tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69272205577354154092024-03-05T02:58:08.550-05:00mother hides the pearlsLanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-41458327014150785602013-12-09T23:27:00.000-05:002013-12-09T23:27:41.013-05:00boo who?don't cry it's only a joke.<br />
<br />
so what I want to spend a day with the voice of that villain in the batman movie, the one with the crazy headgear strapped to his face. <br />
<br />
sometimes I get the urge to change things up a bit. <br />
<br />
I've never been one for moderation though. i'm kind of an all-or-nothing gal.<br />
<br />
so what I want to walk a catwalk with a pet potbellied pig on a leash. a blue paisley leash.<br />
<br />
a pig-toting, masked villainess with a kooky voice probably wouldn't have gotten yelled at by an old lady in the grocery store today. <br />
<br />
but that's not my only shake 'em up motivation. while avoiding old lady anger would be clutch in my daily activities, it would be more rewarding if I wasn't wound up so tight that I felt the need to yell back at old ladies.<br />
<br />
i'm not sure if this is holiday stress, or two kids one mommy stress, or my dog's ear skin collects in flakey piles on my couch stress, or i'm a professional chef and I ate a pretzel and Hershey's kisses for dinner stress.<br />
<br />
anyone want a dog?<br />
<br />
I need my mojo back. I've been out of practice with writing. don't judge my first dip back in the bloggy pool. I never was one for a grand (re-)entrance. Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-60634729274735312182011-01-07T14:13:00.001-05:002011-01-07T14:20:54.439-05:00i'm open to suggestions on what to do with a blog that i pretty much ignore but like the name too much to really ever give up...<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">hi blogland, happy new year and all that. i kind of miss you, but then i get busy again and forget about you for a while. but then i find myself thinking about bloggy folk in my real life and it makes me want to pop in and say hi again. it's a vicious cycle.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i have a few gems that i've been saving up in case i ever wanted to write a cohesive post any time soon, but i don't think that's going to happen. well, at least not this week anyway. so instead maybe i'll share them in list form, because let's be real, who doesn't love a good list?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">ok, so here it goes:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">things related to my recent move back to my hometown-</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">1. if you live in a really scary part of town, it's ok to walk your big ass rottweiler on an orange extension cord and pretend it's a leash.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">2. if you have a motorized wheelchair/rascal or equivalent type of ride, and you obey the same traffic rules as a motor vehicle, it's ok to drive in the road as opposed to the sidewalk like the rest of the wheelchair-bound citizens of this town.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">3. a trip to home depot with your spouse does not count as a date when you bring a wiggly toddler, but if you bring snacks and drinks in your bag like you're going to the movies it comes really, really close.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">4. the days of running errands in pajamas are long gone. you will inevitably run into no less than three people from your past every time you set foot outside your house, requiring real grown-up clothes at all times lest you become the loser who just moved back into town and can't get her shit together. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">things related to work-</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">1. getting bullied by a kosher caterer who talks to you like you're not even good enough to be the shit on his shoe is a valid reason for waving a knife around in a kitchen full of people. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">2. please, please take my word for it, don't EVER eat or drink anything at the roseland ballroom in nyc unless it comes in a sealed bottle or package that you open yourself. that means no ice in your drink either. semi-related, robert de niro must have a stomach of steel.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">3. can there be a season of project runway where all the designers make fashionable chefwear and then they give it all to me? i'm all set with the pants that come all the way up to the bottom of my bra and the polyester jackets that stay square no matter how long i wear them. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">and that's all the original thoughts i have at this time. stayed tuned for some more of the same at some point this year. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">spanks!! (yes, i am single-handedly trying to bring back spanks to replace thanks)</span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-45112034145536869212010-10-20T22:26:00.000-04:002010-10-20T22:26:41.480-04:00guess what i'm gonna be for halloween!!<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a big fat fattie that's what.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i can't stop eating halloween candy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">or would that be hypnosis? whatever, make it happen. i love oompas.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">on another note, i'm thinking about bringing my monster to a pending craigslist exchange. i can't decide if that makes me</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> 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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my poor smelly mutt, maybe i should give him some candy too....</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-16630347784114659472010-09-24T22:38:00.000-04:002010-09-24T22:38:42.383-04:00just another day at the office...<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i couldn't possibly write anything funny enough to accompany this video:</span><br />
<br />
<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kWQwgJVvd5s?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kWQwgJVvd5s?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-42455160731057420132010-09-16T13:16:00.000-04:002010-09-16T13:16:27.555-04:00they're called boundries people, use them<span style="font-family: Georgia;">do you start random personal conversations with people you barely know? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">maybe my need to protect my small and insignificant matters is seen as an unwillingness to participate in regular society. who knows. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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?!'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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?'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">as her monologue drew to a close, i felt the most overwhelming sense of relief. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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?'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-31376939503470466122010-09-08T13:38:00.000-04:002010-09-08T13:38:32.065-04:00i'm only blogging because i ran out of packing tape<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">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?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i gave it about a six. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i can't begrudge them that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-9712619308126588202010-06-28T20:00:00.001-04:002010-06-28T21:12:25.295-04:00multiple choice monday<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">what does the crazy lady in your neighborhood look like? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">in my neighborhood she's about five foot three and pushing a solid two hundred. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">she has short hair that she somehow manages to wrap around tiny curlers, which i wasn't even sure people still used anymore. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">she wears her 'house shoes' outside and hangs out by the dumpster.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">oh yeah, and she talks to herself almost as much as she converses with the neatly trimmed row of hedges that line the dumpster.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">her constant proximity to the dumpster in and of itself is relatively harmless, or so i thought up until this morning. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">yes, really.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">so now, the big question is what the fuckity fuck is my next move?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">is it:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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 </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">c- white bishop to black queen</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">please, help me before it's too late...</span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-58622611510673352252010-06-15T12:42:00.000-04:002010-06-15T12:42:38.339-04:00summersummersummertiiiiiiiime<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">picking flowers is fun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">eating peanuts from the shell is fun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">rainbows and waterfalls are fun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">hots dogs on a grill are fun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">sailboats are fun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">fireworks are fun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">what's not fun is inappropriate ass-scratching. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">spanks a lot, mosquito. keep laughing, just wait until i pour some draino in your pothole pond...</span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-86971703172243938922010-04-08T19:05:00.001-04:002010-04-08T19:05:58.162-04:00are you sure???<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">dear chef 1, i know how to cook beans.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">dear chef 2, i know how to cook beans.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">thank you.</span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-24134894155940814372010-04-06T09:12:00.001-04:002010-04-06T09:15:14.250-04:00support veteran artwork<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">this blog is usually a place for me to talk about myself, my feelings, my experiences. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">today i want to talk about someone else, my brother. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">he now lives across the country from his family and girlfriend. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">the following is from an ad he ran last week in a local artist community:</span><br />
<br />
<blockquote></blockquote><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<blockquote><span style="font-family: Georgia;">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... </span></blockquote><br />
(click pics to enlarge)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFr7c0hmO8T1YcdV_IMG95Dkly_k83NrkBl5HZMDfIE_FM7BtrsV6cCtPDEjjIMbssu80HG0hmMPSRCRDoy1S7PEN4qsb-KHM6XuCEmAthHQwZVL539QgXCrfggw74p8J6zABEtwhopVU/s1600/coryart1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFr7c0hmO8T1YcdV_IMG95Dkly_k83NrkBl5HZMDfIE_FM7BtrsV6cCtPDEjjIMbssu80HG0hmMPSRCRDoy1S7PEN4qsb-KHM6XuCEmAthHQwZVL539QgXCrfggw74p8J6zABEtwhopVU/s320/coryart1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLhBsJkd3uIeQJ1jsowcHE2AvlDnilPleHjLG5bU3tQslGfPV_IyuWq_ahVD-Nj7oRSWjJhJoKLSmGTVWt5Ahh4vM6LGczN93Qt45845UT7GefXrz49yH3TN1iNp7ADRHAzjw6yqye60/s1600/coryart2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLhBsJkd3uIeQJ1jsowcHE2AvlDnilPleHjLG5bU3tQslGfPV_IyuWq_ahVD-Nj7oRSWjJhJoKLSmGTVWt5Ahh4vM6LGczN93Qt45845UT7GefXrz49yH3TN1iNp7ADRHAzjw6yqye60/s320/coryart2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjUg2tZksDU9r0oiOWBweLzVwXAvgQZL-wjK0w0weSBuJeYNXjbhoMfomK6tHUEkNLVJVUZcsQlVKCWn9z976WDFWv9LtZ9zm9XMnCfEiE8mEeMHXhVTQWxUIGOxYtXsdOVTw0mXvzMs/s1600/coryart3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjUg2tZksDU9r0oiOWBweLzVwXAvgQZL-wjK0w0weSBuJeYNXjbhoMfomK6tHUEkNLVJVUZcsQlVKCWn9z976WDFWv9LtZ9zm9XMnCfEiE8mEeMHXhVTQWxUIGOxYtXsdOVTw0mXvzMs/s320/coryart3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXAWYsHb-ItQh4ierDgoQCNsZK2B-DXcVFMX_2mz0brpdOx4cv8QWJ8YSJ8cqHI5iert-z5uuBDsaJIw-m4uBpHzoURbIlcDO4jpdPKkQkT8vzT-9VFSQPg7oQe9akYjxxlyy8CjpQw1w/s1600/coryart4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXAWYsHb-ItQh4ierDgoQCNsZK2B-DXcVFMX_2mz0brpdOx4cv8QWJ8YSJ8cqHI5iert-z5uuBDsaJIw-m4uBpHzoURbIlcDO4jpdPKkQkT8vzT-9VFSQPg7oQe9akYjxxlyy8CjpQw1w/s320/coryart4.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
if you're interested in any of his work, or just want to see some different pics, please email him at <a href="mailto:corwyn.mansfield@gmail.com">corwyn.mansfield@gmail.com</a> 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. <br />
<br />
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. Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-14041301601712583682010-03-29T21:47:00.000-04:002010-03-29T21:47:33.367-04:00hey guess what!? uh, nevermind...<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">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. </span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-43971479301932943742010-03-24T13:20:00.000-04:002010-03-24T13:20:15.208-04:00i'd say call me the white rabbit, but i think rabbits smell bad, so don't<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i am somewhat</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> obsessed with promptness. being made to wait for someone or making someone wait for me i consider to be a serious insult. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">right.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">and then i had a baby.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">and then i turned thirty and got even slower.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">which in turn delayed my shower, and made my coffee cold.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">which led to the sublime moment of spilling said coffee on my daughter's head.