the soupy phone wasn't much of an upgrade and now tends to shut off automatically when it gets mad about all the baby drool on it.

i can't say i blame that poor phone. i wouldn't want to drooled on either.

what this all comes down to is simply that if you can find a way to get me a phone that performs better than little miss's table-top phone, and even has a decent camera on it, i promise you won't regret it.

there are so many wonderful things i can take pictures of and text to you that would make you smile. the other day i saw a portrait of a man who had just told a really dirty and inappropriate joke and he was waiting for me to either crack up or smack him. i really, really wished i had a way to capture that moment and share it with you. but alas, it was not meant to be.

together, hannuka harry, you and i can change the way i share crazy with the world. i'll even make you some of the best latkes you'll ever have. if that's not enough of a bribe for you to help a girl out, than i don't know what else i can do. i'd hate to resort to threats because they take so much work, and frankly, i'm too lazy for that shit. i'll just say, do yourself a favor harry, for the sake of your reputation, please don't cheap out on me. the world is watching and the ball's in your court.

i'm ready and waiting, your time starts.....NOW!


thank you and good day. with deepest regards,

lana

it's not me, it's you, but only if your name is miss.chief

miss.chief had a brilliant idea to do a whole month of guest posts at other blogs. i took her up on her offer pretty much immediately thinking that i'd be able to bring a bit of much needed variety to my pearl hiding spot. and also because i'm lazy and i knew it'd buy me some time to create my next amazing post/vlog.

on that note, i'm pleased to present you with miss.chief:



Walking down the rain-flooded street, she thought about the story her mom once told her about when she was a small child.

She had been dressed like Paddington Bear- yellow rain boots, jacket and hat. In one hand she clutched her favorite toy dog ‘Raffi’.

With her free hand she picked up the dry dead worm corpses and placed them back into the puddles she thought they came from.

She was certain, in the idiot blind compassion of a child, that the water would re-hydrate the worms and they would come back to life. As if their only problem was dehydration and not … being mortal.

She cried when they didn’t come alive. Her mom bought her some candy and she moved on.

She later learned that worms drown in water. This is why they come out of their burrows when it rains: so they don’t drown. Not because they love the rainy weather, like she had imagined for so many years.

She probably saw that in a cartoon or something.

haunted horse (take two)

ok kiddies, i did it. i made a vlog.

be gentle...





ps. the lack of proper lighting was not intentional for effect. it appears that putting a video online will make it darker than how it looks on your camera. i guess every vlogger has to go through a learning curve.

haunted horse (take one)

last night i tried to jump on the vlogging bandwagon.

i got a solid grip with both hands, but my big toe slipped and i fell off. i think i twisted my knee as i rolled down a rocky embankment, choking on dust and shame.

i tried to get b to be my cameraman, but he was all technical and started talking about a contract and benefits, so i had to cut him loose from the vlog project. my style is more freelance and adaptive, i can't be tied down with worries about meeting the hr needs of my crew.

the next step was to try to do everything myself, production, editing, and airbrushing. just kidding, i don't even really know what air brushing is.

clearly, i was not successful.

vlogging is way harder than i thought it would be. or maybe it was just that i picked a challenging subject for my first attempt. you see, the story i wanted to share with you, the one about the haunted horse, has way more of an impact when you can see and hear it, as opposed to just reading about it. the pressure was too much for me and i crumbled under the stress.

i thought about writing the haunted horse story with some pictures to illustrate key points, but i'm not quite ready to give up on my (potentially) new path as a vlogger. i have to keep trying.

for now, i'll leave this post to be about the time i tried to vlog, rather than the time i tried to vlog about this crazy haunted horse story that goes like this.....

does that even make sense? i need more coffee...

nice to meet you crazy, i'm dumbass

i used to think that crazy found me no matter where i was. after some healthy reflection, i think i've decided that i have a tendency to not only invite crazy, but also to perpetuate crazy.

often times, i find myself taking conversations so literally that i can get lost in details and miss out on the big picture. please allow me to share the following example: the story of crazy at the dog park.

the setting was a neighborhood dog park in the level opening at the base of a hiking trail. it was february and the snow was deep enough to require some serious footwear, yet not too deep as to trouble the dogs.

an older woman, dressed in a long sleeved tie-dyed shirt, sans jacket but equipped with a pretty hefty scarf, approached my perch on the picnic table. her pen-on-a-string swayed to and fro as her long legs marched deliberately through the snow.

polite chit chat ensued, nice nice blah blah.

then she says 'the good thing about all this snow is how it freezes the biems in the ground, even when they're still hot.'

trying not to show my confusion, i attempt to process this statement. did she just tell me she freezes bagels in the ground? does she reheat them or just eat them frozen? is there some sort of 'end of days' bagel stash outside her house?

you see, when she said biem, i heard bialy, somehow mispronounced. for those of you who might not know, this is a bialy:



a weird bagel with no hole. completely unacceptable if you ask me, but that's not the issue.

only after days of pondering the strange conversation, did i realize that she mean bm, not biem. bm for bowel movement.

she was talking about how nice it was that the snow freezes her dog's poo, thus making it easier to pick up. i, however, was completely unaware of this at the time. i asked her questions about how rapid the freezing process was, depending on the size and other factors. i even went so far as to ask how often she tried that method, and with any other things.

we had this parallel conversation in which we talked about two very different things for close to ten minutes. she was happy to oblige my inquiries and seemed to get more excited the longer we talked.

if my clever little monster hadn't chosen the perfect moment to attack her poor, ragged looking mutt, i might still be there now discussing the energy efficient option of using snow as a freezer.

take that, sucker

hey reader, yes, you...

can you smell me?

i've worked up a dangerous sweat-stench that's most likely emanating from my body in visible stink lines. the noxious odor is probably making its way into my computer as i sit here type type typing away, through the nest of wires behind my ancient monitor, and directly into your private slice of internet.

this morning i had a glorious battle.

i wrestled with nature herself.

i bested a beast and made it squeal in agony.

i killed a spider.

but not just any spider. i discovered the queen disgusting spider of all gross spiders. she was rotund, with wiry black hairs covering her middle. she was about the size of a golf ball, or my hand. she moved so fast it was difficult to be certain.

she had built an elaborate web encasing the outer storm window in my bedroom, the one flanked by the pine tree that occasionally says 'hello' with a gentle scraping of pine cones across the glass.

within her masterfully crafted realm were two lesser spiders, probably males that she used as sex slaves. they were brown and skinny, small knots with little legs twisting out from their centers.

i took them out first.

as i slowly removed the web from the windowsill, i kept my eye on the queen. she darted towards my hands and then backed away slightly while circling for a better position. she was planning her attack. i knew time was running out.

in that moment of trying to keep my cool and finish the murderous job, i was struck with an idea. a notion so simple and yet so powerful that i knew i would not be defeated by the queen's venomous strike.

i reached for the hose of the nearby vacuum cleaner and switched on the suction.

the queen let out a singular wail of protest as her body was pulled through the vacuum hose and smashed into the filter. it was a defiant sound. one that makes me feel as though she may be back, vengeful and ready to rebuild her domain.

but not today.

today i am victorious.

and now, i'm going to recover from the exertion of this morning's efforts by sitting around feeling smug and superior to all spiders.

i'm legally bound to keep my mouth shut

not really, but kind of.

yesterday i lived on the wild side, for about three hours. i was out gallivanting, during the day, with no babies.

i should have known it was going to end badly.

unfortunately for you, i can't give any details about meeting chuck norris yesterday and his wifey, who clearly has him on lockdown. but if you're even slightly intrigued, you can read about it here, and hear about it on the mantime radio show live today at 1:00.

i'm somewhat afraid to post my pic of the chuckster here before the full story is revealed. and also, it's a little grainy. so instead, i'll leave you with this stunning visual:

that's what he said

b said to me last night 'i wish i still blogged because i need to write about that shit.'

sensing something hilarious, and most likely offensive, brewing in his brain, i offered up my little slice of the internet for his use.

please enjoy, my husband brian:



Lana watches a show called "Hoarders" on (ugh) A&E. It's basically about a bunch of slobs who can't get their act together long enough to throw out the massive piles of garbage cluttering their filthy homes. The usual suspects are middle aged women with the ridiculous need to keep every single item and trinket that falls within the gravitational pull of their useless lives, and their pussy-whipped husbands who can't put their feet down and scream "enough!"

