Orchids = Frickin' Classy in a Pot

Who's Ready To Elegantize?*

(*Yep, I made up that term myself. It means to make one's stuff elegant - a transitive verb that can be capitalized for extra sparkle should the occasion call for it.)

Yes, let's elegantize our domiciles, shall we? (Note: using a word like "domicile" in place of the coarse and common "house" fancifies the crap out of your writing.)

"But, Anna," you softly mew, "elegantizing sounds expensive. It's not in the budget this month to buy a Lucite baby-grand piano and gold-plated floor chandeliers."

I couldn't agree more, especially with today's Lucite market being what it is.

So, friends, fear not, for we're gonna start small.

House Plants

Or, more specifically, orchids.

Everywhere I turn these days, whether it's waiting in line at a fashionable car-rental agency, selling entertainment books to chic oral surgeon receptionists or relaxing at home while thumbing through my latest copy of Mortuary Management Magazine, I see one of these babies:


Right? Have you noticed them, too? And then it occurred to me:

This is no ordinary houseplant.
This is the Town Car of houseplants.

What better place to start if you're looking to break off a piece of uber-swank awesomeness for your own pad?

Here's How I Did It

Let's begin in the powder room.

Everyone knows the powder room is ground zero for elegantizing because that's where total strangers who visit you will hide when they need a private moment to:

1. adjust their Spanx
2. text for back-up
3. hork up a Swedish meatball that wasn't properly defrosted

A sensitive host(ess) will want to make that interlude memorable and mega-classy by plopping a lush, vibrant orchid right there on the counter next to the Lysol. (Note: Make sure you put the orchid in an obvious spot where people will see it. Otherwise, you've just flushed, like, $12 for nothin'.)

Anyway, here's how the look comes together in my personal Reum du Powdeur:


I know, right? Tres classy and you're welcome for the bitchin' interlude!

Now, On To The Bedroom*

*(Or - even better - "the boudoir")

We used to have a big potted plant in our bedroom and that worked fine for a while until it got a little bushy and out of hand. Turns out there was a colony of shaggy, reddish spiders living in these webs that looked like hillbilly beards hanging from the leaves.

Long story short: we had to set the whole thing on fire, then repair the water damage and repaint but THEN we were ready to bring another plant into our den d'amour caliente:


Pretty neat, huh? Can you feel the elegance blasting out of your screen right now?

And, check this out:


Advanced Tip: a dead blossom can be used as an accent piece on the side of the pot. Suh-weet.

And, Lastly, Le Bath

For an extra round of kick-ass class, try parking one of these babies next to your bubble tub. That way, while you play with your floaty-boats, you can pretend you're a sailor on shore leave in an exotic San Diego port (or whatever tropical fantasy works for you).

Here's how we get it done at Casa de Lefler:


Who wouldn't want to linger under those lustrous stems and do a little desert island daydreaming, huh? You betcha.

Enjoy!

I hope you're inspired now to get your mitts on some righteous orchids and wedge them into strategic locations throughout your home of choice. If you do, I guarantee that - with no care at all - they can look just like mine in only a few weeks.

In our next session, we'll discuss weaving your own Renaissance-scene tapestry to hang in your breakfast nook. In the meantime, though, have fun reveling in your new, super-swank vegetation! (BTW, if you see any hillbilly-beard-like things hanging from the leaves, drag that pot outside and douse it with lighter fluid. I mean right away.)



Many Thanks!

Thanks so much to the folks at Awarding the Web for naming Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder as one of the Top 45 Humor Blogs of 2010! Wow - I'm honored!

And thank you to the lovely Beth at Blissful Blunders for the Versatile Blogger Award!

Iron Ma'am

She's On a Mission.

Iron Ma'am
(Sung to the tune of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man")

Puckered with distaste,
Iron Ma'am's disdain shows in her face.
Times have changed too much,
The girls are chasing boys, sexting and such.

Hem below the knees,
Legs crossed at the ankles - she's not a tease.
Whither the cultured kind?
One more tacky tramp stamp and she'll lose her mind.

"Are you kidding me?
Those savages ignored my RSVP!"
Where's her thank-you note?
An email doesn't count - it must be hand-wrote!

CHORUS:
Nobody gets her,
Society's been set adrift.
Where's the decorum?
She's starting to get downright miffed.

Denim at the Met?
She gives that girl a lecture she won't forget.
White shoes into fall?
Iron Ma'am's determined to fix them all.

