b's my favorite action hero

i love me some christian bale.

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

it all started with empire of the sun.


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

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

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


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

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

seriously?

i don't think so.

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

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

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

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

how long would you last?

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

that's what he said

b said to me last night 'i wish i still blogged because i need to write about that shit.'

sensing something hilarious, and most likely offensive, brewing in his brain, i offered up my little slice of the internet for his use.

please enjoy, my husband brian:



Lana watches a show called "Hoarders" on (ugh) A&E. It's basically about a bunch of slobs who can't get their act together long enough to throw out the massive piles of garbage cluttering their filthy homes. The usual suspects are middle aged women with the ridiculous need to keep every single item and trinket that falls within the gravitational pull of their useless lives, and their pussy-whipped husbands who can't put their feet down and scream "enough!"

Is this all it takes to produce a TV show these days? Replete with darkly toned music and quack "doctors," A&E does a nice job trying to convince the viewer that these losers suffer from a disease, and that it's a "real problem." Please. All I see are a bunch of clowns who have decided that candy wrappers, old band-aids, and broken furniture are valuable objects to be cherished and protected.

I mean, is this like a joke or something? I could see if these people were hoarding actual treasure, then this would be something worth watching. If some dude had an obsession filling his home with gold and silver bars? Sure, I'd watch that. Or if it was at least something badass like a compelling drive to collect medieval death weapons. But some twit that hasn't figured out that rotten containers of milk and expired coupons hold zero value? No thanks.

I'm not sure who I hate more, the asshole junk collector or the buffoonish professional they always trot in to offer advice on how to diagnose the problem. Are they fucking serious? It's as plain as day! Throw that trash in the goddamn garbage and be done with it! No person on Earth has any possible reason to fill a 3,800 square foot house with used pistachio nut shells. What's even more insane is that some of these enabling spouses actually buy a second or third home to allow their bonehead partner to keep stuffing away more and more tons of rubbish.

Man, go find someone with a REAL problem, like a heroin addiction or something. These hoarders? They're seriously just homeless people with mortgages. Yea, exactly.

my name is: you're a lying cheat!

as i sat down to type here tonight i was all set to write about b's breakup with his man bestie, but after three deleted paragraphs i'm realizing that the wounds are a little too fresh to talk about details just yet.

it was only two days ago that b asked if we could rent i love you man starring paul rudd in his quest for a best man.

not that he's sitting here moping about it. rather, i think he's stuck in that state of disbelief resulting from realizing that two people could disagree so deeply, so profoundly, about their life's values as to end a friendship. and not just end, but mutilate and dismember all the memories and even the very concept that that other person has defined in your own mind for so many years.

as hard as it might be for b to give up his binge drinking, sports talking, male ego boosting partner in crime, i know that he is aware of exactly how inevitable this ending really is. we've talked recently about how it may be hard to see yourself changing, but it's always clear when your friends don't evolve with you.

it's ok babysnakes, when you get home from work tonight with a sixer we'll sit here and shit-talk him til we can't take it anymore. then we'll talk about the fun times and tell silly stories.

and it'll suck a little bit less.

and eventually it won't matter.

and i'm pregnant again.

no i'm not, but i got your mind off the breakup for a hot second.

if it counts for anything, i love how you're willing, no, are compelled to stay true to yourself despite what it may cost you.



what about you, dear reader? why do you think buddy breakups are worse than dumping a lover? is it because somehow it's easier to love a friend?

sharing is caring, and i care about you (in that non-threatening, semi-anonymous internet way)

it has arrived, today marks the beginning of a celebration.

as we now find ourselves in the month of september, nine months after the holidays, there are many glorious events about to take place worthy of at least an obligatory nod on these here pages. it's not only my birthday season, but this month will also mark my six month blogoversary as well as my 100th post.

now, i usually don't make a big deal about my own birthday, but this year i'm turning thirty, and i think that's reason enough to party. oh, yeah, and this will also be the first year for family birthday week. that's right, myself, the fuss, and b all have our birthdays in the same week at the end of september. and there's also the big get-together for my nana's eightieth birthday. yes, the same nana responsible for my header pic.

while us yankee/mets loving folk will descend upon the land of the green monster to visit the fam in the cape cod area, there may be some things going on here at my pearl hiding spot.

i still can't believe i haven't quit blogging yet. there have been so many times that i questioned my ability to tell an entertaining story, or doubted that i would ever reach an audience that understood my point of view, yet i still kept going. and mostly to show my appreciation for that momentum from you dear readers, i want to do a little something special.

and also because i never win any bloggy contests so it feels a lot better to give things away than to be sad about being a loser.

so you guessed it, there's a giveaway coming up here soon! unfortunately i don't have the pics ready yet to get you really, officially amped up for it. so this is more of a teaser post about a giveaway than the real thing. but trust me, it will not be crap from my closet or chewed up dog toys, despite the fact that monster's headless blue dino cracks me the fuck up and i can't see how anyone else wouldn't laugh at it:


oh, and i'm not done yet kiddies. i'm working on arranging my all-star lineup of guest bloggers to thrill you with amazingly hilarious and well crafted masterpieces while i'm off getting drunk. i have no idea what they intend to write about, but i do know that they are probably going to be at the very least slightly more fun than me talking to inanimate objects or inventing different personas to talk shit to.

if that isn't enough to entertain you, then you're shit out of luck, because that's the best i could come up with for my fantastic birthday/blogoversary/100th post extravaganza. and if you are intrigued, or even shivering with anticipation about what exactly my fabulous 'thank you for reading my words' gifty gifts are going to be, then i can tell you to relax. take a deep breath. details will be coming soon, with pics to prove i'm not entirely full of it.