Is this all it takes to produce a TV show these days? Replete with darkly toned music and quack "doctors," A&E does a nice job trying to convince the viewer that these losers suffer from a disease, and that it's a "real problem." Please. All I see are a bunch of clowns who have decided that candy wrappers, old band-aids, and broken furniture are valuable objects to be cherished and protected.

I mean, is this like a joke or something? I could see if these people were hoarding actual treasure, then this would be something worth watching. If some dude had an obsession filling his home with gold and silver bars? Sure, I'd watch that. Or if it was at least something badass like a compelling drive to collect medieval death weapons. But some twit that hasn't figured out that rotten containers of milk and expired coupons hold zero value? No thanks.

I'm not sure who I hate more, the asshole junk collector or the buffoonish professional they always trot in to offer advice on how to diagnose the problem. Are they fucking serious? It's as plain as day! Throw that trash in the goddamn garbage and be done with it! No person on Earth has any possible reason to fill a 3,800 square foot house with used pistachio nut shells. What's even more insane is that some of these enabling spouses actually buy a second or third home to allow their bonehead partner to keep stuffing away more and more tons of rubbish.

Man, go find someone with a REAL problem, like a heroin addiction or something. These hoarders? They're seriously just homeless people with mortgages. Yea, exactly.

death may come and her name is crow

sometimes i can be a little indecisive. sometimes i can be a little spontaneous.

sometimes i have a problem with starting sentences with 'sometimes...'

sometimes i like opinions, i want feedback, i need help.

sometimes i don't give a shit what anyone else thinks.

today i care about what you think. today i want your opinion. but that could be because i'm a little scared of the answers i gave myself.

so in a totally self-serving way, i am going to pose an interactive question for you.

first, check out this ten second clip. please.



thank you.

now, is the sound:

a) my own private death harbinger

b) a bird possessed with a baby demon

c) the gates of hell opening up to swallow me alive for hating birds so much

or

d) something else that might have nothing to do with birds and/or hell


ps. i hate birds.

i hate their feathers.

greasy, dirty feathers.

i hate their beaks and their beady eyes.

i hate that their nests are germ cavities in which they breed more germs.

i hate their sounds.

i hate their wrinkly, leathery textured legs.

i hate their eggs.

i can't help but picture the eggs covered in slime, nesting in the nest, waiting to birth baby birds also covered in slime.


maybe they know.

that must be why they stalk me so.

he said what?!

the man was tall, but not big. his roundness was evenly distributed for his height. his greying hair peeked out around the edges of his well worn cap.

his clothes looked as if they'd been washed a thousand times over, soft spots in the fabric were easily noticeable. the man's smile was friendly, despite the jagged bits of teeth that seemed to dance in every direction across his mouth.

the pungent, yet not altogether unpleasant odor of white lilies hung in the air as he rinsed their stems in the sink. his eyes were focused intently upon the work at his hands.

and so, with this initial impression, i was disarmed.

as i washed my hands in the adjacent sink, we said our polite hellos. i turned my back to him as i reached for the paper towels to dry my hands, thinking our exchange was complete.

'so you work here, in the kitchen?' he asked me as i walked back to my table.

i answered him with a friendly smile of my own, and a simple yes.

'what do you do, work the salad bar?'

this was confusing to me, someone who tends to take things literally more often than not, as there was no salad bar anywhere in the manor house that we catered events from. i may have shown this in my face with some sort of unattractive brow wrinkling and nose twisting. his next remark was more to his point.

'i mean, all you do is make salads and stuff, right?'

oh. i finally got his implication, that because i'm a woman my job must be to make salad. the old florist was, in his sexist way, just trying to make conversation.

i asked him, 'why would you assume that? because i'm a woman?'

his grin was wide, his eyes sparkled at my eventually coming to understand his statement. this must have made him feel more comfortable. 'yeah, that's it. because, you don't cook here, all by yourself.'

that last part wasn't a question.

while i felt my face flush and my palms sweat, i knew that i was very, very close to saying some rude things to this man, this stranger who had only minutes before won me over with his gentle touch of the beautiful lilies.

the insult that i felt was growing exponentially by the second as my brain took his friendly smile and then interpreted it as smug. at the peak of my indignation, however, i realized that no matter what i said his opinion would never be changed.

i opened up my knife bag and took out my eight inch suisson chef's knife. its carved wooden handle, slim and molded to my grip, and it's gleaming stainless steel blade sharp enough to cut bone, helped me to center my thoughts and block out the man's ignorance.

at least, i thought to myself, i have a way cooler weapon than your words, old man.

badass

saturday night i saw three captain jack sparrows, two alice in wonderlands, and one badass.

no, wait. i wrote that wrong.

i meant one bad. ass.


this picture doesn't quite do the kneepit hair justice, but you can just take my word for it, it was lush and plentiful.

perfect imagery for a monday morning if you ask me.

you're welcome.

that's what friends are for

i went on a date yesterday. my first in a long, long time.

i met this new girl at work last week. we shared some minor background info, had a few laughs at other co-worker's expenses, and all in all, hit it off pretty well. we exchanged numbers saying 'we should be real life friends and not just work friends!'

i didn't really expect her to call so soon, but she suggested a lunch date, and even asked if i wanted to bring my kid. it sounded serious.

now, i've never been the type to get all nervous on dates. rather, i tend to get bogged down with silly little details beforehand. for example, deciding what is appropriate to wear on a first-time, outside of work, girl-date, which may or may not be a friend interview.

it's been a while, and i've always been way off the mark when it comes to trends.

i wondered, do i need a bumpit?


no, i probably wouldn't even be able to get that mess to work right anyway.

should i wear a blazer?


that won't do because this time of year i pretty much live in my hiking boots and i don't think they go well with the shoulder pad look.

after spending enough time being significantly wishy washy, i managed to get dressed and pack up little miss and her ten million tons of gear needed for an afternoon out.

another detail i tend to be obsessed with is promptness.

if i'm on time, i'm already late.

i don't know why, but i always plan to be somewhere at least fifteen to twenty minutes before i said i would be there. it's a compulsion, i can't help myself.

when new girl was an hour and a half late for our lunch date, which incidentally turned out to be more of an early bird dinner, i was less than thrilled.

i liked her, but keeping the bitchy aside for the sake of a good impression was really difficult.

i guess i should be glad she didn't stand me up altogether. i realized that i've reached that point in my life where making good friends is hard to do. and although i'm not necessarily on a mission to fill a certain number of friend slots, i figured being nice and giving her a chance would be the mature thing to do.

after our date, she texted me three times.

i can't tell if she really likes me or if she's just a crazy stalker. the whole situation is starting to make me uncomfortable because i want to like her, but i don't know if i can.

