Friday, November 29, 2013

Scary Mommy guest post - Christmas wrap up.

The most coveted/sought after gifts of 2012...WHERE ARE THEY NOW.
Also, why I'm scared to vacuum upstairs:

No bright light, no water and don't
ever feed them after midnight.

Friday, November 15, 2013

The oldies station.

Recently I heard a story on the radio saying that the music that is most important to you, that will stick with you
for the rest of your life is the music you were listening to from the ages of ten to sixteen. 

I guess during this time frame your brain is hard wired to put the music and the memories together.
So long story short – whatever was on the radio for you during this time of your life is the music that will fill you up
with sticky sweet nostalgia.

For me my music touchstones run from around 1981 to 1987. This means I can hear “Hang Fire” by The Rolling Stones and see myself dancing like a fool singing all the words by myself at the middle school dance – good times.

I can also hear “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” by Wham! and see myself in my pink bedroom staring at a poster I had on my wall, willing a fingerless glove wearing George Michael to become my future husband.

I also had failed attempts at willing Michael Stipe, Joe Elliott, Mick Jagger and Morrissey to marry me while staring at magazines, posters and at endless hours of MTV. 

Music has always been a huge part of my life and hearing this little factoid made perfect sense to me.

I can hear “Centerfold” and see the video frame for frame in my head along with the song. I can do the same for “Rio” “Goody Two Shoes” “Start Me Up” “Video Killed the Radio Star” "Stand" and countless others. I can’t remember what I had for lunch or how much my sons weighed when they were born, but I pretty much got this stuff nailed down. 

I write for an 80’s website, obsess over my 80’s movies (especially anything involving John Hughes) and listen to a variety of 80’s stations on Pandora and in the car. I guess I now listen to "the oldies" which is great. 

As a kid I remember my father listening to his Motown/doo-wop stations while I sat in the backseat of the car and thinking UGH, YEESCH, WHY?!?! as any pre-teen/teenager would do.

I smiled the other day in my car realizing that I now do the same to my two boys, ages five and eight. 

While driving to school at 7:50 a.m. my five-year-old stated, “I like this song Mommy. I like how he says ‘warm my heart’ – that’s good.”

“Hold Me Now” by The Thompson Twins was on the radio and I have to say it brought a tear to my eye – holy crap that song is lovely and dramatic in a new wave 80’s kind of way and I LOVE IT and I LOVED that my son Sam was commenting on the lyrics. 

I started explaining how there were actually three people in the group, even though they called themselves The Thompson Twins, how they have other songs I think they’d like and a video for a song called “Lies” where their giant heads are coming at you when I realized I’d lost him, he didn’t care, the moment was over and he was back to the wonders of his cereal bar and how it was library day today.

My eight year old enjoys when “I Can’t Drive 55” comes on which I gotta say isn’t my cup of tea, but again it warms my heart that a song by Sammy Hagar is in his music repertoire.

I know they’re not at those all-important ages yet, the ten to sixteen bracket, but is it ever too early to put what I consider good music into their little brains? I think not. I figure the longer I can keep them into Taylor Dayne and away from Taylor Swift, the better.

So I’m pretty sure I’m doing exactly what my dad was doing by forcing the doo-wop on me. 

And now as a “grown-up” I now have a huge appreciation for Sam Cooke, Smokey Robinson and Little Anthony and the Imperials.
So see? It works. 
Just wait until age ten – it’s going to be non-stop
Duran Duran/Erasure/New Order/Rolling Stones/INXS/Thompson Twins dance party. 

Monday, November 11, 2013

Scary Mommy guest post - five ways my children are smarter than me.

Please enjoy reading about how I don't know how to operate my DVR or figure out where the hell the car is in the mall parking lot.

Me and the boys.

Friday, November 8, 2013

No strip down at the strip mall.

Mondays are my day off - away from work, away from kids (until 2:15) and away from the world.

I treasure these days and try my damnedest not to schedule anything unless it's something awesome like coffee/brunch/lunch with the girls, a hike by myself up at Mount Tabor or simply lying on the couch sipping coffee watching miserable Kathie Lee and Hoda.