CHORUS:
Nobody gets her,
They think she's stuck in the past.
But that matron's fed up,
And she's gonna start kickin' ass.

Rules must be restored,
Iron Ma'am's prepared to go to the Board.
Boorish co-op party flap,
A lady of her station won't take that crap!

________________________________________________

C'mon, You Guys! Sing Along!

Onion Goggles: The Time Is Never.

A Brief Rant Manifesto

I'm the first to admit it: I do a lot of Internet shopping. For better or worse, there it is.

Lately in my excursions, I've noticed a retail trend. Specifically, a disturbing proliferation of these:What are they? Moto-cross reading glasses? No. Safety eye guards that come with Barbie's Malibu Table Saw? I wish.

No, brothers and sisters, these are ONION GOGGLES.

That's right - safety glasses designed to be worn while (help me) chopping onions.

Is It Me?

Does anyone else have a problem with this? And before I go any further, let me say that I love a good, silly product. Really, I do. You search my house (I'll need to see that warrant, btw) and you'll find plenty of Bump-Its and Bread Buddeez, and I've already left written instructions that I be buried with my Pig-Tail Food Flipper wedged in hand.

But, come on.

Special goggles for slicing onions? Exactly how fragile are we at this point in the social evolutionary process? More disturbing yet, is this only the tip of the hothouse-flower iceberg? What's next? Bacon-frying helmets? Paper-cut survival training? Steel-toed bedroom slippers?

I like to think that I can take on pretty much any food item in my kitchen mano-a-mano and come out on top. The way I see it, if Laura Ingalls Wilder could turn milk into butter without body armor, then I should be able to turn an onion into relish and live to tell the tale.

Besides, how many friggin' onions are you pushing through that kitchen of yours? If you've pulled KP duty on the U.S.S. Nimitz and you're looking at the business end of an onion Matterhorn, well, okay then. Goggle away and Godspeed.

Around here, though, I can safely predict that by the time I've rummaged through all the drawers and located a knife and my goggles, then spent ten minutes arranging the goggles so they don't rotate my bangs around to the wrong side of my head, I've lost all interest in slaughtering a single onion the size of a racquetball and instead I'm reaching for the phone to order Chinese-adjacent from the little place down the street with the broken neon sign and scented menus.

But, Wait. It Gets Worse.

It's not enough simply to fend off the ocular onion assault. One must do so with style. That's right - style.

Forget your parachute - what color are you onion goggles?

Let us now turn to The Book of Amazon.com, and let us read aloud a passage from Housewares 3:16...

"...for there were multiple choices upon the web sales page that there would be no one in the land who might be stricken with onion goggles in a color shade as to render his skin sallow and unappealing or otherwise demean his stature among the good people of his master-planned community. And the choices were many and thus:"


Okay, help me out. What are the rules here? Can you wear white onion goggles after Labor Day? Are the red ones too racy for work? Do the green ones make me look fat?

The reality of the situation is that if you invite me over for dinner and answer the door wearing a pair of onion goggles and brandishing a knife, I'm going to assume two things:

1. Someone has secretly laced your bean dip with PCP.
   
2. It's my civic duty to take you down.

That Being Said,

I'm not entirely adverse to the idea of tear-prevention eye wear. And, while I will continue to battle fruits, vegetables and assorted luncheon meats armed with only a scrunchie and a can of Glade to knock down the fumes, I would be quite interested in goggles that would allow me to watch "Terms of Endearment" without using three boxes of tissues and changing my salt-soaked t-shirt every half hour.

Ooh, I hope they come in lavender.

Fun(ny) In The Sun

Ahhh, Summer.

The season of vacation adventures both domestic and exotic, of applying one's backside to a webbed lawn chair while listening to the hypnotic chish-chish-chish of the neighbor's sprinkler, of waiting for the local DJ to remind you to turn over as you sprawl on your Scooby Doo towel at the beach and collect future age spots.



Summer. What better time to lose oneself in a delightful book? (Okay, I promise not to use the word "oneself" again 'till Spring 2011.)

Often, friends ask me to recommend books to them. "Something funny," they say. And it's a good thing they're specific like that, because my standard on-deck book recommendation is, you know, Tolstoy. And Shakespeare. Or sometimes Kafka. Damn, I dig me some Kafka.

But, no, they want funny and, luckily, I also include funny books in my super-smarty-pants bathroom nightstand rotation, so I'm happy to share those as well.

