Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder.

Daily Affirmation #FAIL

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Thanks. I Got It.

I love the uplifting app I started using January 1, but this particular entry makes me more tired than inspired:

Yes. I know.

It comes with being a parent.

I Am a 12-Year-Old Boy

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

And Here's the Proof

Ever since Morticia and Gomez (my children) introduced me to Ragestache, I've been obsessed with it.

Then again, I still convulse with snort-laughs every time I see the opening UPS-guy scene of "Ace Ventura." (When did that movie come out? 1994? EVERY TIME.)

After laughing at so many comics on the site, I had to try my hand at making one of my own. (Thankfully, this kind of "me, too!" crap only crops up occasionally and not, for instance, when I'm sitting on the sofa watching NASCAR or Olympic Greco-Roman wrestling. (Okay, it happens with NASCAR.)

Anyway, I made a comic and I'm sharing it with you because we're tight like that. I hope it gives you a giggle. It may also explain why I'm not on as many school committees as I used to be.

And now that I'm done playing, I need to go do my pre-algebra homework and take a bath. (Awww, man, no fair!)

If you can't see the liquid awesomeness flowing above, click this link.

[ARGH - It doesn't fit in my column no matter what I do. Just click on it to see it full-size at the site. Sorry about that.]

Wake Up and Smell the Adhesive Brassiere

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Or: The Lies Our Undies Tell Us

Over the holiday break, I gave my clothes closet a thorough ~~exorcism~~ cleaning. (Yes, I'm fun like that.)

It was during these excavations that I unearthed this item:

Or, more specifically, this item:

Also known as THIS ITEM:

I know. What. The. H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks?

I was so thrown by this discovery that I had to collapse onto a heap of discarded leg warmers and bootleg bikini bottoms to regroup.

I had no memory of buying this marvel of modern engineering, but (as I was relatively certain it belonged to me and not my husband) clearly I had.

The question was why? I examined the item, turning it over in my hands. I could not have made a discovery more disconnected from my real life if I'd unearthed a UFO's tailpipe in my Zen garden. (Hey, I could have a Zen garden. Don't assume.)

Yet here was the fleshtone evidence that, at some point in the last 5-9 years, I had considered myself a stick-on, anti-gravity, bra-in-a-box kind of person. Really? During which typical activity had I imagined strapping on this bad boy? Grocery shopping? Opening doors in the school carpool line? Whitening the tile grout around the shower head?

It just didn't seem like me. Perhaps I had suffered some kind of psychotic break one day while waiting for the kids' swim lessons to wrap up. (Now that I thought about it, that would explain a lot of things.)

Think, Anna. Think.

And then I heard it.

The voice was smooth. Authoritative yet inviting. The voice was seductive.

You can wear it when you go dancing.

"Who's there?" I said, looking around the closet.

Or when hosting an impossibly chic dinner party.

"A what?"

You could wear something slinky...strapless, even, the voice purred.

"Well, that doesn't really fit my-"

Why not? Who says you have to give up sexy, grown-up activities just because you've fallen into a bit of a rut?

"I wouldn't call it a rut, it's just that-"

So you're done? Done with things like dancing? It's going to be jeans and t-shirts from here on out?

"Well, no...I'm not saying that, exactly. It's just that these days my lifestyle is more-"

Do you see what it says on the box? "For the modern woman." Are you saying you're not a modern woman?

"Hey! I'm plenty modern!"

So what's holding you back?

"Well..."

Why not make plans to go dancing this weekend? I can see it now: lights flashing, music thumping, you in a fabulous strappy cocktail dress.

"Really? What color is it?"

Um, let's say blue.

"Blue," I pondered this for a moment. "I like blue."

See?

"Is my hair doing that flippy thing it only does when I've been to the salon?"

Why, yes, it is, Ms. Modern Woman. So...what do you say? Are you ready to embrace your sexy, festive new lifestyle?

Just then my husband stepped into the closet. "Hey, you're talking to yourself again. Have you seen my car keys?"

*sigh*

At least now I knew how I'd ended up buying it.

I Have to Share With You...

"A Defining Moment for Women"

This is the title of a wonderful ar ticle by Heidi Stevens of the Chicago Tribune, who interviewed me last week about The CHICKtionary. Ms. Stevens really "got" the book and I was thrilled when this piece ran shortly afterward.

"At the Intersection of Funny and Feminism"

The Chicago Tribune piece inspired an article on the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop website that touches on Erma's thoughts on what will apparently be an eternal public debate about a woman's "place" in the world of humor.

Believe it or not, this debate is just as lively today as it was in Ms. Bombeck's heyday, a fact that (ironically?) I find quite amusing.

Things to Do in 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

...Or Not.

After extended deliberation, I have compiled my annual list of actions to make the upcoming year extra-awesome.

Note: Over the years, I've found it helpful not to include overreaching items such as "Be a nice person" and "Live within budget." No one tells you this, but these kinds of vague, pie-in-the-sky goals are basically impossible to achieve.

(I can tell you from personal experience that it's a real buzzkill to wake up on January 3rd only to realize you've already blown items 1-14 on your yearly to-do list. Let's just say some lessons were learned.)

Anyway, I'm happy to share my 2012 list with you, and feel free to peel a few items off for yourself!

Here goes:

In 2012, I will:

...bring back the phrase "in full effect." For example, when dinner is ready, I will say something like, "The tuna noodle casserole is in full effect."

...perform a set of lunges thrice a day - at 9:00, noon, and 4:00 - no matter where I am.

...use the word "thrice," like, all the time.

...perform some kind of community service. And, by the way, just because it's court-ordered doesn't mean I'm not feelin' it.

...do my best when either of my children says, "Guess what?" not to respond with "Chicken butt!"

...get that thing with the stuff looked at.

...knock off the flute jazz.

There you have it, folks - wish me luck!

In the meantime, I wish each and every one of YOU a happy, healthy and prosperous new year.

And, as always, thank you for stopping by here week after week - that truly means the world to me.

Cheers!

Lefler Holidaytastic Reloaded

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Because the Jingle Never Dies

In the spirit of keeping the blogosphere green, I am recycling a ~~disturbing~~ holiday video post from last year.

And also, after watching Morticia do spin control after it went viral at her middle school (long story), I couldn't resist giving it another whirl this season. Heh.

And so, with this sketchy offering, I wish each and every one of you a plush, sequin-covered, unicorn-fresh holiday of your choosing!

If you can't see ye olde video, please click here.

Opening Doors

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 19:00:00 +0000

I spent some time a few weeks ago in the Portland International Airport - or PDX, as we world-savvy travelers refer to it. (Okay, I admit it. I just learned that abbreviation.)

Through a series of miscalculations (mostly having to do with the fact that I live in Los Angeles and am used to allowing an extra hour or two for traffic snarls), I ended up at the airport three and a half hours before my flight home was due to depart.

Oh, great, I thought as I staggered out of the security line and found a bench where I could put my shoes back on, slip my belt back through the loops on my jeans and cram my laptop back into its slot in my briefcase. Now I get to spend the afternoon in a molded plastic chair, listening to some self-important businessman bark into his cell phone while the person on the other side of me coughs on my shoulder.

Boy, was I wrong.

Ten minutes later, I was settled into a window-side table in the pleasantly cavernous main lobby of the terminal, sipping a steaming Starbucks triple latte as my laptop gorged on free WiFi. Nearby, a lithe young woman tinkled away on a grand piano, accompanying herself as she sang in what turned out to be a lovely voice. (She was overly partial to those soul-crushing Adele songs, but still – the girl could sing.)

As I sat back under my indoor cafe umbrella and watched the late afternoon sky outside begin to color, it occurred to me that I’d been on vacations that were less relaxing than my current circumstances.

I began to unclench, to catch my breath, to reflect.

