Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder.

You've Got Mail!

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 03:00:00 +0000

An Email
to the Principal of
Quark Horizon Elementary

Mrs. Roberta Ogilthorvin
Principal
Quark Horizon Elementary
Santa Monica, California

Dear Mrs. Ogilthorvin,

Thank you for the opportunity to explain the unfortunate exchanges that transpired in your absence at last week’s PTA meeting and to rebut the inflammatory complaints lodged against me by a number of parents and staff in attendance. I know you are eager to resolve this fracas, particularly in light of the fact that Quark Horizon will be making a third run at accreditation next week and the last thing we need is more picketers. (As an aside, I want you to know that you have my full support in this endeavor. I have a feeling this will be our year!)

In the meantime, allow me to address the accusations directly, as the individuals listed below have been copied on this email:

Mrs. Van Hoogan: I am not, as you charged, a “bairn of Lucifer.” I think, when the dust settles, you will agree that arranging the Halloween carnival booths in the shape of a pentagram on the soccer field both reinforces our seasonal theme and provides for ideal party flow. I am, however, willing to shelve my idea for a “Communicate with the Dead” class booth (although, I’m telling you, we would make bank).

Coach Derbin: It’s only the faculty parking lot on weekdays, chief. On the weekends it’s the ideal spot for hosing down my motor home and doing a little light carpentry.

Mrs. Schwab-Wong: You, madam, are a hack and should be relieved of your Auction Chair epaulets and lockable cash box. It’s a dark day indeed in the café-nasi-torium when leadership entertains played ideas like “Pirates” and “Disco” while ignoring the clearly superior concept: a Smokey and the Bandit-themed fundraiser. It’s hardly a surprise that you were struck in the hindquarters by a powdered doughnut hole. Which I did not throw.

Mr. and Mrs. DeVille and others in rows 4 through 6: It’s called braunschweiger and it’s a legitimate luncheon spread. If you’re going to hold these meetings at five o’clock, then I’m obliged to bring my dinner. Furthermore, I can’t believe none of you would loan me a bottle opener after I passed around my bag of pesto pork rinds for sharing.

Monsieur Le McEnroe: I have always had a deep appreciation for the arts, particularly those Christmas angels the kids make from folding up old copies of Reader’s Digest. On the subject of mime, however, I’ll admit I am not what you would call an enthusiast. That being said, there was no personal condemnation implied when I transferred my boy Tarquin from your “Imagine the Imaginary Wind” workshop into Senor Machada’s Jai Lai intensive. I believe true artistes have thicker skins than you have demonstrated. I also believe they wear something other than boxers under their leotards. Something to think about.

Snuffy, School Custodian: Dude, we had a deal. I can’t believe you cheesed me. You’ll never play ocarina in this school district again, I don’t care if your mom is the mayor.

Well, Mrs. Ogilthorvin, I believe that covers it. I know I feel better and I hope you do, too. See you at next month’s meeting and if you find yourself without a bottle opener, hit me up. (I’m going to pitch one in my cooler right now while the idea’s fresh.)

Onward,

Maude “Pepper” Briscoe

P.S. Did you get a flier on your car for my garage sale this weekend? You can tell Mr. O I’m holding a sweet Buster Poindexter album aside for him – Japanese import!

Thank you to Sherrie Petersen of Write About Now for this lovely award! Her blog is fantastic, BTW...

And thank you to everyone who clicked through to my humor essay on MyPheme.com! I really appreciate the comments and support!

I Scream, You Scream...

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

We All Scream For MyPheme(.com)!

I'm excited to say that a piece I wrote called "Hair: The Non-Musical" has just debuted as a Featured Essay on MyPheme.com.

What's MyPheme, you ask? I will tell you now.

[ahem]

MyPheme.com is a brand new and very cool humor site whose mission is to tell it like it is. They also have a sassy broad in their banner. Both of these facts appeal mightily to me.

I hope you'll take a moment to slide over there and read the essay. I can't make specific promises, but it's highly likely that doing so will increase your personal chi, give you six-pack abs and elevate you to president of your condo association.

If you need further enticement, I will say this: it's not very long.

Thanks, as always, for your support!

I Just Adore A Penthouse View

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 12:01:00 +0000

She's Still ZsaZsa From The Block.

We've finally succeeded in convincing my mom to move from the suburbs [insert crickets here] into the throbbing, mind-blowingly exciting metropolis of three blocks from us. I know. It'll be great to have ZsaZsa (not my mom's real name) right around a couple of corners after decades of living almost an hour away.

Naturally, I helped her find a new pad - specifically, an apartment. Which is how I learned:

Lesson #1: Looking for an apartment for your mom is very different than looking for one for yourself.

Corollary to Lesson #1: I have lived in many a dunghole in my day.

I foolishly counted up the number of times I've moved since returning to Los Angeles after college. [Please savor the complimentary Muzak as I put my pom-pom socks and Mary Janes back on.]

As you can see on the tote board, my current home is the [hork] twelfth place I've lived since the ol' undergrad years. Each of these domiciles was rigorously vetted and had to meet a crushing set of criteria before I would even consider living in any of them.

Namely, I required that each of my residences be - and this was non-negotiable - AVAILABLE.

I know. I told you I was picky.

Some of the "bonus features" of my old apartments have included:

The convenience of an independent pharmaceuticals distribution hub right next door (open 24 hours).
A kitchen carpeted in wall-to-wall shag.
A demonic toilet.
Locked out? No problem! These here windows lift right out of the wall!
"The Eliminator" elevator.
The restful quiet that can only come from not having to listen to the pesky hum of an air conditioner.

Believe it or not, these attributes held surprisingly little appeal for ZsaZsa (although I think she'll come around on the kitchen shag once she's rolled on the floor while eating a moon pie - no one can resist that). And, when I thought about it, I realized I had a different standard for my mom's pad, too.

Lesson #2: My mom's new pad needs to be safe and (relatively) freak-free.

Which Is Why I'm Surveilling Her Building.

Oh, sure, the apartment is nice. But we all know that it's really all about the people in the building, yes? Right.

Allow me to share my findings to date with you:

Apt. 307 - Shadowed portly male occupant from elevator by carrying potted shrub against my chest and making little hops. Subject emitted unnatural creaking noise with each step. Is likely listed on a national registry of some sort.

Apt. 110 - Suspected sweatshop that appears to be churning out substantial quantities of macaroni art. Wait, scratch that. They just have a lot of children. Never mind.

Apt. 202 - Arbonne Cosmetics representative. [Note to self: avoid second floor altogether or risk another forcible exfoliation.]

Apt. 314 - Portal to the early 70s. Glimpse through open door revealed variegated shag carpet, smoked-mirror wet bar and metal wall sculpture of pointy sailboat cluster. Possible Tiki epicenter.

Apt. 105 - RED ALERT. The people living in #105 are all [gasp] professional mimes.

Aw, hell. And things were shaping up so nicely. Why couldn't it have been something manageable...like a meth lab?

My friend Leigh Cunningham has just published the first in a series of children's books entitled THE GLASS TABLE. Congrats, Leigh!

Always Home and Unbowed

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 01:38:00 +0000

I am proud to be among the 98 bloggers teaming up with our friend Kevin at Always Home and Uncool for a simultaneous posting to help raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.

I hope you'll take a moment to read Kevin's story in his own words below. Thank you.

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skin conditions - none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner - then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source - obvious and otherwise - that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blond cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.
The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.
The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.
The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

That was her gift - a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago - Oct. 2, 2002 - the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain are her scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also a birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to: www.firstgiving.com/rhondaand kevinmckeever
or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

THANK YOU!

