i don't have my funny.
and i don't mean that i lost her forever like a permanent break-up. i'm talking more about a game of cat and mouse that funny is playing with me.
lately i've had a rather full plate, even though i'm not really hungry, and i think funny is feeling a bit left out. 'act like a grown-up' has been crashing at my house a lot, eating some of funny's favorite snacks, using all the hot water, basically being the kind of guest you know might be moving in but you'd rather see on a one way train to 'get the fuck out of here-ville'.
so in retaliation for the rude replacement persona, funny has decided to be a little bitch and storm off. i think this is the part where i put my life on hold and chase after her, because in all honesty, i need funny to get through life. i need funny in good times and bad, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do us part.
i need to have a nice long talk with funny and hopefully i will be persuasive enough to not have to return home alone. i can reassure her with kind words, a big hug, and a friendly pat on the ass. i refuse to believe that this is the end.
funny, if you're out there, hiding in the shadows of the internet, you mean the world to me, i can't blog without you. i'm coming to get you!!
i'll be back in a few days. in the meantime, i'm open to suggestions for how to maintain a long-distance relationship with act like a grown-up. or perhaps i should just ditch act like a grown-up altogether and get a really good disguise so everyone will think we're still going strong when i'm fucking around with funny all day.
wow, i really need to find funny....
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
things are not always what they seem
this is the view from the park down the street from my house, it's right on the river:
this morning we went early and there was not much of a breeze to speak of and very few boats out. with the exception of the brownish tinge to the water, the river looked so peaceful, so serene. the soft lapping sounds made me think of the rhythm of an old rocking chair, subtle yet constant.
the water rippled just enough to produce a broken reflection of the sun.
there were even some guys fishing and crabbing and enjoying the view.
i hope their view included this:
can you read that part there at the top? no? ok, i'll write out the boldface part:
women of childbearing age and children under 15 should not consume any fish from the hudson river.
now, i've lived by this river my whole life and it pretty much goes without saying that you never, ever even want to swim in that water, let alone eat anything that comes out of it. but for those of you who might be assuming that rivers are freshwater and it can't be that bad, i offer the following:
-for decades new york city garbage has been barged and dumped upriver because of the lack of landfill space in the five boroughs.
-indian point is a nuclear power plant that is situated right on the banks of the river
and lastly,
-for over thirty years general electric dumped over a million pounds of pcbs into the river from it's plants. those pcbs are still found in the sediment and algae.
growing up with this knowledge has made me wary of fish and shellfish in general. i can fillet a three foot striped bass in about ten minutes, which is not fast and not slow, but you will rarely find me eating the day's catch.
i could never seem to get my mind past the part about thinking where the fish came from, what it ate to survive, and what kind of water filled its gills. paranoid much? maybe, but it's too late for me to change now. i will forever be leery of neptune's minions.
i should have been born by the ocean.
this morning we went early and there was not much of a breeze to speak of and very few boats out. with the exception of the brownish tinge to the water, the river looked so peaceful, so serene. the soft lapping sounds made me think of the rhythm of an old rocking chair, subtle yet constant.
the water rippled just enough to produce a broken reflection of the sun.
there were even some guys fishing and crabbing and enjoying the view.
i hope their view included this:
can you read that part there at the top? no? ok, i'll write out the boldface part:
women of childbearing age and children under 15 should not consume any fish from the hudson river.
now, i've lived by this river my whole life and it pretty much goes without saying that you never, ever even want to swim in that water, let alone eat anything that comes out of it. but for those of you who might be assuming that rivers are freshwater and it can't be that bad, i offer the following:
-for decades new york city garbage has been barged and dumped upriver because of the lack of landfill space in the five boroughs.
-indian point is a nuclear power plant that is situated right on the banks of the river
and lastly,
-for over thirty years general electric dumped over a million pounds of pcbs into the river from it's plants. those pcbs are still found in the sediment and algae.
growing up with this knowledge has made me wary of fish and shellfish in general. i can fillet a three foot striped bass in about ten minutes, which is not fast and not slow, but you will rarely find me eating the day's catch.
i could never seem to get my mind past the part about thinking where the fish came from, what it ate to survive, and what kind of water filled its gills. paranoid much? maybe, but it's too late for me to change now. i will forever be leery of neptune's minions.
i should have been born by the ocean.
Monday, August 24, 2009
i know a guy who actually says 'make that paper' when he means 'go to work'
sometimes it seems that having a potty mouth can bite you in the ass.
there are many times at work that i find myself fantasizing about how nice it would feel to tell the customers what i really think. for example, come on people, you're not allergic to parsley, just say you don't like it. the chef will be slightly less annoyed with you if you're honest and don't try to make up a bullshit allergy.
but our customers never see the inside of the kitchen or get to look the chef in the face. perhaps that enables them to be more demanding. and we never see them so maybe it's easier for us to assume they're being difficult because they have nothing better to do. i can't say for sure, but i do know that not one night at work goes by without at least a few customers submitting some absurd requests, followed by a healthy bitch-fest by a chef.
then i heard about the wiener circle in chicago. their unique flavor of customer service, while amusing to many, was actually developed out of need. the customer base is largely drunk white people leaving the bars. the mostly black employees shout gems like 'how many motherfucking cheese fries do you want?!'
for many at this particular food establishment, it's how they support their families, even if that means taking insults from drunks calling them all kinds of degrading racial slurs.
i found this video of the trash talkers in action, it's taken from a tv program so it's a bit long. right around the 2:25 minute mark you meet poochie, the manager, who seems to be great at what she does. around the 5:00 minute mark, she talks about some of the customers who get a little too carried away with the shit talking.