That morning, I had done my first television talk show appearance to promote my book – on the local morning program “AM Northwest.” I had flown up the night before in order to be at the studio at 8:30 am (another appointment for which I was ridiculously early thanks to my LA conditioning).

Overall, it had been a lovely experience and well worth the trip. The folks at the station were warm and gracious, as were the show’s hosts. In the green room, I made friends with other guests: a woman who specializes in taking photographs of pets, a local dentist, and a journalist/author who just released a book on the infamous D.B. Cooper. We shared coffee in paper cups and conversation in varying degrees of nervousness.

Before airtime, the producer walked me through the studio to the set, showing me where I would sit and explaining how it would all work. A few minutes before my segment, one of the assistants instructed me to run the mic cord up under my sweater so she could clip it on the neckline.

Before I knew it, my portion of the show was over and I found myself back in the green room. There on the monitor was my new friend the pet photographer, sitting in the chair I’d just vacated and critiquing someone’s photo of an oddly washed-out Labrador. (Turns out you should never use your flash when taking pet shots. Who knew?)

The day’s TV experience – my first – was over. I had managed to talk with logical progression, to make the people in the booth laugh (the hosts are pretty much required to laugh, but the people in the booth – that’s authentic), to get my message points about my book across and – most importantly – not to throw up on myself on live television.

Mission accomplished.

The CHICKtionary is my first published book and so this is my first marketing push for my own work. In my previous life, I worked in public relations and marketing, but when the product is yourself, it’s a whole different experience.

For most of this year, I have been cloistered in my office at home, writing. Writing writing writing. And editing. And more editing. (You’ll notice that the word “housekeeping” is conspicuously absent from this paragraph. The less said about that the better.)

The transition from the solitude of the creative process to the “Hey, look at me!” blare of the promotions process has been an interesting one so far. I find that, although I consider myself an extrovert, I can only be all the way out of my shell for short bursts of time before I need to retract and recharge for the next round. I first became aware of this when I was doing standup comedy, but I didn’t realize it would be the case for less-extreme types of exposure as well.

From the creation of this book through its current launch, this has been a year of unintentional learning about myself – a process which I expect to continue. I never thought of myself as a person who would be spending time in a green room or smiling into the dark, round eye of a television camera. It’s rare for me to travel without my family, but in the last two weeks, I've made solo trips to Northern California, Phoenix and New York City - and I've got another one this weekend to Indianapolis (see below). I find myself handing postcards about my book to people I barely know, like salesclerks and cab drivers.

None of these things “feel” like me, yet here I am.

And there I was in the Portland airport, watching the sun sink over the Alaska Airlines plane I would soon board for the trip home, thinking about the many doors I had passed through – and would be passing through in the coming weeks – all of which were opened by those months spent alone in my office…writing, writing, writing.

The Bob & Tom Show

I'm very excited to announce that on Monday, December 19 I will be live in studio in Indianapolis with Bob & Tom on their nationally syndicated radio show which runs 6am - 10am EST. (Here's how to find your local station.)

It's going to be fun and funny and wicked cool and I'm already freaking out about what to wear. (Yes, I know it's radio, but you can hear plaid.)

I hope you can tune in!

I Love the Smell of Frankenword in the Morning

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 21:00:00 +0000

Shoebris

I love Frankenwords – new words that are created by mashing together parts of existing ones. I love it even more when I am present at the birth of one of these little monsters, such as this one:

Shoebris, noun (shoe + hubris) - Extreme pride in one’s ability to repair shoes.

Here’s how it happened:

Recently, I bought two pairs of boots, both of which were so slick on the bottoms that they were like wearing stiletto buttered banana peels.

“You’re going to need non-skid soles,” the salesman said as I bear-hugged the full-length mirror, feet churning for traction on the marble floor. He recommended a shoe repair store in Beverly Hills, just a few blocks away.

The air in the store had the tang of shoe polish mixed with the yeasty scent of leather. Behind the wooden counter were rows of shoes with tags tucked into them. I was fascinated by the variety of footwear on display – the formal, the utilitarian, the hammered, the flamboyant, the sexually ambiguous.

As I scanned the rows, a startlingly petite elderly woman appeared behind the counter. She wore an outfit that appeared to be made entirely of lightweight black sweaters, including the slacks. Her wispy, silver/blonde hair was held in a small clip.

She did not smile.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Hi.” I began to pull the first pair of boots from their box. “I just bought these and –”

“You will need the rubber.”

“I’m sorry?” I said, looking up from the boot.

“For not slipping.” She reached below the counter and pulled out a thin piece of textured rubber, slapping it on the wood like a butcher discarding inferior bologna.

“Yes,” I said, staring at the flap and trying to place her accent. It was vaguely Eastern European, but as my knowledge of that part of the world is based entirely on spy movies, I categorized it as “James Bondian.”

She watched me pull the other pair of boots from their box. Without breaking eye contact, her hand whipped out of sight and – slap! – another piece of rubber landed on the counter, this one a perfect match for the camel color of the boot’s sole.

“This will do, yes?” She cocked her eyebrow, daring me to reject the flap.

“Um, sure.” Didn’t she ever blink? I began tucking the boots back into the layers of tissue as she observed me, her eyeballs no doubt parching with the passing seconds.

She reached for a pad of thick yellow tickets and a ballpoint pen. “Name?”

“Anna…” I began.

“Phone number?”

I gave her the number. “Don’t you want my last name?” I wasn’t signing over the deed to my vacation home in Gstaad, but they hadn’t exactly been giving those boots away, either.

She looked up from the pad. She said nothing, but seemed to be considering my question. Finally, she replied. “I will take first letter of last name.”

After writing an elaborate L on the ticket, she placed the pen on the counter. The she folded her hands across the ticket and studied my face without speaking.

What was this? Was there some element of the transaction I had overlooked? I ran through the process in my mind again to be sure, but it seemed pretty straightforward to me: retail tradition dictated she needed to give me that yellow ticket and then I needed to leave.

She cocked her head five degrees to the left, eyes narrowing. “You are living in Beverly Hills?” She hit the first syllable hard. BEVerlyhills.

“No, um, I live in Santa Monica.”

“Pffft.” She looked away, then back again. “Where you take shoes in Santa Monica?” She said the town’s name with the same inflection that often accompanied the word “gonorrhea.”

“Ah, you know, I don’t remember. I guess I don’t have a regular place.”

She named several shoe repair stores, none of which were familiar to me. At which point I realized that I was being interviewed. Interviewed as a potential boot-leaver. And I don’t know what this says about me, but I very much wanted the job.

“I have a confession to make,” I said with an ingratiating laugh that came out like bronchitis. “I probably don’t give my shoes the attention they deserve.”

Tell me something I don’t know, her expression telegraphed. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “You must understand that Excelsior is the best at repairing shoes.” She paused, then seemed to remember something. “And by best I do not mean BEVerlyhills. I mean WHOLEcountry.”

“Of course!” I said. “That is what the shoe salesman said, too.” I eyed the ticket under her fingers. Had I passed the oral test?

“You tell this Santa Monica person the name Excelsior, he will know my store.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m never going back there again!” I considered spitting on the floor for emphasis.

She tore the ticket from the stiff little pad. “Anna L.,” she said and held it out to me. “It was pleasure meeting you.” I took it and smiled. “You will be exceptionally pleased with the work,” she said and folded her hands on the counter once more. “No doubt.”

“None at all!” I said and tucked the ticket out of sight in my inside purse pocket. “Thank you very much!” I waved goodbye and within seconds was back on the Beverly Hills sidewalk, an odd sense of triumph bubbling in my chest.

I was in, I thought. In at Excelsior!

[Note: the name of the store has been changed to protect myself...and my boots, which won’t be ready until Saturday.]

Just a Reminder...

I'll be signing (and reading from) The CHICKtionary this Monday, December 12 at 7:00 pm at the Barnes & Noble on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. (I'll be the one who's bloated from all those honey roasted nuts on the plane.)