My Son Gomez: Jedi d'Amour

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 14:00:00 +0000

Fourth Grade Ladies: You've Been Warned.

More forceful than a Gungan energy ball...

More alluring than a Clawdite shape-shifter...

More savage than a Wookiee with low blood sugar...

And yet...

Romantic as Endor's emerald moonshine...

Playful as an RV full of Ewoks...

Smooth as Lando Calrissian's mustache...

Because babe-magnet is your destiny...

STAR WARS COLOGNE
Smell The Force.

Go see what the hilarious Jessica Bern is doing to promote ovarian cancer awareness. After you've blown Mountain Dew out your nose at her priceless impersonation of "Aunt Flo," take a moment to go here and register with the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund. It just takes a couple of clicks, and for every registrant, Seventh Generation will donate $1 to this important cause. Thank you!

Thank you to Melissa at The Betty and Boo Chronicles for including "The Cold 100" in her best-of-the-week roundup!

Thank you to This, That and the Other for linking up to my mammogram post. I really appreciate that - glad it made you laugh!

A shout-out to my friend Ocean (from Starbucks in Kauai)! Stay safe...

What's That In The Air?

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 12:00:00 +0000

It's [sniff sniff] The Smell Of Summer Slacking

It's deep summer and we are marinated in the gravy of laziness, adrift in a sea of chores ignored, projects abandoned and rental movies unreturned (late fees pending).

Who am I to jam a broom handle in the spokes of Mother Nature's ten-speed?

No, the season of slack must be observed.

And so, in honor of the Great Machine and its dictates, I hereby phone in this post with minimal effort and share with you a standup set that I performed a while back at The Hollywood Improv.

I completely understand if you're too lazy to hit the play button.

The Cold 100

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 18:00:00 +0000

No, It's Not A Siberian Bike Race

I was in the checkout line at my local Albertson's a little while ago when a customer leaned over to the checker (who happened to be a manager) and sheepishly confessed to dropping a jar of pickles on the floor in the deli department.

"No problem," said the manager and the customer went on her way.

A few moments later, when the box boy arrived and began bagging my groceries (Wait, are they still called box boys? Did I just totally date myself by busting out a relic of a term like davenport? Should I retire my spats?), here's what the manager said to him:

"Hey, Skeeter, we've got a cold 100 in the deli."

I froze in mid-ATM-card swipe, electrified by the insider lingo to which I was privy.

"A cold 100."

Stealing a glance at Mr. Flinscheinderglen and his faithful sidekick Skeeter, I punched in my ATM PIN and silently mouthed my new phrase. Cold 100. Man, it felt good.

As Skeeter high-tailed it toward the back of the store in his fluorescent orange vest to do battle with the pickle juice, a question leaped to mind:

What [gulp] was a Hot 100?

A Buffalo-wings slick near the rotisserie case?
A customer altercation by the Tabasco pyramid?
Flaming lava?

I love lingo.

I always have. I have the enduring suspicion that in a former life I was either a Navy Seal or a long-haul trucker. Now, those guys have some lingo.

For instance, we (okay, I) get pulled over by smokeys, not police officers. And when we go on a road trip, we don't eat at a restaurant [scoff] we stop at the choke-and-puke.

I happen to think every occupation can benefit from a generous smattering of lingo, including parenting, if only because lingo makes everything, well, cooler.

Coming up short on parenting lingo at your house?

No problem! Use some of ours!

Suggested Parenting Lingo

Charlie Manson - A playdate that goes horribly awry, usually ending in real property loss if not bloodshed. Example:

Jon Bon Jovi: What's with all the Tylenol? And why is the sofa smoldering?
Anna: Today's playdate was a total Charlie Manson. Never again!

SB - Short for "Sonic Boom." Using sound waves to quell escalating sibling arguments. Also known as turning up the volume on a Molly Hatchet song in the car so loud that the arguing children have no choice but to abandon their bickering.

Booger Ranch - preschool and/or daycare facility. Example: As soon as I drop Sigfried and Roy, Jr. off at the booger ranch, I'll do the grocery shopping.

Hovercraft - changing a diaper in a filthy public restroom while preventing the child from coming in contact with a single surface. Example: "Ugh, that gas station bathroom was so funky, I had to execute a hovercraft."

Banana - delicious and nutritious natural snack that arrives in an ingenious yellow zippered tube. Sold in bunches. (Some lingo is pretty straightforward.)

Eraser - A wipee. Example: "Young Tarquin has dribbled on his onesie. Pass me an eraser so I can clean him up, will you?"

Of course, sometimes it works the other way and I learn lingo from my children. Yesterday, I overheard Gomez as he took a break from playing Legos with Morticia.

"I'll be right back," he said, making haste in the direction of the bathroom. "I have to drop the kids off at the pool."

Perhaps I should check UrbanDictionary.com on that one, just to make sure it means what I think it does.

Thank you to the folks at YouSayToo for naming us a Top Blog!

No More Mrs. Nice Guy.

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 12:00:00 +0000

That's Right, You Heard Me.

(Is the black too much? I knew I should have gone with the lavender.)

Thank you, Chicago! Good Night!

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 12:00:00 +0000

A Brief BlogHer '09 Roundup

The view from my room.

I represent.

Good times with my Robert Osborne bobble-head.
(Hard-earned swag from the Swiffer party.

Talk about a cat-fight at the loot table - mrowr!)

Oh, Bob. You animal.

My new dream car.

The humor panel (L-R): Wendi Aarons, Kelcey from Mamabirddiaries,
Jessica Bern, Moi, Deb on the Rocks (standing),
and holding the mic is Jenny The Bloggess. (A brief musical interlude
during which she sang "You Light Up My Life.")
Photo credit: AmazingGreis @ Flickr.

The room (which probably could have been
a little bigger),15 minutes before we started.
Photo credit: Sara Llama @ Flickr.

How I roll. So long, Chicago!

THANK YOU, BlogHer!
THANK YOU, amazing fellow humor panelists!
THANK YOU, everyone who came to our session!

So many wonderful new friends...
(I know - sappy - but true.)

So That's What A Maxidress Is.

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 11:00:00 +0000

Dear Ann,

Thank you so much for having me over to Ann's Rants for Free Association Friday! I had a blast and I hope you like the definitions I wrote.

You are one of my very favorite bloggers, and I'm not just saying that because I think I left my wallet in your laundry room. Really.

On a more serious note, please allow me to apologize once again for the damage to your aquarium. (And carpet. And loveseat.) Who knew a little game of badminton could cause so much trouble, huh? I guess that's why it's traditionally played with a plastic shuttlecock instead of a golf ball like I we used. Still, who would have thought it could drill through an inch of plexiglass? Go figure. (FYI, you might want to have guests play outdoors from now on. Just a suggestion.)

Anyway, I'm sure when the water-damage people arrived, they were just as impressed as I was with the alluring Jello-O mold you made. It looked like Barbie really was riding that Jet-Ski! Amazing!

Thank you for a lovely time, Ann.

Oops, I almost forgot - you still haven't given me your cell number so we can make arrangements to hang out together all weekend at BlogHer. (Remember when I reminded you a few days ago and you said you couldn't remember the area code? That was funny...) You know how tough it'll be for me to find you without your number, so make sure and get it to me, okay? I just know we'll be inseparable...

Can't wait to see you and thanks again!

XOXO

Anna

Anna & Erica's Not So Excellent Adventure

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 00:00:00 +0000

What You're About To Read Is True.

I'm doing my Rod Serling impression here in my office and I can feel my dogs judging me. (Hey, if you two can do better I'd love to hear it.)

