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?

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.

haunted horse (take two)

ok kiddies, i did it. i made a vlog.

be gentle...





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.

haunted horse (take one)

last night i tried to jump on the vlogging bandwagon.

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.

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.

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.

clearly, i was not successful.

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.

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.

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.....

does that even make sense? i need more coffee...

tell me have you seen her?

i don't have my funny.

and i don't mean that i lost her forever like a permanent break-up. i'm talking more about a game of cat and mouse that funny is playing with me.

lately i've had a rather full plate, even though i'm not really hungry, and i think funny is feeling a bit left out. 'act like a grown-up' has been crashing at my house a lot, eating some of funny's favorite snacks, using all the hot water, basically being the kind of guest you know might be moving in but you'd rather see on a one way train to 'get the fuck out of here-ville'.

so in retaliation for the rude replacement persona, funny has decided to be a little bitch and storm off. i think this is the part where i put my life on hold and chase after her, because in all honesty, i need funny to get through life. i need funny in good times and bad, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do us part.

i need to have a nice long talk with funny and hopefully i will be persuasive enough to not have to return home alone. i can reassure her with kind words, a big hug, and a friendly pat on the ass. i refuse to believe that this is the end.

funny, if you're out there, hiding in the shadows of the internet, you mean the world to me, i can't blog without you. i'm coming to get you!!



i'll be back in a few days. in the meantime, i'm open to suggestions for how to maintain a long-distance relationship with act like a grown-up. or perhaps i should just ditch act like a grown-up altogether and get a really good disguise so everyone will think we're still going strong when i'm fucking around with funny all day.

wow, i really need to find funny....

golden brown looks good on me

these are my favorite flip flops.


now i know that i'm in between pedicures, so you'll have to excuse the nudie toes. b is a big supporter of my bi-monthly pedicures, mostly because he hates toes in general. he was shocked to learn that in no way is toe-hair removal a part of the process. i could share the story about the time he tweezed my toe hair out because they bother him that much, but he made me promise not to ever, ever tell anyone about it.

me, i'm not worried about it so much. i've had a lifetime to look at my toe hair and i'm ok with it.

back to my flip flops. so i wear these brown babies pretty much every day in the summer. sure i have others, but these always manage to find their way to my feet without me even thinking about it. there is one major downside, however.


every night, as i'm lounged out on the couch, limbs all a-splayed in every direction, b will inevitably burn me up for my ridiculous flip flop tan lines. but that's ok, i can take the heat, i love the sun.

b, on the other hand, for those of you who don't know him, is so white that if you were to put him on a beach he'd glow like a brilliant beacon amongst the pale sand and bright wash of sunlight. his skin may or may not be translucent. he gets sunburn through his clothes and shoes. although, when i'm sixty and wrinkly he'll probably be sixty with soft, supple skin, fresh as a baby's behind.

right, so you know what i have to say about all this mocking of my tan lines?


if you'll pretend you don't see the gigantic big toe on the right side there, you can proceed to be impressed with how i can give you the finger with my toe.

i know, i'm so talented.

oh, and also, because he's currently not annoying the shit out of me, here's monster looking all cute:



finis.

there's always a silver lining

despite the fact that i love to throw curse words around like an old sailor (is that really true that sailors curse a lot?), i am an enormous prude when it comes to talking about poo, pee, puke, or any other bodily function/excrement.

this is extremely fortunate for you readers out there in blogland who will be spared the gory details of my battle with food poisoning over the past four days. although, there were definite moments of profound revelation that i experienced in my most harrowing times that i felt worthy of sharing.

the first is by far the most important of the lessons i learned this long weekend; simply that food poisoning is going to be a much more effective diet for me than my previous standby of coffee and air.

this dawned on me sometime in the middle of the night sunday, as i got up out of bed and groaned my way to the bathroom, passing by my open closet door. there, subtly tucked away yet exposed enough to be illuminated by the fluorescent green glow of the alarm clock, was my collection of skinny jeans.


at least a half dozen pairs of those perfectly fitted jeans that go with every motherfucking thing you could ever imagine yourself wearing, somehow managed to migrate to a visible corner of my closet to speak to me.