Today I had acupuncture at 8:30, right after I dropped the boys off.

Sometimes during acupuncture I go into this other worldly state where I hallucinate or nod off. Today I did both. If you are able to start your day by falling back asleep, I highly recommend it.

While entering my other worldly state I remembered an e-mail in my in box that was offering me something FREE, something I NEEDED, and something I could use TODAY.

A free car wash?  No.
Buy one get one free at Ben & Jerry's??  Sadly, nuh-uh.
Free organic turkey bacon from Whole Foods???  No, I used that coupon earlier this week. (Seriously, free fancy bacon!)

It was an e-mail inviting me in for a complimentary wax at the European Wax Center.

In my dreamy, vegetable state - lying face down on a heated massage table, my brain told me this had to be done - immediately.

It was a treat. An activity. And it was free.
I called in a haze from the car and made my appointment.

You may recall this previous post where I took advantage of another offer from the European Wax Center - I had quite the interesting bikini wax experience.

I decided that today I would try out this new location and get a bikini wax because hey, why not?
No, I'm not getting in a bathing suit anytime soon or doing my usual underwear modeling for the Sears Christmas Catalogue.
But it's nice to feel all neat and tidy, isn't it? SURE IT IS!


That last "wax center" was conveniently located right next to a liquor store in a fancy
area of Northwest Portland. 

This wax center is located about fifteen minutes up the freeway in a strip mall next
to a Mr. Formal, Target and Jay's Wide Shoes.

As I got closer to the less swanky location I caught a glimpse of my brows in the rear view mirror and thought they could use a little clean up. A little free clean up. I hoped the wax center wouldn't mind my change of heart in getting an appetizer rather than the full meal deal. I sure wouldn't mind if a stranger wanted me to look at their face as opposed to their cookie at the last minute.

So the strip mall suburbanite wax center was way more friendly and welcoming:

Less stark and snooty.
Also less photos of hairless men and women plastered all over
the place like the other location:

This couple clearly enjoys a good wax.

My waxers name was Rory and she gladly gave me a very nice brow wax.

The receptionist was also very nice - she did take a minute to go over the insane wax packages they offer which I can't imagine anyone in the world ever needing or wanting.
I mean, I can think of a zillion other things I could do with 500 smackers a month - can't you?
People in Europe must be extra hairy and have a lot of extra cash lying around.

Math is hard - but even I can recognize this is a hell of a lot of wax cash.

Bottom line I got a free wax without a stranger seeing my bottom.
And instead of hitting the liquor store afterward I hit the Target and got some 70% off Halloween loot.

Because I need more Halloween shit.

Welax. They're waxperts.

Friday, November 1, 2013


For someone who loves Halloween as much as I do I tend to buy the shittiest Halloween candy possible to hand out to trick-or-treaters. I’m the house passing out the Good ‘n Plenty’s, stupid little rolls of Smarties, the Necco Wafers - who enjoys Necco Wafers? Maybe Old people? They seem so medicinal to me.

Why do I pass out miserable clove flavored candy?
Simple - I don’t like it. 

And come today November 1st, I don’t want or need a bunch of the good stuff (Milky Ways, Snickers, Rolos, basically anything with chocolate and caramel) hanging around my house.

I see people post things on Facebook about having to hide the Halloween candy because yikes! It’s too tempting and oh my God, how they ate four whole pieces and feel like a pig. 

And I laugh. Because I can relate. 
And I laugh. Because four pieces is like the appetizer to
the appetizer of my yearly candy binge.

Yup – here I go again, if you’re exhausted by the body image posts, like this one or this one or any of the countless other ones you may want to run screaming now.

Or you may want to settle in for another bumpy, bingey, sweaty, rotten ride.

The span between Halloween and Christmas is awesome and brutal for obvious reasons, but for an all-or-nothing type of gal like me, Halloween candy is the worst. And the best. And the worst.

As I type this, I’m thinking “all-or-nothing type of gal” is a kinder, more "cute" way to say BINGE EATER.