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.

two-fer, enjoy it while you can

posting twice a day around these parts is pretty much unheard of. except that i'm super extra motivated today. today i'm full of that 'i can get everything done without wanting to kill myself' kind of energy. i think it started with the gym this morning.

i've been working out a lot more than i ever thought i would lately. i might have dropped a hint about my birthday coming up soon, and being that it's my thirtieth, i'm pretty sure that b is planning a surprise party for me. except that i don't think he knows yet that i know. sorry, b, but i know. unless it's all a rouse to throw me off track! that could be fun.

right. so the impending birthday celebration has brought the type of clarity to my mind that some people claim they experience right before dying. it is imperative that i work the shit out of my lazy ass at the gym so that i can look ridiculously, unattainably hot at my own birthday party.

i have about a month. this pressure is certainly enough to get me through the front door of the gym, but sometimes i need just a little bit more to really help me make the most of my workout. luckily, my fellow gym members are there to push me along.

first i'd like to thank the short woman with dark hair next to me on the treadmill. dear woman, your abuse of stinky, musky, and altogether cheap smelling perfume does more than mask your sweat-stench. it advertises that you do not like to smell other people's sweat. while this might be a classy sentiment in your mind, it's really just a tool i use to run faster and sweat more.

i'm determined to make you smell my sweat if i'm stuck here choking on your bad taste.

i ran harder than i have in weeks.

next i'd like to give a very special shout-out to the girl on the elliptical talking on her cell phone. while i have my music on full blast so that i don't actually have to listen to you talking, i can tell that you are by no means out of breath. if you are taking up space in this tiny cardio room and not breathing heavy, and can even carry on a phone conversation, than you're wasting air.

to make up for your lack of intense respiratory activity, i will breath faster and deeper and take up all that extra air that you're not using. my fully extended lungs help to propel my weight up this neverending motherfucking incline so that i can feel better about myself while you chat away.

lastly, but certainly not the least appreciated, is mr. old, old, OLD man on the cycle machine wearing a tank top. sir, your dedication to your physical fitness at your age is nothing less than commendable. also, the pea-sized globules of chalky deodorant caught in your armpit hair keep winking at me when you stretch your arms. it's the clearest sign yet that you have my back against musk-lady and phone-girl.

now that i know i'm not alone in my efforts to better myself, i am revitalized with my burning need to finish this workout and go the fuck home and eat some potato salad or something.

ahhhh, that felt good. i'm all limber and energized. it won't be long before i can put on a cute little dress and make my husband remember how hot i was when we first met. or, at the very least, i can distract him with a low-cut dress and my enormous tatas.

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.

that thin line between ignorance and enlightenment is the most treacherous place of all

b and i might be the most technologically challenged people you'll ever know. our computer is practically an ancient relic, which is probably why it's so riddled with demons.

of course we need to upgrade to wireless, but there's a few things holding us back. there's the whole issue of needing to force our evil computer to do as much work as possible in it's golden years. no early retirement for you, you bastard (talking to my computer, not you dear reader). b and i are determined to feel like we've won even a small token battle in the war mr. hp-suck-my-ass-desktop has waged with us. and if that means robbing an old withering soul of living its final days in a sublime and peaceful existence, so be it.

another factor preventing us from living in laptop bliss is the fact that we don't know shit about shit when it comes to any type of electronic appliance or device. last night b asked me what a router was. i had heard this word before. and only because i'm good at making up stuff when i don't know the answers, i told him it was a thing you need for the internet. when he asked me how the internet gets in there if there's no wires attached i knew i would be exposed for the fraud that i am.

but b saw the shame in my face and being the sweet and kind husband that he is, he cheered me up with 'hey, don't worry about it. all those people that know all that shit about technology can go have sex with technology and make little robot-people hybrid babies. then we can unplug all the wires and be left alone and the world will be all ours and we won't even care about the internet.'

i love him so much.

i didn't want to spoil the moment by asking 'what if they're all wireless hybrid babies?'

much of this technology talk was spawned by a new addition in our household. yesterday we welcomed a bouncing new baby dishwasher. and yes it really bounces and technically might be a baby version of a real dishwasher because our cheap-ass apartment complex would never spring for anything of real value. the single solitary knob on its blank front is the only means of operating the machine.

while it does look like a sorry excuse for a home appliance, it is easy enough so that i can figure out how to turn it on. i was shocked, however, when b stated that he doesn't want to get confused and break it, so he doesn't want me to teach him how to use it. any other wife might suspect that their husband was trying to avoid dish duty, but no friends, not me. i could see it in his eyes, the feeling that this was just one more thing for him to have to figure out and get angry with for making him feel like a dumbass when he can't make it work.