i'm not exactly sure how long i'd be able to put up with that kind of talk at my job. or maybe i just don't like drunk people. or then again, maybe it'd be different because even the jew slurs don't bother me, and i can't imagine anything someone could say that's not specific to me personally that would upset me.
what do you think? would you last at the wiener circle, or would you prefer to do your shit talking behind closed doors?
there are many times at work that i find myself fantasizing about how nice it would feel to tell the customers what i really think. for example, come on people, you're not allergic to parsley, just say you don't like it. the chef will be slightly less annoyed with you if you're honest and don't try to make up a bullshit allergy.
but our customers never see the inside of the kitchen or get to look the chef in the face. perhaps that enables them to be more demanding. and we never see them so maybe it's easier for us to assume they're being difficult because they have nothing better to do. i can't say for sure, but i do know that not one night at work goes by without at least a few customers submitting some absurd requests, followed by a healthy bitch-fest by a chef.
then i heard about the wiener circle in chicago. their unique flavor of customer service, while amusing to many, was actually developed out of need. the customer base is largely drunk white people leaving the bars. the mostly black employees shout gems like 'how many motherfucking cheese fries do you want?!'
for many at this particular food establishment, it's how they support their families, even if that means taking insults from drunks calling them all kinds of degrading racial slurs.
i found this video of the trash talkers in action, it's taken from a tv program so it's a bit long. right around the 2:25 minute mark you meet poochie, the manager, who seems to be great at what she does. around the 5:00 minute mark, she talks about some of the customers who get a little too carried away with the shit talking.
i'm not exactly sure how long i'd be able to put up with that kind of talk at my job. or maybe i just don't like drunk people. or then again, maybe it'd be different because even the jew slurs don't bother me, and i can't imagine anything someone could say that's not specific to me personally that would upset me.
what do you think? would you last at the wiener circle, or would you prefer to do your shit talking behind closed doors?
Friday, August 21, 2009
i'm here (and there) to help
today is a paradox. i'm here, but i'm also here. i don't quite understand the physics of it all, but for one day only i've managed to be in two places at once.
today my very first ever guest post is up at becky's place, i'll go eat worms. in case you missed that link, it's here. while she's away on vacation, she asked a whole slew of great writers to help keep her readers entertained. i only hope they don't shake their heads and go 'what the...???' when they read my contribution.
i've been told my sense of humor works best with an acquired taste.
anywhoooooo, you can read my post here. happy friday!!
today my very first ever guest post is up at becky's place, i'll go eat worms. in case you missed that link, it's here. while she's away on vacation, she asked a whole slew of great writers to help keep her readers entertained. i only hope they don't shake their heads and go 'what the...???' when they read my contribution.
i've been told my sense of humor works best with an acquired taste.
anywhoooooo, you can read my post here. happy friday!!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
golden brown looks good on me
these are my favorite flip flops.
now i know that i'm in between pedicures, so you'll have to excuse the nudie toes. b is a big supporter of my bi-monthly pedicures, mostly because he hates toes in general. he was shocked to learn that in no way is toe-hair removal a part of the process. i could share the story about the time he tweezed my toe hair out because they bother him that much, but he made me promise not to ever, ever tell anyone about it.
me, i'm not worried about it so much. i've had a lifetime to look at my toe hair and i'm ok with it.
back to my flip flops. so i wear these brown babies pretty much every day in the summer. sure i have others, but these always manage to find their way to my feet without me even thinking about it. there is one major downside, however.
every night, as i'm lounged out on the couch, limbs all a-splayed in every direction, b will inevitably burn me up for my ridiculous flip flop tan lines. but that's ok, i can take the heat, i love the sun.
b, on the other hand, for those of you who don't know him, is so white that if you were to put him on a beach he'd glow like a brilliant beacon amongst the pale sand and bright wash of sunlight. his skin may or may not be translucent. he gets sunburn through his clothes and shoes. although, when i'm sixty and wrinkly he'll probably be sixty with soft, supple skin, fresh as a baby's behind.
right, so you know what i have to say about all this mocking of my tan lines?
if you'll pretend you don't see the gigantic big toe on the right side there, you can proceed to be impressed with how i can give you the finger with my toe.
i know, i'm so talented.
oh, and also, because he's currently not annoying the shit out of me, here's monster looking all cute:
finis.
now i know that i'm in between pedicures, so you'll have to excuse the nudie toes. b is a big supporter of my bi-monthly pedicures, mostly because he hates toes in general. he was shocked to learn that in no way is toe-hair removal a part of the process. i could share the story about the time he tweezed my toe hair out because they bother him that much, but he made me promise not to ever, ever tell anyone about it.
me, i'm not worried about it so much. i've had a lifetime to look at my toe hair and i'm ok with it.
back to my flip flops. so i wear these brown babies pretty much every day in the summer. sure i have others, but these always manage to find their way to my feet without me even thinking about it. there is one major downside, however.
every night, as i'm lounged out on the couch, limbs all a-splayed in every direction, b will inevitably burn me up for my ridiculous flip flop tan lines. but that's ok, i can take the heat, i love the sun.
b, on the other hand, for those of you who don't know him, is so white that if you were to put him on a beach he'd glow like a brilliant beacon amongst the pale sand and bright wash of sunlight. his skin may or may not be translucent. he gets sunburn through his clothes and shoes. although, when i'm sixty and wrinkly he'll probably be sixty with soft, supple skin, fresh as a baby's behind.
right, so you know what i have to say about all this mocking of my tan lines?