There was an amazing Halloween party at my moms work last Friday. Every year all the employees dress up, there is a flash mob dance number (if you haven’t seen a bunch of secretaries dance to "Thriller" I highly recommend it) and of course there is trick-or-treating.

So here’s what came home with me and my boys and is on my kitchen table RIGHT NOW:
Two GIANT buckets of the good stuff, no shit candy here, not a Necco in sight.

Of course I’ve eaten a bunch of it. Of course I’m trying to be all sneaky about it. Of course I’m fooling nobody, especially myself.

I mean the first Reese’s Peanut Butter cup is delicious – the ninth one is pretty revolting.

It’s such a vicious cycle, it’s such a drug. The high, the gut-ache, the hangover the next morning, the guilt, guilt, guilt.

Just when I think I have it under control I find myself at the end of every October wondering how I’m still here, in this same spot in my head - and same spot in my gut - and in my thighs.

It’s not the end of the world and I’m totally fine and I’m a lucky girl and I know that - in the big picture I don’t have any problems. My only problem today is that my skirt is tight and I’m bloated. Big fucking deal. 

I’m tired of being a broken record that skips in the same spot. And not a good record like Let it Bleed or Tattoo You.
I’m more like some bad album by Creed or the Forrest Gump soundtrack. 

And for that, I apologize not only to myself, but to everybody on the entire planet. 

Life is like a box of chocolate.
And a pumpkin head full of Reese's, Kit Kats, Twix, and caramel-filled eyeballs.
'Eff you Forrest Gump.

Friday, October 25, 2013

Just suit me.

A co-worker/friend of mine were talking this morning about the University of Oregon - how we both graduated from there, what our degrees were in, oh and how we’re both Ducks. 

At my office I am the worst Duck ever.
There are plenty of alumni there - the  pride and spirit is insane. Kinda off the charts.
Like sometimes people end phone calls by saying "Go Ducks."

During my years at the U of O I attended one football game because my dad made me go saying I should experience it, and that I’d probably like it so much I’d thank him and want to go to all of the games.

I went to one football game. 

I remember looking out on the field at the players and the cheerleaders thinking I didn’t recognize any of these people from my Theatre History or Acting Styles class.
See, I did actually go back to Autzen Stadium multiple times Dad!
The Grateful Dead.

Immediately after graduation, like the following weekend, my mom took me shopping at the mall. I was looking forward to this because she had worded it that way specifically, “I AM GOING TO TAKE YOU SHOPPING LORI” which of course sounded very enticing to me. 

A little graduation gift maybe? Perhaps a new pair of ripped jeans? Some plaid flannel shirts? A belly button piercing?
(It was 1994.)

We went into the department store Meier and Frank and instead of going to the hip, cool teen department we headed over where the ladies suits were – what I referred to as “the dress clothes.” When I asked what we were doing there Mom told me this was my graduation present, that she and Dad were buying me a suit so I could look nice when I went out and looked for a job.

An 'effing suit?

I was a theatre arts major. I had never stood near a suit let alone put on a suit. And I had never had a discussion with my parents about wanting or needing a suit. I had also never had a conversation with them about looking for a job – there really wasn’t a plan in place.

A pleasant salesperson helped us pick one out. A nice navy blue jobby, I’m sure it was a quality item and I’m sure it was expensive. It felt nicer than anything I ever tried on before.  

I went into the dressing room and put it on. I remember it had shiny cold lining inside the pant legs. The arms felt the same way, silky, grown up. I looked in the mirror. My eyes welled up with tears. 

Not to sound all dramatic but I didn’t know who the person looking back at me was. It looked like a costume. It looked like a joke.

And the worst part was that this was some special moment for my mom, her trying to do something so nice that just backfired. She asked to come in to see it, I tried to compose myself but, I’m pretty terrible at doing that once you get me going.

I burst into tears telling her I didn’t want the suit, I didn’t know where to look for a job, why would I ever need something like this because I’m certainly NOT going to be working in an office, like EVER. 

I was kind of a wreck. I was going to be an actor, why couldn’t my parents understand that? 