thank god i have kristine in my life. she totally made me feel better for wanting to be a bitch about the situation. she not only understands the importance of details, she also bought me this thoughtful gift:


thanks k, i love you! (and so does my dentist)

i are scientists

i smiled this morning as i realized that i was privy to a major scientific breakthrough occurring right before my eyes.

i saw a distinct example of darwin's theory (although i hate to call it that, because isn't it pretty much fact at this point?) of natural selection in action. behold, my foot-shaped candy dish:


note the remnants of your ordinary bag of candy corn present in the foot. what we have here is more than leftover candy, folks. no, these rejected pieces, the ones not enticing enough to make the giant leap from the foot to a mouth represent the mutants in the candy corn society.

the candy corns that were most appealing, and not discolored, broken, or in any other way ill-suited to be the best candy corn they could be, were the ones eaten. and as such, those are the ones that will be the driving force behind my compulsion to go out and buy more candy corn.

if i had opened an entire bag of the mutants from the beginning, i wouldn't be consuming my weight in candy corn every hour of every day for the month of october. brach's business would surely feel the downturn, and candy corns everywhere would be dying out.

until next fall, but that's a whole separate scientific theory.

i wonder if that's what happened to the candy pumpkins?


these fuckers are so damn delicious that i can see their cherubic smiles and hear their joyous giggles as i eat them. they're happy to please. they know they're too good for their own good, and thus they serve their purpose well.

perhaps too well.

i fear they may now be extinct, or at the very least an endangered species. i have repeatedly searched for them in the three major grocery stores within a two mile radius of my house to no avail. i am now contemplating going to the corner store bodegas, like the candy pumpkin junkie that i am, to overpay for stale, grouchy pumpkins.

that too, is a whole separate issue.

but for now, i think i'll leave you with this parting thought: if you find yourself staring into the bottom of a candy dish, with only a few pieces remaining, let them be. they were meant to be the stragglers for a reason.

i'm a hater first and a lover second

whenever there's a choice between good news and bad news, i always opt to hear the bad news first. i feel like ending a conversation on a more positive note is the overall feeling that i'll take away from the whole thing.

in that respect, here are some randoms that are collecting dust in my cerebrum:

i hate:

- that american express keeps sending me their ridiculous departures magazine. we are certainly not the black card holding type who care about which private jet company offers the best service or where to eat when exploring the south of france.

- those disgusting yellow balls that fall off the tree in front of my apartment building and smell like rotten ass whenever someone steps on them and smushes the gooey parts into the sidewalk.

- that it's damn near impossible to find a cute-ish looking pair of winter boots for a little girl. princess wands, sparkles, and peace signs are never appropriate decor for a self-respecting toddler.

- that my neighbors smoke like chimneys around their little kid and i always keep my thoughts to myself about it and then have to vent to my husband about how disgusting i think it is.

- that writing gigs pay like shit, or are for shit that i don't want to write about.



on a lighter note, i love:

- when somebody who can't count works in the pastry department at my job and i get to bring home the extra portions of chocolate banana bread pudding with salted caramel sauce.

- (and i know i've said this before) that my kid is so chill when i blast some loud music in the car that she just continues babbling cheerily and in no way is bothered by my horrific singing.

- that the holidays are coming up and i can cook all kinds of fun things for the families. i think pumpkin spaetzle is going to be on the menu for sure, and i mean fresh pumpkin that i have to clean and roast and everything.

- that this time of year there's a million scary movies on tv. i love me some ghost stories, even if that paranormal activity movie was less than terrifying.

- that i can talk about this kind of stuff and that there's people out there who get it. thanks internet, for introducing me to all of my lovely bloggy friends!


how about you, what's on your lists today?

take two, or whatever

hi blog, i'm back. i know we've had this discussion before, but what can i say, i like to repeat myself.

repetition is soothing, comforting, and sometimes necessary.

so i'm just going to lay it all out on the monitor for you and hopefully we'll be able to have a new found respect for each other when this is all out in the open.

i've been hanging out with my other blog again. and by again, i mean really only since tonight. number two has been woefully neglected as of late and at the same time you have been mutating into some caricature of myself that, as someone i respect a whole lot once said, feels like only about 2% of the real me.

now, i'm not trying to disown you. you are me and i am you.

but sometimes, as may or may not be indicative in my most recent post before this one, i feel as if you have become a home for that goofy story-telling side of me that is always performing. i do love to create elaborate scenarios and pepper my language with some well-placed curses, but sometimes i have other thoughts in my head.

i feel like it just makes sense to live as a multiple personality, utilizing the two different blogs to suit my different needs, rather than to try to marry you with someone whom i know you probably wouldn't even make it halfway through the first date with before emitting an obnoxiously large amount of "are you fucking kidding me"s and "get the fuck out of here"s.

the last thing i want is for you to think i'm taking myself too seriously, it's not that at all. instead, i feel like this is the best way to preserve what you have here. you're working on a good thing, and i don't want to ruin what works for you with inserting a whole new dimension.

thanks for understanding, blog.

and besides, knowing me, i'll be over this phase in about a week and a half. i'll be back here feeling more like myself again in no time.

time travel is possible

today i will not be screaming fuck you, google.

no friends, today, google has supplied me with a good hearty chuckle served up with a side of humility.

i went back to look at my very first emails in my gmail account from january 2005. if i remembered the password or wasn't so lazy, i'd try to login to my hotmail account from college. i'm sure there's more than a few gems there.

but back to google. my pal google here has reminded me of some funny stuff, that i, as an elephant, have surprisingly forgotten. the very first email convo was enough to make crack the fuck up, but i think i need to set the stage a little bit for you.

b and i had been dating about a year and had recently moved out of our home town to where we reside now. i had taken a part time office job while looking for something more permanent. i've never, ever had a desk job before this or after this.

i was an assistant for a concrete company, basically doing logistics and admin shit. needless to say, i was bored out of my mind. i played on the internet all day long, pretending to be ordering supplies from staples. also, i sent many emails to just about anyone i knew about the minutiae of my day.

so there it is, the first thing i read this morning was a string of emails about a black ops garbage conspiracy and a shit-talker. and i don't mean shit-talker like someone who badmouths someone else, but literally, a man who talked on his cell phone while he took a shit. and by talked on his cell phone i mean made sales calls to clients.

reading words of mine from so long ago almost felt as if i was a new observer in the whole situation, sort of like when you hear your own voice recorded and played back for you.

my tone was goofy, a bit condescending, and definitely full of curses. i even ended the final email with 'TMB forever'. (for 'that's my balls' reference please go here).

is that really how i talk/write? it was funny, but also, a bit shocking to see evidence of a style that appears to be unchanged over the course of many years. i used to want to be a career writer. i used to want to write for fabulous foodie magazines and talk about the intricacies of different dishes. i imagined i could have flexibility and employ a safe amount of creativity in my career.

then i took a close look at food writers and realized how awful they are. not only does most food writing read like sandpaper in your mouth, but it manages to destroy everything about food that i love so much with nitpicking. not to mention that my 'style' is apparently not mature or dry enough to be very successful.

so now i blog. i write here on this little slice of internet in hopes of learning more and more about my writing style and to see if there is such a thing as a career in writing, for me at least. maybe, years from now i'll look back on these posts and reflect about how they have or haven't helped to shape my voice.

do you go back in time to read your old words? do you like what you find? i'm curious to know if you experience more fluctuations in subject matter and tone of voice or if your style is inherent and will show in your writing no matter what the topic.

here and there (again)

y-y-y-y-y-y-yeah boooyyyyyy.

i knew a kid named jerrod in high school who used to rub his hand on his desk like he was mixing a record and say that over and over and over.