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">which led me to proceed to spill the freshly poured coffee down the front of my white shirt. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">and because i needed more coffee.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">pretty clever, i thought.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and just like that, i have become the ragamuffin mom that i never thought i'd be. </span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-38965680429844102702010-03-22T10:18:00.000-04:002010-03-22T10:18:58.483-04:00not about sailboats, although now that you mention it i'd love to have one<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">hi blogland, it's me, lana. i've had a lot on my plate lately, literally.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">yesterday i ate poison at work. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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:</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcIW5Ksx-Qx8ZwIOqWUZ9q9KDunuLjD-ZS8NfDLFzL17kYbwioSEiN4xry0Mat1bXUa7fI-SpopTcU__0LcrsF2KR2DvFO_Tswd1pun2PaYeiWtR37f8FOXZb3dkOViSlBhM_g4F2IT4/s1600-h/myberry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcIW5Ksx-Qx8ZwIOqWUZ9q9KDunuLjD-ZS8NfDLFzL17kYbwioSEiN4xry0Mat1bXUa7fI-SpopTcU__0LcrsF2KR2DvFO_Tswd1pun2PaYeiWtR37f8FOXZb3dkOViSlBhM_g4F2IT4/s320/myberry.JPG" vt="true" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">you know you want one too.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">ps. where did my spell check go? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">pps. and what is with all the spam? have i really been gone that long?</span>Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-84833768021222275122010-02-11T09:41:00.001-05:002010-02-11T10:04:44.099-05:00like mucusi 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />there is such a thing as being overconnected, google, and your determination to attain global domination truly frightens me.<br /><br />and that's all i'm going to say about that.<br /><br /><br />oh, and also, i love my new android phone that hanukka harry gave me.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />typical.<br /><br />maybe i can tell that nickname story now.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />my dad says 'no, from this time forward your name is like mucus.'<br /><br />also typical.<br /><br /><br />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. <br /><br />you guys are the best, thank you!Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-82843257185751597912010-02-01T10:04:00.003-05:002010-02-01T10:57:51.972-05:00be still my beating heartthe 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />laying down between the clean sheets had a similar effect. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />i thought of the raven and the heart beating under the floorboards. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />switching sides didn't help.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />------<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-33097781735784746802010-01-25T12:20:00.001-05:002010-01-25T12:22:33.766-05:00Does this mean I'm my own ghostwriter?<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5LlVD6L973PKT7RcebLCj7wJ98VQ5-M69NjY9STojrbjB_388B9QObmVX5ZjIl1yYfEP5mi6jn2A0VAWV1XuzZh4R8m46CNDkyiRlLzFVasGtaXdLY3LvwEkMp31DHvQyP970ihp2jI/s1600-h/2010-01-25+12.16.54-736792.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5LlVD6L973PKT7RcebLCj7wJ98VQ5-M69NjY9STojrbjB_388B9QObmVX5ZjIl1yYfEP5mi6jn2A0VAWV1XuzZh4R8m46CNDkyiRlLzFVasGtaXdLY3LvwEkMp31DHvQyP970ihp2jI/s320/2010-01-25+12.16.54-736792.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430728608336334002" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYaRIeRdHB1PINvq-qPhOIRQeZBhrvmF1i-0Oc7R9ccAwn_NNUu7W5fM2X6OuFhvQxP_bqIdn5Amz4SB0UlWtp9a-vvcT4oUu5B2UPr7JlVcSukFTzownEO5ndvzxTDQz6BvvqZ553xA/s1600-h/2010-01-25+12.17.17-738943.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYaRIeRdHB1PINvq-qPhOIRQeZBhrvmF1i-0Oc7R9ccAwn_NNUu7W5fM2X6OuFhvQxP_bqIdn5Amz4SB0UlWtp9a-vvcT4oUu5B2UPr7JlVcSukFTzownEO5ndvzxTDQz6BvvqZ553xA/s320/2010-01-25+12.17.17-738943.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430728617635613010" /></a></p><p>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.