guess what i'm gonna be for halloween!!

a big fat fattie that's what.

i can't stop eating halloween candy.

or rather, my two year old is making it really hard for me to just enjoy a casual piece of candy without having to hear her squeal 'CHOCO PEAS!!!' incessantly so i end up binging as soon as her little head hits the pillow every night.

i might need an intervention, but not the weird kind where people just write letters and read them and cry and make ugly snot faces.

i want the kind of intervention where i get to bathe in enormous mounds of candy and oompa loompas come and sing to me about getting a bellyache and then i wake up the next day and i don't want candy anymore and i'm magically skinny again.

or would that be hypnosis?  whatever, make it happen.  i love oompas.


on another note, i'm thinking about bringing my monster to a pending craigslist exchange.  i can't decide if that makes me a) super paranoid, no one is going to rob me for $50 over a used carseat, or b) wise and well-prepared, internet people are weird.

if nothing else, giving monster a chance to think he's protecting me by barking really loudly at a stranger might just make him feel a little better.  he's been having some anxiety about the upcoming move which has manifested in a strange habit of chewing the fur off of his hips.  

my poor smelly mutt, maybe i should give him some candy too....  

just another day at the office...

i couldn't possibly write anything funny enough to accompany this video:

they're called boundries people, use them

do you start random personal conversations with people you barely know? 

i don't, but i'm also kind of out of touch and i'm not sure which side of normal i fall on this one.

as a general rule, i save my detailed personal info for people that are routinely updated on my life.  but what do i know, maybe i need a lesson in socialization skills.  maybe i'm contributing to the self-centered mindset that many people claim is taking over our population.  

maybe my need to protect my small and insignificant matters is seen as an unwillingness to participate in regular society.  who knows. 

what i do know is that my neighbor ambushed me in the laundry room yesterday as i had my head in the washing machine to warble in an oddly undulating squeak "i just found out my sister-in-law has breast cancer."

and i should be clear, i don't know this woman's name or much about her other than what you can infer from seeing someone walk to their car once in a while.   

this gut punch of a conversation starter had an exquisite effect of unfolding emotions on me.  first there was anxiety, 'does this crazy lady really want me to do this with her?  talk about someone elses boobs and cancer?!'

next there was sympathy, 'ugh, this poor lady probably has no one else in her life to talk to about this and it must really be bothering her.'

there was also a distinct sense of insensitivity, 'how can i be polite and at the same time get the hell out of here to catch that 12:46 train this afternoon?'

as i tried to find the appropriate tone for my 'gosh i'm sorry' and 'oh' and 'uh-huh' responses, she began talking about sharing this news with her church congregation and how she was asking for prayers.

this ignited yet another intense emotion for me which i almost can't even name.  being raised as a (barely) practicing jew, i have never in my life felt comfortable with churches.  even the mention of activities inside churches are enough to make me squeamish to the point where i want to shed the conversation like you would wet clothes. 

as her monologue drew to a close, i felt the most overwhelming sense of relief. 

unfortunately, that relief has not lasted.  i am still going back to that conversation in my head and asking myself 'was i wrong to not offer more genuine consolation?' or 'was she completely crossing a line by trying to incite my involvement in her emotional well-being?'

truthfully, i cannot imagine reacting any differently should this scenario occur again tomorrow.  call me the crazy one, but that is exactly why i would never put a stranger in a position like that. 

i'm only blogging because i ran out of packing tape

on a scale of one to ten, ten being the most unusual, how weird is it to show up to work on a steamy summer night in brooklyn only to be told your parking spot is now reserved for the penguin guard?

i gave it about a six. 

i mean, it is important that the forty or so penguins residing in the walk-in refrigerator be well protected with their own security detail from vandals and other such types who might wish to cause them harm or distress.

i can't begrudge them that. 

it also helps that the past few months have been so insanely busy that i have become so much more easy-going than i ever thought was possible.  i think it suits me well. 

i've found life is easier for me if i roll with changes instead of attempting to enforce my rigid plans to achieve a desired outcome. 

now, don't get me wrong, i think i might have a mental breakdown if i couldn't make lists anymore.  but letting smaller things go, in general, has been quite exhilirating.  it's almost like giving myself a reprieve from having to be "on" all the time. 

and right now, things couldn't be better for me.  b and i bought our first house in the burbs, i got a promotion at work and now get to be the head chef of my own events, and i have a beautiful and healthy daughter who is about to turn two years old.  

so really, mr. penguin guard, you enjoy that conviently close-to-the-building parking spot and i'll walk a few extra feet.  i really don't want to have anything to do with weird birds who don't fly and need to be refrigerated. 