if you'll pretend you don't see the gigantic big toe on the right side there, you can proceed to be impressed with how i can give you the finger with my toe.
i know, i'm so talented.
oh, and also, because he's currently not annoying the shit out of me, here's monster looking all cute:
finis.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
i'm even furiouser and more furiouser, updated
i'll put a brief disclaimer here that this post will contain a raw display of my anger at a shitty real-life, personal situation that i usually avoid talking about on this blog like the plague.
but sometimes it just needs to come out.
so, ok, here it is. (deeeeeeeeep breath) i pretty much don't like my dad. except that he's almost dying and i'm the closest (geographically) family member that can take care of all his shit.
it's a burden that i've been struggling with on and off for a while, but in the last month things have gotten bad. and by bad i mean, imagine the worst possible scenario and then add attorney's fees and cockroaches. yes, literally.
when i spend eight to ten hours a day, a full tank of gas, and exhaust every babysitter i know, driving my ass all over the hudson valley to sort through my father's lifetime of fuck-ups, and he doesn't once acknowledge my efforts, it makes me want to beat him with his prosthetic leg.
not that i'm looking for a thank you, but more that he's acting as if he expected me to come along sooner or later and just clean up his mess for him.
i don't even like the guy. we have no relationship to speak of other than the basic, biological connection. yet to let him rot away in his filthy apartment is not only cruel, but also a decision made based on emotion.
my brother is the lucky one. he escaped while he could, now living family-free on the beaches of south carolina. if only i could have run away too.
but i only avoid, i don't run permanently. i don't think i'd ever have it in me to up and leave my life and ask my husband and child to do the same. and that makes me so fucking pissed.
my dad spent his life being an asshole and isolating himself from society and now i have to listen to him complain about all of the doctors and nurses 'getting in his business' i.e., trying to help him live.
after my meeting this morning, i hope i will be at least one step closer to wiping my hands clean of this foul process. but at the same time, i'm afraid to hope for anything. my father is the black hole of negativity, and the more i wish for good things, or even a little piece of mind, the worse it gets. infinitely compounding until the pressure is enough to crush me to dust.
wish me luck today!
-------------------
alright, so maybe i can be a little overdramatic. but that's just it, i have to deal. the routine will always be the same: get all worked up and tense about something and then afterwards realize exactly how much i was over reacting.
and really, even if my dad is a jerk, it doesn't mean i wish him ill will.
sometimes when i want to call b at work and ask him for the love of god to make the baby stop crying, i have to remind myself that i'm a big girl now and i can handle a little unpleasant household issue. i think the same rationale can be applied to this dad situation.
just because it's not fun or easy or exciting or in any way pleasant, that doesn't mean that i have the right to stomp my feet and bitch about dealing with it. that's not going to accomplish anything anyway.
what i am going to do is get on with the rest of my daily life and not let all this mess drag me down. little miss and i are going to the park and then to the gym for a nice long run. i shall return in a better mood, that i am sure of.
(i would really like to unpublish this post, but since so many of you out there have already read it and were kind enough to leave such supportive words i'll leave it. thanks everyone for your kind thoughts!!)
but sometimes it just needs to come out.
so, ok, here it is. (deeeeeeeeep breath) i pretty much don't like my dad. except that he's almost dying and i'm the closest (geographically) family member that can take care of all his shit.
it's a burden that i've been struggling with on and off for a while, but in the last month things have gotten bad. and by bad i mean, imagine the worst possible scenario and then add attorney's fees and cockroaches. yes, literally.
when i spend eight to ten hours a day, a full tank of gas, and exhaust every babysitter i know, driving my ass all over the hudson valley to sort through my father's lifetime of fuck-ups, and he doesn't once acknowledge my efforts, it makes me want to beat him with his prosthetic leg.
not that i'm looking for a thank you, but more that he's acting as if he expected me to come along sooner or later and just clean up his mess for him.
i don't even like the guy. we have no relationship to speak of other than the basic, biological connection. yet to let him rot away in his filthy apartment is not only cruel, but also a decision made based on emotion.
my brother is the lucky one. he escaped while he could, now living family-free on the beaches of south carolina. if only i could have run away too.
but i only avoid, i don't run permanently. i don't think i'd ever have it in me to up and leave my life and ask my husband and child to do the same. and that makes me so fucking pissed.
my dad spent his life being an asshole and isolating himself from society and now i have to listen to him complain about all of the doctors and nurses 'getting in his business' i.e., trying to help him live.
after my meeting this morning, i hope i will be at least one step closer to wiping my hands clean of this foul process. but at the same time, i'm afraid to hope for anything. my father is the black hole of negativity, and the more i wish for good things, or even a little piece of mind, the worse it gets. infinitely compounding until the pressure is enough to crush me to dust.
wish me luck today!
-------------------
alright, so maybe i can be a little overdramatic. but that's just it, i have to deal. the routine will always be the same: get all worked up and tense about something and then afterwards realize exactly how much i was over reacting.
and really, even if my dad is a jerk, it doesn't mean i wish him ill will.
sometimes when i want to call b at work and ask him for the love of god to make the baby stop crying, i have to remind myself that i'm a big girl now and i can handle a little unpleasant household issue. i think the same rationale can be applied to this dad situation.
just because it's not fun or easy or exciting or in any way pleasant, that doesn't mean that i have the right to stomp my feet and bitch about dealing with it. that's not going to accomplish anything anyway.
what i am going to do is get on with the rest of my daily life and not let all this mess drag me down. little miss and i are going to the park and then to the gym for a nice long run. i shall return in a better mood, that i am sure of.