</p> Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-13321226667573850742010-01-14T15:22:00.002-05:002010-01-14T15:36:21.597-05:00the whole she-bangshe is marvelous at hiding<br />she is afraid<br />she is anxious, unsettled, and aware<br /><br />she is brushing her thick hair, distracted by its weight<br />she is cursing herself for her selfishness<br />she is anticipating the end<br /><br />she is sad for others, but only angry for herself<br />she is surrounded<br />she is above and below<br />she is caught, marked, and ready<br /><br />she is standing tall<br />she is backing away<br />she is learning her own strength<br />she is fading more and more each day<br /><br />she is understanding what pity really means<br />she is undone and rebuilt<br />she is better than before<br /><br />she is me<br />she is free<br />she is no moreLanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-61528484958928572392010-01-11T06:38:00.000-05:002010-01-11T06:38:00.222-05:00my 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.<br /><br />more importantly, b just told me 'boy, if you do couchie right, it'll sure do you right.'<br /><br />he fluffs those cushions with unparalleled enthusiasm.<br /><br />right, back to pimp talk. so most of you know about how <a href="http://waitinthevan.blogspot.com/">kristine</a> from <a href="http://waitinthevan.blogspot.com/">wait in the van</a> 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. <br /><br />or maybe we were the outcasts who wore men's clothing and pretended to smoke cigarettes without actually inhaling. <br /><br />either way, the time has come for me to say wonderfully amazing things about her and her fantastic blog, <a href="http://waitinthevan.blogspot.com/">wait in the van</a>. if you have yet to click on the link for <a href="http://waitinthevan.blogspot.com/">wait in the van</a>, i suggest you do so now so that you can enter her <a href="http://waitinthevan.blogspot.com/2010/01/staggering-work-of-heartbreaking-self.html">chuck norris contest</a>, lest you get a sharp roundhouse to the head. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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 <a href="http://waitinthevan.blogspot.com/2010/01/staggering-work-of-heartbreaking-self.html">chuck norris history</a> in your hot little hands. <br /><br />it takes a very dedicated blogger, one who really, really cares about her readers, to offer up such <a href="http://waitinthevan.blogspot.com/2010/01/staggering-work-of-heartbreaking-self.html">valuable memorabilia</a> instead of keeping it for herself. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />(that's always how i've pictured mean people looking when they get old, or you can insert your own visual here if needed)<br /><br />ok, so maybe insulting people isn't the best way to get folks to check out <a href="http://waitinthevan.blogspot.com/">my best friend's blog</a>, but then again, i've never really been one to do things the traditional way. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />your welcome.Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-70739332266754064572010-01-04T10:12:00.005-05:002010-01-04T10:43:48.995-05:00b's my favorite action heroi love me some christian bale.<br /><br />i pretty much will watch any movie he's ever been in no matter how sucky it promises to be.<br /><br />it all started with empire of the sun.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422908997298745330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FssfNSnjeRIabOoN0ntmeL6BQJukM1AxGtYqSQE_TE9VZsMh91RZpaWPnnjetS7GIIelt28GHtgIjyuNmmkAbrH-qUwxdfp5hgzvmdfUz6fS6-_AfygdZRCtlqVrv4zx9WuAfqTMYhA/s320/emp.jpg" /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422909409456228482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjinTz_sADcgOh99uIYqTaNPtT2VvWvZzppkpWNlrBMTGDSEziW2adzxXRr41sBbr74GDmTC1ksPiSwQlASffeHv0QPShOglu5HpJgEONTRq6cbNEIYJ_KhQwcwsKGw_SNH2e87lPRVgPY/s320/machinist.jpg" /><br />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.<br /><br />now, i'm all about supporting b in whatever it is that he should choose to pursue, but come the fuck on.<br /><br />seriously?<br /><br />i don't think so.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />as i'm getting ready to go to the grocery store for the weekly shopping, i'm looking at this sparse list of foodstuffs:<br /><br />apples (green)<br />tuna (lots)<br />shit for fuss (not literally, you know what i mean)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />how long would you last?<br /><br />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.Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-9550562771056338902010-01-04T06:17:00.000-05:002010-01-04T06:17:00.418-05:00i lurk youblah blah blah blahg blahg blog blog bloggy blog blog.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />i'm not like the other bloggers here in blogland, blog. i don't <em>need</em> to write. i don't write to fill a void, or to express things i cannot say in person. i write because i <em>like</em> to write. i like to tell stories. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />i really don't know what i want.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />it was way easier to blog before i realized i had an audience, albeit a small one. <br /><br />maybe that means i'm self-conscious, although i'd never admit to that. <br /><br />maybe i just need to change my perspective a little. <br /><br />or a lot.