We settled on a pair of black Doc Martens from Nordstrom and left. 

Fast forward and here I am. At an investment firm. Much happier now that I am part-time rather than full-time but nonetheless, I’m still at an investment firm, which is located you guessed it – in an office. 

I’m also an actor. In fact I’m an actor first. I am an actor with a “day job.”
A part-time little day job.
I rehearse and perform shows in the evenings and I work during the day. 

Day. Job.

I am also the best actor in the world because I play the role of executive assistant pretty damn well. And yes, some of my costumes do include the dreaded suit.

Cutie McSuity.

They don’t make me burst into tears anymore because they don’t define who I am like
I thought they did when I was 23. 

If an award was given for “Best Actor in a Suit at an Investment Firm, in a
Supporting Role” I would totally win. 

And I would totally cry. 
Another graduation gift from Mom and Dad.
Where do you keep your beautifully framed college diploma?
The closet floor, naturally.

Friday, October 18, 2013

Happy Sexyween - part deux.

I’m pleased to say that my “Sexyween” post from last October was one of the more popular posts I’ve written.

I'd like to think that its popularity is due to my stellar writing and our mutual love of Halloween. 

But according to Google Analytics it’s mostly due to people searching for things like “Sexy Where’s Waldo costume” and “Sponge Bob girl wearing knee socks.”

Whatever works.

This year I searched high and low to bring you the sexiest, sluttiest, stupidest Halloween costumes I could find.

Please enjoy and please, please whatever you do, do not purchase any of the following:

Snow White.
Someday my prince know.

"Miss Scissorhands."
 I do not recall this character from the film.

Sassy Olive Oyl.
Well this one is kinda a sexy nurse, or a sexy cop, right?
A sexy Olive Oyl. A sexy Shelley Duvall-esque Olive Oyl. Yes, this one makes sense.

"Grease Good Sandy."
The costume is actually called "Grease Good Sandy."
I'm so confused, if she's good, then why is she slutty?
And what have they done with "Grease Bad Sandy?" She must be extra-extra-extra slutty. 

Struck by Luck Reversible Leprechaun/Cupid.
Because nothing says Halloween like a Leprechaun costume.
That can change halfway through the evening into a Cupid costume.
That resemble in no way shape or form, a leprechaun or a cupid.

Dumb and Dumber Lloyd Christmas.
Dear Universe,
Please stop ruining things I love, like Jim Carrey in an
orange tuxedo in Dumb and Dumber.
Love, Lori

Sexy Banana.
Oh God, that's one bad case of banana crotch.

Pink Highlighter.
Oh shit. I hope nobody else is a pink highlighter at the big costume party tonight.

This poor model - she's usually in the Sunday circular for JC Penny's but somehow got talked into this gig.
She's clearly not amused and is seconds away from calling her agent.

Zestyville Ketchup.
If I'm going to be a bottle of ketchup for Halloween, it's going to be the
famous ketchup, the ketchup everybody knows and loves - ZESTYVILLE.
One word: Sexchup.

"Aunt Samantha."
There is nothing sexier than a girl-Uncle-Sam on October 31st.

Bert and Ernie.
This is a picture of me and my best friend Laura last Halloween.
We look pretty good, although I can't believe how fat I look, yeesch.

Sexy Leatherface.
The worst. 
Teeny-tiny chainsaw. Stupid look on her face. Leatherface did not have fingerless gloves.
And where's her flesh mask? Jeez, you'd think she'd never seen the movie. 
So I'll keep checking those Blogger stats to see if "Sexy Olive Oyl" or
"Bert and Ernie with boobs" gets me any additional traffic.

I'm a little surprised and disappointed that my "Sexy Hamburger" from last year
didn't get much action.
Keep it sexy this Halloween, you guys.
"I'm a hamburger, what do you want from me?"

Friday, October 11, 2013

Five songs that I never need to hear again.

Once in a while a song comes on the radio that sends me flying into the backseat of the big brown bomber family car of my youth. 

My dad taught me a lot about music, and I owe my love of obscure Motown music and the importance of Jim Morrison and The Doors to him.