Anyway.

I have been urged by a bunch of people (okay, one person) to share the story of auditioning for "Last Comic Standing." I'll tell you right now - this story has an anticlimactic ending. If you happen to own a t-shirt that reads "Life Is A Journey...Not A Destination," this would be the ideal time to slip it on, because that's how this story works.

For me, however, it was an unforgettable experience - in much the same way that eating bad clams on our family vacation to Cape Cod back in the 70s and ending up in the emergency room was an unforgettable experience for my dad.

It also helps to keep in mind as you're reading that I'm a total jackass who often drags perfectly nice friends into ridiculous situations.

So. This was a couple of years ago and I had just done my first standup show. Ever. A few weeks down the road, I'd be lucky enough to get booked at the Hollywood Improv and The Comedy Store, but none of that had happened yet. I had one show under my belt, along with my comedy bud Erica. (Her name is not really Erica but she's very funny nevertheless, plus I know she'd appreciate the glamorous nighttime-soap name. Feel free to imagine her with loads of eyeliner and epic shoulder pads.)

A few days after this first gig, I see on the Web (never a good start) that they're holding open auditions for "Last Comic Standing" at the Hollywood Improv on a Monday morning at 9:00. Having watched "The Secret" way too many times, I wonder hmmm...is this the Universe tapping me on the shoulder with yet another opportunity? (When, oh, when will I learn to turn the other shoulder?)

I call partner in comedy crime Erica and start pumping her up. "We'll have two minutes before the judges, so polish your best bits and iron your jeans or whatever."

There is much discussion as to when to arrive for the auditions. It seems like a good idea to get there early...say, 8:00-ish? It's a little inconvenient, I say, but okay. I get another call from her an hour later. She's been talking to some of her Hollywood-adjacent friends and has learned that people get to this audition REALLY early. Like the night before early.

What?? I'm not sleeping out on Melrose Avenue for this thing. They aren't giving out Peter Frampton tickets, after all.

We go back and forth and finally decide that I'll pick her up at 3:00 am, which should put us at the club at about 3:30. At this point Jon Bon Jovi (not my husband's real name) chimes in to say that we're crazy and he's washing his hands of the whole affair. (Well!)

Sunday evening - I pack. Never one to travel light (don't get Jon Bon Jovi started on this), I assemble a hatchback full of supplies that rivals a Red Cross airlift into Bangladesh: bottled waters, folding chairs, power bars, comfy socks, a bunch of bananas, wipees, hand sanitizer, my stage clothes and on and on. Once the car's loaded I go to sleep.

For five minutes.

2:00 am - I'm showering, dressing and running through my two-minute set over and over in my head. I pull up in front of Erica's apartment, which is in the middle of the one pocket of LA in which I have no cell reception. She's also mentioned that the front-door buzzer on her building doesn't work. An intriguing and challenging pickup situation indeed. Eventually, she looks out and sees me idling on the street and we're off.

[Side note: If you need to drive anywhere in Los Angeles, I highly recommend doing so at 3:20 in the morning.]

3:40 am - We get to Melrose and slow down as we approach the club. There's the front door...and there's a row of tents and sleeping bags that's a block long...make it two blocks...nope, three blocks of campers who have been living on the sidewalk for four days, protecting their places in line. The line of bodies snakes around the corner onto Crescent Heights and dribbles onto the sidewalk along a row of houses.

Stunned silence in the car. Okay, maybe a few expletives. "So are we doing this?" "Crap. We're here. I guess so."

4:00 am - We park and walk to the end of the line with our mounds of supplies and settle into our spot in the dark.

The previous season's winner on the show had been Josh Blue - a very gifted comedian who happens to suffer from cerebral palsy and has built a very successful act around his disability and others' reactions to it. It quickly becomes apparent that the woman in line on our left intends to capitalize on this fact, which she sees as the beginning of a trend.

On the sidewalk in front of her, she has erected a shrine of sorts to her son, whom she describes as a "yellow-bus kid." Included in the display is his 8x10 high school graduation portrait in a shiny gold frame, surrounded by clusters of other photos in smaller, assorted frames. At first we're afraid her son has passed away (hence the shrine), but she explains:

"That boy who won last season - Josh Blue - he was a yellow-bus kid like my boy. They like that on this show. I'm taking these pictures in with me so they know I have a yellow-bus kid."

It's important to note that this woman is wearing a pair of frilly pink panties. On her head. With no trace of irony.

Erica and I shift uncomfortably in our folding chairs, clearly out-strategized by Ms. Panty-Head.

Directly to our right, next to Erica, is a young man in fatigues who says nothing through the entire ordeal but does a lot of twitching and gives off a VERY strong Mark David Chapman/John Wayne Gacy vibe. Right. And we'll be scooting THIS way toward our good friend Ms. Panty-Head and putting the purses over HERE.

4:30 am - Lots of buzz in the line, rumors flying everywhere, a "sign-up sheet" (notebook paper) being passed down the line. Everyone's sizing each other up. "Dude doesn't look funny at all."

It's still dark.

7:30 am - The commuters are whizzing through the neighborhood, coffee in hand, giving us some (deserved) curious looks. The sun is now up. I'm desperate for coffee, but there are no bathroom facilities and stores with public bathrooms won't be open for ages so it's too risky.

Erica and I joke around but make sure not to waste our comedy mojo on the street. A man who calls himself "Caneman" videotapes people in line. He's wearing a coat that looks to be made from the pelts of a dozen bright yellow Muppets.

Ms. Panty-Head sniffs the air like a bloodhound, then reaches into her bag and changes the panties on her head from pink to white. Erica and I exchange looks. Is this conceptual humor? Are we just not sharp enough to decode it? We must observe this one closely.

I look around and take in the raucous, bleary sidewalk scene and it occurs to me that, in a single caper, I have brought about my mother's doomsday scenario: her daughter has spent the night on the curb in a sketchy part of town with a bunch of drunk people, one of whom is wearing underwear on her head, AND there are no clean bathroom facilities.

8:30 am - I have to go to the bathroom. The line doesn't seem to be moving so I leave Erica to guard our camp and I trot down to a service station at Melrose and Fairfax. When I return, the street is empty. Everything from our outpost is gone.

8:45 am - I find everybody. In the moment I'm in the bathroom (of course), someone in charge comes along and redirects the line up the street so it now curves around the corner of the club and way down a different side street. Poor Erica manages to haul all our stuff two blocks over. Erica is widely regarded in our part of the line as a stud.

11:45 am - Nothing has changed except our moods. Everyone is twitchy now and misinformation flows like sweat. The street is filled with profanity, loud music, cackles of laughter and two uptight white girls in folding chairs staring bitterly into their power bars.

1:00 pm - Erica walks all the way to the front door of the club to get a status report straight from the source. I guard the campsite from the unruly bands of prop comics who are scrounging for Fritos and cigarettes. She returns with those within a 50-yard radius crowd around to hear her tell us that the people from the show haven't even arrived yet.

Auditions have not yet begun.

The doors are still locked.

Everyone is outraged. Violence is contemplated, particularly against one comic who has been bugging the crap out of all of us for the last [gulp] NINE HOURS.

1:15 - 1:29 - Stony, exhausted silence.

1:30 - Gut-check time. I confabulate with Erica as to just how much bleepin' bleep-bleep we're going to bleepin' put up with from that bunch of bleep-holes. I mean, who the bleep do they think they are? Bleepers. Don't they know we bleepin' killed at our bleepin' first show? What the bleep? (Did I mention we both went to very reputable institutions of higher learning?)