(i would really like to unpublish this post, but since so many of you out there have already read it and were kind enough to leave such supportive words i'll leave it. thanks everyone for your kind thoughts!!)
Monday, August 17, 2009
life can be easier to take if you pretend it's a game
hello kiddies! and welcome to this monday afternoon edition of waiting room hell! the producers and i hope you'll enjoy the show. now if you'll sit back, stretch out, and grab something handy to break in sheer frustration, preferably glassware, we can begin.
our first contestant is mr. snots-a-lot. as he moves in for his initial approach, clearing his phlegmy throat with a loud ugh-hhhhuugghhh, i (your host/judge) have begun to shift in my chair to face the opposite direction.
mr. snots-a-lot barks in his deep, gravel pitch, 'boy or girl?!'
i challenge him by turning farther to the side, giving him more of my back and less of my profile.
'hhhmmmmuugggnnngghhh!! BOY or GIRL?!'
his persistence is setting the bar high for our other competitors.
'meeeeessss, the baby, is BOY or GIRL?!?!'
dingdingding! we have our first winner folks. yes, that is a baby that i'm shielding from your superfluous snot display. congratulations pal, you officially win the title of grossest waiting room attendee.
not to be outdone, our next contestant, mrs. i'm-so-old-i-can't-find-my-grave, quickly enters the game with a gnarled finger pointing toward the golf ball-esque growth on her neck screaming 'it huuuurrrts!' she follows up with a friendly, albeit warbley, 'good morning' announced to no one in particular at 1:30pm.
bonus points for making herself heard across the room and down the hall. what a strategist, that one.
but today was not the old gal's day. she was soon to be crushed in a battle for the title of most randomly annoying waiting room attendee but our third and final contestant, mr. chatterbox.
mr. chatterbox is one stiff competitor. if you see him approaching, you'd do well to up and leave whatever waiting room you're in and forget about whatever business brought you there in the first place. he pulls no punches in his game. his disguise of a lightweight suit with co-ordinating tie and pocket square might lead you to underestimate his abilities.
without any prompt whatsoever, he will sit so close to you that you will be able to inhale his toupee glue. but before you even get a chance to enjoy the high from his noxious hair chemicals, he will proceed to talk loudly into his outdated cell phone about his last physical, nodding and winking at you all the while, just to make sure you're getting every last word pounded into your cerebrum.
his blatent disregard of the written no-cell-phone rule, as well as the unwritten get-the-fuck-out-of-my-personal-space rule, earns very high marks. to ensure a win though, he's got to bring everything in his repertoire for the finale.
he does not disappoint.
mr. chatterbox assumes the tone of voice that he thinks resembles andrew dice clay, and begs the crowd for a little forgiveness. only he's trying to be rodney dangerfield. his misuse of two of the most eternally obnoxious 'comedians' is enough to guarantee a landslide victory. if only he'd added a little carrot top to the mix, he could have broken the world record.
on that note, we'd like to thank you for tuning in, and we'll see you next time here on waiting room hell!
(this program brought to you by our sponsors, toyota and frosty paws doggie ice cream treats.)
our first contestant is mr. snots-a-lot. as he moves in for his initial approach, clearing his phlegmy throat with a loud ugh-hhhhuugghhh, i (your host/judge) have begun to shift in my chair to face the opposite direction.
mr. snots-a-lot barks in his deep, gravel pitch, 'boy or girl?!'
i challenge him by turning farther to the side, giving him more of my back and less of my profile.
'hhhmmmmuugggnnngghhh!! BOY or GIRL?!'
his persistence is setting the bar high for our other competitors.
'meeeeessss, the baby, is BOY or GIRL?!?!'
dingdingding! we have our first winner folks. yes, that is a baby that i'm shielding from your superfluous snot display. congratulations pal, you officially win the title of grossest waiting room attendee.
not to be outdone, our next contestant, mrs. i'm-so-old-i-can't-find-my-grave, quickly enters the game with a gnarled finger pointing toward the golf ball-esque growth on her neck screaming 'it huuuurrrts!' she follows up with a friendly, albeit warbley, 'good morning' announced to no one in particular at 1:30pm.
bonus points for making herself heard across the room and down the hall. what a strategist, that one.
but today was not the old gal's day. she was soon to be crushed in a battle for the title of most randomly annoying waiting room attendee but our third and final contestant, mr. chatterbox.
mr. chatterbox is one stiff competitor. if you see him approaching, you'd do well to up and leave whatever waiting room you're in and forget about whatever business brought you there in the first place. he pulls no punches in his game. his disguise of a lightweight suit with co-ordinating tie and pocket square might lead you to underestimate his abilities.
without any prompt whatsoever, he will sit so close to you that you will be able to inhale his toupee glue. but before you even get a chance to enjoy the high from his noxious hair chemicals, he will proceed to talk loudly into his outdated cell phone about his last physical, nodding and winking at you all the while, just to make sure you're getting every last word pounded into your cerebrum.
his blatent disregard of the written no-cell-phone rule, as well as the unwritten get-the-fuck-out-of-my-personal-space rule, earns very high marks. to ensure a win though, he's got to bring everything in his repertoire for the finale.
he does not disappoint.
mr. chatterbox assumes the tone of voice that he thinks resembles andrew dice clay, and begs the crowd for a little forgiveness. only he's trying to be rodney dangerfield. his misuse of two of the most eternally obnoxious 'comedians' is enough to guarantee a landslide victory. if only he'd added a little carrot top to the mix, he could have broken the world record.
on that note, we'd like to thank you for tuning in, and we'll see you next time here on waiting room hell!