Which got me thinking (during the very limited times when I am not thinking about Kafka) that in celebration of the arrival of summer, I might do a blog post about some of my favorite funny books.

And Here It Is.

So whether you're summering in Brenham, Texas or Budapest, um, Europe...or even if you'll simply be spending the summer house-sitting your neighbor's gila monster and cruising the local pool on your trusty 10-speed (which sounds like a good way to end up on some sketchy national registry but is actually a completely legitimate way to pass a couple of months)...I hope you'll find a book or two here that becomes a fond memory of Summer 2010 or even - who knows? - a lifelong favorite.

As for the selections below, this is by no means an exhaustive list. I know I'll forget some and overlook others. These are just the books on my shelf that I find myself recommending again and again. Also, they are in no particular order. I'm just going to "roll with it," as the kids today say. And, if I've overlooked your favorite funny book, please let 'er rip in the comments section so we can all check it out. It's the Internet, for crying out loud, right?

The Books.

THE PLEASURE OF MY COMPANY
by Steve Martin

I'm a HUGE fan of all things Steve Martin, and this novella is right there at the top of that heap. Funny, soulful and unexpectedly tender, THE PLEASURE OF MY COMPANY is one that I re-read every year, and not just because it's set in my neighborhood.

Hint words: savant, neuroses, Rite-Aid

A CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES
by John Kennedy Toole

A wondrous confection of a novel that grows more hilarious with each re-reading. It's been the Mack Daddy of my bookshelf for decades now. Ignatius J. Reilly is an outrageous, unforgettable character. Don't be surprised if you find yourself making your "o-face" while reading this one. Pulitzer prize-winning funny.

Hint words: green hunting cap, fleshy balloon of a head, weenie cart

HAPPINESS
by Will Ferguson

Not to be confused with the reportedly dreary movie of the same name, this is a clever and entertaining satire in which a self-help book actually works and all of America becomes rampantly happy and well-adjusted, thus endangering the very fabric of our society.

Hint words: chain-smoking squirrels, The Age of Nice, "Live! Love! Learn!"

CLAW YOUR WAY TO THE TOP: HOW TO BECOME THE HEAD
OF A MAJOR CORPORATION IN ROUGHLY A WEEK
by Dave Barry

(Many) years ago at one of my corporate communications jobs, I ran across an excerpt from this book - a piece entitled "How to Take A Client to Lunch." I read it, fell out of my chair laughing, then raced down the hall to xerox it so I would never have to live without it again. (Oh, and I billed all that time to my least-favorite client, but that's another story. *ahem*) The article sits right now in a desk drawer not six inches from this keyboard. Sometimes I sleep with it.

Hint words: Commander Taco, Thad, "fish"

THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY
by Douglas Adams

The legendary sci-fi "trilogy in four parts" has so much great stuff jammed into it I don't even know where to start. I've been reading this one since college (yes, I finished it - I mean reading it over and over) and every time I wish I could memorize the whole thing so I could quote it at length on any occasion. All of Adams' books are fantastic - I think I'm soft for this one because it was my first.

Hint words: Zaphod Beeblebrox, Ford Prefect, 42

SMALL WORLD
by David Lodge

In this delicious comedy of bad manners, academic rivals circle the globe while vying for a coveted and richly endowed academic chair. As their paths cross in unexpected ways and locales, hi-jinks of every kind ensue. A very funny story written by a master storyteller.

Hint words: the cruellest month, medieval banquet, Morris Zapp

THE WRITING CLASS
by Jincy Willett

I just discovered this gem of a novel last summer and I had my nose in it through most of our vacation. I love that the main character is a fat, middle-aged recluse and I also love the jumble of varyingly talented students in her extension course. Uh-oh, someone has killed two of the students. (I know - it doesn't sound funny but, believe me, it is.)

Hint words: Froggie, Number One Fan, blog

ME TALK PRETTY ONE DAY
by David Sedaris

Okay, I picked this one of his, but everything David Sedaris has published is pure gold in my opinion. As humorous essayists go, he is a rock star, and you won't have to read very far into this volume to see why. Tasty and irreverent.

Hint words: "Is them the thoughts of cows?"

EARLY BIRD: A MEMOIR OF PREMATURE RETIREMENT
by Rodney Rothman

After Rodney Rothman lost his job as a TV comedy writer at the age of 28, he decided that - since he would eventually end up in Florida in a retirement village anyway - he might as well go ahead and move into one right away. So he did. This collection of his experiences there comprise a tender, raucous and always entertaining book.

