Online Portfolio and Enya Jokes

I finally put together an online portfolio!  Now all my articles from McSweeney’s, Reductress, xoJane (and more?) are in one place for you to look at or ignore, I don’t care.

This might be my first post since the new year so here’s a picture of me doing standup on New Years Day! This is part of the annual 100 First Jokes show that happens at ImprovBoston. It’s probably more likely 200 First Jokes as every year the amount of comedians that perform grows which is awesome and really exciting and also a reminder to carry hand sanitizer with you in the green room.

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thank you to my friend Joe for capturing my set-up of an enya masturbation joke

I’ve been working on a few new sets including my time at summer camp where I purposely pissed my pants so my mother would have to pick me up and also one about how I’ve been mysteriously ill for a year and got a balloon shoved up my ass in the name of medical science. Dreams do come true.

Speaking of dreams, I’m adding “become the most sought after creative consultant in North America”  to my bucket list. I think it fits nicely with “get my phone shaped like Star Trek’s Starship Enterprise to work” and “ride an orange bike.”

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Alright, that’s all I have to say for now. Here’s the link to –> my portfolio <– again! Click and look and be amazed that I could copy and paste links in an orderly fashion because honestly I was skeptical of my abilities too.

love you BYE xo143

Are You Difficult?

I think I’m difficult. Not a highly attractive quality but I do as Agent Dale Cooper does and I give myself a gift EVERYDAY. Sometimes I give myself MULTIPLE gifts. Coffee. Ice Cream. Lots of TV shows. Magazines. The part that makes me “difficult” is that I ask or get myself what I want. But am I difficult or am I LEANING IN to get the extra piece of pie before anyone else gets it? (That’s what “leaning in” is, right? For food? You gotta lean in for food.)

In what ways are you difficult? Would you call yourself an obsessive personality?

I ask the second part because sometimes my obsessive trait stomps on the little fingers of my difficult trait. I want 400 of the same flannel and I’m going to leave the family party until I get them. Once I do, I will return to the family party but not until my thirst for flannel (or whatever) is quenched.

Have you ever made the mistake of wanting something and letting it go but then realizing you’ve made a grave mistake and can no longer reverse your decision? I try to avoid those moments. Not ALL of them or else this would be a blog about hoarding. ALSO this is not entirely on material items. I get the same way with writing. If I feel I haven’t been creative or let the tension of wanting to write something out, I get a big ball of stress in my chest until I make something of it. Hence this blog where I can dump my crap and humor onto you beloveds.

From a higher sense, maybe it stems from a portion of myself not being fulfilled. That’s when the minor inconveniences start screeching for my attention.

The radio has a commercial. The TV is slightly too loud. The lighting is too dim. Someone is talking to me about the weather.

JUST SHUT UP EVERYONE/THING/APPLIANCE.

Does this affect anyone else or am I just a giant asshole? I’m curious as to what minor inconveniences irritate you.

Okay I love you enjoy the bonfire of my heart.

FLASH POST! Driving Blind.

Quick post so I can go nappy-bye.

My frequent readers know that most my days are weird because I have my freak flag stapled to my chest BUT today had an extra sprinkle of “hmm…how unusual.”

I woke up in a shit mood because I had love dreams and I woke up and didn’t have a love reality. I didn’t feel so hot between a headache and my morning acid reflux so I threw back some alka seltzer and made a coffee (I’m REALLY GREAT at balancing acids and anti-acids!). I don’t remember getting dressed but I was in my car, peeling out on some wet leaves, burping up some hot remains of whatever acid I ate before bed.

It was rainy while I was driving to work so I had my new windshield wipers swishing. SWISH swish SWISH swish SWISH swish SWICCRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKK.

My driver’s side windshield wipe cracked off and the jagged metal remains propelled it off into the road and under my back tire. GuhBUMbum.

I could see the car behind me crunching it under their tire. Cya later windshield wiper! RIP! Have a nice life! Drop me a line!

It was raining pretty heavily so I couldn’t stick my head out the driver’s side window. That and it’d get ripped off by the renegade MBTA buses they have Tokyo drifting in the streets. I’m pretty hunchy as it is (did I tell you a potential suitor asked if I had scoliosis? HE THOUGHT I HAD SCOLIOSIS) so I craned my neck to the passengers side.

I was in panic mode until I got to work, when I burst out laughing at the absurdity of annihilating my own new windshield wiper. Pulverized. Crunched to smithereens. Swish Swish Swish CLUNK annnndd there she gooooes goooodbyyyyeee!