today i'm a featured guest blogger for a guy named jerrod. it would be hilarious if it was the same guy, but it's not. no, this jerrod, of the yellow factor, has asked me to be a part of a little pink series he's doing to showcase some of his favorite women writers.

and who am i to turn down a chance for ever-increasing internet glory, or to help out a pal. so go check out my post here or here (it's the same link, just in cases) and enjoy!

what else is new

i'm a jew and i've found the grail.


granola + trail mix = miraculous experience

in other news, i'm working harder than a mexican day laborer. which gives me plenty of time to compile random thoughts in my head but no time to sit and elaborate on them and weave those wonderfully imaginative scenarios that i like so much.

maybe now is the perfect time to thank some special bloggy friends. i've received a couple of those awards that are being passed around like the high school ho and i'm so happy for the herpes, i mean honor, that i'd like to make an official acceptance speech.

first there's jules, of mean girl garage. i'm convinced that jules is the sweeter, funnier version of myself that i imagine i could be when i grow up. her writing is truthful and clear, and her personality makes it so easy to relate to. i admire the shit out of her, in the friendliest of jealous ways. so thanks jules for this awesome peep show award!


and this is the part where i list seven personality traits about myself:

1. i internalize my thoughts so much so that most people i meet often tell me later on 'when we first met i thought you were the biggest bitch because you never said anything to me.' i may mistakenly come off as aloof, but really, i'm so awkward that i think things and forget to say them out loud.

2. i clean things by throwing them out. i've been obsessed with that tv show about people who hoard crap. it makes me anxious because i want to go to their houses, equipped with face masks and a bubble suit of some kind, and throw everything the fuck out. i can't think straight when there's clutter around, it's the worst distraction for me.

3. i have poor self-control, i.e. i've never been on a diet in my whole thirty years of life. i'll exercise like crazy, because i enjoy it. but i'll also eat whatever the fuck i want because i enjoy that too. then again, working in a culinary capacity has definitely changed what i enjoy eating. if you ever saw the color of the oil in a deep fryer after a busy day, i promise you'd never look at a single french fry the same way again.

4. i thrive with routines. i like to do things over and over the same way. i can also play a song that i like on repeat fifteen times in a row. i'm only slightly compulsive and it makes me happy.

5. seven is a lot of personality traits to think of, even for someone who likes to talk about themselves as much as i do.

6. i absolutely cannot hide my emotions and/or true feelings about a person or situation. if there's someone i don't like, or something that makes me angry or upset, i have tremendous difficulty hiding my discomfort even just for a few hours. i know there's some times and places where you just have to fake it to get through something, and i feel like i've never been very successful at faking it.

7. i plan a lot. i'm so busy planning for tomorrow and the next day, that sometimes i forget about today. but those are the times that i just cut myself off and go for a walk in the woods with monster or play in the park with little miss or ditch little miss to go on a date with b. i think that makes those times even more special.

finis.

not really, i have another award/meme coming at you. this time i'd like to thank the wonderfully trashy-talky alyson, also known as other worldly one from calling people names. if you think i have a potty mouth, you should be warned that i have nothing on aly. and i mean that in the best kind of complimentary way. thanks aly for this sweet award!


this one is that one where you have to answer all those questions using only one word. one word is a challenging concept for a chatterbox like me, so no promises there. but here it goes:

1. Where is your cell phone? - next to me
2. Your hair? - wet
3. Your mother? - away
4. Your father? - not good
5. Your favorite food? - the consumable kind
6. Your dream last night? - rowboats
7. Your favorite drink? - coffee
8. Your dream/goal? - independence
9. What room are you in? - living room
10. Your hobby? - work
11. Your fear? - being broke
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? - working
13. Where were you last night? - home
14. Something you aren't? - your mom
15. Muffins? – anytime
16. Wish list item? - house
17. Where did you grow up? - the 'burgh
18. Last thing you did? - feed the fuss
19. What are you wearing? - jeans
20. Your TV? - off
21. Your pets? - annoying
22. Your friends? - busy
23. Your life? - more
24. Your mood? – fired up
25. Missing someone? - my girls
26. Vehicle? - perfect
27. Something you're not wearing? - socks
28. Your favorite store? - grocery
29. Your favorite color? - all
30. When was the last time you laughed? - 9:58am
31. Last time you cried? - last night (watching hoarders)
32. Your best friend? - b
33. One place that I go over and over? - hiking
34. One person who emails me regularly? - k
35. Favorite place to eat? – home

i know these things are supposed to be passed on, but i feel like i'm joining the game in the last twenty seconds so i'm going to skip that part. and also because if i don't go blow dry my hair at this exact crucial moment i'm going to have the most horrific fro for the rest of the day.

on that note, happy tuesday!

quickie

when i was in college i thought it would be so hilarious to get a license plate for my car that said 'only me'. while i realized exactly how lame that was a minute later, i still maintain that certain situations have a way of happening to me more so than any other person i know.

for example, this morning i went to interview a woman for a spot in her day care for little miss.

i met your average, ordinary woman, who was hoping to get me to pay her real american dollars in exchange for caring for my kid. i'll spare you the details about the other kids with dried boogers on their faces and gazes fixed on the cartoons blaring from an obnoxiously large flat screen tv.

no, the true 'only me' moment was about five minutes into the interview when crazy day care lady went off on a tangent. she asks 'so, you know that virus you get when you give your husband a blowjob and then you have sex and you get it in your uterus?'

to say that i'm not so versed in blowjob viruses is a bit of an understatement.

my cousin noah thinks that she's confused and that the virus actually comes from being ass-fucked and then giving her husband a blowjob and getting a stomach bug from swallowing her own shit.

i can't top that. thank you noah!

when ugly attacks

today i'm going to share with you a story about one of the more frustrating situations i've experienced as a parent. if you know anything about how i write, i think you'll know not to expect any 'we went here, my baby cried about this, i changed a poopie diaper in the middle of a crowded store and it was so embarrassing but her cuteness made up for it' kind of crap.

it all began with the fuss's first birthday party last weekend. after receiving mostly really great mix and match clothing pieces for her, i called my cousin laura to ask what the rule was on returning the ugly stuff. i felt a familiar twinge of jewish guilt that my nana has instilled deep within my being rise up and bully me into a corner, smacking me in the face with a blunt 'how dare you! those clothes were picked out lovingly as gifts for your kid from her relatives who adore her. you need to get over yourself and be happy that she's as fortunate as she is to have those things.'

but then i remembered that i can exchange just about anything nowadays and that really isn't so bad. no one has to be the wiser. a few encouraging words from laura, who explains that it's better to get something you like than to have your kid look like a dumpster diver, and i was off to the mall, gift receipts in hand.

what i wasn't prepared for was being outsmarted by the reigning queen of ugliness.


this hideous creation has magical powers the likes of which i've never seen before and hope to never experience again for the rest of my life.

in the children's department at macy's, surrounded by endless aisles of pink and lace, i pulled the dress out and laid it on the customer service counter hoping for a quick and easy exchange. instead, the air around us turned black and foul. mysterious clouds formed overhead. spiders and worms came out of no where and began to make their way towards the evil dress-queen. i pressed my child's bear-head blankie into her hands and guarded her, trembling.

before my mouth could even start to warn the helpless cashier, snakes arose from the hypnotic leopard print and made an unearthly screeching. the cashier was instantly turned to stone, petrified and completely devoid of any remnant of human behavior. sounds emanated from within her rock-hard facade, 'we. cannot. take. this. dress. back.'

the cashier was trapped, held fast by the grips of the dress's evil powers. to save her i had to wrestle the monstrosity back into the gift box from whence it came. i closed the cardboard lid and broke the spell. the cashier awoke, free from the devilish hold, and gave me a blank stare as if the whole encounter had never happened.