Bottom line: If we leave right then, we can have Thai food for lunch before I drop her off and go pick up Morticia and Gomez at school.

3:00 pm - I walk up the alley at my kids' school, picking lemongrass from my teeth and wearing some very large, very dark glasses. I run into a dad friend - a TV producer/director who's been sweetly supportive of my comedy aspirations.

I tell him my tale of "Last Comic Standing" woe. He replies that his friend is the producer on the show. "You should have called me - I could have gotten you in for a private audition."

[crickets]

Epilogue: The following week, I hear through back channels that much later in the day, when the folks from the show finally made an appearance at the club, they let the first 20 people inside to audition...and sent the rest of the line home.

It's a tough town. Bring a folding chair.

This Just In.

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 20:00:00 +0000

[Insert Static Here.]

We interrupt your regularly scheduled ~~porn surfing~~ programming for this breaking news announcement. We now take you live to the LJKGW world headquarters briefing room in downtown Escondido, where a press conference is already in progress...

Anna Lefler: So I said to him, "Hey, why don't you climb up here on the mechanical bull and pull this finger, pal? Then he whips out this tube sock and...Oh, wait. We're on. [ahem] Yes - question in the back?

Reporter: Is it true that you and five fellow humor bloggers have been placed in the agenda for BlogHer '09 this month in Chicago?

AL: Okay, first of all, they're not fellows...they're women. [rolls eyes] And, second of all, it's not in Chicago *snort* - it's in Maui. Yes - question from the gentleman with the mullet.

Reporter #2: Ah, the conference is actually in Chicago. Not Maui.

AL: Oh, as if. [aside to Tiffany the Intern, hand covering mic] What is this crap? You said it was in Maui! Are you friggin' kidding me? Do you have any idea what it's like to wear a vinyl jumpsuit in July? In Chicago!?!

Tiffany: Um, your mic's still hot. They can hear you.

AL: [to crowd] LOVE Chicago. LOVE. Woman in the back with the poodle perm - question?

Reporter #3: With whom will you be appearing?

AL: I'm glad you asked. I'm proud to be on this comedy-writing panel with five esteemed and hilarious colleagues, including (in alphabetical order) Deb from Deb on the Rocks, Jenny from The Bloggess, Jessica from Bernthis, Kelcey from The Mama Bird Diaries and Wendi Aarons from a humor blog conveniently named "Wendi Aarons." All right - let's not all talk at once. Question from the young lady in front with reinforced-toe stockings.

Reporter #4: Yes, can you tell us more about the panel?

AL: Well, things are still a bit fluid on that front, but I can share with you some items from my notes, which I took on our last conference call. Let's see. [paper rustling] Ah, yes. Here they are:

Notes on BlogHer ’09 Comedy-Writing Panel

BIG OPENING!!!

Ozzy or Lynyrd Skynyrd - To Discuss

Wendi and Jessica - Synchronized Swimming
Look into inflatable pool rental

Jenny - Satirical Clog-Dancing
Wants Red Bull and yellow M&Ms only in trailer

Anna - Interpretive Dance
Bring “Funky Cold Medina” cassette

Kelcey - Sammy Davis, Jr. Impersonation
Warm up my Sinatra impersonation for snappy banter

Deb - Parody Songs
Bring my piano from home

BIG FINISH!!! “History of Comedy” Musical Revue
Try to trim down to 2 hours
Jazz hands!!!

Reporter #5: Where will the panel be, exactly?

AL: We've secured space in a top-notch conference facility only 50 minutes from the downtown hotel where BlogHer will be held. As you can see from these photos taken by Tiffany the Intern on her advance scouting trip, our panel is being promoted both at the hotel:

AL: ...and at the off-site meeting location:

AL: It also appears that the city and its outlying districts are bracing for an influx of humor enthusiasts:

AL: Other questions? Gentleman wearing the "I'm With Stupid" t-shirt?

Reporter #6: Yes, can you comment on the trout-related rumors swirling around today's announcement?

AL: [ahem] I will not dignify all this trout hubbub with a response, other than to say that any talk of trout is completely baseless.

I will say, however, that I'd like to thank everyone who voted for our panel - we appreciate your support very much! You can find us on the BlogHer agenda here (scroll down to Saturday afternoon). For more info about BlogHer and the conference, click here. Hope to see you there and thank you again!!

CONGRATULATIONS to Alison at That's A Novel Idea - winner of our NOTHING BUT GHOSTS drawing for a $150 Amazon.com gift card! Whoo-ee! Don't spend it all in one place, Alison! (Oh...um...well, you know what I mean.) And huge thanks to everyone who posted about Beth's new book!

Cool site alert: Have you checked out Scribnia.com? Thanks to @DavidSpinks (on Twitter) for telling me about it...

Nothing But Awesome

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 05:30:00 +0000

Beth Kephart: The Bootleg Interview

First of all, Ms. Kephart, congratulations on the release of NOTHING BUT GHOSTS, which already has received glowing reviews. You must be pretty pumped, what with your first novel coming out to such high praise.

Um. Miss Lefler. Miss Lefler? It’s me. Beth. Beth Kephart. Over here. No. This way. This way. Yeah. Past the curtains. At the desk. That’s right. Ghosts is actually my tenth book, my third young adult novel. I mean, it might read like a first. Is that what you are suggesting?

Really? Are you sure this isn’t your first? It says right here in my notes…

Perhaps you are borrowing another’s notes? I mean. It’s happened at the most prestigious journalistic institutions, not just with you.

Okay, well…anyway. I read NOTHING BUT GHOSTS and, I must say, I loved it. That scene with the conga dancers – when they commandeer the Sparkletts truck and use it to squish those killer bees. WOW.

I want what you’re drinking.

With all due respect, I couldn’t have just made that up.

No. Actually. You could have. I read your blog, remember?

Okay, so how would you sum up the story, then?

Well. It’s a story about surviving loss. About a rising high school senior whose mother has died. What lives on? she wonders. How will she? In searching for answers, she becomes embroiled in a mystery surrounding a strange recluse at a lush garden. It’s a mystery, a romance, a daughter-father story.

Really? No killer bees? [mumbles] Then where the heck did I read that? All right, moving on… Can you tell us about the setting of the book? I see here that you were inspired by a special location in your town of Peoria.

You probably didn’t read it. Perhaps you were watching TV? But, in any case, Peoria is a place I’ve always longed to go. Having not yet gotten there, however, I set the book in my hometown—the storied Main Line of Philadelphia—and in a world-renowned pleasure garden, known as Chanticleer. I wrote a memoir that took place in Chanticleer. I know this garden well, and am endlessly inspired by it. But let’s not talk inspiration. With you.

Seriously? You don’t live in Peoria? That research intern is so fired. All right, go on…

How much do you pay your intern? I’m in the market.

Your prose is so evocative and lush, Ms. Kephart – you have a remarkable gift for reinventing words and giving them a crisp newness. Let me ask you this: do you prefer using a hard copy of a thesaurus or do you rely more heavily on thesaurus.com?

I used thesaurus.com up until a year or so ago. After that I just started making words up and hoping nobody noticed. I try out all my invented words on my blog first. When the Blog Police don’t arrest me for synonym crimes, I figure the new word is not just novel-safe, but novel-worthy.

NOTHING BUT GHOSTS is Young Adult (“YA”) fiction. How does that work, exactly? I mean, can anyone read it? Does one need to be accompanied by a young adult?

Preferably one is accompanied by a young adult. I mean, is there any better company by which to be accompanied? I find that young adults are marvelously intelligent, often fearlessly so, and that they have a lot to teach. They make us adults better people. I take it there’s a shortage of such souls in your own neighborhood?