Hint words: canasta game, cat guard, Century Village

OPTIONS: THE SECRET LIFE OF STEVE JOBS (A Parody)
by Daniel Lyons

Screamingly funny, no matter which side of the apple you're on. This is one of the few books that had Jon Bon Jovi (not my husband's real name) clutching his sides with laughter. Based on the uber-popular Fake Steve Jobs blog.

Hint words: non-thinking meditation, frigtard

FAMOUS WRITERS SCHOOL
by Steven Carter

I just read this book last month, which (fun fact!) makes it the most recent on this list. A very funny send-up of a correspondence course woven with a gritty crime story that the instructor tries to lift for himself. This is a lively mash-up that had me turning pages well into the night.

Hint words: Wendell Newton, "blues and torch," "he must steal brilliantly"

All right, things are getting out of hand so I'm stopping now before this post turns into its own novel.

Thanks for indulging me and happy summer reading to you all!

Love's First Flush

As Breakups Go, It Was An Ugly One.

Doors slammed. Insults hurled. Personal property destroyed. We both behaved badly.

Am I proud my myself? No, sir, I am not.

But come on. Seven years. Seven years he'd been living in this house, leading me to believe everything was fine, while behind that cool veneer of his, cracks were developing. Cracks that could destroy the very foundation of all we'd built.

By the time I discovered what he'd been up to, the damage was irreparable. How could I have been so blind?

In truth, I didn't want to see the destruction he'd wrought. It was too much; I was in denial.

For a while, anyway.

In the end, however, I had to acknowledge that something rotten was going on. I could no longer ignore the stench that hung in the air between us.

He had to go, but I knew I couldn't do it alone.

I had no choice but to reach out for help.

"Don't Blame Yourself,"

the plumber said and wiped his hands on a cloth he pulled from his hip pocket. "There was no way you could have known."

"Really?" I eyed the toilet leaning in the corner of the powder room, where the plumber had placed it after removing it from its perch over a large, open pipe in the floor. "I just feel so...so foolish."

"You have to let that go," the plumber said. "Listen, no one would have suspected what was going on under there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the toilet. "I can't even find the leak, and I went over the entire thing with a magnifying glass."

"Oh, you're just saying that to be nice," I said and rooted in the pocket of my MC Hammer pants for a tissue.

The plumber's voice softened. "I know it's hard for you to hear this right now, but he was no good for you. I've seen his type before. It makes me sick that a nice lady of the house like yourself got mixed up with a bum like that."

"But...but he didn't seem that way when we first--"

The plumber held up his hand, stopping me mid-sentence. "They never do," he said. "But look at this." He pointed to a widening ring of mushy, rotting wood that encircled the septic pipe - a malodorous blight on an otherwise pristine hardwood floor. "Good guys don't treat a lady like that. Nope," he said, shaking his head, "he's a bad hat, that one."

I glanced at the toilet again, looking for some sign of remorse, but cocked at a rakish angle against the goldenrod wall, he instead looked, well, smug.

Be strong, I told myself.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked the plumber.

"I've got just the fella for you," he said, his face brightening. "Lloyd."

"'Lloyd'?"

"Yep." The plumber rummaged through his toolbox and produced a small catalog. He flipped through several pages, then planted his finger on one of the pictures and held it out for me to see. "Lloyd."

I studied the photo. Lloyd's smooth, clean lines and low profile were right up my alley, his water-efficient flushing technology and soft-close lid even more so.

"He seems...nice," I said then immediately regretted it. What if Lloyd was just another can-about-town?

Was I ready to take a chance - to bring someone new into my powder room? Seven years was a long time - what if everything had changed? What if [gulp] Lloyd didn't like me?

"I understand," the plumber said, his eyes kind. "You've been hurt."

I nodded and snorted into my tissue.

"If it helps at all," he continued, "Lloyd has been in my niece's house for four months now and she's very satisfied."

My head snapped up and my eyes met his. "Completely satisfied?"

"Let me put it this way," he said, lowering his voice and leaning toward me, "she's the happiest I've ever seen her."

"Oh, my," I breathed and fingered the catalog I had unknowingly crunched into a wad between my palms.

"May I ask you one more question?" I said with a slight quaver in my voice.

"You want to know if you can wait a while and get back to me, right?" the plumber said.