<br /><br />maybe that will be my work in progress.<br /><br />maybe i'll just hope that no one will mind if i pretend to be invisible even though i'm really here.Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-41577290647563360002009-12-18T08:57:00.002-05:002009-12-18T09:42:20.840-05:00burning questionslast night i got mad at a picture.<br /><br />this picture:<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 204px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416574769109329394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_UTASG2DDCNUHmgdV7Onziz1bHenqLB9N020PfxJD-xSuArjxnkd8dlyrjbtJQTRrCaeYbtf9dBC9K1kGeC6SxNU98aabyAoMHCWaH4nL_cdS-pPwZU0elUEQ3Cg7jflsHVi8mPFsVrM/s320/moveinready.1.bmp" /><br />it was mocking me and my inability to recognize a joke. all i was trying to do was browse a few real estate listings (on a legit site) and then i saw this piece of work. i instantly felt self-conscious, 'am i the only moron who can't tell what the fuck this is about?'<br /><br />reading further into the ad did not resolve any questions i had.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 71px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416575084909603970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikiJqLHpgQkKH7xWFd6fp-D2UGvZrwhXByaZxwdUNaLcM-EtfAojK8lC4iepnEUJdLUeACMSCYQ3tHMeYaXqFFGBY-rLs5LICeBBcKfWWiAhIWW4wW0J8NXVRl7wJFppHM2Pg9cKhaSUE/s320/word.bmp" /><br />is someone seriously trying to sell this house? what is the entire fire department doing posing for a picture in front of a burning house? exactly how long ago was thomas edison's time? just how bad is the fire damage? who can i rob to get 55k cash?<br /><br />et cetera, et cetera.<br /><br />i was going to print out the picture and burn it just to make it feel stupid too, but then i figured it might be the type of picture that likes that kind of thing. and also because i might end up burning down my current home and wind up in a lunatic asylum perpetually mumbling something about fire and cash offers.<br /><br />on that note, fuck you, picture. you and your weird fire scenario are no longer going to bother me, unless you want to play nice and tell me what the fuck you're all about. then i'll invite you over for tea and we can chat about property lines and vinyl siding.Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-81765130804945390692009-12-11T09:18:00.005-05:002009-12-11T10:06:40.093-05:00i've been a good girl this yeardear hannukah harry,<br /><br /><br />please don't be pissed that despite being a relatively uninformed jew for the past thirty years i still don't know how to spell chanukka.<br /><br />and also, please don't think i'm a sellout because i have a christmas tree <em>and</em> a menorah. that tree is so pretty and when i put a piney scented candle near it, it makes me feel all forresty and wintery.<br /><br />hanuka candles never smell that good.<br /><br />now that i've gotten that out of the way, i'd like to ask you to pretty please hook me up this year with a new phone. you see, the last one you got me was a little outdated, and never really got good reception.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 260px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413992304745667090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROryAruO9m1ZhhVE20CS2aMM2gqDeTq9GsmODvbqZq91jp4IJXukaJ0ewHksrbXVbA871YZUoCC69bQDWIpvJQyZRoXm83x0IYUCpSHfdp84MJdmyBlRKGj0nEgVlMu65veVdV2kpdNU/s320/TinCanPhone.jpg" /><br />plus it started to rust after i dropped in it the snow.<br /><br />so the next year i went over your head and got myself a stylish new phone all on my own. it looked like this:<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 191px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413992467142712882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6OErsqActFIJhq_uded0QZSuuORkpkG4c-hoSKcbscukV1ye_qjOmNkOwwZjLa-5ToZF55MjnTuhbzuiUfbhGn1qyNgXiOinkbFVNLlr6Mts-rcuwgbfksb-4W9BbROz-_Ii22Ty8ps/s320/pink-motorola-razr.jpg" /><br />but then i dropped it into a pot of watercress soup at work and it smelled like sour cream ever since that day.<br /><br />the one i got to replace the soupy phone wasn't much of an upgrade and now tends to shut off automatically when it gets mad about all the baby drool on it.<br /><br />i can't say i blame that poor phone. i wouldn't want to drooled on either.<br /><br />what this all comes down to is simply that if you can find a way to get me a phone that performs better than little miss's table-top phone, and even has a decent camera on it, i promise you won't regret it.<br /><br />there are so many wonderful things i can take pictures of and text to you that would make you smile. the other day i saw a portrait of a man who had just told a really dirty and inappropriate joke and he was waiting for me to either crack up or smack him. i really, really wished i had a way to capture that moment and share it with you. but alas, it was not meant to be.