don't worry b, i won't let that dishwasher get the better of you. shhhhhh honey, it's ok. thaaaaat's it, deeeeeep breaths. relax. i'm here, and i'll make sure there's no wires or batteries or any other electrical source around for ever and ever, as long as we both shall live.

there's no segue good enough for this mess

i'm back blog, did you miss me?! whatever, not like i have anything earth shattering to talk about, just a few random stories of weirdness. but before i get started, i have to send a huge thanks to kristine for hooking me up with a funny and nostalgic post and reminding me that my shoulders used to be real bony. and also a hello and thanks for stopping by(!) to the new readers that she may have lured over here with promises of who knows what.

after my much needed mini vaca to cape cod, i returned home to jump right back into my routine of work and more work. saturday night i was catering a wedding for about 300 people. the decor looked strikingly similar to the wedding scene in beetleguese, but the blood red calla lilies and black lamps on the tables wasn't the weird part. what struck me as being a little over the top, not to mention an unnecessary mixing of genres, was the troupe of midgets dressed up as oompa loompas.

those little guys were lingering in the kitchen, watching us plate up 300 pain-in-the-ass tiny little plates of a dessert sampler, in full costume. when i first saw them i almost giggled and clapped, but then i realized just how out of place they were. they didn't talk much. in fact, they all looked extremely bored and put out. maybe that was their defense against the question we were all dying to ask, 'what exactly are you guys going to be doing here?'

i never found out. by the time my boss said 'aqui, chula, take some chickens for your husband' their act had yet to start.

maybe that's for the better anyway, those fuckers always scared the shit out of me in the movie.



as i related the story of my night to b, he reminded me about another uncomfortable food-related situation. it must have been last summer, because i was in that 'i'm so pregnant my baby might come out if i fart too loudly' condition, and also because we were at the hospital for the baby classes. being unable to waddle too far, we ate lunch at the hospital cafeteria. b ordered two hot dogs, thinking that that was a reasonable request.

what he got looked like this:



i know that's a piss poor job of photoshopping two hot dogs into one bun, but it really was the best i could find. no, what b got was actually worse. it was two sorry looking naked dogs nestled into one bun, but they gave him two. so on his plate were two buns and four dogs. the chick behind the counter looked at him like he had three heads when he asked for two more buns.

the real humor was the fact that he ate the weird dogs out of desperate hunger.

he felt so dirty afterwards, like as if someone had made him watch a bad porn or something else comparably naughty.

he made me promise not to tell anyone that he really ate the weird dogs.

sorry b.

even more bizarre than the double dog incident was the first time i met bill murray.



bill is a good friend of the restaurateur i used to work for. he was in and out of the different kitchens of the restaurants my former boss owned, and he even showed up to our summer picnic one year and played on our softball team.

as you can imagine, he's a total wacko in person. not only does he look about thirty years older than he really is, but he dresses in those old polyester blazers and shirts that look like the stereotypical garb an old, bumbling geezer would wear. i don't know if it's a deliberate effort or not, but it only adds to his oddball persona that he's developed over the years.

so the first time i met him i was working at my station, getting ready for dinner service. i was so intent on chopping scallions or whatever the fuck it was that i didn't even see him until he was about four inches from my face on the other side of the pass line (the shelf where you put plates for pick up). my boss introduced me to him and he mumbled something indiscernible and stuck two fingers at me through the pass, at about chin height.

two fingers for me to shake in some weird alternate version of a handshake.

i didn't even want to touch him, i almost yelled out loud 'what the fuck?!'

but i saw my boss nod subtly at the fingers and i just took a deep breath and did it. i shook his fingers and said some 'nice to meet you' crap, all the while wondering if this was something he did with everyone, or did he think that i couldn't handle exposure to all five digits on his right hand.

not that i dislike the man, but come on. two fingers?!

i still feel like scowling and shifting my weight uncomfortably when i think about it.

and now, some cuteness for a little balance:



little miss was way too annoyed about not being able to crawl after the dead jellyfish washed up on the beach to co-operate for a nice photo shoot. but these two in their tankinis was worth me stepping on a little dirty jelly and slimey seaweed.


of course, getting trapped by a rapidly rising tide with a stroller laden like a packing mule might have been a little too much. thanks miss, for at least not protesting to being carted over an acre of beach rocks while mommy scrambled for saftey.

i miss you too!

hi blog! it'sa meeeee, maaaaaaaaaarriiiooooo!!! no, it's not. it's just plain old me, no cartoon plumber in sight.

it's been a while since we've spent some quality time together. i'm starting to feel like you're another kid that i have to take care of and nurture and shit. fuck that, i have enough responsibility in my life. i need to get back to the way things used to be, where we could tell silly stories and just enjoy a few laughs. no pressure.

over the past week there were a few things that i wish i could have shared with you, but for some reason i don't think i could get it together enough to spend more than five minutes at my computer. and when i did manage to find my way to the internet, it was only to play my neverending scrabble battle.