'psst!! hey, lana! we're still heeeeeerrrrrrreeeeee!!' (that last part was actually sing-songy like the little girl in poltergeist, sneaky ass jeans)

but alas, at the time i was in too much of a hurry to reach my bathroom successfully to stop and make sexy eyes at my skinny jeans. and besides, i know them all so well by now. each pair perfect in fade, wash, length, hem. everything, perfect. except that they haven't fit so well since i grew a baby.

i'm not bitter about it though, changes in your body are a natural side effect of incubating and then birthing a child. i'm ok with that, i don't hold it against you skinny jeans.

that doesn't mean i didn't go back to sleep and dream about wearing each and every pair of those damn jeans and rolling around in a field of daisies like i was in a mariah carey video about being in love except that i was in love with my jeans and not a man.

waking up in the morning, i realized that all the intense pain i was experiencing was really for a great fucking cause. in fact, it even made me question the whole commitment to serving safe bacteria-free food to customers when i'm at work. i'd be doing some of them a huge favor, and if they knew i was behind it all, they might even come and give me a high five.

but that last part came from being dehydrated, so i'll just stick with accidental bacterial intake as being a great diet.

my second revelation that came to me was that hospital nurses sometimes, once in a while, suck at their jobs. while three different nurses had to attempt five times to find a vein to use for an iv, i thought it was a little unusual that they were having such a hard time. then today i looked down at my arms and was aghast to see that in both of my elbow creases i had obscene bruises and puncture holes that immediately made me feel like i had the beginnings of jared leto's arm in requiem for a dream.

(i thought about posting a pic, but it's way to gross for me to even deal with so i'm just going to link to the pic. feel free to look if you have a stomach made of steel, or don't if you're a pansy like me.)

i know being a nurse is a really hard job, and i'm certainly not trying to offend anyone who is, or is thinking about becoming, or ever was a nurse. but come on with this bullshit, i look like a damn junkie! lucky for them i don't have shit to do all week and a kid who can't tell if mommy's using or just has a boo-boo.

and so, in summation, i fully believe that as the fall season approaches, i will soon find myself wearing my skinny jeans and a nice, long-sleeved sweater to hide the iv wounds. thanks food poisoning, you're my bitch!!

eyeshadow and boobies live happily ever after

of all the many wonderful things in this world to be addicted to, i might be the only one who needs a support group for over-use of glittery eyeshadow. i've known about my weakness for years. yet somehow, i cannot manage to 'just say no' when i open my blue and green flowery make-up bag, search deep in its dark corners, and my happy hand closes upon a round silvery case of sparkly joy.

i really do need help.

(don't worry coffee, you're still my number one addiction. now and always.)

then again, maybe it's not so bad because the sparklies usually fall off pretty quick. then it just looks like i'm not wearing any makeup at all. either way, my huge tatas will almost always capture someone's gaze long before the bad taste in eyeshadow does.

for example, in this pic where i showered and put on clothes that don't have elastic waistbands, you can barely see the aforementioned sparklies:


kristine and i had a lovely night out at a concert this weekend. no husbands and no kiddies. it was the definition of amazing. conor oberst, if you're out there somewhere, you're genius is mindblowing. and the guy at your merch table has a very weird haircut.

as we navigated our way through the field of fellow concertgoers, closer and closer to the stage, i also realized that glittery eyeshadow is way better than that gross patchouli smell. i might have stuck out like a shiny beacon amongst the throngs of hippies, but at least i didn't have that musky stink radiating from my body, like an olfactory needle piercing the brains of innocent music lovers.

i also immensely enjoyed dancing like a mime/mexican jumping bean hybrid, despite repeatedly and unintentionally hitting the ass of the man standing in front of me. thankfully, enormous boobies are great cover. the guy said if it was someone with a big beer gut slamming into him he'd have to wreck shit, but because it was me with a nice smile (low-cut shirt) he'd let it go. joke's on you guy, because i have both a beer gut and a nice smile.

and now i'll stop, before i give you any more reason to believe i'm that person you'd love to hate at a concert. but if it's already too late, i can tell you that i will most definitely be the girl wooo-woooing loudly in your ear at the end of each song.

you're welcome for that.

_____________

if you were at all interested in seeing some great pics from the show, you could go here to kristine's blog. she posted some great shots that encapsulated the whole night. and as usual, her paint skills can be rivaled by no one.