(this program brought to you by our sponsors, toyota and frosty paws doggie ice cream treats.)
Friday, August 14, 2009
dear so and so; revenge isn't always the answer
dear pants,
ok pants, i thought we were going to enjoy a nice long late summer/early fall season together. you all well-fitting and perfectly cropped just below the calf, me all happy and flirty wearing pants that make my ass look amazing.
but i guess you had other plans.
getting caught on the sharp edge of the eraser holder of a dry erase board may have been your greatest backstabbing gesture yet. the inch long tear on the right butt cheek, below the pocket, complete with bleeding puncture wound to said cheek, has more than tried my patience.
not only did my hopes of having a marvelous, feel-good pair of pants die on that dry erase board, but the humiliation continued as i had to leave a meeting in which everyone present watched your cruelty unfold, and then proceed to crackhead alley, also known as grand street in newburgh. walking in the absolute worst part of town, with a bloody, exposed butt cheek was nothing less than horrifying.
i had thought for a second about how vindicated i would feel by ripping your ass to shreds and using pieces of you to clean monster's crate. then i realized that i'm just so disgusted by your betrayal that i can't bear to look at you anymore. you and your bloody hole are going right in the garbage, and don't come back, you hear!
thank you for your attention in this matter.
sincerely,
i'm not into the ass-less chaps look, ok?!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
two-fer, enjoy it while you can
posting twice a day around these parts is pretty much unheard of. except that i'm super extra motivated today. today i'm full of that 'i can get everything done without wanting to kill myself' kind of energy. i think it started with the gym this morning.
i've been working out a lot more than i ever thought i would lately. i might have dropped a hint about my birthday coming up soon, and being that it's my thirtieth, i'm pretty sure that b is planning a surprise party for me. except that i don't think he knows yet that i know. sorry, b, but i know. unless it's all a rouse to throw me off track! that could be fun.
right. so the impending birthday celebration has brought the type of clarity to my mind that some people claim they experience right before dying. it is imperative that i work the shit out of my lazy ass at the gym so that i can look ridiculously, unattainably hot at my own birthday party.
i have about a month. this pressure is certainly enough to get me through the front door of the gym, but sometimes i need just a little bit more to really help me make the most of my workout. luckily, my fellow gym members are there to push me along.
first i'd like to thank the short woman with dark hair next to me on the treadmill. dear woman, your abuse of stinky, musky, and altogether cheap smelling perfume does more than mask your sweat-stench. it advertises that you do not like to smell other people's sweat. while this might be a classy sentiment in your mind, it's really just a tool i use to run faster and sweat more.
i'm determined to make you smell my sweat if i'm stuck here choking on your bad taste.
i ran harder than i have in weeks.
next i'd like to give a very special shout-out to the girl on the elliptical talking on her cell phone. while i have my music on full blast so that i don't actually have to listen to you talking, i can tell that you are by no means out of breath. if you are taking up space in this tiny cardio room and not breathing heavy, and can even carry on a phone conversation, than you're wasting air.
to make up for your lack of intense respiratory activity, i will breath faster and deeper and take up all that extra air that you're not using. my fully extended lungs help to propel my weight up this neverending motherfucking incline so that i can feel better about myself while you chat away.
lastly, but certainly not the least appreciated, is mr. old, old, OLD man on the cycle machine wearing a tank top. sir, your dedication to your physical fitness at your age is nothing less than commendable. also, the pea-sized globules of chalky deodorant caught in your armpit hair keep winking at me when you stretch your arms. it's the clearest sign yet that you have my back against musk-lady and phone-girl.
now that i know i'm not alone in my efforts to better myself, i am revitalized with my burning need to finish this workout and go the fuck home and eat some potato salad or something.
ahhhh, that felt good. i'm all limber and energized. it won't be long before i can put on a cute little dress and make my husband remember how hot i was when we first met. or, at the very least, i can distract him with a low-cut dress and my enormous tatas.
i've been working out a lot more than i ever thought i would lately. i might have dropped a hint about my birthday coming up soon, and being that it's my thirtieth, i'm pretty sure that b is planning a surprise party for me. except that i don't think he knows yet that i know. sorry, b, but i know. unless it's all a rouse to throw me off track! that could be fun.
right. so the impending birthday celebration has brought the type of clarity to my mind that some people claim they experience right before dying. it is imperative that i work the shit out of my lazy ass at the gym so that i can look ridiculously, unattainably hot at my own birthday party.
i have about a month. this pressure is certainly enough to get me through the front door of the gym, but sometimes i need just a little bit more to really help me make the most of my workout. luckily, my fellow gym members are there to push me along.
first i'd like to thank the short woman with dark hair next to me on the treadmill. dear woman, your abuse of stinky, musky, and altogether cheap smelling perfume does more than mask your sweat-stench. it advertises that you do not like to smell other people's sweat. while this might be a classy sentiment in your mind, it's really just a tool i use to run faster and sweat more.
i'm determined to make you smell my sweat if i'm stuck here choking on your bad taste.
i ran harder than i have in weeks.
next i'd like to give a very special shout-out to the girl on the elliptical talking on her cell phone. while i have my music on full blast so that i don't actually have to listen to you talking, i can tell that you are by no means out of breath. if you are taking up space in this tiny cardio room and not breathing heavy, and can even carry on a phone conversation, than you're wasting air.
to make up for your lack of intense respiratory activity, i will breath faster and deeper and take up all that extra air that you're not using. my fully extended lungs help to propel my weight up this neverending motherfucking incline so that i can feel better about myself while you chat away.