i thought for sure i was going to be able to write a nice cohesive post about safety coffins and those wackos out in arizona who buried themselves alive to see what it would feel like. talking about how bullshit it was that they had flashlights and sleeping bags in the graves would have done all the work for me.

instead, i'll just give you a picture.


then there's also the story about my unfortunate luck to be in the walk-in at work, carefully placing chives and chervil in their appropriate homes, at the exact moment that two of my coworkers decided a giant refrigerator was the perfect place to have a little secret sexy time.

there's no picture of that.

although, the respective spouses of the two in heat might appreciate a little photo evidence should they decide to go ahead with any divorces.

additionally, i think my dog might be spending some time doing things that i don't even want to imagine. $300 for the vet to tell us that his stank ear is caused by a thriving community of yeast feels like a punch in the babymaker. she gave us doggie monistat 7 and sent our little monster packing.

on a lighter note, perhaps the highlight of the week may have been when b came home from the gym, exceptionally proud of himself for his renewed commitment, claiming that 'in two months my muffin-tops are gonna be gone, son!'

and of course i have to throw some bloggy love to beckybecks who made me a lovely pic of her face on a stick body with huge tatas. we all know how i feel an unbridled kinship to any chick with huge tatas, those things are ridiculously hard to corral sometimes, i feel your pain becky! and thanks for the awesome pic!


so there it is, blog. i'll make a little more effort to not neglect you and maybe you could meet me in the middle somehow. i don't really know what that means, so i'm going to give you a day or two to figure it out.

love always,

your mom.

no gun show today folks

i used to get embarrassed easily, now i just get annoyed and cry.

this morning i had a meltdown in my car. i sat there, annoyed at myself for getting all worked up again. i knew that if i bothered b at work i'd hear 'why can't you pretend you're linda hamilton and you're going to kick some machine ass?! you need to be a little tougher sometimes and not so high-strung.'


instead i called the toyota dealership and cried to the service manager. and now i've come full circle because i'm extremely embarrassed about it.

i don't know about where anyone else lives, but here in the good ol' hudson valley we've had about five straight days of rain. normally, i find the rain to be refreshing, even comforting, as the sound of water drumming the leaves outside my window will often lull me to sleep.

rain takes a turn for the meaner side of irony, however, when your overpriced, gas-guzzling suv has a busted sunroof.

for the past three days i have been battling mother nature to spare the interior of my spacious vehicle. at three am last night i was convinced that my plastic wrap + garbage bag + towel contraption was the most brilliant idea i'd ever had.

and then i saw things in the light (greyness) of day.

i used to love that sunroof. its wide expanse provided me with a fresh, invigorating breeze after spending twelve hours working in a hot kitchen with nothing more than a pair of ceiling vents circulating the recycled air. there was always the issue of the bitchin' rectangle of arm-tan i'd have to work hard to avoid, constantly remembering to wear tank tops for a drive longer than 15 minutes, but aside from that no major complaints.

so now karma is having her fun with me. not only did my ass get sopping wet (through a towel) on the drive to the dealership, but i've been given a death-trap to drive for a week while they exorcise the demons controlling the sunroof positioning. the flashy yaris sport is eerily similar to the smartshitcar that i have bemoaned in the past.

when i installed the infant car seat, i noticed it was wiggling to and fro as if it were on roller skates and the backseat were a slick, polished surface instead of pleathery upholstery. luckily, little miss didn't seem to mind in the least. babies can be so accommodating sometimes.

returning home to find no viable parking and having to lug a twenty pound infant and all of her crap up an enormous hill to my front door was the icing on my day. i gave in and called b, if only to have him keep me from crying again.

he promptly told me that if i wanted a handicapped parking spot right in front of our door he'd be happy to take the yaris and run over my legs, hopefully rendering me a parapalegic and so in need of special treatment. b's always been good at giving me a little perspective on things.

on the plus side, i plan on falling asleep to the sound of the rain tonight.

i'm a sadist*, now with more evidence

yesterday i was struck by the realization that there are not nearly enough drive-through coffee places around. as i was out with little miss, the last thing i wanted to do was strap her in, unbuckle, re-strap, and repeat more than was absolutely necessary. she doesn't even like coffee so it's not like i could bribe her to make it easier to take.

but after ultimately successfully pouring a hot cup of love in a dirty gas station while holding a wiggling baby in one arm, i felt pretty damn impressed with myself.

that is, until i got home.

upon returning from my day's activities, i spied the biggest, baddest, meanest wasp of all time buzzing about on my kitchen window screen. so naturally the first thing i did was grab a cup and something to slide under the cup. i trapped that mother so fast it didn't even know what was going on.

i set the angry wasp on the counter and weighted the glass with a lemon. it looked like this:


i giggled and clapped a little.

the wasp got angrier and flew into the glass repeatedly, methodically making it's way up and down, around its clear prison wall.

i love when i can trap bugs who think they're faster than me. i'll show you wasp, how many breaths do you have left little fella? better stop your squealing** before it's too late.

the next thing i did was run over to my computer and type b a little note:


me: when you come home i have something special waiting on the counter for you

b: uh-oh. is it a bug trapped under a glass?

me: hahaha (translate to evil cackle) it is!! it's a giant wasp!

b: oh :( i was hoping you were going to say it was beef wellington.