i sullenly took the gift box back, knowing i'd never be rid of its terrible contents.

my feet were heavy as i walked away, stealing glances at the cute, normal looking dresses on the racks. they seemed to feel my pain, the various sleeves and price tags rustling with sympathy as i passed.

perhaps i should get used to losing. i am a parent, after all, and things can't always go the way i want them to anymore. but that doesn't mean my kid is going to wear the medusa dress. no, the best place for that mess is the garbage, so that no other child can be subject to the bad taste of a loving relative.

driving miss potty mouth

the following conversation took place in my car last saturday night, from approximately 11:21 to 11:36 pm.



me: go fuck yourself.
google maps: nice lana. and how exactly do you propose that i set about fucking myself? i am but a mere computer program, unable to think for myself, let alone determine the most appropriate way to carry out said self-fucking.
me: better yet, how about a giant fist-fuck up the ass, from an elephant?
gm: now i think you're just being bitter.
me: bitter? call it that if you want, but i still think that you need to get shoved in a plastic bag full of your own shit and be forced to eat your own shit as you suffocate on the smell of your own shit.
gm: i don't make shit.
me: yes you do! it was your shit-filled nonsense that got me in trouble today. you're only still alive because i had the foresight to leave myself extra time before my shift started.
gm: hey, it's your responsibility to get to your job site, not mine.
me: not yours?! your name is google maps! you exist solely so that you can make sure i get to my desired location. it would appear that this whole business of making up imaginary roads and giving them real sounding names isn't working out so well.
gm: that road wasn't imaginary.
me: and the next time that i have to drive around in the woods of greenwich, i think i'd prefer not to get out of my car and flag down the one passing motorist for miles around, in a torrential downpour, by waving my arms like a desperate lunatic.
me: and fuckyouverymuch that 'road' was a driveway, asshole.
gm: i never told you to get out of your car. that was all you, lana.
me: well it's not exactly like there's a corner store in between all the enormous manor houses where i could stop and ask a local to point me in the way of a non-imaginary road. even the trees here seemed to conspire to keep me from infiltrating the hidden lair that is conyers farm polo club.
gm: that's great!
me: huh?
gm: well, if the trees had a hand in things then it's not entirely my fault!
me: go fuck yourself, again.
gm: hey, how about getting yourself one of those car things that tells you where to go?
me: are you talking about a gps? see, you're so full of shit that you even suggest your competition can do your job better than you. listen up, fuckface, i'm only going to say this once, i work in foodservice. it's not a glamorous job by any means, and it certainly doesn't pay enough for me to afford luxuries like a gps when your dumb ass is supposed to work, for free.
gm: i bet everyone here in greenwich has a gps.
me: i bet they do, cuntwad. this place drips money. the smell of old, old wealth hangs in the air thicker than your shit-stink. the wide, whitewashed gates guarding every driveway part only for jaguars and bentleys. my lumbering, five year old 4-runner got more than a few dirty looks from the elitist lion heads on each stone pillar we passed.
gm: i don't know what else to say, lana. you seem intent upon blaming me for your troubles instead of just moving past this little hiccup.
me: then don't say anything at all. let's drive all the way home in silence. you can use the time to think about your colossal fuck-up and how you're going to make it up to me.
gm: fine.
me: fine.

me: oooh, saturday night eighties on the radio! as an additional torture for you i'm going to sing as loud as i possibly can. karmakarmakarmakarma-chamee-li-on, red gold and gree-eeen, mmmhhhmmmuuumm!!


that's right google, karma's a bitch. watch your back.

a day in the life of...

i'm back! and thus ending my self-imposed bloggy hiatus. i thought about giving a recap of my fantastic family birthday week, but then i was bored with that idea about five seconds later. instead, i think i'll share a story with you today that seems to parallel my life in many ways.

it was saturday morning, september 19th. i woke up a thirty year old woman, wife, and mother, yet i felt no different than i had the day before, or the day before that.

by 8:30 the sunshine was bright and warm, yet kind enough to leave a crispness in the air that, to me, defines a typical autumn day. b was officially on toddler time while monster and i were free to enjoy the perfect weather.

that's right, my birthday present to myself was a day in the woods with my dog while my husband stayed home with the kid.

i'll skip the details about monster's severe car anxiety and tendency to puke in my lap or near my lap, and instead i'll just say that we headed north toward a trail dubiously called silver mine. there may or may not be an actual mine in the area, but there definitely is an old lean-to that's creepy enough to pass for the blair witch's vacation home.

leading off from the parking area is a huge open field, often hosting a few canadian geese lucky enough to have found the well-hidden spot. on one side of the field is a small lake. the trail starts towards the back end of the lake and hugs its side for a short distance before delving deep into thick towers of oaks and maples.

monster and i began to navigate the path of basketball-sized boulders, most likely laid down to hold the loose soil around the base of the lake. we proceeded to follow the small yellow rectangle markers painted every so often on a tree at eye level. i don't know much about photography, or lenses, or lighting, but i took a few pictures with my trusty canon in hopes of capturing some of the beauty to take home with me.




as far back into my memory as my mind's eye can see, i have always been drawn to forests. i imagine the trees standing as tall guardians to whatever mystery lies within their fortress of bark and leaves. the temptation to crawl, push, or otherwise break through their defenses is still so irresistible to me. i can't drive on a wooded road without my gaze being drawn like a magnet to the side, wondering what exists there that i'm not seeing.

that morning in silver mine, i was lost, captivated by such sounds as a sole acorn dropping and leaves rustling high above my head. the view of the lake to my left and an ever increasing rise to my right were made of more riveting material than i had seen in a long time.

i wandered off the trail in my distracted state. i couldn't have gone far, i had just passed a marker. as i paused and looked around, monster suddenly dashed about twenty feet to the side and froze. i went to him and sure enough, directly above where he stood was the next trail marker. sometimes he drives me crazy, but in that moment, watching my dog so proud of himself for leading me back to the trail, all the puke piles and ripped furniture were forgotten.

we continued for a while until we reached the part that i knew led to the creep-shack. i turned to head back to the car. b and i had big plans that night and i wanted to make it out of silver mine for my date.

as we emerged from the mouth of the trail, i turned and took one last picture of the path.


the field lay open before us and monster seemed to have an itch he needed some help with.


i laughed watching him roll carefree through the grass. after a few minutes i called him over to put his leash on as i saw a man with his dog approaching. i reached out to grab his collar and was surprised to feel some foreign matter stuck in between the metal rings.

i saw it before i smelled it. monster's neck and collar were covered in shit. i can't tell you if it was from another dog, a small horse, or the blair witch herself, but it sure didn't come from monster.

looking down at my feces covered finger, my ethereal mood vaporized as if it had never been. i cursed my dog's disgusting bad luck to roll around in a giant field and find the only shit spot. i fumed about my lack of proper cleaning materials. but mostly, i marveled at the irony that for the entire twenty-five minute drive back home, it was i who was choking back vomit as my car-sick monster tried repeatedly to climb in my lap with his shit covered neck.

this is one badass ode to the laundromat

the final installment of my guest blogger extravaganza comes to you directly from one of the most talented writers out there in blogland. he calls himself the badass geek, and his witty and sophisticated style quickly made him one of my favorites. his words seem effortlessly complex as they create such imagery that refuses to be ignored. i rarely use my blog as a platform to tell other people what to do/read/like, etc., but today i have to just stop the gushing and ga-ga-ing over badass and say trust me, you'll be happy you went to check out his spot. do it. now. i mean, after you read this guest post.

thanks again to all of my wonderful guest bloggers and i'll be back monday! happy weekend!