lastly, but certainly not the least appreciated, is mr. old, old, OLD man on the cycle machine wearing a tank top. sir, your dedication to your physical fitness at your age is nothing less than commendable. also, the pea-sized globules of chalky deodorant caught in your armpit hair keep winking at me when you stretch your arms. it's the clearest sign yet that you have my back against musk-lady and phone-girl.
now that i know i'm not alone in my efforts to better myself, i am revitalized with my burning need to finish this workout and go the fuck home and eat some potato salad or something.
ahhhh, that felt good. i'm all limber and energized. it won't be long before i can put on a cute little dress and make my husband remember how hot i was when we first met. or, at the very least, i can distract him with a low-cut dress and my enormous tatas.
linky love
i haven't been a very good bloggy friend lately. it's been weeks since i actually found my way to my computer to read all of your clever, funny, insightful, and crass posts that i love so much. i'm not here to make excuses. sure the food poisoning didn't help much, but i still respect all of you folks out there who make the time to not only maintain your own writing consistently, but also support your fellow writers.
and, by the way, as i once told the novelista barista, i absolutely think of blogging as real writing. it takes so much work and time out of your life to manage, not to mention creating something that you want to be an accurate representation of yourself, how could something you pour so much energy into not be considered legitimate?
well friends, today i had the pleasure of two bloggy pals giving me a shout and basically reaffirming my decision to keep up this time-suck of a blog i have here. there have been more than a few times that i thought for sure i was going to just stop posting and be done with it all. but the fact that there's people out there who take even a minute out of their day to read some random story i feel like telling means the world to me.
i love telling stories, it's how my mind works. i make everything into a narrative as its happening. if only i was patient enough to sit down and write a novel, i could have a lot of fun with that i think.
but i digress, my point here was to say thanks to everyone out there who doesn't get bogged down by life and finds a way to share their thoughts and experiences through their writing.
mr. condescending just posted about his 100 favorite blogs he likes to read. he's a guy who knows how to win a girl over with flattery, and also how to play the game without being hated. you walk that line so well, mr. c, you really are an artist! thanks again for the honorable mention, i'll keep finding funny if you keep reading.
it was also brought to my attention that jerrod, over at the yellow factor, was somehow absent from my little linky list. jerrod, i'm going to blame the computer demons for that one, i don't have any other explanations. but in his generous way he gave me a glorious award for me to hang with pride on my sidebar. behold:
oh yeah, i was definitely the kid who made yellow snowballs. it's all the same when you have mittens on, right? right. so thanks again, jerrod! i'll try and keep up with my writing, including the many fuckity fuck curses, and be worthy of this award.
and i can't forget courtney and porkstar, who have so kindly added me to the sweat crew even though they didn't really know me and i asked to join their group.
i still haven't figured out how to make that list so that it links to all the other members, but i haven't forgotten about it. i'm proud to display my sweatiness for all to see.
so for all of you out there who i've been a stranger to lately, i'm on my way! right after i tend to a walking (or should i say running) ten month old who is having a hard time learning that 'no' means 'garbage is not for eating' and 'the toilet bowl is not for hiding toys'.
and, by the way, as i once told the novelista barista, i absolutely think of blogging as real writing. it takes so much work and time out of your life to manage, not to mention creating something that you want to be an accurate representation of yourself, how could something you pour so much energy into not be considered legitimate?
well friends, today i had the pleasure of two bloggy pals giving me a shout and basically reaffirming my decision to keep up this time-suck of a blog i have here. there have been more than a few times that i thought for sure i was going to just stop posting and be done with it all. but the fact that there's people out there who take even a minute out of their day to read some random story i feel like telling means the world to me.
i love telling stories, it's how my mind works. i make everything into a narrative as its happening. if only i was patient enough to sit down and write a novel, i could have a lot of fun with that i think.
but i digress, my point here was to say thanks to everyone out there who doesn't get bogged down by life and finds a way to share their thoughts and experiences through their writing.
mr. condescending just posted about his 100 favorite blogs he likes to read. he's a guy who knows how to win a girl over with flattery, and also how to play the game without being hated. you walk that line so well, mr. c, you really are an artist! thanks again for the honorable mention, i'll keep finding funny if you keep reading.
it was also brought to my attention that jerrod, over at the yellow factor, was somehow absent from my little linky list. jerrod, i'm going to blame the computer demons for that one, i don't have any other explanations. but in his generous way he gave me a glorious award for me to hang with pride on my sidebar. behold:
oh yeah, i was definitely the kid who made yellow snowballs. it's all the same when you have mittens on, right? right. so thanks again, jerrod! i'll try and keep up with my writing, including the many fuckity fuck curses, and be worthy of this award.
and i can't forget courtney and porkstar, who have so kindly added me to the sweat crew even though they didn't really know me and i asked to join their group.
i still haven't figured out how to make that list so that it links to all the other members, but i haven't forgotten about it. i'm proud to display my sweatiness for all to see.
so for all of you out there who i've been a stranger to lately, i'm on my way! right after i tend to a walking (or should i say running) ten month old who is having a hard time learning that 'no' means 'garbage is not for eating' and 'the toilet bowl is not for hiding toys'.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
lana-uncut, because i heart sally
this is me:
not in the physical sense, but in that weird comparison that people always make about having a good memory. i don't like the simile, but i'm going to go with it because it's the most recognizable, and also because i'm too lazy to start a whole new simile.
basically, i can remember a ridiculous amount of unnecessary details. i'm talking everything about everything that you never cared about remembering. you know that conversation we had about that new band we both liked three years ago? of course you don't. but i remember where we were, how the conversation started, what we had for lunch, and what we were both wearing.