I understand you’ll be teaching a writing course at a local junior college this fall.

That’s correct. I’ll be teaching at my alma mater, University of Pennsylvania.

Yes. I believe I’ve heard of that school.

Known primarily for its football team. Oh, and for the borderland of delicious, two-day-old soft pretzels.

So, Ms. Kephart, you have an amazing blog. What do you like most about blogging? And how do you come up with all those recipes?

Oh, gosh, I’m so glad your intern stopped by my blog. How much are you paying that intern again? Because honest to goodness. There are no recipes. Tessa does recipes. Tessa does recipes with pictures. Tessa is gorgeous. Is your intern a gal with a foodie predilection? I think your intern has been chilling with Tessa.

[stony silence] Are you friggin’ kidding me? No recipes? At all? Then where did this three-layer dip come from? You know what? Don’t worry about it. Not your concern. I tell you what, though, when Tiffany the Intern gets back from getting my Gremlin detailed, she’s going to have some tall explaining to do. Anyway - back to you. I understand you are a National Book Award finalist. Can you tell us a little about that?

It’s been too long ago. I forget. I do remember, though, chairing, a few years later, the Young People’s Literature jury. I didn’t just get to read a lot of great books, wear a pretty great dress, and chill with some cool people. I met Steve Martin. He said that you’d been stalking him?

So…if I wanted to get in the pipeline for that, the first step would be…

You want an NBA nomination? Well, you have to either start shooting hoops or write a pretty good book.

Huh. Kind of sounds like a pantload of work. Something to think about. You are passionate about dance. (I myself find the The Hustle hypnotically irresistible.) Tell us, please, what is your favorite dance and why?

Must you make me choose? All right. I’ll say it. I’ll confess, since, from what I can tell by your site meter count and the number of comments you generate, no one reads your blog anyway, I love the rumba. It sinks the music into your bones.

Okay, it says in my notes that you are an accomplished photographer. I’m going to assume that’s wrong and take a wild guess that in your spare time you are…an ocarina enthusiast?

Did you just make that word up? Ocarina? Can I have it?

Oh, for cryin’ out loud. Okay, photography it is. Do you find there’s an overlap between your writing and your photography, or are they completely separate processes?

You didn’t answer me, about ocarina. Okay. I won’t steal it from you. I will, however, say, that I couldn’t write without photographs. The camera forces me to look harder, look better, look smarter. And heaven knows, I need all the help I can get.

Can you share with us some other works of yours that are currently available or on the horizon?

I love horizons, don’t you? On mine is a YA novel, due out next March, called The Heart is Not a Size, which takes a group of privileged kids on a mission trip to Juarez, Mexico (a place I visited a few years ago). Next fall, an historical novel, Dangerous Neighbors, is due out—this book focuses on a single day in Centennial Philadelphia. Think what you must, but I was not alive during the Centennial. At the moment I am writing a novel for adults that is wild and weird and (might I say this?) wonderful. Then there are those other nine books. But I don’t think we should go there, do you?

Lastly, I have one more question for you. I know it’s a cliché, but if you were stranded on a deserted island…what color vinyl jumpsuit would you hope to be wearing and why?

Purple. Because it would match the eye shadow in my travel kit.

Thank you so much for visiting with us today, Ms. Kephart. It was an honor having you here. Again, congratulations on the debut of your wonderful novel, NOTHING BUT GHOSTS. I wish you fantastic success!

Miss Lefler (I can call you Miss, still, yes?). It’s been the highest privilege. And I mean that. Kind of.

Ten Grande Prizes

Be one of the first ten bloggers to help spread the news about NOTHING BUT GHOSTS by posting about it and win a free hardback copy of the book, mailed straight to you at no cost by ~~Tiffany the Intern~~ yours truly. Just send me the link to your post at:

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com

along with your mailing address. The senders of the first ten emails with links will receive books!

And...

One Venti Prize

Every blogger who encourages their readers to buy a copy of this delightful novel and emails the link to me will be entered in a drawing for:

A $150 Amazon.com gift card!

That's right, Baby. Ka-ching.

Just email your link to me before midnight (PST), July 4, and you will be entered in the drawing for the gift card.

I hope you'll join me (and many of Beth's wonderful bloggy friends) in helping power this independent, grassroots effort to promote an exquisite book.

But don't take my word for it - here's what Ellen Trachtenberg - author of A Parent's Guide to the Best Children's Literature - had to say about NOTHING BUT GHOSTS:

In Nothing but Ghosts, acclaimed author Beth Kephart (Undercover and House of Dance) artfully juxtaposes themes of grief and torment with the persistence of beauty. [Protagonist] Katie must reconcile herself with the notion that “Things disappear and vanish. That’s the fact. Before you’re ready for them to go, they go, and after that all you can do is keep the idea of them bright inside yourself.”

Beth Kephart’s dazzling new novel is wise and wonderful, certain to be a revelation for young adult readers. As Katie makes a few necessary discoveries, she begins to let love in once again. In doing so, she honors an important promise, “a daughter’s promise: to live my life with my eyes wide open. To honor exuberance, and color.”

To purchase a copy of NOTHING BUT GHOSTS,
simply click on Beth's super-tight blog-tour bus below:
(Hey, there she is in the window!)

Thanks to everyone for their support
and good luck in the contest!

A Thought Bubble.

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Here's What I'm Thinkin':

The party...

...was in April.

Why aren't we building airplanes out of these things?

Thank you to Mad Texter for this tasty award!

And thank you to Amy Jo at The Hopelessly Lame-Named Blog for this beauty!

Attack of the 50-Foot Woman

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Does This Store Make Me Look Fat?

Steve Martin had a stand-up bit in which he'd tell the audience he was going to do his impression of the Incredible Shrinking Man. He'd ask the audience to close their eyes for a moment, and when they opened them, he'd have raised the microphone several feet.

This is the opposite of my experience at Whole Foods.

Do you have Whole Foods in your town? They can be identified by their Euro-woodsy exterior, heaps of local weeklies toppling in the doorway, and parking lots clogged with honking Land Rovers, their drivers flipping each other off while wearing organic cotton t-shirts printed with sayings like "Practice Random Acts of Kindness" and "Namaste."

[Note: Whole Foods is not to be confused with Trader Joe's - the rebel grocery sibling whose share of the industry involves lulling customers into thinking they've spent the afternoon buying carob-coated pumpkin seeds and miniature quiches in a cross between an Army PX and Disneyland's Pirates of the Caribbean ride.]

I live in a volatile bubble on the time-space continuum, equal distance from three (count 'em) three Whole Foods stores and buffeted by the unique socio-political vibrations of each. Each store has its individual quirks: the hair-raising U-turn across an onslaught of cross-traffic required to enter the Brentwood parking lot, the glacial pace of the elevator in the Wilshire store, and the thicket of tropical orchids (one of which I swear fired a poisonous dart into the back of my neck) that one must hack through to enter the store on Montana Avenue.

Fine.

However.

The matter with which I take issue is one that pertains to each of these stores, nay (that's right, I said "nay") every Whole Foods store I ever entered.

Whole Foods stores are too friggin' SMALL.

Yes, SMALL. As in bite-sized. As in Lilliputian. As in I should be able to fit down an aisle sideways without my shoulder blades emptying the shelf behind me and my nipples wiping out the shelf in front of me.

I'll admit, at 5'9" I'm not petite. I get that. I have to say, however, that I never worry about banging my forehead on a ceiling-mounted security camera when I'm in Albertson's.