multiple choice monday

what does the crazy lady in your neighborhood look like? 

in my neighborhood she's about five foot three and pushing a solid two hundred. 

she has short hair that she somehow manages to wrap around tiny curlers, which i wasn't even sure people still used anymore. 

she wears her 'house shoes' outside and hangs out by the dumpster.

oh yeah, and she talks to herself almost as much as she converses with the neatly trimmed row of hedges that line the dumpster.

her constant proximity to the dumpster in and of itself is relatively harmless, or so i thought up until this morning. 

on my way to work i threw out a bag of garbage before getting into my car.  crazy slipper-wearing lady paused mid-rant to stare me down and say in a whisper just barely audible from my supposedly safe distance of fifteen feet, 'i'm watching you i'm watching you i'm watching you.'

as i thought to myself 'she's not really that crazy, she's just bored, or lonely, or waiting for someone to come pick her up, she's too lumpy to be dangerous, etc., etc.' i reached the oasis of shelter that is my car. 

putting the key in the ignition and turning it to hear the engine start with a quiet rumble, buckling the seatbelt, and settling into the driver's seat, i allowed the familiarity to almost shake the weirdness of the previous ten seconds away.

reversing out of my parking spot and craning my neck around to the left to make sure i wasn't going to hit any small animals or children, i was startled by what i saw in my driver's side mirror.

crazy psycho bitch was staring directly at me through the mirror.  her eyes burned with what at first i thought was anger, and then realized was more akin to the consuming desire with which a drug addict might stare down a pile of glorious dope right before pouncing upon it. 

she saw that i was leaving the area and bolted toward the dumpster, reached in, and appeared to be going through the very bag of garbage i had just thrown in the dumpster.

the view in my rear mirror as i pulled away was of her squat legs straining to propel her upper body over the lip of the dumpster. 

yes, really.

so now, the big question is what the fuckity fuck is my next move?

is it:

a- starve my monster for three days and lay in wait with him behind the dumpster and let him loose to feast on her lard ass

b- take pictures of her and draw satanic things on them and write scary messages to her and throw it all out in the dumpster when i know she's lurking

c- white bishop to black queen

d- go invade her territory and do my own version of crazy that may or may not include a sombrero in hopes of scaring her away long enough to buy an industrial wood chipper for all future garbage headed to the dumpster


please, help me before it's too late...

summersummersummertiiiiiiiime

picking flowers is fun.

eating peanuts from the shell is fun.

rainbows and waterfalls are fun.

hots dogs on a grill are fun.

sailboats are fun.

fireworks are fun.

fishing, hiking, and inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass until your lungs are so full they feel like they might burst are all fun.


what's not fun is inappropriate ass-scratching. 

thanks to the asshole mosquito residing in the pool of watery gunk at the end of my street, you can now observe me violently scratching the cluster of oversized bites on my left buttcheeck or squirming in extreme discomfort for the next seven to ten days.

spanks a lot, mosquito.  keep laughing, just wait until i pour some draino in your pothole pond...

are you sure???

dear chef 1, i know how to cook beans.

dear chef 2, i know how to cook beans.

dear chef 3, i know how to cook the shit out of some motherfucking beans now shut your trap and leave me alone so i can cook some goddamn beans.



thank you.

support veteran artwork

this blog is usually a place for me to talk about myself, my feelings, my experiences. 

today i want to talk about someone else, my brother. 

my brother cory is about a year and a half younger than me yet has had life experiences the likes of which i will never know for myself.  he is an iraqi war veteran who was divorced before i even got married.  i remember distinctly the thought occurring to me at his wedding reception that, at the time, he wasn't even old enough to legally have a drink to celebrate his nuptuals.  

he now lives across the country from his family and girlfriend. 

when my dad died in february he couldn't even make it home in time for the memorial service because he got stuck in about three feet of snow for two days. 

but he wouldn't say he's had a rough life.  his nature is to accept his past choices as part of the path that have led him to today.  he is more comfortable letting things unfold before him and listening to his instincts than anyone else i have ever known.

and just where is he today?  today he is living in a new city, going to a new school, and making a name for himself as an artist. 

his first showing yeilded him several offers from galleries, an invitation to a trade show, an offer for designing an album cover for a recording artist, and much more.  as he develops his website and merchandise lines, he is also selling poster prints of his original drawings. 

the following is from an ad he ran last week in a local artist community:

These drawings are all inspired by experiences in life. I recently moved to the area and wanted to meet a few artists,so I figured putting some pics up here would help. The drawings are 21 x 14 so they are pretty large, and they are all done with bic pens. I always felt as if they could be reprinted and sold for around 10$ as posters. There has got to be a market for people wanting to support veteran artists, right? All constructive criticism welcome, as well as pure unbridled hatred. I have plenty more of these, just not any that have been professionally photographed like these four. So sit back and stare at them, and enjoy...