And...

I'll also be on Jane Pratt's Jane Radio on Sirius on Monday at Noon (EST). The show is run several times during the week, so there are multiple opportunities to catch it!

NYC Book Signing 12/12 - Now With Mannix!

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 19:00:00 +0000

Who Knew?

It's always a thrill to discover that someone likes your work, and it's doubly so when that person is endowed with the sheen of TV celebrity.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was to learn that Mannix is a diehard CHICKtionary enthusiast!

Oh, you don't believe me? Well, then, allow me to direct you to the irrefutable photographic evidence below:

Mannix reaches for The CHICKtionary with a knowing look.

Mannix battles his way to the bookstore men's room
with his copy of The CHICKtionary tucked safely
into the pocket of his shiny rayon slacks.

And there you have it.

So let's hope (fingers crossed!) that the Man(nix) himself will make an appearance at the upcoming NYC signing at Barnes & Noble on December 12th at 7:00 pm!

Then again, maybe it's better if he doesn't show, because that way we can skip the whole paparazzi crush and there will be plenty of seats available for YOU!

Which Barnes & Noble, you ask? Why, it's the luxurious, holiday-scented and fully modern building located at 82nd and Broadway!

Oh, I can't wait to see you guys there - and thanks in advance for coming out!

In the meantime, here's a little something I've been obsessed with for days now. Feel free to sing along...and see you Monday night!

In Defense of Immaturity

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Or: I Know You Are, But What Am I?

I’ve never been a fan of numbers. Don’t get me wrong – I love math and always have. No, it’s the practice of attaching a number to everything that makes me squirm. And, beyond that, giving those numbers significance, as if they have irrevocable power over us.

I say fight the power! They’re just numbers, after all. And, in my opinion, this goes double for the number most likely to mash you under its quantitative thumb: your age.

What is this voodoo that the digits do, anyway? It seems that as you approach the end of your twenties, each age is laden with some kind of meaning, especially the ones that end in zero and five. And, I think for most people, that meaning is negative.

I remember years ago when one of my girlfriends mentioned that she had started wearing a heart monitor to the gym. “Why, is something wrong?” I asked, startled. “No,” she replied and looked at me as though I were being dense. “But now that we’re in our thirties, we can’t be too careful.”

I could have pinched her head off, I was so disgusted. What kind of attitude was this? And what accessory would she be sporting the next time we met for coffee – a walker? I was 32 at the time, and I remember thinking, I don’t know which thirties you’re in, but they’re sure not the thirties that I’m in!

Looking back now from my perch in my mid-forties, her comment seems even more ridiculous. More than a decade later, it would never occur to me to strap on a heart monitor for a routine workout, any more than I would consider asking someone to drive me to the store to do my weekly marketing. The more I think about it, my approach to life, health and, well, pretty much everything hasn’t changed much in the last 25 years.

Why? Because I’m totally immature.

Now, before you tsk-tsk, let me say that I pay the bills on time, floss every morning and night and keep my children’s vaccinations strictly up to date. I’m not irresponsible, I’m immature. There’s a diff.

Wondering if you’re immature, too? Ask yourself these questions: In the last six months, have you quoted a line from “Wayne’s World” to the grocery store cashier? When you stop at a red light, do you see other drivers looking around, trying to locate the source of the thumping bass? Have you ever taught the other moms at the PTA meeting how to make that armpit-fart sound?

If you answered yes to any of the above, then congratulations! You, too, are in complete denial about your biological age. And, while I’m not typically a fan of denial, this particular type is, as Martha Stewart would say, “a good thing.” After all, what’s the alternative - embracing some kind of personality or outlook shift that is “supposed to” accompany your age? (There’s that pesky number again, bossing everyone around.)

No, I’m not willing to stifle or snuff out aspects of myself to fit some prefab set of age-appropriate expectations; that would feel fake. And, while I will go to my grave with my authentic gray hairs masked under a layer of artificial salon color, the notion of acting fake is simply unacceptable.

I should warn you, though, that being your authentic immature self when you are, in fact, mature (chronologically, at least), can make your peers uncomfortable. They will let you know it, too, with words like “crazy” and “silly.” (I get that a lot.) Once they see that they aren’t dissuading you from eating a jumbo box of Junior Mints while perfecting your Dougie, however, they usually lose interest and go back to reading the Wall Street Journal or oiling the teak patio furniture or whatever it is that emotionally mature people do.

It’s cool.

In my opinion, the point is that we should all be ourselves throughout the decades without regard to any stereotypical notion of how a person should behave in their forties, fifties or beyond. In my case, for better or worse, part of that package is the irresistible urge to applaud when someone drops a plate in a restaurant. You, too? Well, come on over and pull out a chair. You’re always welcome at my lunch table.

Two Bay Area Appearances This Week

I'm excited to say that I will be in Northern California later this week and will be reading/signing books at two outstanding independent bookstores. If you're in the area, I hope you'll stop by so we can chat it out in person. (And who knows? There might be a free foot sander in it for you...)

Thursday, December 8 - 7:00 pm
A Great Good Place for Books
6120 LaSalle Avenue - Montclair Village
Oakland, CA 94611

Friday, December 9 - 7:00 pm
Book Passage
51 Tamal Vista Boulevard
Corte Madera, CA 94925

(NYC-area friends: I'll be at the Barnes & Noble on the Upper West Side - 82nd & Broadway - next Monday evening 12/12 at 7:00 pm. More about that later this week!)

And: I've Suspected This All Along

My very talented and funny friend Robin O'Bryant's new book KETCHUP IS A VEGETABLE: AND OTHER LIES MOM TELL THEMSELVES is out! It's already hit an Amazon Kindle bestseller list and the 5-star reviews are racking up all over the place. But don't take my word for it:

"A book about motherhood that will make you nod with recognition, while simultaneously reminding you to schedule a hysterectomy." -Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess

Robin is graciously giving away a copy of KETCHUP IS A VEGETABLE to a lucky LJKGW reader! Simply leave a comment before 5:00 pm PST this Friday 12/9 to enter the random drawing.

Congrats, Robin! I can't wait to read the copy I just bought...

My Blog Away From Blog

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Or: A Smallish Open House

One of the things I've always wanted to do on the Web is ~~open a mail-order meat business~~ have a real website. Nothing too fancy, of course, just a nice two-bedroom ranch-style with a good climbing tree in the front, mirror-foil wallpaper in the powder room and a nice, long driveway for roller skating.

This summer, after much searching, I finally found the little place of my dreams. It's on a cul-de-sac over near the middle school in that neighborhood with all the trees (the ones that drop those sticky blossom things that stain the hood of your car).

Of course, it wasn't exactly in move-in condition. Oh, yes, there was work to be done, so I spent several months making the place "feel like me." Nothing major, just adding a water feature in the breakfast nook, installing an electrified perimeter fence and building a custom platform for my submarine-themed waterbed.

You know, the usual.

Then, after completing that work, moving all my stuff in and finally getting settled, I forgot to tell you that the place even existed. I know: LAME.

So, in the spirit of better-late-than-never, I'm officially inviting you all over to check out my new pad:

www.annalefler.com

In case you're wondering whether I'm giving up the lease on this sweet patch of Internet turf (a.k.a. the LJKGW doublewide), fear not! Nothing will change here and, for better or worse, you can expect the same "quality" posts as always, delivered into your mailbox or RSS feed at intervals that may appear to be sporadic but are actually super-strategic and calculated to the fifteenth decimal point.

No, the new place is more of a repository of my writing and comedic pursuits - a literary Death Star, if you will, to which all of my posts and essays scattered throughout the Webosphere can be called home and to whom they owe ultimate allegiance. (I don't know what that means, either, so let's just move on, shall we?)

Anyway, you can find lots of stuff in the new place, including:

* A second blog, called "Bride of Frankenword," which is more on the writing side of things

* A schedule of upcoming appearances and events

* Links to favorite essays

* Some standup videos and videos of readings

* Nude photos (It's true! Underneath my clothes I am completely nude - go see for yourself!)