Certain songs make me super nostalgic- I see myself laying down comfortably in the backseat of the car, looking up at the stars, riding home on the Bronx River Parkway on a Sunday evening from Grandma and Papa’s house.

And certain songs…blech. 

I can feel every bump in the road, my brother and I are fighting over his arm crossing the line into MY SPACE and I feel like I’m gonna hurl baked ziti onto the floorboards.

These five songs fall into that category.
It pains me to even post these videos, but if I'm suffering, you guys are suffering along with me.

Reelin’ in the Years – Steely Dan.
The song that inspired this post, I heard it last night as I was flipping around trying to find something to listen to. My hatred of Steely Dan is legendary and my dad’s love for them was pretty big. This song particularly annoyed me, from the falsetto “reelin in the yeeeeeeaaaarrrrs” chorus to the talky/singy remainder of the song, the singer (Steely Dan?) always sounded so arrogant to me. When I found out years later that Steely Dan was my bosses favorite band my hatred for them was further elevated and forever set in stone. 

Ordinary Average Guy – Joe Walsh.
Sorry Joe Walsh, I’m just really not into listening to you talk about your boring friends, your average kids/wife, bowling (barf), and picking up the dog doo in your yard. Although this song isn't from when I was a kid, it feels like it was. How is this song from 1991? HOW? Oh and did I mention that it's awful?

Escape (The Piña Colada Song) – Rupert Holmes.
Probably the worst song ever written about personal ads and blended beverages. Old Rupert wants a girl who likes piña coladas, getting caught in the rain, someone not into yoga (because yeah, that's stupid) making love on the beach at exactly midnight, someone who's not into health food, likes champagne, oh and yeah, she's gotta have half a brain. Listen, the guys not asking for much. Ladies if you have half a brain you'd steer clear of RUPERT. Because he's a giant asshole.
I do smile remembering the alternative lyrics my brother Mike and I came up with:

"If you like poopin' out at midnight,
in the sheets of your bed,
you're the lady I look for,
come and poop on my head."

So much better, right?

One of These Nights – The Eagles.
Oh dear, The Eagles. I used to really like them when I was little, my dad listened to them a lot. Then as a teenage girl I grew wary of that Eagles Greatest Hits cassette tape that he wore out in the tape player in the car. This song bothers me today but talk to me tomorrow and it could be "Lyin' Eyes" "Take it to the Limit" or "Desperado." I kind of have a soft spot for "Hotel California" because in high school I used to like to picture myself singing this during a glee club performance, in a red dress with a fan blowing really hard on me luring all these guys into my hotel. I guess I was the devil? Or The Eagles are the devil? I don't know, but do I know I'm not too fond of them anymore.

A Horse With No Name – America.
Because I’m not a particular fan of horses, twangy accents, “plants, birds, rocks and things” (that is an actual line in the song) or hearing you complain about how hot it is in the desert. I kinda figured that it was.

So I never need to hear these songs again, ok?
Especially the Steely Dan one. 
And the horse one. 
Ok, I never need to hear any of them ever again. 

I know for a fact my five year old already feels this way about a certain song.
The other day when Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” came on I was singing along, picturing my dorm room back in college,
peach wine coolers and clove cigarettes. 

He asked, “Can you change this song? I just don’t like it.
I don’t like his voice or the way he talks about all of those things.”


Friday, October 4, 2013

Free to be...

Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows that I am a sucker for a deal, a two-fer, a BOGO. 
And a freebie. I am especially a sucker for a freebie.
Here are a few items that I got this week for my favorite price.
Zero dollars and zero cents.

(ummm, they were FREE.)

I was getting my haircut the other day, sitting comfortably in the chair with my man Jeff when a woman with a large bag across her body came in, claiming that “the product fairy had arrived.”

At that point I sat a little taller in my seat and my eyes glazed over. I looked up at Jeff like Oliver Twist asking for “more please” as the fairy breezed into the back of the salon.

As she was leaving Jeff asked her to come over (love him) introduced me to her saying, “You should meet Lori, she writes a blog” (again, love.)