(no creative license needed, this was our exact conversation)



my standard procedure with bugs i find in the house is this:

1. try to get monster to eat the bug

if that fails (or is likely to fail), i then

2. trap bug under a glass and then put something on top of the glass just to make sure it's too heavy for any super bug adrenaline rush to move

the end result being that

a. b comes home and disposes of offending bug for me

(OR)

b. the bug dies a horrific death, gasping and wheezing until it finally succumbs to suffocating in a cup of irony, eyes wide open staring blankly at the great world outside of the glass barrier.


well kiddies, b had to work late last night, so guess which fate ol' mr. angry wasp was met with. that's right, he ended up like this:


poor bastard was probably holding his wings and begging for his mommy with his last breath. now if i were standing in the kitchen, waiting for it to finally expire, then i might have a problem. but i was content to only go back in and check a few times so i don't think i need an intervention or anything like that.



*a very special thank you to skitch and mjenks for the correct definition

**it was only screaming in my head

drink if you dare, or if you want to get high

this morning i sat down to a healthy breakfast of super strong coffee and a (small) handful of jelly bellys to read the local paper. now this rag has been duly mocked for its ridiculous headlines, but every once in a while i will spot something that really hits home to me.

today is was this article. i'll spare you from having to read it, the link is there more to prove i'm not making this up. apparently there were almost 20,000 cases of red bull confiscated because they contained cocaine. now it all makes sense.

as my affinity for coffee may lead you to correctly surmise, i got hooked on caffeine early in my youth. recently i was reading over at children of the 90s about surge, but i have to say i never got into that one. jolt was my gateway drug of choice.

i never did (and still don't) enjoy soda in general because i found the syrupy sweetness only made me more thirsty. but i would down a can of jolt in no time just to get the shakes that i craved so much from caffeine overdose.

once i discovered the magical powers that coffee had for my awful hangover that lasted from when i was nineteen to about twenty four, i was fully dependent. i've never gone back to energy drinks and i can't say i miss them. b, on the other hand, will relish the high that nothing else can bring like a red bull and vodka to an empty stomach.

i knew something had to be unnatural about this combo when the sweet, charming man i knew and loved turned into a raging ball of hate after only about eight large drinks. unfortunately for me, the concert we were attempting to see offered only bud, bud light, and red bull and vodkas. being the beer snob that i am, and unable to handle any liquor whatsoever, i was sullenly sober.

the more b drank, the more i counted down the minutes until we were escorted out of the concert. thanks a lot modest mouse, you sounded great from fucking outside. so as we stood in the street in front of the venue, b's apology came to me in the form of him offering up suicide as a way to garner my forgiveness.

'i'll fucking kill myself for you, is that what you want? look, i'll kill myself on this bus!!' he screamed as he attempted to run into the front end of a parked bus. after he was sure that i was thoroughly impressed with his brazen bus-suicide, he allowed me to put him in the car and drive home.

to this day, i will protest loudly if he even looks in the general direction of a stash of red bull. and now, this very morning, i am vindicated. so what the coke was found in china, it still could end up in american red bull somehow, and for that i feel justified in breaking b's habit. i'm not a nagging wife, i'm a champion of heart health and savior of parked buses in the greater ny metro area.

and now that it's nearly 10 am, i need to go make another pot of coffee for my late morning fix.

i'm the one who likes to hurt things

i can never remember if it's the sadist or the masochist who likes to be the one inflicting the pain. i thought about looking it up, but we all know how literal google can be. i'm sure even this post is going to be enough to make the little men who live inside my computer run and tell all their little computer dwelling friends that i like weird mean porn. which may or may not be true, but that isn't exactly what i'm talking about in this particular instance.

so if you will please picture me the james spader to maggie gyllenhaal in 'the secretary' i will continue with this warped train of thought i have somehow embarked on.

really though, i'm talking about how i like to dehydrate all my house plants and then bring them back to life at the very last minute.


behold my sad little christmas cactus.

this baby has been sitting on my kitchen windowsill for over a year now. i think the last time i watered it was sometime in early march, there was definitely still snow on the ground.

i wash dishes in that kitchen every day, for no less than two hours a day (not all at once). i look into the pink ceramic pot and know that the thick, fleshy leaves of the plant are yearning for me to be the one to save it from certain death. we're not talking about neglect here, i don't forget to water it. i choose not to water it. i say 'oh plantie, you're fine. you have the very word 'cactus' in your name, that's got to count for something. hang in there til tomorrow, maybe i'll feel differently about you then. by the way, nice flower.'

but i never do.

until this morning, when b said 'LANA! throw this gross dead plant out already!!'

i obligingly answered 'sure honey, i'll do it today.'

but after he had left for work and i went into the kitchen to do the deed, i knew i was only fooling myself. i promptly drenched the dry soil with a hearty dose of tap water and put it back on my windowsill. i've seen it get way worse than this before. i give it a good 36 hours before it bounces back to its usual state of not-so-sadly-surviving.

now the planties in the living room are getting jealous. it's almost like they can smell the water that their fellow prisoner/companion was fortunate enough to receive this day. their leafy tendrils are pointing this way as i type, reaching out for me. the little bead bugs i once so delicately placed in their pots to spread some cheer have now mustered what strength they have left, uniting in a desperate attempt to force me to care for their plant-hosts.

i won't cave. not tonight, do your worst bead bugs.