Thankfully, I had my old wipers in the trunk in case of emergency. I spent 45 minutes searching YouTube for videos until I just read the (5) steps in the instruction manual- 3 of which include making sure you shut your car off before you run yourself over.

I changed it, crisis averted, christ has risen or something.

It was horrifying not being able to see or even pull the car over. That being said I’m really sorry if your pet cat, dog, or maybe even your husband don’t return home tonight, I forgot to check my wheel wells. My panic mode shuts down my peripheral vision and I’m pretty sure I was chanting something in Sanskrit. But I’m ALIVE and changed my own wiper because I’m big and strong.

OKAY! Flash post over. Thank you for reading.

k love you byyyee why do you always smell like bread?

500 Days of Flannel

The wolf in sheep’s flannel.

I’ve been investing in men’s clothing lately. Specifically in $16 men’s flannels at Macy’s WHO, by the way, leaves the heat on 500 degrees in all their department stores. By the time I made it to the Men’s Department on the second floor I had to duck behind some scarves and wipe my upper lip sweat on the hats and mittens.

I’m starting to believe I have what one would call an “obsessive” personality. That hint might have been dropped for you when I started my series of posts “Songs I Listen to Compulsively” (new addition coming up soon…lots of Hall & Oates in this household this month).

WELL m’dears, if you have not tried on the John Ashford flannel collection, YOU are surely missing out. So what if it makes my already fleshy triceps look like giant meaty turkey legs you’d likely only find at a Renaissance Faire? They may look big but you know, those turkey legs are also damn DELICIOUS. You have to make sacrifices for the great good sometimes. And that greater good is the comfort of knowing you have a fantastic and comfortable outfit you can wear 8 days in a row without repeating a pattern or getting questioned about your own personal hygiene.

AND THEY HAVE CHRISTMAS-ESQUE COLORS! Like most plaid flannels, the standard red/green/some other color make you look extra festive and definitely not obnoxious at all.

Speaking of obnoxious, it’s that time of year again…IT’S A VERY LOLO CHRISTMAS! Every year I bathe in the holiday spirit by soaking myself in a nice hot bath of humiliation. Well, I’m not embarrassed by it, but I’m sure my peers have picked up the slack on those reindeer reigns and are mortified for me. SEE BELOW.

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I really relish in stretching the bounds of my appearance. In other words, I’m not afraid of seeing how far I can go to make myself look like an asshole. Turns out, all it takes is my blowdryer and a Kmart clearance sweater!

Anyhonk, if I don’t get my 13 hours of sleep I just might crack. I’m going to go lay down in my nice, soft, pile of flannels and dream about buying Irish Springs body wash and shaving my face.

okay I love you and don’t forget to build a castle in the sands of time.

Shy Children

Hello, my friends.

As I write this, I sit here in as an adult woman wearing $15 oversized, doughnut patterned, flannel pajamas I bought at Kmart. I’m wearing 4 different colors of eye shadow, burning my already dried out eyelids. I’ve previously mentioned the Gold Bond I’ve purchased and I’m steadily working my way through the tube. If you can believe it, I never used to be this wild.

We all know and love the BuzzFeed Quiz. Which potato are you most like? What color booger are you? BUT the holy grail: Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

It seems with the break of all this quiz fever, the introvert/extrovert theme kept coming up over and over again. It got me to thinking about my life as a shy child, forever suctioned to my mother’s leg, forced to respond to inane questions at my family’s functions. “Where did you get that dress? Can I borrow it?” a cheerful 40-year old woman would screech into my face. No, you idiot. You’re OshKosh days are long gone.

How did I go from shy child to indifferent adult telling the world about the types of shits I take and how much I’m sweating?

Shy child syndrome lasted from about kindergarten to three years after I graduated college. I still feel traumatizing moments lurking around the corner.

The worst for me was ordering at restaurants.

The happy server grinning, “AND WHAT CAN I GET FOR YOU?!”

I dreaded my turn. I’d whisper, “pasta with marinara sauce.” Please leave me alone.

“SORRY, DIDN’T CATCH THAT SWEETIE. WHAT WAS THAT?”

Dammit. I’d whisper again “pasta with marinara sauce.”

Good enough for you?

“THE PEPPERONI PIZZA?”

Shit. That was my cue to nod and eat whatever gruel they presented with me. Unless my mother would pipe up and ruin everything.

“LAUREN, SPEAK UP. SHE’D LIKE THE PASTA WITH MARINARA SAUCE.”