(click pics to enlarge)

if you're interested in any of his work, or just want to see some different pics, please email him at corwyn.mansfield@gmail.com for more info.  if you live in the greater denver area and are interested in the upcoming trade show on sunday april 18th he can give you details for that as well. 

my brother's dream for a career as an artist is not about making money but more about sharing his passion and finding an audience that he can relate to, and that is something i will always support. 

hey guess what!? uh, nevermind...

this past weekend at work was kind of a blur, all the days seemed to blend into one another.  i remember at one point there were bag pipes in a cafe (which sounded amazing), ancient books in the new york historical society, and lots and lots and lots and lots of onions.

i almost cried tears of pain for the blister developing on my right hand, but then i didn't want the onions to think they were getting the better of me so i stifled my tears out of sheer stubbornness.

by saturday afternoon i had experienced such a range of randomness that i got the brilliant idea to start another blog dedicated solely to my stories of working in a kitchen, or 'cooking room' as i was once dumb enough to say when i couldn't think of the word kitchen fast enough.

but by sunday evening i had already talked myself out of that idea for several reasons, not the least of which being that it would be harder to keep up the veil of annonymity regarding my place of employment when all i did was talk about my job.     

then i realized that i tend to do things like that a lot.  i come up with ideas or plans for things and then give myself time to rationalize my way out of following through.  i don't know if i think this is a good thing or a bad thing, but i can say that it's definitely a pattern.

yet sometimes the opposite type of characteristic can also be true.  if i find myself in a particularly spontaneous situation, i have a hard time saying no to pretty much anything.  lucky for me b is slightly more grounded or else we could have been married by a dancing elvis in vegas.

what that all amounts to is basically i give myself liscense to bullshit about anything at any time and just blame it on being wishy washy.

maybe i'll start a cooking room blog someday, or maybe i'll just talk about the time that i thought about doing it.  either way, i still have a full-time schedule ahead of me loaded with the promise of interestingness to come. 

i'd say call me the white rabbit, but i think rabbits smell bad, so don't

i am somewhat obsessed with promptness.  being made to wait for someone or making someone wait for me i consider to be a serious insult. 

it's not that hard, just get your shit together and get there on time.  which, by the way, is a trick because if you're on time you're already late.

right.

and then i had a baby.

and then i turned thirty and got even slower.

the discomfort i feel with being late unfortunately doesn't lessen even as i know rationally that there's not much i can do about it sometimes.  in one way or another i am aware that my tardiness will affect someone else in an unexpected way, which i always feel guilty about.

this morning, for example, i experienced the perfect storm of incidents that led to my being about a half an hour late for my target date with kristine. 

the landscapers with their multitude of leaf blowers and lawn mowers made such a frightening racket that my silly monster was literally scared shitless.  it took an extra long time and a lot of coaxing to get him to proceed with his morning poop. 

which in turn delayed my shower, and made my coffee cold.

which made me forget that i was carrying coffee (as i tend to be much more careful with it when i know it's scalding hot).

which led to the sublime moment of spilling said coffee on my daughter's head.

which led me to grabbing the first travel mug i saw (after cleaning my poor kid's coffee hair) forgetting that the only clean one was the leaky one.

which led me to proceed to spill the freshly poured coffee down the front of my white shirt. 

but then i remembered that i was going to target where there's a starbuck's.  i knew i could save a few precious minutes by just wearing the coffee shirt and then getting a venti drip at target to walk around with.  anyone who noticed the stain would be sure to see the big ass cup in my hand and think that it must have just happened. 

and because i needed more coffee.

pretty clever, i thought.

and just like that, i have become the ragamuffin mom that i never thought i'd be. 

not about sailboats, although now that you mention it i'd love to have one

hi blogland, it's me, lana.  i've had a lot on my plate lately, literally.

yesterday i ate poison at work. 

it wasn't as bad as i would have expected it to be, although the taste took a few hours to fade away.  but at least i saved some people from potential death and their relatives from the hassle of a lawsuit, not to mention my boss's job.

i was just commenting to a friend recently about how much i enjoy having a career that always offers something new and different with each day, as opposed to sitting in the same desk in the same office.  i would have never experienced how easy it is to confuse a chemical de-greaser with cooking oil had i chosen a different path.