(and then tomorrow b will read this post and then be all 'yeah! those ones in the living room are gross too! when are you gonna get rid of them! why do you even have plants in the first place?')

well b, i'll tell you why, because i'm a masochist (or a sadist, whatever).

my baseball post

you may not know this about me, but i grew up in a family of baseball fanatics. there was no other sport that we even paid attention to. when i was about eight years old, and my brother about six, no one could top ol' donnie baseball in our minds. darryl strawberry on the mets and jose canseco on the a's were up there too. we don't need to tarnish that childhood memory with where they ended up, so i'm just going to move along here.

now, with b being a mets fan, we enjoy a mutual love for our ny baseball teams. we still have to make it out to visit the new stadiums sometime this summer, although i have to say that i'm a little superstitious because every single time i've been to the old yankee stadium the guys lose. i might be a hex.

my point with all this is that i was super annoyed to read this crap in my local paper this morning about how they're auctioning off the fucking clumps of dirt from the old stadium.

i mean, i always kind of looked the other way when ticket prices kept going up and up and up. it's entertainment, and if that's the price you have to pay to enjoy it, so be it. but selling clumps of grass and pieces of a busted wall that that douche kevin brown punched a hole in, just to make a buck?

i can't decided who's the biggest tool, the yanks for looking at $$, the assclowns who pay for this stuff, or me for getting annoyed about it all when i really should have seen it coming a mile away.

this is for you, punk!

in our house, punk is a term of endearment. just like the phrase 'do you need a beating?' which translates to 'stop being so cute or i'll have to beat you up'. angry fist shaking is never, EVER angry, it's always about 'how can you be SO CUTE?! i don't understand!!'

with that setting the tone, today is the two year anniversary of b and i getting married (even though it wasn't 100% legal the first time, we like to use this date because it's nicer) so i thought i'd share some of the highlights of our years together. i know i've alluded to that awesome pick-up line that started it all, and i think it's only fitting to begin there.

i'm 24, bartending at a local sports bar, annoyed that i have to make small talk to earn money, although flaunting my enormous tatas helped to reduce the amount of necessary small talk with certain customers. i've heard every line you could ever imagine, and was pretty proficient at the old 'fake smile, that's so funny! i'm rolling my eyes on the inside' move. and then b came in one night, gave me a few smiles for about an hour, and by the time he was sufficiently wasted, he blew my mind with 'hey, so, um, what do think about the property taxes over in sullivan county?'

this was pretty earth shattering because he was absolutely serious. he actually wanted to have a conversation. it was an instant connection, i answered him and then asked how long it took him to come up with a gem like that (which i already knew the answer to because it was on the front cover of the local paper sitting on the bar right next to him). we talked the whole rest of the night, and before he left he drew two stick figures on a scrap of paper, one with a word bubble that had his phone number in it, and gave it to me saying 'we should talk some more.'

i think it was maybe about ten days later, after spending every spare minute with him, that i knew i wanted to talk to him for the rest of my life. without getting all sappy, as i can easily do, i will say that we both feel lucky to have found someone we each love a little bit more every day.

we enjoyed ourselves, we went out partying a lot, and we made some wonderful friends.

we dressed up in costumes.



(b just looked over my shoulder and proclaimed, 'you're lucky it's our anniversary because there's no other way i would let you put that mess online.')

it wasn't long before we got an apartment together and i convinced b that we needed a dog. at first he wasn't so sure. but we went anyway and picked up our little monster at a shelter, putting him in a cardboard box in the back of my car. when he took a massive dump in the box, stepped all in the dump, and then put his shit paws all over b's shoulder, we knew we made the right choice.



then not long after monster showed up, we looked at each other one morning and decided to get married. a few months later we were in antigua, just us. no friends or family, it was perfect. we've never been the most romantic people, and this just felt so right to both of us.



i think it may have been the second that our plane landed back in new york that i became obsessed with having a baby. b was too, he was much more easily persuaded than with the whole 'let's get a dog' issue, as if he only had to fake putting up a fight this time because he thought that's how it was supposed to happen.



i'm so hardcore that i walked myself into the operating room for my c-section. no wheelchairs or gurneys here, thank you very much.



allow me to introduce little miss, also known as 'the fuss'.



she's been known to smile sometimes.

and here we are today, just two people being secretly mushy and in love on the inside, bitter and sarcastic on the outside just so that people don't think we're freaks because who could ever really be that happy, right?

happy anniversary babysnakes!!