Anyway, you're welcome to stop by and, to sweeten the deal, I just opened a fresh can of dip.

(I'm also willing to act like I don't know you're rifling through the medicine cabinet when you use the facilities.)

See you over there - you can park in the driveway!

Fresh-Baked Posts

The book blog tour for The CHICKtionary is going strong! This week I have two brand-new guest posts coming out:

Thursday, December 1 - The lovely ladies who run "Chick Lit is Not Dead" asked me to write about my "5 Loves and a Dud." So I did.

Friday, December 2 - "Silver and Grace" will publish my guest post about immaturity. (Spoiler alert: I'm in favor of it.)

The Devil Wears Mom Jeans

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 14:00:00 +0000

That's the Title...

...of the guest post I have up over at the amazing Scary Mommy's place today. (Thank you so much for having me, Jill!)

I hope you'll click over there and read it and - while you're there - read about Jill's jaw-dropping spontaneous outreach effort that raised more than $20,000 to provide Thanksgiving dinners for families in need. I said she was amazing, right?

Also...

Thank you to KATU-TV's "AM Northwest" morning talk show for having me as a guest on Monday. I had the best time talking with Helen and Dave about some of the words in The CHICKtionary and assuaging Dave's worries that he might have ladybutt. (No worries, Dave. You're good.)

You can see a clip of the segment here.

And cheers to you, Portland!

But Most Importantly...

I hope that, when you take time to consider your blessings on this weekend's holiday, you discover that there are too many to list. I know that when I think about the things in my life for which I'm grateful, you will be among them.

Sending huge Thanksgiving hugs to each and every one of you!

Now go tie on that feedbag and, this year, really put your back into it!

When Will the Doughnuts Be Ready?

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 19:00:00 +0000

And Why Won't They Unlock the Doors?

Before becoming a mother, I was not a morning person. Okay, that’s an understatement. Before becoming a mother, I soaked up every hour of sleep I possibly could, fiercely guarding those precious moments of early-morning slumber before the alarm clock would force me to crack open my crusty eyelids and face the workday at the ungodly hour of, say, 7:15.

The situation was more extreme in my teens. Without effort, I could sleep in on the weekends until 3:00 pm, at which point my dad would stomp in, snap open the blinds and announce, “Enough is enough!” Having grown up in a farming family whose early-to-rise ethics verged on marsupial, he was deeply offended by my lack of interest in making hay – or even a peanut butter sandwich – while the sun shone.

In college, I lived like a nightclub owner, staying up until the wee hours most every night, knowing that I would recoup my REM losses the next morning. On those few occasions when I had no choice but to take an 8:00 am class, the excruciating morning reveille would disturb my entire week, turning me into a cranky, scatterbrained wreck – someone who, now that I think about it, bears striking resemblance to the person I am today. (All hail the circle of life! Hakuna Matata!)

Much later, after years of working in an office under what I thought was a crushing regime of having to be at my desk by 9:00-ish (the sleep enthusiast quickly learns the value of “-ish”), motherhood arrived. Within a week, my circadian rhythms were crouched in the corner of the laundry room, weeping and tugging at their eyebrows. By week two, they had moved out altogether, leaving me to face the patchwork 24-hour days in typical, punch-drunk, new mom fashion.

And, although it seemed the milky netherworld of new-babydom would be my home forever, things stabilized and at some point I found myself – for the most part, anyway – awake when it was light out and asleep when it was dark.

Fast forward to the near-present (earlier this year), when to my immense happiness and excitement, the book deal for The CHICKtionary materialized. The publisher envisioned this book as an ideal holiday gift, which meant it needed to be written on an aggressive timetable in order to be in stores in time for the seasonal shopping spike.

“Can you do this?” my agent asked.

“Yes!” I responded without pause with the word that has gotten me into more than a few hundred challenging situations in recent decades. In the words of the immortal Tim Gunn, I would “make it work.” [Note: Tim Gunn also said, “I’m troubled by your jumpsuit,” a phrase which, although I have not yet had occasion to use, I no doubt will in the near future.]

Once I knew the exact parameters of the project, I was forced to do one of my least favorite things: pull out a calculator and make a plan. A plan with numbers on it. As someone who gauges correct inflation pressure by how poufy the tires look, this process caused some discomfort, particularly when the cold, hard data came in. (That’s the thing about numbers – they have no “-ish.”)

There was no way around it. In order to finish the manuscript by the deadline, I was going to have to carve out extra writing time, and plenty of it. But from where? I already spent the child-free portion of my day writing, and once they were home from school, it was a breathless sprint through homework, dinner, baths and assorted domestic crises. Where was this “extra” time stashed?

Perhaps I could slack off the housework. This, of course, begged the question: could I phone it in any more than I already did? Doubtful. What about cooking? I wasn’t sure about this, but I had the nagging feeling that, before I could back away from that activity, I would have had to embrace it in the first place.

I was running out of options.

And then it hit me. I was going to have to [gulp] sleep less. As in get up earlier. What madness was this? There had to be another way. I smacked the calculator buttons again. And again. There was no arguing with these…these numbers.

That night I sat on the edge of my bed and watched the LED digits of my alarm clock roll over to their new set point: 5:00 am. I winced. Surely nothing good ever happened at that hour.

And so began my seven-day-a-week ritual of rising before the sun, brewing a giant cup of scary-tough coffee and settling at my desk to try and be funny, all while doing a very convincing Bride of Frankenstein impression. I won’t say I was grace under pressure, especially that first week. One of the nice things about being up before the rest of the household, though, is that no one hears you cuss.

After a little while, my body grudgingly acclimated to the new schedule and I got into a bit of a groove. I began to (well, almost) savor the slice of morning time that was mine alone, and to (somewhat) enjoy watching the dawn light change through my office window. On my calendar was marked my deadline – the day after which I would reclaim my title of World’s Greatest Sack Hound.

The weeks passed, my word count grew and, just as the calculator predicted, the magical day arrived when I submitted my completed manuscript.

The next morning I woke at 4:30 am.

Whee, I thought, relishing the sensation of rolling over to slide back into blissful sleep. Hugging my pillow, I closed my eyes and waited, but instead of the downy tunnel back to dreamland, my mind’s eye produced a razor-sharp image of the to-do list sitting on my desk. What the hell? Go to sleep, I told myself, and was rewarded with an inventory of the items I was to gather for our school’s silent fundraising auction.

I flipped over and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, which I could not actually see because it was 4:30 in the friggin’ morning and the bedroom was as black as the inside of a sheepdog. I had heard of this before, I thought, raking a hand across my forehead. Morning people, they were called. The kind of folks who waited outside Dunkin’ Donuts, looking at their watches and stamping their sensible shoes until the first shift finally unlocked the door to start the day. At 5:00 am.

Stay cool, I told myself. It’s the first day off. You’re in transition. You’ll be able to sleep in tomorrow. Somewhere deep in my brain stem, however, I knew the truth.

I was broken.

Cut to: months later, present day. I have adjusted to my new lifestyle pretty well. Most mornings I slap the alarm off before it sounds and am padding around the kitchen by 5:15. Shortly after that, I’m at my desk, replying to emails and dipping into Twitter where my East Coast friends are already chirping away. (After a couple of frosty exchanges, I broke myself of the habit of calling local friends to share vital information from Facebook such as witticisms or warnings about computer viruses known to be going around.) By lunch, I’m on my third coffee and jonesing for a second wind. By 4:00 pm, I’m wondering if it’s too soon to slip into my jammies.

After all, it’s bedtime somewhere, right?

Speak Out Against Domestic Violence

You may have noticed the new "Speak Out" badge over in my sidebar. I learned about the Speak Out campaign from my blog friend Kristin at Wanderlust.