I gave her my card and she gave me this:

Good trade.
It’s a dry shampoo by bumble and bumble called pret-a-powder.
You shake it on your dirty head like salt, rather than spray it on your dirty head like you do with the drugstore brands. Remember that Pssst! stuff I tried? The one that felt like I was spraying Christmas snow in a can on my head? This is way better than that.

I love it on my non-hair wash days - mostly because it smells really good. Like so good that when people hug me they say “what are you wearing?” and I say "FREE EXPENSIVE DRY SHAMPOO ON MY DIRTY HEAD."

Veggie Grill.
You may not have heard this but it rains here in Portland. A lot. This past week we experienced extra awful, monsoon like weather. However, no torrential downpour will stop me from getting free stuff.

I saw a guy from the Veggie Grill standing on the corner giving out little cards and samples. You bet I put my hood up and walked my slappy ass over there to see what was going on. He gave me a little card that got me this:

Fancy giant triangle cracker.

A free meal! “Chicken” tortilla soup and their famous “All Hail Kale" (dumb name really good salad) salad. Worth walking a block in a downpour for? Yes, it’s free and will be my work-lunch for two days.

Lagom haul.
My best friend Laura called me out of the blue Monday asking if I was around - she had some stuff she was unloading and wanted to drop by to see if any of it interested me.

Laura writes a blog called Finding Lagom, which documents her attempt to get rid of unnecessary "things" in order to live a more simple life.

Sometimes I reap the benefits of Laura’s lagom:
Yes I want this. All of it.

Laura's lagom haul included:
  • A can of black beans.
  • A jar of Biscoff Spread cookie butter (she used a little for a recipe and said she wouldn’t finish it, which I cannot comprehend.)
  • Fancy marionberry jam.
  • Two little Kiehls samples.
  • Hot Mama blush that I love/use.
  • The all important September issue of Vogue.
So good stuff this week right? My hair smells crazy good, hot fake-chicken soup on a cold, rainy day
and beans, butter and blush.
All free.

And I got to spend a little time at my kitchen table with Laura.
You can’t put a price on that.

Friday, September 27, 2013

Angel is the centerfold.

As a kid, my love of birthdays was legendary. 

I loved celebrating my brother…
Hulk in the Rage Cage!
A rocket!
"a nice suit."
My best friend Susie…
"Bugger King."
But mostly I loved celebrating my own birthday.
In 1982 I got a lot of stuff for my birthday - a stuffed rainbow to hang on my wall,
Kliban cat sheets, Clown-a-Rounds and a few Smurfs.

But really, I had my eyeballs on one gift and one gift only. 

I wanted the 45, "Centerfold" by the J. Geils Band.

The video was on MTV on a loop. I had it memorized so when I heard the song on American Top 40 I could play the video in my head along with it. I really wanted Peter Wolf to come into my classroom at Brookside Elementary, sit at a little desk next to me and then get up and dance around in his gold shoes.

I wanted to wear a shitload of black eyeliner, have big frizzy hair and walk around him in a circle, wearing only a sweatshirt while clutching my composition book.
I kinda still want to do that today.

And I'm home alone 'cuz Dad's at work
and Mom's at her Catholic Update meeting.

I pleaded with my diary...please let me get what I want - 
like my diary had the power to go out to Sam Goody and buy me a 45.
Opera is boring
"I told you everything I want, and I hope I get it."
Judy the babysitter let us stay up until ten and watch Popeye.
But more importantly...
That was totally worth writing down. 

Hello Kitty Friendly Diary came through.
It either used mental telepathy on Mom and Dad or it went to the record store.
 It happened.
We had pizza, ate a delicious cake and then we danced like maniacs to this:

When I hear this song today I still replay the video in its entirety in my head.
The girls in their black bras and white slips, in their negligées, swearing the girl with the short dark hair was
my hometown hero Martha Quinn, the drum full of milk, all of it.
I never got tired of it, I still love it. 

"Yuckey" weather.
I can't believe it's over.
Only 364 days until my birthday.