<br /><br />together, hannuka harry, you and i can change the way i share crazy with the world. i'll even make you some of the best latkes you'll ever have. if that's not enough of a bribe for you to help a girl out, than i don't know what else i can do. i'd hate to resort to threats because they take so much work, and frankly, i'm too lazy for that shit. i'll just say, do yourself a favor harry, for the sake of your reputation, please don't cheap out on me. the world is watching and the ball's in your court.<br /><br />i'm ready and waiting, your time starts.....NOW!<br /><br /><br />thank you and good day. with deepest regards,<br /><br />lanaLanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-80082316310550957712009-12-07T07:36:00.001-05:002009-12-07T07:36:00.237-05:00it's not me, it's you, but only if your name is miss.chief<a href="http://www.misschiefsblog.com/">miss.chief</a> had a brilliant idea to do a whole month of guest posts at other blogs. i took her up on her offer pretty much immediately thinking that i'd be able to bring a bit of much needed variety to my pearl hiding spot. and also because i'm lazy and i knew it'd buy me some time to create my next amazing post/vlog.<br /><br />on that note, i'm pleased to present you with miss.chief:<br /><br /><br /><br />Walking down the rain-flooded street, she thought about the story her mom once told her about when she was a small child.<br /><br />She had been dressed like Paddington Bear- yellow rain boots, jacket and hat. In one hand she clutched her favorite toy dog ‘Raffi’.<br /><br />With her free hand she picked up the dry dead worm corpses and placed them back into the puddles she thought they came from.<br /><br />She was certain, in the idiot blind compassion of a child, that the water would re-hydrate the worms and they would come back to life. As if their only problem was dehydration and not … being mortal.<br /><br />She cried when they didn’t come alive. Her mom bought her some candy and she moved on.<br /><br />She later learned that worms drown in water. This is why they come out of their burrows when it rains: so they don’t drown. Not because they love the rainy weather, like she had imagined for so many years.<br /><br />She probably saw that in a cartoon or something.Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-75926625001968226942009-12-02T07:56:00.002-05:002009-12-02T08:50:40.857-05:00haunted horse (take two)ok kiddies, i did it. i made a vlog.<br /><br />be gentle...<br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CfoVBjv_rUQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CfoVBjv_rUQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />ps. the lack of proper lighting was not intentional for effect. it appears that putting a video online will make it darker than how it looks on your camera. i guess every vlogger has to go through a learning curve.Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6927220557735415409.post-74743120901849596912009-12-01T09:36:00.000-05:002009-12-01T09:41:32.206-05:00haunted horse (take one)last night i tried to jump on the vlogging bandwagon. <br /><br />i got a solid grip with both hands, but my big toe slipped and i fell off. i think i twisted my knee as i rolled down a rocky embankment, choking on dust and shame. <br /><br />i tried to get b to be my cameraman, but he was all technical and started talking about a contract and benefits, so i had to cut him loose from the vlog project. my style is more freelance and adaptive, i can't be tied down with worries about meeting the hr needs of my crew. <br /><br />the next step was to try to do everything myself, production, editing, and airbrushing. just kidding, i don't even really know what air brushing is.<br /><br />clearly, i was not successful. <br /><br />vlogging is way harder than i thought it would be. or maybe it was just that i picked a challenging subject for my first attempt. you see, the story i wanted to share with you, the one about the haunted horse, has way more of an impact when you can see and hear it, as opposed to just reading about it. the pressure was too much for me and i crumbled under the stress.<br /><br />i thought about writing the haunted horse story with some pictures to illustrate key points, but i'm not quite ready to give up on my (potentially) new path as a vlogger. i have to keep trying.<br /><br />for now, i'll leave this post to be about the time i tried to vlog, rather than the time i tried to vlog about this crazy haunted horse story that goes like this.....<br /><br />does that even make sense? i need more coffee...Lanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09663248865819266276noreply@blogger.com11