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!

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.

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.

lana-uncut, because i heart sally

this is me:


not in the physical sense, but in that weird comparison that people always make about having a good memory. i don't like the simile, but i'm going to go with it because it's the most recognizable, and also because i'm too lazy to start a whole new simile.

basically, i can remember a ridiculous amount of unnecessary details. i'm talking everything about everything that you never cared about remembering. you know that conversation we had about that new band we both liked three years ago? of course you don't. but i remember where we were, how the conversation started, what we had for lunch, and what we were both wearing.

i swear.

it's fucking sick.

even sicker is that i'm nearly thirty years old and i'm just now realizing exactly how unusual this is.

you want to know anything else about me? well, sally does. she said so herself on her blog. (about a week ago. sorry sally, i was in the grips of typhoid/diphtheria/scarlet fever/a really bad tummy ache). i've actually been tagged for this little thingy before by miss yvonne, and i complied by talking about myself and then tagging some other people. what happened was that the people i tagged either burned me up or ignored me. so this time i'm only going to do the talking about myself part, that's really my forte anyway.

so here's where i list ten things about myself that you don't already know:

1. whenever i hear someone say 'you're crazy' i always reply in my head 'i'm only mad north by northwest.'*

2. yesterday i was driving and saw an old hispanic man on a busy street waving a metal detector over the edge of the sidewalk. i thought to myself, 'what in the hell is that guy doing? there can't possibly be any buried treasure there!' and then i realized the metal detector was in fact a weed wacker.

3. i like pickles so much that sometimes b calls me pickley p. pickleberg. oh, and also because i'm a jew and i like pickles.

4. i don't think boxing counts as a real sport. or maybe i'm just disgusted by the brutality of it i can't understand how anyone could be a willing spectator.

5. my birthday season is fast approaching. what are you going to get me?

6. b just downloaded a bunch of the old classic video games onto the wii so last night we were playing bubble bobble at two am. full blown addiction. (the fruits of our previous internet battles with wires and routers and adapters oh my!)

7. i already shared this one with meaty, but i can count to ten in cantonese. my last job had a sushi bar and the sushi guys had so much fun telling me to say six and seven over and over. i finally interrupted their juvenile laughing fits to ask why and learned that the words for six and seven said together meant dick. i then proceeded to laugh like the juvenile that i still am at heart.

8. i don't understand why blogger keeps telling me that my request could not be processed. i wasn't asking you to do anything, stupid google shitass program!

9. i live thirty minutes from the town i grew up in and went to high school in. it's way too close and too far at the same time.

10. i just remembered there's a new flavor of beer in my fridge....


the ever-evolving essence of me will heretofore be on display at this location for as long as i am lazy enough to not sit down and post about anything else. enjoy!


*someone please tell me i'm not the only dork who knows this line.

my long weekend didn't do much for my writing skills

i think google is mad at me. i might have pushed it over the edge when i didn't want to look up the proper meaning of sadist vs. masochist.

google feels threatened that i no longer care about finding out the exact meanings of things and that i can live my life happily ever after with unanswered questions floating around in my head.

you know what google, not everyone needs to search things all the time. so stop letting all that shitty junk mail into my inbox to try and make me pay attention to you, or guess what, i'll boycott your ass. i'll start writing real letters and mailing them to people, through the postal service, to read instead of using blogger. i bet that'll make me really popular, and you'll lose all that potential revenue from the ads on my blog. you know, those little unassuming links in my sidebar that usually talk about bed bugs or chinese thongs (thank god we got rid of that one).

and you know what else, google, if that's even your real name, i'm still kinda mad at you for making me have to be invisible every damn day on gchat. marvin's still stalking me. isn't there a setting somewhere that will let me just be invisible to one person? if not, i suggest you get on that piece because it's getting really old having to go through those two extra steps to open a chat window with b while he's at work.

so guess what i'm going to do now, i'm going to do your job for you, stupid google. i'm going to answer some really important and profound questions that were recently posed to me. because everyone knows that if you post questions on your blog i am obsessively compelled to answer, much like a dictionary with tourette's.

my little becky, who hangs out over at i'll go eat worms, was the latest to test this theory. while we haven't been friends for very long, i can say that her poignant probes into the recesses of my mind are truly astounding. and for that, becky, i made you a special present. and also because you love doggies as much as i do. so before i get to the questions, i want to give you this:



thanks becky, for understanding the ups and downs of being a dog owner, and also for making up your own words all the time. i'll completely understand if you don't like my present, and i may or may not steal it back to put on my blog as well.


and off we go:

13. if you were an animal and you couldn't get that eye goop that gets in your eye corners from everyday living or baby zebra killing would that just totally drive you frickin insane? additionally, would you lick the eyegoop out of your cheetah lovah and cheetah baby's eyes because, you know, appearance may not be everything but eyegoop is juss nast? and would you sit butt to face sistee nine style to flick flys off each other with your tails?

eye goop is quite possibly one of the most disgusting things on this planet. i avoid the ones on monster's face at all costs, and leave them to grow and harden to the size of small pebbles until they either fall off from gravity or b sees them and cleans them for me. so no, i will not in any incarnation have anything ever to do with goop.

14. bonus! what is the name of my favorite freckle?

hairy petunia

15. if you had whiskers would you grow them out or would you keep them at a respectable length? can you tell that i'm watching a nature show while writing questions?

what i am starting to think is that you may have confused me with some other cat loving blogger, because i hate cats and all cat things, including whiskers.

16. don't you hate it when t9 is like being a bastard and keeps putting of instead of me or good instead of home? why can't they fix that?

ok, you definitely have me confused with someone else! how could you, becky?! are all my posts about my smelly dog not enough for you to remember me? i mean, i can see how you might make this mistake, kristine is my friend in real land, outside of blogland, and we do sometimes make cross-references to each other. but since we are in fact separate people, when her kid t9 is being a bastard i really don't give a what because he's not mine and i only see him like once a week.


and that shall now conclude this round of 'questions i answer so i don't have to think of something extraordinarily witty to blog about' for today. i will try to bring the clever/originality sometime soon, but no promises.