On November 18th, bloggers all over the world will post, tweet, share, and encourage people to “Speak Out” against domestic violence and provide direct links to domestic violence (DV) resources. The event date is strategically set to lead into International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women on Nov. 25.

I hope you'll take a moment to click over and learn more about the campaign and the ways you can participate. Thank you!

The Pumpkin Stays in the Picture

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 12:00:00 +0000

I grew up on television. (Shocking, I know.)

I grew up watching TV back when it consisted of a mere handful of channels. I watched on a medium-sized black-and-white screen that teetered on a rolling metal stand and atop which was perched a pair of wilted rabbit ears. One of the rabbit ears always had a tin foil appendage springing out from it at an impossible angle, giving the whole set-up the air of a feeble, irritable robot, doing its best to flip off our family with its lone, Reynolds-Wrap digit.

Of course, this TV had no remote. I had heard of TVs with remotes, but had never seen one. Certainly no one in my neighborhood had such a fancy rig. If you wanted to change the channel, you heaved yourself off the sofa, fought your way through a couple yards of shag carpeting and flipped the dial with an audible thunk. Of course, if the other channel was at commercial, you stood there and waited to find out what showing. As a result, one of the biggest factors that determined my young viewing habits was laziness. A show had to be really awful for me to go to the trouble of getting up and changing the channel, which explains why I still can quote large passages of dialogue from “The Rifleman.”

Once every so often, though, something magical would happen on that little screen in the family room. It always began with the urgent pounding of kettle drums, followed by a clarion crescendo of French horns. This fanfare heralded one thing and one thing only: A CBS Special Presentation. Everyone in the house would run to the family room like travelers responding to a airport gate change announcement.

Regular programming has been interrupted! Something is about to happen!

And, if it were about this time in October, the CBS Special Presentation was “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.”

From the downbeat of Vince Guaraldi’s signature score to the last “Good Grief,” it was the perfectly satisfying Halloween treat. It was for me, anyway. I sat each year on the floor in front of the TV, arms wrapped around my knees, absorbing every moment and nuance of the show until it became imprinted on me like a farmer on a duckling. Keep in mind, this was decades before the DVR. I got to see the show once a year. Period.

It sure stuck, though.

I watched it through elementary school’s jumpers and knee socks. I watched it through junior high’s breakouts and retainers.

“All I got was a rock,” Charlie Brown moans. I know how you feel, I think.

I watched it through two cross-country moves, during which we bought a new TV set and the Peanuts gang blossomed from shades of gray into color. I watched it through the heartbreaks and discoveries of high school, never failing to find comfort in Charlie Brown’s enlightened acceptance of the rock in the bottom of his trick-or-treat bag and his relentless refusal to believe that that was all he would ever find there.

Keep ringing those doorbells, Charlie Brown, I think. Maybe next year.

In my adult, pre-mommy years, the show became Halloween for me. If I got any trick-or-treaters at my West Los Angeles apartment, they were long-gone by the time I got home from work and dropped by briefcase inside the door. I could curl up on the sofa, though, and, through the miracle of my VCR, spend Halloween crouching among the vines with Linus and sharing his zealous hope that this was the year his pumpkin patch would be recognized as the most sincere.

Life has changed quite a bit since then, just as television has changed. We have hundreds of channels available and the technology to record multiple programs automatically then view them later at our leisure. Already my children have watched a number of Halloween programs – animated and otherwise – that they’ve harvested from the DVR.

The kettle drum and French horn fanfare that electrified my household in the 70s would be lost among the thumps and shouts of today’s crowded kid-show marketplace. That’s all right, though, because my children know that each year there will be one evening, very close to Halloween, when I will reach into the back of the closet and pull out the same, single DVD as the year before. Then, feeling very much like a kid myself, I will light a spooky candle, turn down the lamps and pull my children close to me on the sofa, so happy that my dear, old friends have become theirs as well.

Calls May Be Monitored...

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 15:00:00 +0000

...For Quality Assurance

As part of our ongoing commitment to customer service here at Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder, we are offering this intrepid [note to self: look up "intrepid" before hitting the publish button and make sure it means what we think it does] questionnaire in order to better ~~meet the unreasonable demands~~ address the ever-changing needs of today's aggressively chic and actively non-average LJKGW reader.

And so, we hope you'll take 35 a few minutes to complete this comprehensive and super-sensitive data-collection instrument that not only was designed by an outside consulting firm that totally gouged us on their bill but also has been guaranteed to soak you for all kinds of information you won't even realize you're divulging.

But enough about science! The bottom line is:

Your Opinion Matters!

Let's get started, shall we?

1. I have been a loyal LJKGW reader...
a. since the day I was born
b. since I was incarcerated
c. for almost 25 minutes
d. define "loyal..."

2. I discovered LJKGW...
a. in my grocer's freezer section
b. while scanning Craigslist for a used roto-tiller
c. hidden in the back of my teen's underwear drawer
d. during a routine self-examination

3. LJKGW is my primary source for...
a. hard-hitting investigative journalism
b. limericks
c. things to do while in Tulsa
d. simple exercises to tone and firm the buttocks

4. I think LJKGW should be published...
a. once a week
b. once a month
c. every hour on the hour
d. sporadically, to keep the element of surprise

5. My favorite thing about LJKGW is that...
a. the posts are exactly the right length for my Segway ride to work
b. it makes me feel...mighty real
c. I find the wood paneling oddly calming
d. once you pay off the initial membership fee, it's practically free!

6. My least favorite thing about LJKGW is that...
a. the crossword is too hard
b. it's always trying to "be funny"
c. the delivery boy throws it into my rain gutter
d. it often smells like Parmesan

7. In future editions of LJKGW, I would like to see more...
a. Esperanto folk songs
b. quick 'n easy desserts made from Vienna sausage
c. real-life adventures of "Dr." Betty Stanka - Self-Taught Podiatrist
d. guest posts from funnier bloggers

8. I would be interested in submitting a guest column on...
a. "A Relaxed Chicken is a Prolific Chicken"
b. "Overcoming Procrastination" (flexible deadline)
c. "The Ins and Outs of a Healthy Sex Drive"
d. "Poncho!"

9. Which potential Special Edition most appeals to you?
a. Millard Fillmore Exposed!
b. Iambic Pentameter Month
c. Oral Hygiene Essay Contest
d. Lint: The Silent Killer

10. Overall, I would describe LJKGW as...
a. vague
b. misguided
c. insouciant
d. moist

Thank you for your participation in our customer satisfaction survey!

We invite you to submit any additional suggestions or critiques in the specially designed "comment box" below.

In the meantime, you can take comfort in the knowledge that your responses will be logged, tabulated and ~~shredded~~ discussed at great length at the next meeting of the editorial advisory board in ~~Stuckey's~~ the LJKGW Memorial Conference Room.

YOU ARE MY ONLY Launches Tomorrow

The much-anticipated latest from Beth Kephart will be released tomorrow! YOU ARE MY ONLY is a taut psychological thriller that centers on the kidnapping of a young girl and artfully explores the themes of loss, imprisonment and freedom regained.

I've already pre-ordered the crap out of the book Kirkus Reviews calls "Intense and lovely" and Bookalicio.us describes as "A pint-sized powerhouse waiting to be devoured."

I can't wait to dive into this one!

The Official CHICKtionary Book Trailer!

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 17:00:00 +0000

(Yes, They Make Those Now)

I am so excited to share with you the premiere of the official book trailer for The CHICKtionary!

Filmed and directed by the amazing Lisa Rae Rosenberg (author of one of my all-time favorite blogs - Smacksy), and edited by the delightful Craig Vandeman (husband of another favorite - Lee Vandeman), this project was a blast from beginning to end.

(Well, it was for me, anyway. Come to think of it, the last few times I called those guys, it went straight to voicemail. Hmmm...)

Anyway - here it is!

[If you can't see the video player, just click here to be magically transported to YouTube Land.]