i swear.
it's fucking sick.
even sicker is that i'm nearly thirty years old and i'm just now realizing exactly how unusual this is.
you want to know anything else about me? well, sally does. she said so herself on her blog. (about a week ago. sorry sally, i was in the grips of typhoid/diphtheria/scarlet fever/a really bad tummy ache). i've actually been tagged for this little thingy before by miss yvonne, and i complied by talking about myself and then tagging some other people. what happened was that the people i tagged either burned me up or ignored me. so this time i'm only going to do the talking about myself part, that's really my forte anyway.
so here's where i list ten things about myself that you don't already know:
1. whenever i hear someone say 'you're crazy' i always reply in my head 'i'm only mad north by northwest.'*
2. yesterday i was driving and saw an old hispanic man on a busy street waving a metal detector over the edge of the sidewalk. i thought to myself, 'what in the hell is that guy doing? there can't possibly be any buried treasure there!' and then i realized the metal detector was in fact a weed wacker.
3. i like pickles so much that sometimes b calls me pickley p. pickleberg. oh, and also because i'm a jew and i like pickles.
4. i don't think boxing counts as a real sport. or maybe i'm just disgusted by the brutality of it i can't understand how anyone could be a willing spectator.
5. my birthday season is fast approaching. what are you going to get me?
6. b just downloaded a bunch of the old classic video games onto the wii so last night we were playing bubble bobble at two am. full blown addiction. (the fruits of our previous internet battles with wires and routers and adapters oh my!)
7. i already shared this one with meaty, but i can count to ten in cantonese. my last job had a sushi bar and the sushi guys had so much fun telling me to say six and seven over and over. i finally interrupted their juvenile laughing fits to ask why and learned that the words for six and seven said together meant dick. i then proceeded to laugh like the juvenile that i still am at heart.
8. i don't understand why blogger keeps telling me that my request could not be processed. i wasn't asking you to do anything, stupid google shitass program!
9. i live thirty minutes from the town i grew up in and went to high school in. it's way too close and too far at the same time.
10. i just remembered there's a new flavor of beer in my fridge....
the ever-evolving essence of me will heretofore be on display at this location for as long as i am lazy enough to not sit down and post about anything else. enjoy!
*someone please tell me i'm not the only dork who knows this line.
not in the physical sense, but in that weird comparison that people always make about having a good memory. i don't like the simile, but i'm going to go with it because it's the most recognizable, and also because i'm too lazy to start a whole new simile.
basically, i can remember a ridiculous amount of unnecessary details. i'm talking everything about everything that you never cared about remembering. you know that conversation we had about that new band we both liked three years ago? of course you don't. but i remember where we were, how the conversation started, what we had for lunch, and what we were both wearing.
i swear.
it's fucking sick.
even sicker is that i'm nearly thirty years old and i'm just now realizing exactly how unusual this is.
you want to know anything else about me? well, sally does. she said so herself on her blog. (about a week ago. sorry sally, i was in the grips of typhoid/diphtheria/scarlet fever/a really bad tummy ache). i've actually been tagged for this little thingy before by miss yvonne, and i complied by talking about myself and then tagging some other people. what happened was that the people i tagged either burned me up or ignored me. so this time i'm only going to do the talking about myself part, that's really my forte anyway.
so here's where i list ten things about myself that you don't already know:
1. whenever i hear someone say 'you're crazy' i always reply in my head 'i'm only mad north by northwest.'*
2. yesterday i was driving and saw an old hispanic man on a busy street waving a metal detector over the edge of the sidewalk. i thought to myself, 'what in the hell is that guy doing? there can't possibly be any buried treasure there!' and then i realized the metal detector was in fact a weed wacker.
3. i like pickles so much that sometimes b calls me pickley p. pickleberg. oh, and also because i'm a jew and i like pickles.
4. i don't think boxing counts as a real sport. or maybe i'm just disgusted by the brutality of it i can't understand how anyone could be a willing spectator.
5. my birthday season is fast approaching. what are you going to get me?
6. b just downloaded a bunch of the old classic video games onto the wii so last night we were playing bubble bobble at two am. full blown addiction. (the fruits of our previous internet battles with wires and routers and adapters oh my!)
7. i already shared this one with meaty, but i can count to ten in cantonese. my last job had a sushi bar and the sushi guys had so much fun telling me to say six and seven over and over. i finally interrupted their juvenile laughing fits to ask why and learned that the words for six and seven said together meant dick. i then proceeded to laugh like the juvenile that i still am at heart.
8. i don't understand why blogger keeps telling me that my request could not be processed. i wasn't asking you to do anything, stupid google shitass program!
9. i live thirty minutes from the town i grew up in and went to high school in. it's way too close and too far at the same time.
10. i just remembered there's a new flavor of beer in my fridge....
the ever-evolving essence of me will heretofore be on display at this location for as long as i am lazy enough to not sit down and post about anything else. enjoy!
*someone please tell me i'm not the only dork who knows this line.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
there's always a silver lining
despite the fact that i love to throw curse words around like an old sailor (is that really true that sailors curse a lot?), i am an enormous prude when it comes to talking about poo, pee, puke, or any other bodily function/excrement.
this is extremely fortunate for you readers out there in blogland who will be spared the gory details of my battle with food poisoning over the past four days. although, there were definite moments of profound revelation that i experienced in my most harrowing times that i felt worthy of sharing.
the first is by far the most important of the lessons i learned this long weekend; simply that food poisoning is going to be a much more effective diet for me than my previous standby of coffee and air.
this dawned on me sometime in the middle of the night sunday, as i got up out of bed and groaned my way to the bathroom, passing by my open closet door. there, subtly tucked away yet exposed enough to be illuminated by the fluorescent green glow of the alarm clock, was my collection of skinny jeans.
at least a half dozen pairs of those perfectly fitted jeans that go with every motherfucking thing you could ever imagine yourself wearing, somehow managed to migrate to a visible corner of my closet to speak to me.