No, it's only in Whole Foods that I feel like I've morphed into a water buffalo upon passing through the automatic glass door.

Oh, sure, they try to fake you out with those little weirdo shopping carts that aren't built to human scale. You have to bend at the waist to reach the handle and if you arrange things just right they'll hold a grape and a box of Tic Tacs.

Then there's the tricky packaging, designed to make you think you're in a normal-sized store. Should I buy 20 grains of rice, or splurge and get the economy-sized box of 50?

Why am I there, you ask? Well, honestly, I forget. I walk out in a grump with my bags (which upon returning to full-scale land, I discover are the size of paper lunch sacks), swearing that I'm never going back and rubbing my ankles, raw from being sideswiped by the exotic olive barge.

Then, six months later or so, I am desperate for some fresh idea for dinner and I figure it can't be as bad as I remember, right? I was probably just having a bad day.

Which is what happened yesterday when I found myself mooing and swishing my leathery tail down the produce aisle, my cloven hooves cracking the distressed wood floors with each step and my horns spearing bundles of aura-balancing soy candles with every toss of my head.

Come on, I thought later as my family struggled to survive the evening on a roasted chicken the size of my fist and asparagus spears my husband initially brushed away as grass clippings. Who was I kidding? I'm a child of the suburbs, where the parking is above-ground, TP comes in 48-roll packs and the grocery store is roomy enough to cut doughnuts in a Delta '88 without riffling a single page of The National Enquirer.

I've learned my lesson. From now on, I'm livin' LARGE.

By the way, as long as you're here, could you help me load that pallet of Pop-Tarts onto my forklift?

Thanks.

Thank you to Blogtations for selecting and highlighting a quote of mine! I love scrolling through this site for the latest funny quotes from all over the blogosphere.

And thank you to ddiva at My Loonyverse for this swanky duo:

I Commune With Nature...

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00:00 +0000

...Whether It Likes It Or Not.

We recently spent a long weekend visiting the in-laws in Northern(ish) California. Man, was it awesome. Our visit gave us the opportunity to get back to nature - to unclench from our jaded, smog-encrusted big-city lifestyle and really remind ourselves what's really real, you know?

And it was perfect timing because just the other day I said to Jon Bon Jovi, "Jon?" I said, hunched over, hand in a ziploc bag, gathering dried cockapoo patties from the backyard, "I'm jonesin' to mainline some nature junk." (See how urban we are?)

And Jon Bon Jovi waggled his head, letting an exhaust blast from a city bus ruffle his bangs off his face as he threw his broom and dustpan aside in a most haphazard manner. He liked the idea, I could tell.

"Just give me a moment to saddle up Hoss and Lamont." (Those are our steel horses. The ones upon which we ride.)

And we were off like a dirty pair of drawers. ~ Walt Whitman

At great personal peril, I tried to take lots of photos as we waded up to our armpits in freakin' raw nature.

I share them with you now.

This was our rustic nature pad - home base for gnarly au natural hi-jinks.

Our first nature encounter! We initially were concerned
about being under dressed (seeing as how we didn't have hats)
but turns out that's just his personal statement.
Nature Lesson #1: The forest is pretty casual.

This little scamp slipped into our cabin and ate my
entire pack of birth-control pills. Ironic, yes?
Nature Lesson #2: Untamed wilderness is not without
its subtle literary devices.

This is not the fawn's mother, but a Nanny-Doe hired by
the mom to take care of the baby while she slips out
to Laughlin, Nevada for a girls' weekend.
Nature Lesson #3: Sometimes nature has to get out of the
freakin' house or else it's going to lose it.

Bonus! In between honing our survival techniques and
living off ~~Frito-Lay products~~ the fat of the land,
I was able to indulge my passion for Japanese Zen
fountain construction. Yes, it took 7 hours to design
and build...but I think you'll agree it was worth it.

Nature Lesson #4: Do NOT fill your canteen with stump water,
no matter how normal it looks.

I know that's the same buck who was staring at me
in the parking lot of Pea Soup Anderson's.
Nature Lesson #5: Two words, dude - restraining order.

Caught on film - the rare and dangerous Sneaker Snake!
Note the coloring that says, "Danger!"
Nature Lesson #6: You snooze, you lose.

Yeah, right. Like that's real.
Nature Lesson #7: Sometimes nature tries to
fool you with fake crap.

I believe it was the legendary Jane Goodall who observed,
"When the zombie bunnies come out, it's time to go home."
Nature Lesson #8: Zombie bunny! Run away! RUN AWAY!

NOTHING BUT GHOSTS - Beth Kephart's new book that's already garnering stellar reviews - is now available for pre-order! To view the book's beautiful trailer, click here.

Thank You so much to the incomparable Tessa at An Aerial Armadillo for this gorgeous International Reach Out Award - which she designed herself, BTW. I am honored and Tessa's blog is a gem. (Plus I love the way she spells favourite with a "u" all classy-like.)

And thank you so much to Bebe Cannelle for the fantastic shout-out!

Aw, geez. What now?

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Fri, 29 May 2009 16:00:00 +0000

In the wake of newly gathered intelligence...

...Casa de Lefler's threat level is raised from yellow to orange.

I guess we should be thankful Gomez doesn't own a two-subject notebook.

Is It Summer Yet? (Please?)

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 20 May 2009 23:00:00 +0000

Let's Go Surfin' NOW!

Yes, it's that time of the ~~month~~ year again, when thoughts turn to sunshine, vacations and lazy afternoons spent in ~~traffic school~~ the backyard hammock with a good ~~buzz~~ book.

That's right - summer is almost upon us and I can't wait!

As many of you know, 2009 has gone down around here about as smoothly as pea gravel pancakes and we're ready to wave bye-bye to spring, no matter how many flushes it takes.

How about you? Not sure? Well, then, take the highly scientific and statistically airtight LJKGW Summer Vacation Aptitude Test for instant results guaranteed to:

enlighten you on a couple things
confuse and/or disturb you about a few other things
delay that thing you don't want to do right now by 5-7 minutes

Okay, then. Those of you not already wearing floaties, put 'em on and let's jump in!

1. Your idea of the perfect summer vacation is:

a. So raging, it leaves you with blurred vision for a week.
b. Setting aside time to organize your closets and pantries and then getting a jump on next year's tax returns.
c. Described in two words: hand sanitizer.
d. Trapping and skinning small animals in rural Oregon and fashioning their pelts into custom harmonica slings.

2. How do you count down the days until summer?

a. By shooting out the neighbor's fence posts - one by one - with your new crossbow.
b. By cranking up the barbershop quartet and practicing your melon-balling 20 minutes per night so you'll be in top form to whip out those jaunty summer salads.
c. You try not to think about it and hope it just goes away.
d. By gradually eating a 15-pound slab of Gorgonzola - one slice each night - until it's all gone.

3. What is your favorite memory from a childhood summer vacation?

a. The time you and your siblings got to stay up all night and listen to the police scanner in the van while your parents were out "visiting" the Hell's Angels they met at the gas station.
b. The triumph of spending a summer at a Wyoming dude ranch without getting a single stain on your white Bermuda shorts.
c. The summer you caught mono and got to stay in your room for three months.
d. Gothic Rug-Hooking Camp in the Catskills.

4. (For those in the workforce) When you finish your last project or task before vacation, you typically:

a. Slip into the cubby under your desk, pop open the ol' cooler, and spend the rest of the afternoon singing your favorite Journey tunes into the business end of a longneck.
b. Scurry to your supervisor's office (preferably bearing a gift) and ask what else you might do to make his/her day more pleasant.
c. Hide in a bathroom stall until the workday is over.
d. Put on shimmering gold MC Hammer pants and strike the massive gong you keep behind your filing cabinet for that very purpose.