My dresser drawers are empty and barren -
there are no clean pairs of underwear to be found.
A week’s worth (or more) of dirty laundry has collected
in a massive pile on the ground.

All I’ve got are some mismatched socks
(their mates lost long ago in the dryer),
and a ratty t-shirt with holes in the pits
that my wife threatens to destroy with fire.

To avoid being arrested for walking ‘round nude
(I don’t know if I’d live that one down),
I threw all my clothes into a plastic basket
and make my way to the Laundromat downtown.

It smells of lint and bleach and filth,
and it’s louder than a NASCAR racetrack.
I scout out a washer, put my clothes inside,
set it to wash, and find a seat in the back.

My neighbor to the right is friendly enough,
but he smells like he bathes in cheese.
My neighbor to the left looks like she’s running a short fuse,
balancing a screaming toddler on each of her knees.

There’s the obligatory senior-aged woman,
equipped with a crossword puzzle and a glare.
Her husband (presumably) sits slouched over, asleep,
and farts periodically, completely unaware.

I tried to focus on the book I brought,
and to ignore the noise and the smell.
I came here to quietly wash my laundry,
not knowing this was a portal to Hell.

I thought the worst was all behind me
as I fetched my clothes from the dryer,
but it wasn’t until I began to fold them
when the situation became suddenly dire.

I had a pair of my boxers in hand
when some motion caught my eye.
I looked up to see Geriatric Crossword Lady
smiling at me and looking sly.

She winked and waggled her eyebrows at me,
and my stomach fell to the floor.
This can’t be happening to me again,
not after what happened before!

No longer caring about wrinkles
(that’s what irons were invented for),
I gathered by the handful my clothes into the basket
and high-tailed it for the door.

I thought after I’d been propositioned the last time,
the odds of it happening again had to be small.
Turns out I was wrong, but how could that be?
It didn’t make any sense to me at all.

What is it with me and Laundromats?
How is it that I attract the freaks?
All I know is that I’m going to put off
washing my clothes for a couple of weeks.

the c is not the same as the one in pc

today i am so pleased to present you with mr. c's first ever guest post. he usually reserves his great point and laugh stories for his blog, advice and humor from mr. condescending. i once promised him i'd never let the truth slip out about his being such a nice guy. but then again, maybe i just want to believe that there's a little kitten underneath the scales and forked tongue. who knows. maybe you should just go to his blog and see for yourself.

oh, and mr. c, you have to ask a girl out before you can claim she stood you up! but we new yorkers have to stick together, so anytime you want to go for a hike and take more amazing foliage pics let me know.



Hello everyone my name is Mr C. It's short for "Condescending."

Lana asked me to do a guest post for her, but she shouldn't need to hire me because she's the condescending one. Her and Kristine from Wait in the Van refused to meet me at the Dutchess County Fair for prime loser spotting :(

Anyway, Lana was my 3rd follower so I forgave her and decided to do my first ever guest post here.

I just want to tell you some reasons I can sometimes live up to the name of Mr C, and at the end I'll tell you a terrible thing I said last week to someone, but it was funny too!

Recently I found myself in Target with my business partner looking for memory cards. Somehow I ended up tossing the most expensive one in the department's garbage can. It wasn't an open faced one, but he was upset I didn't say anything. Oh well.

I always come up with instantly mean things to say or do to someone, then my reasoning kicks in and I usually refrain from it. Similar to when you get cut off driving, and you instantly may wish they get in an accident, but then realize it was silly to think that. I recently thought of sneaking a photo of the nice girl that cashes my morning papers out and plopping it on my blog with connect the dots drawn all over her pimples, just because she has so many pimples.

She's always nice though, so I think I made the right decision not to. Now on the other hand, this slightly cocky guy sometimes is in the store to cash me out. He really doesn't seem like too bad a guy but he's about 4 feet tall or something and has a big head. I always referred to them as "midgets". I only learned recently on otin's blog that midget was actually a racist kind of word.

Last week I didn't see him working and I asked miss pimple face if "that guy" still worked there or did he get fired. The manager is right next to her and they both look confused and ask "what guy?" Now instantly I have to refer to his height in order to clarify who he was, but I didn't want to say midget so I'm thinking quickly of what the right word would be...dwarf? Nah that sounds bad, maybe elf? No! Crap, then I ran out of awkward time and blurted out "The Gnome?"

A lot of uncontrollable chuckles start coming from them, and me too, relieved.

And then I see the little guy in the back room on the computer, probably within earshot. Oh well!


Thanks for visiting Lana's blog!

serve it up or i'll serve you a fat lip

for a terrifically tasty tuesday, you've come to the right place. jerrod from the yellow factor was nice enough to compose a little anecdote for me. his tale of well exercised restaurant restraint is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the discussion of customer service becoming more of a theory than a practice. order up and enjoy!



Lana has asked (threatened) me to do a post for her as she is on a vacation (receiving her treatment). Of course I jumped at the chance to ruin everyone's day on someone else's blog. Nothing better than to go to someone else's house and tear stuff up, crap on the floor and just leave. Kind of love her for having that amount of trust in me. Awww. As you can tell, or should know.. I'm a big Lana fan. Not to a point where a piece of paper orders me to stay 500 ft from her, but a fan nonetheless. Anyway, guest post. Here it is.


Don't judge me...

Those that read me know of my troubles with the fast food industry. Recently I was at a certain McPlace and ordered a #12 with a Coke. She said "Was that a #12?" I said "Yes". This as followed by silence............ then I get this question full of attitude : "Um, with a Coke?!?!?" I sat there a good 5 whole seconds trying to gain enough composure to reply with "....Uh huh." You know the attitude of a 19 year old Latina chica with too much eyeliner and greasy hair, right? I pulled up to the window and she gave me my order without looking at me once or saying a word. Not a one word was said. I even said thank you as she shut her little window. I drove off and I swear I felt I had just died a little bit on the inside.


I'm afraid we as a society are digressing to a point that in the near future, the same scenario could happen although after I say thank you at the end, she opens her window back up and punches me in the face. Sign of the times I suppose. Gone are the days of smiling and saying thank you. Gone are the days of inquiring if I needed anything else to make my meal more enjoyable. Gone is the courtesy I should receive when I go back and exchange the Diet Coke I was rudely given with the Coke Classic that I ordered. That's fine. I wasn't acknowledge at all and to top it all off, the everlovin' fries were cold. For that, maybe I should have punched her in the face.

Any bad customer service stories you would like to share? Flood this post with them so not only will it look like Lana is really famous (she is in my eyes), I will look like I didn't just take a crap on her living room floor. See? Win/Win.

Goodnight and good luck.

i hope you're hungry, it's meaty time

hey kiddies! welcome to the first installment of the mother hides the pearls guest blogger experience. i'm thrilled to have a fellow who probably needs very little pimping from me seeing as he's so hilarious people tend to flock to his blog in astounding numbers. his words seem to come from that genuine funny place deep within and crack me up daily. i still have a good laugh at chin mistress once in a while when it will pop into my head for no apparent reason.

and now, here's meaty from "why?", "how?" and other abstract questions!!



Greetings all!

How in the hell are ya's? Those of you that have read my blogs before will know that Subway restaurants have been the subject of many of my ramblings, everything from the questionable "sandwich artists" to the baffling androgyny of their marshmallowy spokesperson Jared. Well, here's another one for the books: I go to the Subway by my house last Sunday to pick up sandwiches for my Wife and I. Big mistake, as I knew they usually had nothing but snotty and trashy teen-age girls working there who were merely using their Subway experience as a stepping stone to bigger and better careers…like…oh, Denny's or Frisch's Big Boy???

So anyway, I go in there and was followed in by two more guys, and we were treated to listening to one girl working the counter loudly complaining and yelling at her co-worker, whom was sitting off to the side making personal phone calls. My favorite comment she made was "I ain't doing shit the rest of the night!!! I ain't doing SHIT! You hurrrrr (hear)???" Mind you she was making this comment in front of me and about 4 other customers by this point. Incidentally, this same girl literally stormed out after she was done making the sandwich for the guy behind me, leaving her phone-crazy co-worker puzzled. "Whurrr you going??? Hey! Whurrr you going??" Hopefully they will both take important life lessons away from this job with them, mainly, uhhhh… pimps are always looking for new hos.

OK, now that wasn't even the main complaint, as crazy as that was! My main complaint is that by the register, they had a tip jar and an index card taped to the register that was hand-written and read "Please tip your waiter or waitresses". ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME????!!!!! Now granted, it could be something that these two girls wrote and stuck on there without their manager's knowledge to see if it would really work, but the sad thing is, I don't think it was a joke. I think that this was legit!

First of all, it's not like they are some little Mom & Pop sandwich shop that is struggling to keep their heads above water in the face of direct competition from a massive Mega-Corporate Conglomerate like oh…say… Subway???! Second of all, they aren't waitresses or waiters. They cut up fucking sandwiches with all of the gusto of a diseased, three legged sloth and you usually wouldn't be able to force them to crack a smile even if you had a gun to their heads.

To borrow from Steve Buscemi's Mr. Pink character in Reservoir Dogs, you don't tip the people at the counter at McDonalds, so why would I tip them? Should I have tipped them for their wonderful professionalism or for even making me a decent sandwich (they couldn't even get that right)? I should have TAKEN money from the jar…yeah, that's right, there was actually some money in the jar! Some schmucks actually fell for it! Not me. I should have taken a massive horse piss in that jar…just fill it to the rim.

That's the frothy message that I should have sent to Subway and their cherubic, pasty, bloated he-she spokesperson Jared. Jared should spend a little less time playing with the balls of famous male athletes in their commercials, and more time trying to convince us that he is actually biologically a human male. I bet that he has butt plugs sewn directly into the seat of his massive canvas fat-man pants so that he gets a little surprise every time he sits down. Hey Jared, why don't you try easing up a bit on the mascara and lip-liner, you mysterious and frightening parasite!

I mean, am I wrong here?????

Whew… so…what's for lunch?

the time has come and its name is giveaway

the results are in! i had an adorable assistant help me draw the names for my giveaway winners today.


and kristine helped too by baking these amazing cupcakes for my impending birthday this saturday.


maybe that didn't have much to do with drawing names but yes it does say 'happy 30th dirt!'. she can work wonders with some icing and pink cake.

little miss managed to pull three names out of the bowl before she started to eat the small pieces of paper, which i consider a huge success. paper can be so irresistible for a nearly one year old who's perpetually teething.

and now, the winners!!!!

the lovely sally sal of you. me. no adult supervision... is the winner of the handmade scarf!!


sally, i know you'll use it to accessorize your good looks and great charm like only you can.

next, the winner of the mystery gift is none other than vic at what were you thinking? !!


i'm sorry to disappoint, but i still can't show you what the mystery is yet. i think you might just have to wait until vic gets it and posts about how much she loves it or how lame it is. although i can give you a hint. the idea came to me after i wrote this post.

and finally, the winner for the last item, the pet treats, is cal of cal's canadian cave of coolness! now, i must say that i was surprised that the homemade goodies for our four-legged friends weren't a bigger hit. perhaps that was for the better. you see, when i checked the jar of cat treats i saw this:


oh yes, moldy, fuzzy, rotten cat treats. yum.

since i had set aside some treats for kristine and her obnoxious cats anyway, and because she also requested a poisonous flavor, i gave her the extras instead of throwing them out. and today when her cat fluffy shit almost scratched little miss, i threatened to force feed them to the vicious feline.

but not to stiff cal on his prize, i have arranged to wash out the treat jar and send it to him with some nice, store-bought kittie snacks.

that's probably going to be the last time i bake for a while.

as it turned out, not one person wanted the doggie treats. so i'm going to keep them to give to monster. and also so i don't risk peta hitting me with attempted pet murder charges.

i hope you all enjoyed my blogoversary/birthday/100th post celebration! it was, after all, inspired by you, dear readers. the fun shall continue next week with my star studded line-up of guest bloggers. i'll be back monday the 28th, don't miss me too much!!

no, no, thank YOU

today is going to be a very busy day for me, which is fine because sitting around with nothing to do can sometimes make me want to kill myself, or the unemployed assclown who drives his ridiculously loud remote control car right under my window for hours at a time.

first on my to-do list today is send a very huge THANK YOU out to my guest bloggers who will be sharing their funny here at my pearl hiding spot next week. i'm technically not going away, that was last week, but i will be so busy with family birthday week that i don't want to leave my blog all neglected. plus guest bloggers are fun.

without further adieu, your guests are as follows:

monday 9/21- meaty from "why?", "how?" and other abstract questions

tuesday 9/22- jerrod from the yellow factor

thursday 9/24- mr. c from advice and humor from mr. condescending

friday 9/25- mike from badass geek


sensing a pattern maybe? why yes, i have asked all guys to guest post for me! not only do i enjoy all of their writing and abilities to entertain, but i also thought it would be a little funny to have a bunch of dudes say they were guest posting for a blog called mother hides the pearls. but i guess that's only funny if you don't know me, because sometimes i think i can relate to men better than mommies. b always says he loves how i drink beer like a man.

so if you haven't already checked out all of their blogs, you should. they were kind enough to write for me and they each have a wonderfully unique style that truly makes them all stand out.

moving right along, today is actually going to be a two post day for me. this one here marks number 99. this afternoon i will be over at kristine's house (from wait in the van) while we ignore our kids, drink gallons of coffee, and draw names for the winners of my giveaway! don't get any silly ideas about me rigging anything here either, i don't play that way. besides, all the stuff i'm giving away i've already given her at some point already.

tonight i will post my 100th post and it will reveal the winners. i hope no one is too disappointed about not winning, or about winning.

and lastly, i have to give a warm hug and a shout to stacie from stacie's madness for making my day by giving me such a sexy bedroom-eyes blog award!


that's right folks, she adores me, and i adore her. her writing is witty, poignant, honest, and hilarious. if that's not reason enough for excessive adoration, that i don't know what is. thank you stacie!

and to pass this award along, i'd like to give it to lora at fever. not only do i adore her blog, but i have the biggest girl crush on her and i love our little email convos in which we repeatedly tell each other how great we are. you do wonders for my ego lora, and your writing touches me so profoundly that i carry it around in my head long after i've turned my computer off. so thank you for sharing that carefully selected 2% of yourself in your special way.

that's all i've got for now. tune in later tonight for the winners!!

thank you and goodnight.

i respectfully decline the invitation

i love my cousins. and i'm not just saying that because they're the only two that i have, or not because they both read this blog.

i love my cousin laura because she's more of a sister to me than my real sister.

i love my cousin christina because even though we may not talk all that often, i still feel that we have many characteristics in common and can always find something to laugh about together.

so now that i've established the love-fest, it's time to share with all of you quite possibly one of the most disturbing things i've seen in a long, long time.

how many of you know what in the fuckity fuck this phallic looking thing is?


ok, so maybe that's not what they all look like, and i should know because i've just now browsed way too many pics in my google images search and still can't find one that conveys my absolute disgust at this product, but it's called a neti pot.

i can't even get into describing it's function in detail because it bothers me that much. but i will say that there are some sickos out there who deliberately put this mess up their noses in hopes of relieving sinus congestion.

oh yeah, and it makes liquid and boogies come out the other side of your nose.

it's so gross i can't even take it. i'm shivering in my chair this very moment just thinking about it.

i was recently made aware of this phenomenon of self-inflicted torture this past weekend as my extended family gathered to celebrate nana's eightieth birthday. apparently, i'm the only ass who's not only never heard of a neti pot, but who also equates its use to being raped by a horse up your nostril.

laura proclaimed with conviction, 'oh yeah, i love my neti pot. you know what? i'm going to have a neti potti so we can all sit around with clean sinuses and smell things better!'

i asked permission to use 'neti potti' but only so i could burn it up.

this is what i think maybe laura thinks when she says neti potti:


this is what i think when i hear neti potti:


the best way to get out of trouble is to stay out of trouble from the jump. look at how brainwashed those poor cartoon folks are. their eyes are glazed over to disguise the humiliating and invasive nature of it all, as they use a neti pot with a decorative flower etched on the side to distract you from the gory truth. no friends, i can see clearly that no good can come of this.

laura and chris, i will drive hours and hours, with the fuss bitching all the way, just for five minutes with you guys, so long as i never, ever have to see a neti pot in real life.



---------------------



for those of you who may have missed it, there's still time to enter my blogtastic giveaway!! i'll be drawing names and posting the winners thursday night the 17th.

my name is: you're a lying cheat!

as i sat down to type here tonight i was all set to write about b's breakup with his man bestie, but after three deleted paragraphs i'm realizing that the wounds are a little too fresh to talk about details just yet.

it was only two days ago that b asked if we could rent i love you man starring paul rudd in his quest for a best man.

not that he's sitting here moping about it. rather, i think he's stuck in that state of disbelief resulting from realizing that two people could disagree so deeply, so profoundly, about their life's values as to end a friendship. and not just end, but mutilate and dismember all the memories and even the very concept that that other person has defined in your own mind for so many years.

as hard as it might be for b to give up his binge drinking, sports talking, male ego boosting partner in crime, i know that he is aware of exactly how inevitable this ending really is. we've talked recently about how it may be hard to see yourself changing, but it's always clear when your friends don't evolve with you.

it's ok babysnakes, when you get home from work tonight with a sixer we'll sit here and shit-talk him til we can't take it anymore. then we'll talk about the fun times and tell silly stories.

and it'll suck a little bit less.

and eventually it won't matter.

and i'm pregnant again.

no i'm not, but i got your mind off the breakup for a hot second.

if it counts for anything, i love how you're willing, no, are compelled to stay true to yourself despite what it may cost you.



what about you, dear reader? why do you think buddy breakups are worse than dumping a lover? is it because somehow it's easier to love a friend?

come and get it, it's giveaway time!!

after much flaking and painful disorganization, i have finally gotten my shit together to officially launch my blogoversary/birthday giveaway!!! i feel like celebrating my 100 posts, my six months of writing publicly, and my 30th birthday with all of you dear readers and i couldn't think of a better way to make you come to my party than to give you things.

as many of you may know, i have some issues with technology. this is not limited to, but does include blogging in general. i have put forth a certain amount of effort with this blog that surprises even myself. although i still have no idea what the little orange and white triangle lines thing on my sidebar means but everyone else seems to know so i play along. my point here is that apart from the number of people in the followers box, i really have no idea how many people may actually be taking time out of their day to read my words.

so i'm just going to assume that there's more than two of you and less than a million. and i appreciate each and every one of you more than i'm going to say lest i get all sappy and self-doubty. suffice it to say that for you faithful readers i have presents!!

i like to make things, but mostly things that i will use. i hate clutter and tend to clean up by throwing stuff out, a lot. lately i've been in a mood to consolidate rather than collect more products of my various hobbies. so i've been a busy little bee over here making presents for some lucky internet friends. it's a win-win!

first is a knit scarf. you may recall what happens when i attempt to knit things with rounded edges. clearly proven to be too much of a challenge for me, i have stuck to my comfort zone of small and rectangular to produce this eyelet scarf:

it's an acrylic blend in bright white, measuring six inches wide and about 45 inches long. i washed it in baby detergent because that shit smells so good i want to carry some around in my pocket and huff it whenever i'm having a stressful moment, and also because it makes things really soft and fluffy. personally, i think it would be great for a man or woman, white matches everything anyway. here's a close up of the detail:


next i have a two-fer. this was a little more difficult seeing as i hate baking and don't even own a rolling pin or a mixer of any kind, but i managed to make some non-poisonous pet treats. there's liver and carrot triangles for kitties and bone-shaped whole wheat cheese snaps for doggies. no fancy icing or sprinkles or other dessert related decoration here. these are bare bones, plain and simple pet treats. although monster sure seemed to like them enough to knock the scraps off the counter and stuff his face.

i put each in a plastic treat jar. they look like this:


i'd like to give them as separate gifts because i know many people have either one type of pet or the other. with each jar of treats i will also include the recipe that i used should you want to make them yourself once your pet devours their tasty goodness.

lastly i have something that i personally find to be hilarious. i wasn't sure if i was even going to offer it up for fear that no one would quite understand my sense of humor and find it as funny as i do. then i got over myself and realized that this is my giveaway and if you want shit than you can have what i give you.

unfortunately, i don't have a pic of it because it can't be truly finished until i know who's getting it. and since i can't show you, it's certainly not as funny to tell you. therefor my final gift will be the mystery gift.


i thought i'd run this giveaway pretty much like how miss yvonne did when she gave away her fancy insult gum. it was really the most fair way i've seen to do things. to enter, you can either comment on this post or email me at pearlhider (at) gmail (dot) com and let me know which gift you'd like. if you post on your blog with a link back to this post, that will get you a second entry. i will be drawing names for the prizes and posting the winners thursday the 17th.

i hope you enjoy my bribes and that they make you giggle and clap. and also that they make you come back here every once in a while to lurk or comment, whichever you prefer.

don't make me stick a strawberry up your nose

to anyone who is planning, thinking of planning, or might ever in the next twenty years plan a catered event, if you make me plate up this strawberry monstrosity i will guarantee that you will never want to see another strawberry for the rest of your life.


please excuse the drawing, i wasn't exactly in the mood to take photographs the last time this asshole dessert and i were together. it might look all sweet and refined on the outside, but really, it's just that mean bitch you knew growing up who thrived on taunting you ceaselessly.

maybe a dessert can't call you dumb, but it sure as hell can make you look dumb when you have exactly twelve minutes to assemble a few hundred plates and ole strawberry shit decides to have ten million components.

enough with all the specific timing bullshit too, you dumbass dessert. the mousse has to temper but not too long or the ice cream will melt, the panna cotta has to be chilled so that the soup can be poured over it warm, mint oil last so it doesn't bleed into the sauce....AAAHHH!!

ok. i feel better now. sometimes i just need to let it all out.

even though this pain in the ass is on the menu for my shift at work tonight, i'm also working with hook-up chef. actually, i think he's officially slutty chef now that he's moved on to hitting on barely legal waitresses in front of the whole kitchen. regardless, he's sure to provide some form of disturbing yet engrossing display of inappropriate behavior to make me forget all about strawberry shit, for a little while anyway.

on that note, i hope everyone has a fantastic holiday weekend! i know i will, labor day means octoberfest is right around the corner!

ps. i'm still working on my blogtastic giveaway, but i haven't forgotten. i'll have info and pics soon!