Surprise Contest!

Crap, I Ruined the Surprise!

I'm not sure exactly what went down in Gomez's bathroom last night while we all slept, but I know a hostage situation when I see one.


Perhaps you can explain what went horribly wrong, say, midnight-ish between the electric toothbrush and the Nintendo DS charger.

In fact - the person who comes up with
the best caption for this photo
will win his or her choice of the following:

A brand new Star Trek Enterprise Bottle Opener

OR

A brand new set of Remote-Controlled Hopping Yodeling LederhosenOR

Combo Pack! Viking Helmet + Handerpants

(Yes, they're both brand new, too. It will be a cold day indeed when the proprietress of this blog goes into the used Handerpants business.)

Those are some prizes, huh? Talk about Sophie's choice!

Los Rules

• Post your gut-busting photo caption in the comments section before midnight of Friday, Sept. 17.
• Once all the comments are in, I will read them aloud to Jon Bon Jovi (not my husband's real name) without attribution. He will select the winner. If he's wrong, I will overrule his selection. (You married folks will be familiar with this dynamic.)
• I will then contact the winner and obtain a shipping address as well as a preference of prize loot.
• The winner and his/her bitchin' caption will be announced in an upcoming post.
  
• We will all live happily ever after.

Now - take a good, long look at that photo and let 'er rip! I can't wait to read your captions!


Have You Heard About...

Creative Alliance '10?

Also known as CA'10, this conference retreat happens next month (October 15-17) in gorgeous Ojai, California.


The inaugural CA ’10 was created with one mission in mind – to establish authentic, lasting alliances with like-minded women who are pursuing their creative business interests in the online space. The weekend promises to be fun, relaxing and - with attendance capped at 40 people - intimate. Please click here to find out more.


And - just announced! - another aspect of CA'10 that gives attendees a chance to showcase their writing chops. Click here to get the details.

I and the other members of the CA'10 core team hope to see you in Ojai in October. There are still tickets remaining, but they're going fast!

Anxieties on Parade

Look, They're Doing High-Kicks

I've never been what you'd call an anxious person.

No, for 99% of my life, I've stomped through my days like a lumberjack, crossing tasks off my to-do list with one hand while rooting around in a bag of Chili 'N Cheese Fritos with the other.

At the end of a typical day spent blissfully ignoring 1) my mounting credit-card debt, 2) the unzipping ozone layer and, 3) the Situation in the Middle East, I would snap into my footie pajamas, collapse into bed and saw logs like Hoss Cartwright until it was time to start it all over again the next morning.

At least, that's how it used to be.

I Miss Those Days (Dammit)

What is it they say about hindsight? About not appreciating how good we had it when we were in the process of having it? Something annoying, no doubt. Annoying but accurate (= even more annoying).

[Oh, great. I just flash-forwarded to a time in the not-too-distant future, I'm sure, when I'll look back on this moment and think, "Wasn't it great when all I worried about was how I was starting to develop annoying anxieties that disturbed my sleep patterns? Those were the good old days, boy. Yup, that was a Caribbean cruise compared to today with, you know, the chronic explosive diarrhea and that weird buzzing mole on my clavicle. *sigh*]

Anyway.

Yes, that's the situation: I am developing free-floating anxieties that are part Ninja, part door-to-door salesman. They lurk, nay, they lie in wait, timing their approach for the moment when I am most vulnerable.

Their arrival makes me feel like someone who has answered the door while running a bath upstairs. "You got me!" I want to say, shifting from foot to foot. "For the love of God, what must I buy to get you off my porch?!"

The anxieties slip into my room before dawn in their sparkle-appliqued caftans and elastic-waist pants, Lee Press-On nails clacking. (I've never gotten a clear glimpse, but that's how I picture them.) They begin their flat-footed polka around my bed like those dancing hippos from "Fantasia" and, no matter how hard I resist (telling myself I'm still dreaming that I'm a back-up cage-dancer for Sammy Davis, Jr.), the anxieties still get me.

And there I am: awake in the dark, my wide eyes glued to the ceiling and my mind grinding on a seemingly insurmountable problem, such as:

• When I take the kids to the orthodontist, should I park at a meter on the street or in the parking structure?
• Is it time to give in and start wearing reading glasses on a chain around my neck?
• Did I accidentally spend all of our money? And, if so, on what? (Corollary: did I keep the receipt?)
• Was the "pashmina" I just bought actually woven from Paris Hilton's castoff hair extensions? *

(*I'm not making these up, friends.)

Of course, once morning comes and I'm lying face-up under the coffee-maker spout, those little problems that plagued me in the dark of night seem like piffle. Silliness. No big whup. Why, then, do I fester from 3-5 AM that I will not be able to find Morticia and Gomez if they go over to the grocery store's frozen aisle to fetch a box of Hot Pockets? For God's sakes, I hardly ever misplace the children!

Apparently, this is how I am now.

But Why?

What happened to the rock-solid, keep-on-truckin' Anna of yore (or at least six months ago)? Who or what took a can opener to my suit of emotional armor? Was it I who neglected to button up the seat of my mental long johns? I'm feeling a draft and I don't like it one bit.

Seriously, what gives?

Some Theories

#1: It's A Natural Part of Getting Older

Let me get this straight: no matter how much we eat right, exercise regularly, give generously to public television and scoop our dogs' doodie with earth-friendly bags we will, in return, start twitching through the night like a popcorn kernel on a hibachi the minute we sprout our first gray hair? Are you friggin' kidding me?