5. (For students) When you complete your last final, how do you mark the occasion?

a. If you could remember that, you could probably remember a lot of other stuff, too.
b. By pulling an all-nighter erasing any stray pencil marks you made in your textbooks during the school year.
c. By calling campus security and requesting that an officer escort you back to your dorm.
d. By helping neuter piglets over in the Veterinary Department.

6. What's the one thing you never take a summer vacation without?

a. Your lucky condom.
b. A typed, double-spaced itinerary, color-coded and cross-referenced for AAA ratings.
c. Anti-pickpocket wallet-sling. No, snakebite kit. You want to pick two, don't you?
d. Your ferret.

7. What was your worst summer vacation experience?

a. Trying to party in this motel room in Sioux City while they guy next door kept making weird honking noises and ratting you out to the manager.
b. Let's just say to call that woman a "concierge" was a complete misrepresentation.
c. Trying to get a decent night's sleep in this motel in Sioux City while the degenerates in the next room kept burning "incense" and triggering your asthma.
d. The time the guy in the white Bermuda shorts insulted your ferret.

8. If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go?

a. Laughlin, Nevada, Baby!
b. Civil War Reenactment Camp.
c. Do I have to go?
d. Three Mile Island.

SCORING YOUR TEST

If you answered mostly "a" - You are a Zen master and will likely outlive the rest of us.

If you answered mostly "b" - Get comfortable with the phrase "table for one." You're going to be using it a lot.

If you answered mostly "c" - ...BOO! [heh, heh] Sorry, couldn't resist.

If you answered mostly "d" - We're going to need to clamp this little tracking device to you. No worries - you won't even know it's there...

Bonus!
New Product Alert!

For your convenience this summer: A freestanding backyard hammock that doubles as an IUD!

What will they think of next...?

Thank you to TexasRed Books for the awesome sh out-out!

And thank you to Hammy over at The Blah-Blahs and the Yada-Yadas for this scrappy little number:

And That's How I Got This Little Twitch...

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 11 May 2009 12:00:00 +0000

...Right Here Under My Eye. See It?

THANK YOU to everyone for your sweet, supportive comments on the last post (regarding our unexpected family health crisis). My goodness, what a gift you lovely people are. We all appreciate your thoughts, wishes and prayers so much. (((Hugs.)))

Big thanks to Anna Liffen at A Storm in a Wine Glass for the unprovoked and unexpected shout-out she gave me in this post. Her blog is fantastic!

Thanks to Joanna at Applecrumbles for recommending LJKGW to her readers. Her blog makes me slobber (in a good way).

More thanks to Write from Karen for including my post "Curb Appeal" in her Blogger's Best Carnival for April 2009.

Thank you to Joppa Road for dedicating the Beatles tune "'Till There was You" to me. Dude, you picked one of my favs - thanks!

And thank you to the wonderful Pseudonymous High School Teacher (not to be missed!) for this delectable morsel:

Powerless Over Hash Browns: A Limerick

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Please forgive the short post, but I've had to go out of town suddenly to help with a family medical emergency. I hope to be home and back in the saddle very soon.

(As you can see from this morning's inspiration, if I keep stress-eating at the current rate, I will need a bigger mustache by the time you see me next.)

In the meantime, though, I wanted to send a humble thank you to BlogHer for selecting my recent post, "Wham. Bam. Mammogram," as BlogHer of the Week. I am truly honored.

A Potpourri, If You Will, Of Experiences

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 15:00:00 +0000

And How Was Your Weekend?

Don't get me wrong - mine wasn't bad. No, I wouldn't call it that. It was more like...well, let me put it this way:

When I was little, we had an annual carnival at my elementary school and one of the game prizes was called The Grab Bag. It was a pillow case, basically, and you could slink an arm down in there and pick your prize without seeing it. There was something about the mystery of not knowing what I'd pull out of that bag that made this prize my favorite.

(Do I still love being surprised by mysterious items in pillow cases? Not so much.)

Anyway, I'm still recovering from what I'd call a Grab Bag weekend, with each day presenting a fresh opportunity for me to plunge a twitching limb into the pillowcase of life and haul out a fresh, steaming experience to cherish forever...or at least until I can squeegee it off the windshield of my mind.

Friday: I Accidentally Eat A Flower

Friday night we're out to dinner for the first time with new family friends - lovely, civilized people on whom we hope to make a decent impression. Everything is going just fine until I take a bite of pasta and, when I start chewing, realize there's something floating around in my mouth that's not a member of the pasta family of foods.

Very suave-like, I glance down at my plate and see that, while there were formerly three little ornamental garnish flowers nestled against my ravioli, the head count now has dropped to two.

Play it cool, I tell myself. I can do this. I smile and nod along with the conversation as my molars clamp down on the intrepid daisy and it releases a stream of bitter flower venom in retaliation.

"Sounds like you've got a great vacation planned," I gasp at our friends and silently wonder if I can nonchalantly slip under the table on all fours, arch my back a couple dozen times and hork the blossom up without jeopardizing future dinner invitations.

Because, see, the thing about those little garnish flowers is this: on the plate they look all innocent and dainty like this...

But in your mouth, they are more like, um, this:

Saturday: I Am Traumatized By The Mail

I love getting the mail. It's just so...exciting. After all, "You may already be a winner!" Right?

Not this weekend.

Here's what I find when I skip down the steps with my little silver mailbox key:

What? Has my independence been confiscated? Am I going to have to somehow buy it back now, one compulsory orthopedic footwear purchase at a time?

I'm still reeling from this discovery when this falls out onto the driveway with a slap:

What the Buddy Ebsen is going on here? Wait a second, I know what this is! It's one of those catalogs that appears to be full of harmless sweaters, but actually contains jars of eye ointments with names like "Bag-Lift" and sexual aids marketed not by porn stars but by doctors.

What dark forces have conspired to rub my nose in my ~~mortality~~ ebbing youth in the sanctity of my own driveway? Which company sold me out? I swear, you buy one festive cheese log through the mail and suddenly the demographic gurus assume you're incontinent. Which is exactly what I almost become when this falls out of the catalog:

Sunday: A Trip And Fall Down Memory Lane

I pull out an old photo album to find a particular shot and end up flipping through all the pages with Morticia (not my daughter's real name).

Which is when she finds this photo (a Friday night in So Cal, circa early 80s) and dissolves into snorts of laughter:

(Granted, the uniform looks a lot more bad ass when I'm brandishing my clarinet. I love that blouse, though. Ironically, that's what I'm wearing when I eat the hateful flower at dinner Friday night. Funny how life works, huh?)

They say comedy = tragedy + time. Perhaps I should have given this photo a couple more years...?

Thank you to Tessa at An Aerial Armadillo for listing me as the person who makes her laugh until she's weak. What an amazing compliment from an amazing person! Thank you.

Thank you to Francies Fancies for the huge shout-out and link! Wow!

Thank you to Fragrant Liar for the Zombie Chicken Award! Get the cluck outta here!

And a huge thank you to everyone who's gone to the trouble to vote for our BlogHer Conference panel entitled "Dying is Easy, Comedy is Hard!" I'll let you know as soon as we find out whether we've made it on to the agenda. (Voting closes May 1.) We appreciate your support!

Our Man On The Inside

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 04:00:00 +0000

Well, That Explains Why The Hamper's Always Full

Do you ever wish you could get inside the head of the opposite sex (there are still only two, right?) and see first-hand how they think?