*note: for those of you who may not already know, this is my b. that means don't get any ideas ladies, i once punched a chick in the throat... but do feel free to check it out and comment on how hilarious he is.

name games, part two

so here's my secret (which isn't really a secret because i'll tell anyone who'll listen): i want to have another baby, like right now. little miss is seven months old, and i always knew i wanted to pop out the kiddies really closely together for several reasons. not the least of which being that i can finally get the boob job i've always wanted when my body is done incubating my offspring, and by boob job i mean reduction. i want those bad boys downsized, lifted, and tightened so that no matter what i'm doing they always stay in the same place, and also so that i can wear a regular shirt/bathing suit/dress without looking like a porn star/hooker on her way to work.

right, so b's all for this plan (and what husband wouldn't be) except for one thing, we still live in a one bedroom apartment. yes, me, b, little miss, and monster all in one little tiny apartment. adding a new fetus to the mix might make b's head explode. and since i'm not ready to be a single mother i have to just give it some time. although i make it a point to talk to b about babies at least once a day so he doesn't think it was all a phase and i got over it.

moving along, since i can't really talk about baby name stories with b unless i'm currently knocked up, i talk with my cousin who happens to be equally as babybrained as i am. since i'm so intrigued by the fine line between an unusual name and a ridiculous name, i thought i'd share some of the more, um, unique ones we've heard. not to be a hypocrite, because i know i've said before that it's really hard to judge parents for what they name their kids, but sometimes i think that pointing out some of these examples is really just a motivator to help keep myself in check. but i want to say, in all fairness, that i sincerely do feel bad for these kids, and some of the parents.

1. this one came to me courtesy of my mother, a first grade teacher. it's the story of a young, immigrant couple who had a baby girl. the hospital promptly labeled the plastic crib with a pink card that said 'female.' the naive parents thought that in america, the hospitals name your baby for you. so female (pronounced fe-Mal-ay) became the child's legal name.

2. then there's the poor kid who's mom has an awful sense of humor. his real name is something like benjamin mark but she's only taught him that his name is 'beema.' yes, beema, as in short for beemer, as in BMW. so apparently the kid is five years old and doesn't know his real name, and mom insists on using beema. in my opinion, she should have just named him that from the jump and it might not be so bad if there weren't an ordinary name to fall back on.

3. oh yes, my list would not be complete without little 'trezir', as in 'mom doesn't know how/doesn't care how to spell treasure correctly.' trezir seems to be the only one in his (yes, HIS) family who lost the name game, he has two older sisters, nicole and annette.

with all that fresh in my mind, i asked my cousin what she thought about the name barnaby, not barny, just barnaby, for a boy. sure it's not the most common, but it's not like a total joke either, right? i guess i have plenty of time before i really have to go there. my point is that i hope my attraction to different sounding names isn't going to be scarring my kids forever and ever. or at least that they end up in a school where only the adults talk about their weird names and that the other kids don't beat them up because they all have weird names too.

any given sunday

for lack of anything legitimately interesting to write about today, i'd like to share the conversation b and i had last night, mostly because i think that anything he says is hilarious so it's nice to let him make the funny for me. the following discussion takes part sunday evening, as we were watching the third game in the yankees/red sox series:

b: OH SHIT! did you just see that?

me: what?

b: what'shisname just fucking STOLE home!

me: (looking up from making grocery list) all i see is pettitte's mouth hanging open like he's trying to catch a fly or something.

b: pettitte's so old he needs a cane to get out to the mound. his slow ass was asking for someone to show him up like that.

me: when is youkilis going to give that poor rat he drapes over his chin a break? i mean, i know he shaved it for his kids charity a few years ago, but unless he plans to do that every few months, why is it back? if he's good enough to bat over .600 (even if it is still april) he should know that not one woman alive actually wants to snuggle up to that thing.

b: i know, i need a goatee like i need a second butthole, which is not at all.

____

b: so do you think it's wrong that i hate on twitter even though i might be the only one?

me: no, you should feel free to hate on anything you want. i mean, i tried twitter and within 24 hours realized that it was way too depressing to sit and type about things that i'm doing for no one to read.

b: yeah, sometimes i feel like 'fuck it, there always has to be at least one voice of dissent, right?'

me: i think twitter is like that restaurant where the servers are all mean to you on purpose because you're supposed to think it's witty and original, when that concept is really only entertaining to a specific crowd.

b: what the...? there's a place where the waiters talk shit to you?

me: yeah, not around here, i think it's in like chicago or something. whatever, i just heard about it somewhere.

b: if a waiter ever pulled that shit with me i'd be all 'who the fuck are you calling me fat for eating greasy burgers and cheese fries and twenty gallons of coke? oh, and do you have cheesecake here too?'

____

me: can the guy from the optimum commercials get with the chick from the progressive commercials and go somewhere to annoy each other to death already?

b: i hope they go to the same place that the douchebags who make car and cell phone commercials will end up. those bastards promise you buckets of happiness and bags of gold and then have 300 teeny tiny words and the bottom of the screen explaining how they can legally lie to you.

____

me: monster, barking at nothing will not distract me from the fact that you just dropped a horrendous stink bomb on me.

b: but what about him compulsively licking his junk and then coming up to give you lots of kisses?

finis.

to pop or not to pop

b and i were recently musing about how annoying the pop performers of today are. and we know all about them of course because we are thirty and still occasionally will tune in for an ep of mtv's real world/road rules challenge. i mean, come on, these people are so trashtastic and narcissistic that it makes for great trainwreck tv. needless to say, the commercials for the new hannah montana movie/soundtrack/concert and other such acts that air during these programs have been subjected to our cries of 'does anyone listen to good music anymore?'

then we realized that they were perfect for their target audience, which no longer includes us. and i'm fine with that. i'd rather clean my house while blasting some mgmt or muse. but i'd sweat the shit out of hannah montana for little miss when she's 12 because that's still better than her smoking up with the rebellious 17 year old boy down the street.

another notable mention here is this kid asher roth. every time i hear his retarded voice claiming 'i'm the champ-I-ON of beer PONG' it makes me want to kill myself. but after i quickly change the channel and my anger subsides, i see that he's just talking about those silly college days that we've all had. except that he's still allowed to talk about them because he's living them. if he actually were my age and singing this crap, then he'd deserve the severe beating i so badly want him to get (just not from me, i'm kind of weak).

this in turn brings me to a conversation i had with b's sister bridget, who was born way after the new kids on the block phenomenon (the original movement, not this lame reunion bullshit). i was explaining to her how when i was in fifth grade, you had to have those over sized buttons of your favorite new kid, the ones that had the little eisel on the back so you could stand it up like a picture frame. and you would bring these buttons into school each day and arrange them on your desk to show your undying devotion to joey or jordan or whoever it was.

my point with this is that if i can evolve from a time where i practiced the oh-oh-AHH-o-oh dance to a song called 'the right stuff' in my backyard to my more refined musical taste of today, then maybe the pop was a necessary right of passage. although, i did also smoke weed out of a dented foster's keg can (my mom actually drank that shit) out my bedroom window when i was 15, with my 13 year old brother, so who am i to judge.

yo mama did what?!

throughout my interesting and fun-filled day of blog surfing i've seen this image popping up repeatedly. even more surprising was seeing my name mentioned at the end of miss yvonne's post about her tag.

i will now confess my lameness and share that i googled the word 'meme' to see what all the fuss was about. i stopped reading the definition somewhere after i saw the word 'memeticists'.

but now that i realize that it's just a way to talk about myself, i'm totally into it. i thought for a second about trying to pull off that whole 'this is so wack but i guess i'll do it anyway, to be a sport' thing but really, that's not me.

so thanks miss yvonne, for making me feel liked for a hot minute. i don't even care if i incur a horrific backlash when i reveal some of my innermost truths.

1. a few years ago, a very dear friend and i tried to get a new catch phrase started. whenever we really liked something we would say 'that's so my balls!' because it was fun to say balls. then we figured out that we never had balls and were never going to be able to grow balls, so it began to feel more like a cruel joke on us.

2. i would love to be a vegetarian, except that i still get confused about all the different kinds of vegetarians/vegans/whatever there are and i'm afraid of aligning myself with the 'less cool' group of restrictive eaters.

3. i'm obsessed with my tiny head. it's my favorite physical feature.

4. i spent bags and bags of money to go to a fancy culinary school and now the only cooking i do is for my six month old baby. oh wait, yeah, i work about once every fortnight at a catering company too.

5. the picture of the kiddies on my header is actually an original oil painting of me and my brother, done by my nana, that is currently hanging in my living room. it's always been an enigma to me because it's dated 1979, which was the year i was born. my brother wasn't born until 1981. the scary part is that that is EXACTLY how we looked as children, round about five and seven years old. i've tried to get nana to clarify the date question but to no avail.

6. b and i talk about our dog's ass way too much. we're convinced that he can make us millions of dollars because he has the most fascinating pattern of butt swirls that look just like an owl's face (butt swirls being the technical term for the hairs around his little pooter), and no the actual hole is not in the owl's face, the swirls fall beneath that. i tried to take a picture to illustrate this point, but i was so grossed out and crampy from hysterically laughing that there was no way i was going to succeed.

7. i can't lie. my physical reaction to telling a lie has not evolved since i was about four years old. sweat palms, big cheese grin, nervous laughter, shakes, all occurring at the same time.

8. i love really loud concerts. i love really loud concerts in really small and really smelly dirthole bars. the louder the better. no one wants to hear me singing along.

9. weird money is the most obscene thing anyone could make me touch. i define weird money as any coin of monetary value that is one other than the standard penny, nickel, dime, or quarter. i don't understand why they circulate, can we please just smelt them all away to weird money hell already?

10. i'm actually a really happy person. (cue barf sounds) sorry, but it's true.

and i guess that's as good as anything to end with right? right. so whom do i tag? seeing as i'm a relatively new blogger, i think i'll keep this one in the family, because if anyone's going to get annoyed with me sending this i can handle burn ups from them. so there's my dear friend kristine, my husband brian, b's sister bridget, and preacherman (even though you're technically not family, i love hearing stories about things you do when drunk, i mean, things you do everyday :) ).

note: for those of you (b) who haven't heard of this fun little game of tag i'll explain--
the objective here is when you are tagged to post ten things about yourself that we don't already know and then tag ten (or four) other people to do the same.