'psst!! hey, lana! we're still heeeeeerrrrrrreeeeee!!' (that last part was actually sing-songy like the little girl in poltergeist, sneaky ass jeans)
but alas, at the time i was in too much of a hurry to reach my bathroom successfully to stop and make sexy eyes at my skinny jeans. and besides, i know them all so well by now. each pair perfect in fade, wash, length, hem. everything, perfect. except that they haven't fit so well since i grew a baby.
i'm not bitter about it though, changes in your body are a natural side effect of incubating and then birthing a child. i'm ok with that, i don't hold it against you skinny jeans.
that doesn't mean i didn't go back to sleep and dream about wearing each and every pair of those damn jeans and rolling around in a field of daisies like i was in a mariah carey video about being in love except that i was in love with my jeans and not a man.
waking up in the morning, i realized that all the intense pain i was experiencing was really for a great fucking cause. in fact, it even made me question the whole commitment to serving safe bacteria-free food to customers when i'm at work. i'd be doing some of them a huge favor, and if they knew i was behind it all, they might even come and give me a high five.
but that last part came from being dehydrated, so i'll just stick with accidental bacterial intake as being a great diet.
my second revelation that came to me was that hospital nurses sometimes, once in a while, suck at their jobs. while three different nurses had to attempt five times to find a vein to use for an iv, i thought it was a little unusual that they were having such a hard time. then today i looked down at my arms and was aghast to see that in both of my elbow creases i had obscene bruises and puncture holes that immediately made me feel like i had the beginnings of jared leto's arm in requiem for a dream.
(i thought about posting a pic, but it's way to gross for me to even deal with so i'm just going to link to the pic. feel free to look if you have a stomach made of steel, or don't if you're a pansy like me.)
i know being a nurse is a really hard job, and i'm certainly not trying to offend anyone who is, or is thinking about becoming, or ever was a nurse. but come on with this bullshit, i look like a damn junkie! lucky for them i don't have shit to do all week and a kid who can't tell if mommy's using or just has a boo-boo.
and so, in summation, i fully believe that as the fall season approaches, i will soon find myself wearing my skinny jeans and a nice, long-sleeved sweater to hide the iv wounds. thanks food poisoning, you're my bitch!!
this is extremely fortunate for you readers out there in blogland who will be spared the gory details of my battle with food poisoning over the past four days. although, there were definite moments of profound revelation that i experienced in my most harrowing times that i felt worthy of sharing.
the first is by far the most important of the lessons i learned this long weekend; simply that food poisoning is going to be a much more effective diet for me than my previous standby of coffee and air.
this dawned on me sometime in the middle of the night sunday, as i got up out of bed and groaned my way to the bathroom, passing by my open closet door. there, subtly tucked away yet exposed enough to be illuminated by the fluorescent green glow of the alarm clock, was my collection of skinny jeans.
at least a half dozen pairs of those perfectly fitted jeans that go with every motherfucking thing you could ever imagine yourself wearing, somehow managed to migrate to a visible corner of my closet to speak to me.
'psst!! hey, lana! we're still heeeeeerrrrrrreeeeee!!' (that last part was actually sing-songy like the little girl in poltergeist, sneaky ass jeans)
but alas, at the time i was in too much of a hurry to reach my bathroom successfully to stop and make sexy eyes at my skinny jeans. and besides, i know them all so well by now. each pair perfect in fade, wash, length, hem. everything, perfect. except that they haven't fit so well since i grew a baby.
i'm not bitter about it though, changes in your body are a natural side effect of incubating and then birthing a child. i'm ok with that, i don't hold it against you skinny jeans.
that doesn't mean i didn't go back to sleep and dream about wearing each and every pair of those damn jeans and rolling around in a field of daisies like i was in a mariah carey video about being in love except that i was in love with my jeans and not a man.
waking up in the morning, i realized that all the intense pain i was experiencing was really for a great fucking cause. in fact, it even made me question the whole commitment to serving safe bacteria-free food to customers when i'm at work. i'd be doing some of them a huge favor, and if they knew i was behind it all, they might even come and give me a high five.
but that last part came from being dehydrated, so i'll just stick with accidental bacterial intake as being a great diet.
my second revelation that came to me was that hospital nurses sometimes, once in a while, suck at their jobs. while three different nurses had to attempt five times to find a vein to use for an iv, i thought it was a little unusual that they were having such a hard time. then today i looked down at my arms and was aghast to see that in both of my elbow creases i had obscene bruises and puncture holes that immediately made me feel like i had the beginnings of jared leto's arm in requiem for a dream.
(i thought about posting a pic, but it's way to gross for me to even deal with so i'm just going to link to the pic. feel free to look if you have a stomach made of steel, or don't if you're a pansy like me.)
i know being a nurse is a really hard job, and i'm certainly not trying to offend anyone who is, or is thinking about becoming, or ever was a nurse. but come on with this bullshit, i look like a damn junkie! lucky for them i don't have shit to do all week and a kid who can't tell if mommy's using or just has a boo-boo.
and so, in summation, i fully believe that as the fall season approaches, i will soon find myself wearing my skinny jeans and a nice, long-sleeved sweater to hide the iv wounds. thanks food poisoning, you're my bitch!!
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