By the way, The CHICKtionary is now shipping from Amazon and Barnes & Noble and can be pre-ordered from IndieBound. The book will also be in stock at brick-and-mortar bookstores by Halloween. Spooky, huh?

Thanks for watching and I'll have information about events and appearances - and more! - in upcoming posts.

(Pssst... Don't worry, though - I promise I'll talk about other stuff, too. I mean blahblahblah, right? I get it.)

I Missed "Gunsmoke" for This?

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 17:00:00 +0000

(One of) My Secret Shame(s)

I'm a major listmaker. My lists can be found on the kitchen island, in the crevices of my purse, in drifts on my desk, even next to my bathroom sink. Lists help me get a grip and feel like I'm in some kind of control of the endless improv skit that is life here on earth.

So I was intrigued when I met the folks from SkinnyScoop.com this summer at BlogHer San Diego. (After I pelted them repeatedly with custom foot sanders, they finally came out from behind the escalator bank and talked to me.)

SkinnyScoop is a website made entirely of lists. (I know.) There are all kinds of "cheat sheets" there with things like recommendations for summer reads and activities for toddlers.

I ask you: who can resist information that is presented in bullet-point form? I sure can't.

Naturally, I was compelled to add my own, which I call "Ten Signs of an Impending Girls' Night Out FAIL":

Ten Signs of an Impending Girls" Night Out FAIL

Feel free to chime in, won't you?

[Hint: If you can't see the embedded list here, either hit the side of your monitor really hard OR click here.]

Also, for those of you who are wondering, this is not a sponsored post. I just think the list format is a lot of fun and lends itself quite nicely to le comedy. That's not to say, however, that I can't be bought. For the right amount, I'll direct you to my Swiss bank account, which - I recently discovered - is not located in Ohio, but rather some effing cold place in Europe.

Wanted: Marinka's New Book!

You heard that right: Marinka - of Motherhood in NYC fame - has written a book and it is now available. It's called WANTED: CAT and, even though my two (you heard me) copies have yet to arrive, I can say without hesitation that WANTED: CAT will rule.

Marinka's blog was one of the doorsteps I found myself shivering on when I first stepped off that Greyhound bus and onto the mean streets of the blogging world. She took me in, gave me a double latte with a slug of vodka in it and let me warm myself by the fire of her hilarious and singular comic voice.

Then, when I was a little stronger, she gently let me know it was time to move on by stabbing a small hole in my inflatable guest bed with a Bic pen.

As she waved goodbye from her stoop, she wished me luck with a traditional Russian blessing, although when I looked it up later, it seemed odd that a blessing would have the word "freeloader" in it.

Anyway, special times. *sigh*

Wait, where was I? Oh, right! Click on over to Marinka's brand-spanking new website to find out more about WANTED: CAT!

[Do not be dissuaded by the fact that, according to the Amazon page, people who viewed WANTED: CAT also viewed an apparently real book with the title Crafting with Cat Hair. After all, everyone knows that, in today's publishing marketplace, it's all about cross-selling!]

Are You Sure That Wasn't You?

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 00:00:00 +0000

Remember That Time...

...you did your Shirley Bassey impression onstage at The Hollywood Improv?

Heh. Man, you sure looked like a--

Wait...that was me.

(If you can't see the video clip, please click here.)

And...

Thank you to both Melinda L. Wentzel and Lisa Tognola for laying the Versatile Blogger Award on me! As they say in France, "ShaBAMsky!"

And (Part Deux)...

Here at the LJKGW corporate multiplex, we are gearing up for the insanely exciting festivities that the party planning committee has come up with to mark the forthcoming release of The CHICKtionary (known around the water cooler as "my book").

I hope you'll join us for these fun and decidedly non-educational activities, if only for the free crullers and deeply discounted massage-chair rates.

We're in countdown mode here, people! (Full disclosure: we're not sure of the exact date we're counting down to. Nevertheless - COUNTDOWN MODE!)

Everything I Need to Know About Life...

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 12:00:00 +0000

...I Learned From Gomez*

1. Do your research.
2. Keep a positive mental attitude.
3. Wear deodorant.

* Not my son's real name.

An Open Letter To Verizon Wireless

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 12:00:00 +0000

Dear Verizon Wireless,

I am writing to request that you expand the selection of ringtones available for your cellular phones.

Don't get me wrong - I appreciate the breadth and depth of of your current array of choices. Without question, you offer more options than any other wireless carrier to the discerning consumer seeking ringtones by the recording artist Lupe Fiasco.

Allow me to compliment you as well on your astounding inventory of barnyard sounds. Who knew donkeys were so moody...and so vocal about it?

That being said, I must admit that I'm having some difficulty finding a ringtone that expresses my lifestyle while seamlessly integrating into my daily routine.

You see, I rarely "flood the game like a giant in a dwarf's shorts" (as Mr. Fiasco would say), and it's also been a while since I spent the day lazily roaming my back yard, munching grass and braying.

That's simply not, as they say, how I roll.

Therefore, in an effort to help expand your collection of available ringtones, I've made a list of sounds that I believe would be worthy additions and which would meet the needs of others like me who seek their own particular clarion by which to, you know, represent.

Proposed Additions to the Verizon Wireless
Selection of Ringtones

Gas-Powered Leaf Blower

Out-of-Balance Washing Machine

Tween Son's/Daughter's Bedroom Door Slamming

Haunted/Gurgling Powder Room Toilet

Shouts of Inappropriate Parent Coaching from Sidelines

Crinkling of Paper on a Doctor's Exam Table

Deep, Shuddering Sigh of Husband Preparing Tax Returns

Sizzle of Free "Sausage" Samples in Aisle 3

Woman Repeating the Phrase,
"Young man, this room is a sty!"

Chop-Chop of Police Helicopter Overhead

Screech of Unoiled Garage-Door Rollers

Series of Voices Inquiring,
"So, have you written anything I've heard of?"

I hope you find this list of suggestions useful in your efforts to capture the demographic of customers who are living large in their own, you know, medium-sized way.

Toodle Loo,

Anna Lefler

Attention, L.A.-Area Readers

I will be giving away two pairs of tickets to "Parenting Out Loud," a comedic stage show about the hi-jinks and general stickiness of being a parent (which also happens to be a fundraiser for a local school). The show is Sunday, October 2 @ 7:30 pm and you can find all the details here.

The giveaway will happen on my Facebook page on Tuesday, September 20 and you can enter until 7:00 pm Pacific Time.

The show features a fantastic lineup of funny folks including comedian and author S tefanie Wilder-Taylor. It's gonna be a great night!

In Defense of Spongebob

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 12:00:00 +0000

Or - A Big, Steaming Squarepantsload

When I was growing up in Houston, the two local television stations ran children's programming in the weekday hours before school started.

Five days a week, I would get dressed, brush my teeth, then plop on our Early American sofa and stare at the black-and-white television on its metal cart until it was time to jump into my mom's Delta '88 and burn rubber to school.

My viewing choices during that time slot were practically infinite, as evidenced by the following exhaustive list:

* Batman (starring Adam West)
* The Three Stooges (starring the Three Stooges, duh)

Faced with this dizzying array of options, I opted for the Three Stooges every morning. That is, until my mom became concerned about the violence and generally disrespectful nature of the stooges' hi-jinks.

So she made a rule: I could only watch "The Three Stooges" every other day. In that way, she effectively reduced by a solid 50% my chances of being suspended from school for clamping someone's nose with pliers in wood shop or excessive nyuk-nyuk-nyuking in social studies.

[To this day, whenever I happen to see a Three Stooges clip, I immediately think, Wait - did I watch this yesterday? Am I allowed to see it today?]

All of which is to say that although I absorbed 3.2 gazillion hours of children's TV shows that didn't even pretend to communicate quantitative learning skills or encourage young viewers to max out their attention spans (don't even get me started on "The Banana Splits"), I have managed to obtain an education and hold down a few respectable jobs over the years.

I'm also proud to report that it has been at least six weeks since my last seltzer-bottle fight.

The Spongebob Experiment

So when I saw the trending topic "Spongebob Study" on Yahoo!, I had an inkling where it was headed.

And I was right: it was the Salem sponge trials all over again.

You can read the details of the study here, but in a nutshell, it goes something like this:

Researchers recently had three groups of 4-year-olds each perform a different task as follows:

Group 1 spent 9 minutes ~~filling out an IRS 1040 Long Form~~ quietly coloring with crayons.

Group 2 spent 9 minutes watching ~~brown spots form on a banana~~ "Caillou." (For those of you unfamiliar with the show, "Caillou" is a children's program that is so uneventful...so sedate...that within nine minutes it would have Mr. Rogers tugging at his eyebrow while chewing the elbow patch off his cardigan.)

Group 3 spent 9 minutes watching "Spongebob Squarepants."

Fine.

Now, guess which group performed worst in immediate follow-up tests designed to measure focus and self-control - the children who colored or watched the slower-paced cartoon...OR...the children who watched the "frenetic" undersea adventures of the pants-wearing sponge?

Duh!

Is It Me? (<---rhetorical question, btw)

Forgive me for asking what might be a stupid question, but since when is increasing focus and self-control the goal of kids' shows? I'm sorry, but I was always under the impression that the purpose of children's programming was to make kids laugh until they blew grape juice out of their noses.*

[*Note: I'm intentionally overlooking the time-honored tradition of hateful, heart-wrenching children's programs about lost puppies and the like, such as a horrific movie called "Clown" that was shown to us in third grade and which SCARRED ME TO THIS DAY.]

Anyway, my understanding was always that there was another home-based tool at parents' disposal that was shown to be quite effective in increasing focus and self-control. It was called CHORES.

Television, on the other hand, was the "fun" thing you got to do when you weren't supposed to be doing something useful like making your bed or tidying up outside by flipping all the dog doodie over the fence with a rake into the yard of the vacant house next door.

I'm No Scientist, But...

Setting aside the structure of this study which pits a brilliantly subversive kids' show against two other activities that, while they have their place, are total snoozes...

I have to wonder what the results of the experiment would have been if there had been a Group 4 that spent 9 minutes, say, being chased around the block by an older sibling with a beach towel tied around his or her shoulders, wielding a Super Soaker and screaming gibberish.

Or maybe a Group 5 that swiped their parents' satin bedspread, wrapped themselves in it and bobsledded down the stairs and across the front hall 23 times in 9 minutes.

If these two groups performed poorly on the above follow-up tests (and, compared to the sedative effect of the coloring/"Caillou" combination, I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that they likely would), would we conclude that these activities had no value or were somehow detrimental to the children's development?

What about the value of laughing until you clutch your sides, eyes welling with involuntary tears, tongue hanging out, gasping for breath?

To quote a credit card company's popular advertising tag line, I would value this effect as "priceless."

Now, before you turn on that TV, take this rake and get out in the backyard. That doodie's not going to flip itself over the fence.

Style Tips for Trapezoids

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 12:00:00 +0000

Or, Learn to Love Your ~~Curves~~ Corners

You've likely seen articles in fashion magazines that discuss strategies for dressing your particular body contour to its most flattering effect.

These articles often categorize women's body dimensions into geometric shapes, such as the triangle, inverted triangle, rectangle, etc.

This is all well and good until you stand in front of the mirror in your drawers and realize that you're not quite a triangle...nor do you resemble a true rectangle (unless you are willing to spend most of your waking hours hunched over with your ear touching your shoulder, in which case only 50% of your bitchin' new earrings are ever going to see daylight).

Where, then, is the non-standard-shaped woman to turn for crucial fashion advice?

Presenting...

The LJKGW Guide to Advanced Fashion Geometry

The good news: This handy reference guide is sure to talk you down from any shape-related fashion precipice.

The bad news: There will be a quiz every Thursday.

Here we go!

Scalene Triangle

Let's hear it for asymmetry! After all, how many of us can say that all three of our sides are the same length? Not many. That's why it's essential to understand the fashion equation of the scalene triangle. The scalene is crying out to be accessorized. (Can you hear it?) Just look at that alluring point sticking out on the side and I know you'll be thinking what I'm thinking. That's right: bolo tie. Add to that a flowy canvas peasant skirt and denim shrug and you will be rocking all three (uneven) sides of awesome.

Quadrilateral

Two words: Clogs + Poncho. Just don't make the obvious mistake of pairing a webbed nylon belt with your quadrilateral figure because that only cuts your profile in ~~half~~ ~~quarters~~ ~~thirds~~ ~~whatever~~ pieces. No, the svelte sway of the poncho combined with the woodland whimsy of the clog will have tastemakers across town nodding with approval (and a tinge of envy) at the sly way you have showcased your quadrilateral chops.

Rhombus

Let's face it: no one pulls off a pantsuit like the rhombus-shaped woman. Whether it's comfy with sassy winged collars for a day of pumpkin-picking, or embellished with chic sailor buttons for brunch at the dog track, the rhombus/pantsuit combination is simply unbeatable. (Note: If you're thinking of doing anything like knotting a scarf at your throat, forget it. Rhomboidal women can't do jaunty. Just trust us on this.)

Irregular Pentagon

As you may know, the key to fashion is accentuating certain features while strategically drawing focus away from others. This is why the skilled, irregular-pentagon-shaped fashionista will always be seen wearing leg warmers - but only argyle ones. Add to that a knit cap or other form of stretchy head wrap and you've got yourself a stealth fashion package that will have observers scratching their heads for hours afterward wondering what exactly they did see when they ran into you at the hot dog rental stand.

Nonagon

The nonagon-shaped woman has an advantage over other women in that she can shop for clothes not only among the traditional clothing racks, but also in the table linens department. This comes in especially handy during the holiday season, when the variety of embellished table cloths on display present a chic alternative to the played-out Christmas sweater. During the rest of the year, the nonagon woman can rely on timeless pieces such as the Members Only jacket and quilted opera cape.

Trapezoid

Ever fashion-forward, the trapezoid-shaped female most effectively pushes the envelope of style with a bold combination of scented felt hats and vibrantly patterned culottes. Only the most informed, however, understand the need for elbow-length fingerless gloves to take their look to the next level. Of course, one may not always have these particular items handy, in which case you should just wear jeans and a t-shirt. But no jorts!

We hope you find The LJKGW Guide to Fashion Geometry indispensable as you move through the style seasons to come. (Be advised that we will be adding new shapes to the Guide as soon as we learn them and depending on whether we get into Honors Geometry next semester.)

Last week, an essay of mine was published on Salon.com for the first time. Although my original title was "Old School," it can be found there in the "Real Families" section under "Hell Is Other People's Children." As promised, the Salon.com commenter community has proven itself to be quite, um...spirited. You gotta love the Internet, right?

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read it and [gulp] put in their two cents as well.

Classic, Schmassic

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Plus: Hard Evidence That I Actually Do Laundry

Here's a promotional video for the The CHICKtionary that the fabulous Marla Miller inspired me to make for her wonderful website.

It's called "The Top 10 Reasons Why The CHICKtionary Beats A Tale of Two Cities."

I'd like to point out that Charles Dickens didn't even bother making a video for his book. I'm just sayin'.

(If you can't see the video below, please click here.)

Thanks to my daughter Morticia (Director of Photography) and my son Gomez (Stunt Coordinator). Even though they have since unionized and are now suing me for unpaid overtime and ~~boring~~ unsafe work conditions, I will probably let them go to that swim party this weekend.

Probably.

Overheard at BlogHer '11

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 12:00:00 +0000

How Fun Was That?!?

So BlogHer '11 was last weekend in San Diego and it was excruciatingly fun, from the lovely people in attendance to the delightful restaurants to the informative sessions to the gorgeous weather to the...well, I'd say more but I've already blown through the set of repurposed complimentary adjectives I bought on Etsy.

In short, it kicked heinie.

Of course, it can be difficult to get away to a conference with life as busy as it is. If you are one of the folks who wanted to go to BlogHer but were unable to do so, I'm sorry I didn't get to meet you in person and pawn off a customized foot sander on you in the process (long story).

You're in luck, however, because I made a point during my time ~~accosting total strangers~~ networking at the conference to keep my ears open for intriguing conversational tidbits floating around in the halls, between the sessions and on the expo floor.

Why? So I could report them to you, silly!

That's right, I kept a little notebook of juicy comments made by my fellow attendees (as well as sponsors, organizers and, once, janitorial staff) specifically to share with those of you unable to attend this year's event.

What better way to experience the emotional core of the conference than to be privy to the raw, uncensored current of exchanges flowing through the seething mass of attendees? It's practically like being there, right?

So let's blow the lid off what really went down at the conference, yes? Yes!

Top Ten Comments Overheard at BlogHer '11

10. "Smrfflk. Coffee! Ptxnggy."
Friday, 10:21 am, Expo Hall

9. "I'm sorry, but there's no room 47X on this map."
Saturday, 12:04 pm, by the giant Twizzler sculpture

8. "Why, thank you. I made them myself. From felt."
Friday, 1:17 pm, "Up" escalator

7. "How the hell do you make vegan spare ribs?!"
Friday, 3:48 pm, the big room that looked like a boat

6. "It's not poofy at all. It looks good."
Saturday, 9:47 am, Marriott Lobby

5. "Look, pirates!"
Saturday, 5:07 pm, Convention Center Patio

4. "I took nine of them. They had extras."
Friday, 2:32 pm, Expo Hall

3. "Little Red Corvette! BOW-WUH!"
Saturday, 4:17 pm, Marriott Poolside Bar

2. "I think someone's tweeting from the third stall..."
Saturday, 10:52 am, Ladies' Room

1. "You've got some glitter there. Right there.
Down a bit, to the left. No...you'd better get it."
Sunday, 9:57 am, Marriott Bell Desk

And there you have it.

Thank you, San Diego!!

Our Contest Winner Is
Definitely A Big Deal

Congratulations to Nicole Pelton of Not Just a Workin g Mom for winning last week's book giveaway! Nicole was selected when her description of time spent slaving under a ruthless dry-cleaning regime was drawn from the official LJKGW ten-gallon hat.

As we speak, a copy of Stefanie Wilder-Taylor's hilarious new memoir "I'm Kind of a Big Deal: And Other Delusions of Adequacy" is winging its way toward her front porch. Enjoy, Nicole, and thanks for playing!

Special Thanks...

...to Amy at The Bitchin' Wives Club for bringing not one but TWO huge mustache lollipops all the way from Wisconsin to San Diego for me. You rock!

I Left My Callus In Sand Diego - Now With Giveaway!

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 12:00:00 +0000

Smooth Operator

This Thursday, I will be heading down to San Diego to attend BlogHer 2011 where I will be taking advantage of every opportunity to ~~eat like~~ ~~a horse~~ catch up with old blog friends and make new ones.

As you may know, conferences are all about handouts or, as they say in China, "tchotchkes."

Naturally, I agonized over the goodies I should take to BlogHer to promote my forthcoming humor book, The CHICKtionary: From A-Lin e to Z-Snap, the Words Every Woman Should Know. Once I started looking at the bajillions of options, however, I became completely overwhelmed.

What would the discerning BlogHer attendee be looking to snag while cruising the conference floor? And which promotional product says "CHICKtionary" (in a sexy kind of "Mad Men" voice, not a screechy, accusatory meter maid one)?

The jaunty trucker hat? (So Von 2004.) The hardworking lanyard? (BO-ring.) The peppy pedometer? (Just thinking about it makes me tired.) The prim personal hand sanitizer? (Too stern.)

So I kept searching...scrolling through product after product...looking for the one item that felt right - the one I could hand out with gusto knowing the recipient would cherish it for years to come while thinking fondly of me each time they encountered it in their ~~junk drawer~~ jewelry box.

And then I found it.

And so...

Let Me Be The First
to Offer You a
Complimentary Foot Sander!

Awesome, huh? Doesn't it make you want to roll up your sleeves, start grinding and kick up a swirly of your own discarded skin cells? I know.

So if you're going to BlogHer, I hope I'll see you and have the opportunity to lay one of these babies on you and your petrified yet adorable peds (standard exfoliation rates apply).

And, even if you're not going to the conference, there will be lots of opportunities down the road for you to receive one of these limited edition personal grooming appliances.

Especially since I ordered 700,000 of them.

Hope to see you there!

Did Somebody Say "Giveaway?"

I just finished reading author, comic and fellow Listen to Your Mother castmember Stefanie Wilder-Taylor's new book "I'm Kind of a Big Deal: And Other Delusions of Adequacy" and I loved it so much that I'm giving away a brand-new copy! Right here! Right now!

One of the funniest aspects of Stefanie's collection of personal essays is her succession of lousy jobs. We've all been there, right? (This one-time children's shoe salesgirl says, "Hell, yeah!")

To enter the drawing for the book, just leave a comment before midnight on Friday, August 5 and share your lousiest job ever. Then ride that high over to Amazon and read all about the book to get jucied up to win your free copy.

The name of the lucky book winner will be drawn from our ten-gallon hat and announced the week of August 8.

And remember: no matter what ~~your mother~~ anyone says, you ARE a big deal.

Good Luck!

The Babymaker

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Lefler) — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 12:00:00 +0000

Or Lack Thereof

As you may recall, I had the honor of reading with the Los Angeles cast of the "Listen to Your Mother" Show back in May. The videos of everyone's readings are now available for viewing on the Listen to Your Mother YouTube channel and, let me tell you, there are some amazing pieces there that address practically every aspect of motherhood (even a couple you've never thought of).

I'd like to share with you all my short essay entitled "The Babymaker" (alternately known as "My Excellent Surprise Gynecological Adventure").

If you can't see the video, please click here.

Thanks for watching, and I hope you'll have a chance to view the other castmembers' videos.

Huge thanks again as well to LTYM's national director (and inventor) Ann Imig, Los Angeles show director Lisa Rae Page Rosenberg and Los Angeles show producer Lee Vandeman. As my former softball coach used to say, "What a town, what a time, what a team!"

And Now, The Headlines...

Food For Thought (But Not For Goats)

Everyone's favorite goat enthusiast, Margaret Andrews of the wildly popular Nanny Go ats in Panties humor blog, has an excellent new book out called Sticky Readers: How to Attract a Loyal Blog Audience by Writing More Better.

NGIP was one of the first blogs I admired (and stalked) when I began blogging and I'm proud to say that, over time, I've worn Margaret down and coerced her into being my friend. I can also attest to the fact that she is the kind of wingwoman who will flash you a signal if you have broccoli bits stuck in your teeth. Also she smells good in person. Congrats on the book, Margaret!

2011 BlogHer Voices of the Year

BlogHer announced the honorees and presenters of their annual Voices of the Year a few days ago, and I'm very excited to say that I was named an Honoree in the humor category for my "winning-adjacent" entry in the Erma Bombeck Writing Contest: "The Little Entries That Couldn't."

Thanks so much, BlogHer, and big thanks as well to Alexandra at Good Day, Regular People for nominating my post for consideration! Alexandra also hit it out of the park by being named as a presenter - she'll be reading her winning humor post at the Community Keynote presentation at BlogHer San Diego the evening of Friday, August 5th. Congratulations, Alexandra! And congratulations to all the presenters and honorees! You can read the entire list - along with their winning posts - here.

I Feel Like I'm Forgetting Something.

Dang it.