Nooooooo mother. How could you betray me? I couldn’t let them win. My 9-year-old pride was to impenetrable. “NO I’D LOVE THE TRIPE!” Let me die here please.

There were many a-time when I would be choking to death on an onion or paint chip and I’d sit in silence, suffering and waiting for death to take me. I could usually play it off in a crowd but mothers have a sixth sense when their child is  casually choking to death before their eyes. I vividly recall choking on a D’Angelo’s sub in the middle of the food court. My windpipe sealed shut. I would’ve been happy to die there, clear bra straps coming out of my Weathervane crop top with a giant glittery “68” on the front. But my mother had different plans.

“SHE’S CHOKING, MY GOD SHE’S CHOKING!”

Shut up and let me die, Marge. 

The situation was diffused when she fisted my mouth and removed the offending string of vidalia,..

SO, my question to you children: Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Were you a shy or an outgoing child? (Loki voice) TELL ME. 

k love you don’t forget to wipe your feet before ruin nana’s carpet

BlackMail

My mother has a video on her phone that she sent me. I do not get embarrassed easily. This past week one of my coworkers didn’t knock on the bathroom door and I fell off the toilet and onto my  hands and knees with my pants around my ankles trying to prevent her from coming in. Doesn’t shake me. 

But this video is from my cousin’s crazy awesome wedding. It was taken after I spent 45 minutes trying not to throw-up the 5 sparkling wines I threw back. My face was broken out in hives from wearing a dress made of what I can only assume now was cheesecloth and tulle. On top of the hives was a sheen (I think gel is more appropriate) of sweat, glistening with every light beam bouncing off it.  

I am screaming. I am jumping. I am ferociously vogueing (Paris is Burning, not Madonna) but with no purpose to my actions. My eyes are looking in two different directions. I’m slurring the words to “Love Shack” yet still maintaining a constant guttural sound like one I imagine Jane came to know in her days spent with Tarzan. 

Watching the video, I laughed so hard I peed my pajama capris. Tears pooled out of the corners of my eyes but I think that was more out of disappointment that I thought I was doing a GREAT job. Everyone was cheering and clapping. Yeah, Lo. No wonder everyone was clapping…there was a little monkey girl dancing for peanuts and one dollar bills! I like one dollar bills though. Keep thrown’ those. 

Somewhere inside, I think I secretly hope more videos and pictures come out to validate my existence of a truly absurd expression of human life. 

In other news, it’s Otis Redding’s birthday today. Watch this and be dreamy. 

Ok I love you ❤

It Didn’t Work Out

I tried and I failed.

Well, maybe I didn’t fail. More of a “hasty withdrawal” is really what happened.

I left a job two months ago because I was moving too far away to keep it and not be paying $300 in gas every week. I had outgrown it anyways, but it was the first time I took a chance and left a job before securing a new one.

I dug into my savings account and moped around on Craigslist’s job boards until I got a call for an interview. I interviewed, I got the job, I started. The first few days were overwhelming, but good. I was tired and happy. But then I started to become a little more tired and a little less happy. And then I was just tired. The company, the people-all great. It was sitting in my cubicle for eight hours that I realized I didn’t care about what I was doing. I saw myself from outside my body, only I was Peter Gibbons and I was a few sleeps away from gutting a fish on my desk.

Call it quarter-life crisis. Call it just seeing more clearly. Either way, I had to get out.

The day I gave my notice, I sat in the parking lot and tried to cry. I felt sick and couldn’t wash away the lump in my throat with any amount of bottled iced tea (and I thought Sweet Leaf iced tea with the nana on the front could cure EVERYTHING).

I took the legal pad I was given on the first day and wrote the most heartfelt resignation letter I have ever written. I’ve broken up with my gym before via letter (per their requirements) and it was much less a Dear John letter than it was an 8th grader dumping her best friend over the fact that the elliptical was always broken (what?).

I folded it and put in my bag and walked into the building. While waiting for the elevator, I found a lucky penny. I went up my office level, got off the elevator, and went straight to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and looked at my phone for a couple minutes. I should have never come, I should have just not shown up.

The pressure was getting to me. I could tell that if someone was good at reading a stranger’s emotions, they’d look at me, ask if I was okay, and I would immediately crumble.