"No. I want to know if you think Lloyd will like this goldenrod color or if I should repaint before he gets here."

Your Metaphysical Questions Answered

Ah, Children.

Aren't they great? Inquisitive little boogers - always wondering, always seeking answers to questions that would stump Stephen Frickin' Hawking (as he is known to his close friends).


The science questions are bad enough - and they seem to come when you least expect them: in the grocery checkout line, through the powder room door, while gesturing at an idiotic driver as you pass him at high speeds with two wheels up on the curb.

You know - when you're occupado.

In these situations, I've found that the inquisitive youngster (and the folks waiting in line behind you while you try to find your coupons and your club card) are most appreciative of an answer that sacrifices a smidgen of accuracy for the sake of brevity.

For instance:

Child: Why is the sky blue?

Parent: Because no one looks good in yellow.

Child: Then why is space black?

Parent: Because they turned off the lights to save energy. In the 70s, space was lit up like a landing strip.

Child: Where does rain come from?

Parent: The ceiling.

And so on.

Life moves forward, dinner gets made and (bonus!) somewhere out there in the future, a science teacher is hugging himself with glee at the discovery that yet another kid in class thinks the rings around Saturn were built by Nintendo as a Mario Kart practice track. (People like to feel good about their jobs, you know.)



The Bigger Questions.

Sure, these bite-sized science inquiries can be swatted away before the kid realizes we don't know the answers either without too much effort, but what about The Big Questions?

You know, the thanks-for-the-Legos-but-can-we-get-back-to-the-matter-of-where-we-came-from-and-why-we're-here-and-where-we're-going-next-type questions. (Known collectively among educators and parenting specialists as "The Widowmaker" or "The Flaming Chimichanga.")

Many of you probably have religious or philosophical foundations that provide ready-made answers to these fundamental questions. (Lucky!) There are many folks, however (myself included) who haven't yet found that single, ideal belief system that has it all: profoundly comforting answers to life's monumental questions without the pesky purple-cape-and-hi-top-sneakers dress code.

And so, when our children come to us thirsting for knowledge about the workings of the Universe and beyond, we want to provide answers - boy, do we - but, alas, we simply don't have them. Nor does it seem appropriate to give a youngster a completely candid response along the lines of "It beats the crap out of me, kid!"

Which leaves us somewhere in the middle: we have to say something...right?

Why not say this:

Question: "Mommy, where did people come from?"

Mommy: "In the steamy dawn of the Time of Gorgon the Fluctuator, it was decreed that certain things shall be so. Then, before we knew it, Bob's your uncle and here we are. Now, then! [clap hands loudly] Who wants frozen yogurt?"

Question: "Daddy, who is God?"

Daddy: "Your mother sent you to ask that, didn't she? Listen, go tell Mommy that I said God is - are you ready? - Eric Clapton."

Question: "Hey, Mom, what happens to people after they die?"

Mom: "Hmm, well, I don't know the specifics, of course, but I'm under the impression that if you're a good person your whole life, you go somewhere that has free valet parking. On the other hand, if you're not a good person, well, two words: shuttle bus."

Question: "Dad, what's the meaning of life?"

Dad: [ahem] "Hey, sport! Did I mention we're getting a trampoline? Yeah! Let's go pick out that bad boy right now! Wooh!"*

* Unless you have a really big yard, we recommend using this answer only once.

We hope you find these responses helpful as you are called upon to field The Big Questions. In the meantime, if you happen to know the REAL answers to any of the queries above, please post them in the comment box below. Also, I would really enjoy a pony and a zillion dollars.

Thanks.

[Note: No deities were harmed in the writing of this post.]

Tough Room

Love Stinks.

My son Gomez is a sentimental romantic to the core. Always has been.

For years now, I've said that one of these days some woman is going to come along and break his big, tender heart to bits.

(It will be easy to spot me in the subsequent two decades' worth of family photos; I'll be the one wearing the orange jumpsuit with "California Dept. of Corrections" stenciled over the pocket.)

Come on, I remind myself - he's only ten. Even though he's confided in me about a couple of schoolboy crushes, he's more consumed with baseball and Legos than with games of the heart.

Thankfully, dating is years in the future and Gomez remains snug in his unjaded, little-boy view of romance and relationships...as evidenced by the illustrations on his school Valentine collection bag I found the other day while tidying his room:




Yep. Everything is juuust as it should be.