If this is how the system works, then - at the rate I'm going - I'll be flapping around town in a chicken suit long before I qualify to order off the back page of the Denny's menu.

#2: It's Only Temporary

This sounds reassuring...on the surface. But look a little deeper into the notion of "temporary" and I think you'll agree it holds precious little comfort, especially where sleep-deprivation is involved.

For instance, anyone possessing even a passing familiarity with cosmology will tell you that our universe is constantly expanding - an expansion that will ultimately lead to its destruction a few million years down the road. Which is to say that our universe is (say it with me) temporary.

I don't know about you, but I just can't go that long without a decent night's sleep.

#3: I've Been Hexed

It's quite possible that someone out there somewhere has fashioned a mustachioed sock monkey with troublesome in-between bangs and a generous smattering of sun damage across the cleavage. Hey, it happens.

Fortunately, I'm close to perfecting my Reverse-Hex-O-Matic, which I've fashioned in my garage from a set of Buick hub caps, nine extra-long pipe cleaners, 47 pounds of baking soda and 3.6 yards of scrap hot-pink craft felt (along with a few other secret ingredients best left unlisted).

So, you know, at least I've got this option covered.

#4: I'm Losing My Mind

BINGO.

Now we're getting somewhere.

Now, THAT Show, I'd Watch

Less Dancing, More Plumbing

As I idled at a red light yesterday (something I rarely have time for during the week but enjoy doing to relax on the weekends), I happened to look up from my crocheting and notice a billboard.

"So You Think You Can Dance?" it read, as beneath the towering title an impressive squadron of moist, chiseled youth mamboed, watusied and breakdanced by.

Hmmm.

Did I think I could dance?

I reviewed my lifetime of dance experience - the hours spent perfecting my early moves in my room ("Le Freak! C'est chic!"), the time spent grinding my taffeta-clad hindquarters across various school gym and cafeteria floors ("Let's get physical, physical..."), college halls ("Chaka Khan! ChakaKhanChakaKhan!") and, later, the sticky poured concrete of some of Los Angeles' least exclusive night clubs ("Whoomp! There it is!").

Where had it all gotten me?

Did I measure up?

Did I care?

No, I concluded. I did not.

As the light continued to burn red and I put the finishing touches on the cowl-neck minidress I was fashioning for our cockapoo, I pondered the fact that life for me had changed at some point along the way.

Sure, I could remember a time when I went dancing often enough that it mattered to me to be at least halfway decent at it. Honestly, though, those memories seemed just as scratched and dusty as my recollection of the time in middle school when Tim Herron nailed me square in the face during a game of dodge ball out on the covered blacktop. (Fartknocker.)

Yes, life had changed. Many of the interests of past years had been crowded out by new, more pressing concerns. The transition had been gradual, but in the end the shift was significant.

Bottom line: I could not relate to this show.

The concept, however, still had potential.

Turns Out That...

...with just a few tweaks, the "So You Think You Can..." concept can easily be customized to address the goals and interests of a regular schmo like, well, me.

Here, then, are just a few of the ideas for spin-off shows that I jotted down in the Hello Kitty notebook I always keep in my car for just such occasions. (I would have cranked my window down and pitched the ideas directly to the producer getting a shiatsu massage in the back of the Town Car next to me at the light, but 1. all my primo air-conditioning would have escaped, and 2. I was afraid the fact that my Gremlin needed a wash would put me at a disadvantage, negotiations-wise.)

For your consideration:

Spin-Off Show Concepts
Target Audience: Moi

So You Think You Can...
Grocery Shop Without a List?

So You Think You Can...
Apply Liquid Eyeliner?

So You Think You Can...
Synch Up Your Blackberry?

So You Think You Can...
Wear Those Jeans?

So You Think You Can...
Get the Tub to Drain Faster?

So You Think You Can...
Switch to Decaf?

So You Think You Can...
Understand Escrow?

So You Think You Can...
Finish Vacuuming Before Your Guests Arrive?

So You Think You Can...
Finally Return Those Movies?

So You Think You Can...
Get Your Security Deposit Back?

So You Think You Can...
Make it to the Gym This Week?

So You Think You Can...
Trim Your Own Bangs?

So You Think You Can...
Get a Decent Night's Sleep?

So You Think You Can...
Remember to Close the Garage Door?

So You Think You Can...
Get Your Hip to Stop Making That "Click" Noise?

An Apology

I'd like to apologize to BlogHer - both the organizers and the attendees - for being unable to make the trip to New York earlier this month to speak on the BlogHer '10 humor-writing panel. As many of you know, my mother recently was hospitalized and, as a result, it was impossible for me to travel to NYC. Many thanks to the conference organizers for their gracious understanding of my dilemma and to everyone who has sent emails and tweets of support. My mom is doing better and I will always be honored to have been invited to speak.
Thank You!

Big thanks to Laugh Out Loud for featuring my "Iron Ma'am" piece! LOL is a very fun (and funny) site that's looking to harvest the blogosphere's humor highlights. Check it out!

Click for a Cure

I've previously shared my friend Kevin's family quest to find a cure for Juvenile Myositis - the disease that threatens the life of his young daughter. The CureJM cause is SO CLOSE to gathering enough votes to secure a $250,000 research grant from Pepsi that each and every vote makes a real difference. If they can move up literally one spot to #2, they'll get the funding. There's no charge or commitment to show your support and - truly - each vote counts. You can vote here every day 'till September 1. Thanks so much for your help.

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!