Thankfully, I went to my manager’s office, closed the door, and sputtered Office Space quotes, fidgeted, and became glassy-eyed. He responded like the nice camp counselor you liked would. I felt relieved, went on with my day. I went to lunch and checked my phone. Maya Angelou had died and my news feed was cluttered with her quotes. My first reaction was to wonder about how Oprah was taking all this. Then I started to think about if this was some sort of weird synchronicity, that I was taking a chance and pretending to be fearless.  I checked my email after reading all the Maya Angelou quotes. Two months ago I had emailed someone about a job. They hadn’t responded, so I let well enough alone and moved on. I now had a sweet email sitting in my inbox offering any help with my job search. Another weird synchronicity. Was everything falling into place or falling apart?

Now, I’m sitting 40 tabs deep into my job search with a calm that didn’t exist the first time around. Still drinking a bottled ice tea, staring at a Reiki charged candle I’ve been saving for two years. You know, for a special occasion. It’s called “Laughter” and comes with a mantra to recite when you light it (as mentioned in the previous post). I lit it today but when I have to think “happy thoughts” I immediately start thinking about the world exploding and massive blood shed. I blew the candle out. Then I worried that if snuffing the candle meant that all those things would come true. I forced some happy thoughts and lit the candle again without the mantra. I think it should be okay.

Anyways, back to the job search, but this time I hope the job comes searching for me. In the mean time, I’ll be visiting Colorado next week with my family, so I hope I have some sort of weird vision-quest type experience so I can figure my shit out.

ciao nanas ❤

I Ate Recalled Food

It would certainly explain the face rash I’ve been blaming on spider bites.

I got an automated phone call from the grocery store the other day, saying the lettuce I bought was contaminated with a bacteria that has too many consonants smashed together to pronounce correctly. They didn’t say that verbatim but I could tell in that robot-demon’s electronic death voice, that that’s what she meant.

Lucky for me and my little knowledge of how things actually work, I eat a grotesque amount of yogurt. My point being is that those little invisible health soldiers that live in yogurt helped give me less diarrhea than normal and fight off whatever flesh eating disease I could have contracted. Or at least I haven’t noticed anything yet, I can’t really say I’ve look at my ass in a while. The face rash though, I just thought those spiders were suffering from famine and had to sacrifice dignity over necessity.

Death Becomes Her. (I’m Referring to Myself When I Say Her. I’m Her. Death Becomes Me.)

Everyone harbors special talents that really may serve no purpose except to entertain ourselves. Bragging is unattractive, but I can eat 4 pieces of Texas Toast and sit through 3 seasons of the Sopranos without blinking/exhaling/contemplating my mortality and misguided life choices.

Among giant bread scarfing, filtering my identity out of photos, and mouth breathing, I do have one hidden talent that has remained hidden, as to not frighten the kids/my mom/your nana+papi. ESPECIALLY, your nana+papi. I don’t know if that’s a real word people use for their grandfathers or if I’ve just been exposed to JLO too early in my life to know any difference.

Back to my talent, or maybe it’s more of a condition, but I  have a knack for predicting when someone is about to feel the dank kiss of death. Sometimes days before, sometimes months before they die. DON’T X OUT YET. I have a pretty solid record of being right about it. I can’t name names specifically (at least not usually) but I can tell if male/female, age range, and what type of relationship I have to them. Kind of like those cats that walk around hospitals and snuggle with the old people who are about to die.

WEIRD, RIGHT?

Feel free to ask questions. It’s weird and I don’t even really understand it, but that’s like most secret abilities and gifts, I suppose.

Normally, I would have never shared this on here but it happened when a distant relative died this past week and I was thinking about how I still hadn’t come up with a post for the week. HEHE.

Alright kids, enjoy your Monday!

Love,

Lolo von Iseedeadpeoplebutnotreallythatdbeweirdasshitsteinbergsongirl

P.S. Enjoy this picture of Peaches.

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I Can Feel My Face

Hey crapshoots!

One year ago this month I got my wisdom teeth pulled out! All five of them! (I’m proof my family is devolving. But we already knew that.)

It just so happened that when the surgeon attempted to take out the fifth, he hit a nerve, leaving the left side of my mouth numb. Brushing my teeth on that side didn’t feel like anything, my chin on that side was always on pins and needles, and I couldn’t fully feel my mouth smooching my box of Lucky Charms when I got home from work.

BUT the past few days, upon shoveling graham crackers into my mouth, I noticed I could feel CRUMBS on my face. FREAKIN’ CRUMBS. *sets off fireworks spelling out CRUMBS in the air*

Sometimes that’s all we need in life to feel joy. Sweet, delicious, crumbs on your face.

Don’t make that a sexual innuendo.

I’m serious.

kloveyoukaboom