additionally, i am now realizing that my miniskirts from six years ago might still fit, but that doesn't mean that i should be wearing them.  this does not upset me, however the fact that i kind of want to keep a few of the nicer ones for my daughter should she ever want to wear them some sixteen years from now is quite bothersome.  am i a hoarder in the making? 

it's almost too disturbing to think about.  instead i think i'll go marvel at my amazing natural wonder, a siamese strawberry i found like a treasure hidden amongst all the regular berries.  behold:

you know you want one too.






ps.  where did my spell check go? 

pps.  and what is with all the spam?  have i really been gone that long?

like mucus

i was going to start this post off with a story about a nickname but unfortunately i can't because i'm too busy being mad at google.

i don't even want to ask what the fuck is with this new buzz bullshit in my gmail because i'm afraid of my head exploding and leaving tiny bloody brain bits on my nice clean carpet when i hear some asinine response.

there is such a thing as being overconnected, google, and your determination to attain global domination truly frightens me.

and that's all i'm going to say about that.


oh, and also, i love my new android phone that hanukka harry gave me.


in other news, my dad died last week and i'm pretty sure he's the one who dumped that shitton of snow all over the east coast just to throw a wrench into our plans for his memorial service.

typical.

maybe i can tell that nickname story now.

so my dad's best friend stood up to give a eulogy and while i was appropriately sad and emotional, i definitely heard derek zoolander saying 'ya-googalie' in my head.

this friend began by sharing how he and my father met when they were five years old in kindergarten. my dad says 'hi, i'm rob mansfield' and the friend says 'hi, i'm mike lucas.'

my dad says 'no, from this time forward your name is like mucus.'

also typical.


on that note, i want to send a very heartfelt thanks to all my wonderful family for coming together from all corners in the midst of a blizzard to listen to me ask mulitple times if my eyeliner was running as i cried.

you guys are the best, thank you!

be still my beating heart

the blue-green sparks were enough to illuminate almost a whole corner of the dark room. crisp crackling was the perfect accompaniment to their bright display.

small wisps of my hair remained standing on end a second or two longer than i thought they would have. removing my heavy sweatshirt made me warm and cold at the same time.

laying down between the clean sheets had a similar effect.

i've heard of certain concierge services at fancy hotels that include a human sheet warmer. i wouldn't want anyone to take that moment from me. that special minute where the cold clears your mind and helps you prepare for sleep is so integral to me that i don't think i'd be able to settle without it.

eyes closed, the sounds around me became amplified. the whir of some digital device somewhere nearby, and the soft hum of the heat blowing through the vent were the most noticeable.

that was, until i nestled my head deep into my pillow. then the thud of my pulse began to pound through my ear, dull at first, then louder and more consuming.

i thought of the raven and the heart beating under the floorboards.

but that only distracted me for a brief moment. then it was back to only hearing the whooshing of my own blood in my ear.

switching sides didn't help.

we battled this way for what felt like hours. i tried to ignore my pulse, my basic life function, and it became the only thing i knew.

------

waking up the next morning, i had no memory of the struggle. it was only later that night, when the scene began all over again, that it came back to me and i knew what i was in for.

and so it's been, night after night, forever and ever, i am sisyphus and my heartbeat is my boulder. it sustains me and drains me.

Does this mean I'm my own ghostwriter?

I don't know what happens when you republish a post three times, but I think I finally got the hang og this mobile blogging thing.

the whole she-bang

she is marvelous at hiding
she is afraid
she is anxious, unsettled, and aware

she is brushing her thick hair, distracted by its weight
she is cursing herself for her selfishness
she is anticipating the end

she is sad for others, but only angry for herself
she is surrounded
she is above and below
she is caught, marked, and ready

she is standing tall
she is backing away
she is learning her own strength
she is fading more and more each day

she is understanding what pity really means
she is undone and rebuilt
she is better than before

she is me
she is free
she is no more

my cut is 33.3%

or whatever the going rate is for pimping like a sonofabitch around these here parts. each market is different, i don't really want to sell myself sort.

more importantly, b just told me 'boy, if you do couchie right, it'll sure do you right.'

he fluffs those cushions with unparalleled enthusiasm.

right, back to pimp talk. so most of you know about how kristine from wait in the van is my oldest and bestest bud. back in seventh grade we were the bitches to know, all the smack talking we did with her ferocious perm and my perfect bowl-cut made us feared and loved throughout our junior high.

or maybe we were the outcasts who wore men's clothing and pretended to smoke cigarettes without actually inhaling.

either way, the time has come for me to say wonderfully amazing things about her and her fantastic blog, wait in the van. if you have yet to click on the link for wait in the van, i suggest you do so now so that you can enter her chuck norris contest, lest you get a sharp roundhouse to the head.

i can personally vouch for the authenticity of the items in the contest, as i was happily on hand for the entire three hour wait to meet the chuckster himself. i was not at all a crabby bitch, pouting in a corner, surrounded by underage boys at a military academy, wondering what, for fuck's sake, had i done for my life to bring me to that exact situation.

no friends, i was really thinking about how funny and special it was that one of you out there in blogland was going to end up with a piece of chuck norris history in your hot little hands.

it takes a very dedicated blogger, one who really, really cares about her readers, to offer up such valuable memorabilia instead of keeping it for herself.

if the contest is the bait, her well crafted stories and one-of-a-kind microsoft paint drawings are the true snare that will keep you lurking and lingering around her blog for years to come.

and if that isn't enough for you, than you suck at life and are destined to become a miserable old goat with really long nails, stringy hair, and yellow teeth.

(that's always how i've pictured mean people looking when they get old, or you can insert your own visual here if needed)

ok, so maybe insulting people isn't the best way to get folks to check out my best friend's blog, but then again, i've never really been one to do things the traditional way.

in any event, i hope that when you do check it out and find yourself giggling and clapping, that you have enough manners to remember to thank me in your head.

your welcome.

b's my favorite action hero

i love me some christian bale.

i pretty much will watch any movie he's ever been in no matter how sucky it promises to be.

it all started with empire of the sun.


that bratty little boy who, by the end of the movie, is transformed into a wisened young man has pervaded my taste in leading men for years.

needless to say, b has been subject to my bale obsession and has accumulated a vast supply of knowledge about the actor and his many roles.

this trivia was put to good use this morning when b announced that his new year's resolution was to go on 'the machinist' diet.


for those of you who might not have seen this movie, bale actually transformed his body to about one third of his natural weight by eating nothing more than a plain can of tuna fish and an apple a day for nearly a year.

now, i'm all about supporting b in whatever it is that he should choose to pursue, but come the fuck on.

seriously?

i don't think so.

after maybe a week, the smell of tuna is going to be vomit inducing. and what the fuck am i supposed to do? eat in a cave so as not to tempt him with my normal fare of big salads loaded with cheese and eggs?

as i'm getting ready to go to the grocery store for the weekly shopping, i'm looking at this sparse list of foodstuffs:

apples (green)
tuna (lots)
shit for fuss (not literally, you know what i mean)

i think this time i have to back up his machinist diet and buy some of his favorite snacktime snacks to hide and pull out and be the hero when he decides that he's actually hungry.

how long would you last?

i give myself three days, max, if anyone were ever able to drug me and convince me that it was a good idea to begin with.

i lurk you

blah blah blah blahg blahg blog blog bloggy blog blog.

i'm here, not that i expect you to notice... but i feel that i should at least make some sort of mention to the fact that i've been ignoring blogland for quite some time now.

i really don't have any reason for my absence, but i will say that it is definitely true to my character. i tend to end things abruptly, turn my back, and walk away never thinking twice about burning bridges.

so really, blog, you're lucky i felt bad for creating you and then leaving you hanging to come back here and give a little reconciliation an honest try.

if you, blog, were a garden that i nurtured and tended to so dearly in the warm summer months, you would have repaid me heartily in brightly colored blossoms and fruits. now the long, dark winter has turned my mind from the joy of your bounty and i am no longer satisfied with gazing upon your barren soil and forlorn stems.

i'm not like the other bloggers here in blogland, blog. i don't need to write. i don't write to fill a void, or to express things i cannot say in person. i write because i like to write. i like to tell stories.

but sometimes, i get bored with hearing my own point of view drone on and on in the same vein. i don't know how to change how i think, nor do i care to. i don't want to blog each and every minute detail of my life in some sort of journal-esque fashion. i don't want to write ridiculous and outlandish things to make myself stand out in the ocean of bloggers.

i really don't know what i want.

i want to not feel like a guilty schmuck for ignoring all the really nice bloggers out there who sent me heartfelt holiday wishes. i want to not feel overwhelmed with the reality of other bloggers, on the other side of a monitor, reading my words in their real lives somewhere.

it was way easier to blog before i realized i had an audience, albeit a small one.

maybe that means i'm self-conscious, although i'd never admit to that.

maybe i just need to change my perspective a little.

or a lot.

maybe that will be my work in progress.

maybe i'll just hope that no one will mind if i pretend to be invisible even though i'm really here.