They say everyone has a masculine side and a feminine side. Well, after doing some in-depth research ~~for almost four minutes on Goog~~le, I've discovered that science has made great strides in locating these personality aspects within the psyche.

In fact, the technology now exists to isolate our masculine and feminine personas and actually pull them out as separate entities. Naturally, I'm very excited about this, and I'm even more excited to introduce to you my masculine side:

Chet.

Anna: Welcome, Chet.

Chet: Yo.

Anna: I'm so happy to finally meet you. I have so many questions about men!

Chet: Oh, here we go.

Anna: Is something the matter?

Chet: This is what you always do, isn't it? Talk and share, talk and share. If you don't mind my saying so, it's a tad stifling.

Anna: Wait, what?

Chet: Maybe I just want to exist, all right? Maybe I don't want to be "sharing" every moment of the day.

Anna: Did you just air quote me?

Chet: And here comes the feigned outrage. Man, you are so predictable. [shakes head]

Anna: Did Jon Bon Jovi put you up to this?

Chet: Oh, please. Don't drag that poor guy into this. You think it's easy for him? He's not really losing his hearing, you know. He's just sick of you trying out material on him all the time. That's why he pretends all he can hear is the neighbor's dachshund.

Anna: And you can just sense this, can you?

Chet: [examines his nails] A man knows.

Anna: Chet, you're supposed to be on my side. You're an aspect of me, remember?

Chet: You know, your possessive tendencies are more than a little unattractive. Don't even get Jon Bon Jovi started on that. [snorts]

Anna: Are you kidding me? I'm not taking this crap from someone wearing George Michael's old earrings.

Chet: Stop smothering! [gasps, clutches chest] I need some "me" time!

Anna: Is that a mullet?

Chet: I think you're forgetting that I've seen you try on swimsuits in fluorescent-lit dressing rooms.

Anna: [gasps, whispers] We do not speak of that. [sniffles]

Chet: Oh, great. [throws up hands] Here come the waterworks!

Please vote to put me and four very talented humor-blogging colleagues on the agenda for BlogHer 2009! Our panel is titled DYING IS EASY, COMEDY IS HARD and you can go to our voting page by clicking here:

Then, after you've registered with the BlogHer site, just click on the link at the top of the page that reads "I would attend this session." It looks like this:

There's no obligation - you're just voting to put us on the schedule.

Polls close May 1 and every vote makes a huge difference! Thanks SO MUCH for your support! (And thanks to everyone who's already voted!)

Thank you to Tessa at An Aerial Armadillo for the Renee Award. I am truly honored.

Two new blog friends just added to my blogroll: Tim at The Blue Frog Says... and Sarah at Notes from the Toilet Bowl. Thank you for the generous shout-outs!

Thank you to Wendy at On The Front Porch for the Zombie Chicken Award! (That slapping sound is my waddle flopping in appreciation...)

And, lastly, thank you to everyone who passed my mammogram post (below) along to friends or linked to it or shared it on Facebook. I can't tell you how much that means to me.

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 15:00:00 +0000

I Feel You Judging Me, Facebook

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I Am Oppressed By The Forces of Social Media

So...I finally joined Facebook.

(Please be my Facebook friend! Just search for me - I'm there, I swear! Wait, did that come across a little needy?)

Anyway...I finally joined Facebook and, um, not to put too fine a point on it, but...

Facebook hates me.

I know, it sounds like I'm being overly sensitive and childish, but Facebook started it!

How, you ask? With this little calling card:

Geez, you miss a week of lip-waxing and your whole gender's called into question.

Fine. I mark "her profile" and hit "Okay" and go on about my very important business of hearing about what people are having for lunch and whose child announced the arrival of stomach flu by spraying the inside of Mom's freshly detailed minivan with Spaghetti-Os like a human Gatling gun.

Then, next time I log in:

There it is again.

And the next time.

And the next time.

In fact, that same question pops up - and I answer it - for the next 3.2 million log-ins.

What I want to know is - is there some Facebook intern sitting there looking at the profile pictures and trying to figure out the ones that are, shall we say, "on the fence?" Or does their system scan the photos and electronically register facial hair and then compare it to the gender of the name?

And, more importantly, how can I get a job mocking Facebook profile pictures (because that job sounds awesome and right up my alley)?

So I keep logging in and answering the same question...until today. When I get this one:

Thank you to Lea Ann at Mommy's Wish List for including my "Smokey and the Bandit" post entitled "If the Bandit's Wrong, I Don't Want to be Right" in her blog!

Enlightenment Sounds Like A Lot Of Work

whatsupwithanna@gmail.com (Anna Lefler) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 23:00:00 +0000

If I'd Known It Was A Meditation CD, I Wouldn't Have Played It While Driving All Night To Flagstaff

As may be apparent, I am a spiritually rudderless person. I know this about myself.

But it's cool. Why? Because I'm looking into it.

Yep, that's me out in the backyard, standing on a webbed lawn chair with my dinosaur floatie and peering into the rusty, above-ground pool that is my soul.

(And while we're on the subject, I don't need a magical third eye in my forehead to see that not everyone is showering off before jumping in there and splashing around, all right? You know who you are.)

Anyway, as you might suspect, a comprehensive discussion on the subject of spiritual enlightenment would take almost an hour to write and could easily fill three pages. And seeing as how some of the broads from my new meditation group are coming over in twenty minutes to play beer pong, that's just not going to happen.

Besides, I've only just launched my quest for enlightenment, so I'm thinking that for now I will instead share a few of my initial questions and observations as I set out on this exciting and probably expensive journey.

For those of you who also are interested in taking this ~~walk along the lonely street of dreams~~ (wait, that's a Whitesnake song) step onto the path toward a shinier, bouncier and more manageable consciousness, hopefully my questions will echo some of your own.

~~Like A Drifter I Was Born To Walk Alone~~
(Dammit, there's that song again)

A Few Starter Questions

If I manifest massive amounts of wealth, say, in my room with the door locked, do I also need to manifest tax-reporting documents to go with them?
If my consciousness is raised, will it pull other parts of me up with it?
What's with all those jackets that don't have collars?
So, the deal is that I raise my consciousness, then I recruit others to raise other people's consciousnesses and I get a percentage, right? No?

~~Hangin' On The Promises...~~
(Stop that!)

What I've Learned So Far (after watching almost half of a Deepak Chopra DVD)

We are one with everything and everyone. (And he's not kiddin' around, either - he means everyone.)
We are the eyes of the universe looking at itself. (Ummm...okay, I've got nothin'.)
There is no need to fear death. (This is right where I stopped the DVD, but I'm pretty sure the next thing he's going to say is, "Once you're dead.")
There is no distinction between the body and the mind. (I will now hypnotize myself into having firm thighs.)

Can you smell the enlightenment? Because I sure can.

Yes, I know, I've only just scratched the surface and I've got a long way to go, but ~~here I go again on my own~~ Oh, for cryin' out loud!

~~Going down the only road I've ever known~~
This is a serious topic you know!

~~Like a drifter I was born to walk alone~~
That was a cool video, though.

~~An' I've made up my mind~~
Tawny Kitaen dancing on the hood of that car, remember?

~~I ain't wasting no more time~~
I miss the 80s. All that hair.

But here I go again...

Three words: Brand. New. Blog. Brought to you by Blogtations, In Three Words has now launched. It's all about describing things in just three words. Like your childhood. (So. Long. Ago.) Or your first kiss. (Hold. The. Phone.) Intrigued? Me, too!

And thank you to The Retired One over at The Retirement Chronicles for this pretty package: