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.