If I Lived in New York...

...it would be my birthday right now!!!!

A Wrong Turn in Long Island

Last night I had a gathering of friends to help me celebrate the first anniversary of my 30th birthday. I was overwhelmed at the turn out. I have some pretty awesome friends.

35 people RSVP, so I assumed that, in Los Angeles, you can automatically cut that in half with the flake factor. Then, with the rain, I figured I could cut even that number in half. By 10 pm we had to be moved into a side room to fit all the guests. Even then we were borrowing chairs from other tables and requesting extra chairs.

I felt bad for the long table next to us that only had four people sitting at it. Ha, ha, losers without enough friends to fill a table!

Those who didn’t bring gifts were nice enough to buy me drinks. I am not sure if it was the ‘blowjob’ Miss Sherbet, from the office, bought me, or the two Long Island ice teas purchased for me by Bob and Marybeth, my comedy friends, that fucked me up- but towards the end of the night things got blurry. But I didn’t do anything too embarrassing. Well, at least I haven’t gotten any e-mails or phone calls.

This party made turning 31 not suck as much.

The Web is Creepy

When I was looking for suitable dumpster pictures for my last post, I came upon this.

Creepy times ten.

Dumpster Indignation

I took the trash out to the dumpster this morning. As I came around the corner I was startled to see a bunch of empty soda cans strewn about on the ground. I was even more startled when I realized there was a guy in the dumpster going through the garbage in search of even more recyclables.

I went to throw my trash in the other dumpster and as I turned to leave the guy in the dumpster held up a huge plastic container of cranberry grape juice. The conversation began:

“Do you know what this is?” he asks.

“Um…cranberry grape juice?” I reply.

“No, it’s motor oil. Someone filled this container up with motor oil and just threw it away. That’s unsafe. Can you believe that?”

What did he want me to say? Even I know perfectly well that you shouldn’t throw away motor oil. I know ‘cause Jiffy Lube charges me to get rid of the old oil when I take my car in. I know that the oil could get into the ground water or into the sewers and end up in the ocean where a poor sea bird could end up covered with it and the only way to clean him up would be with a washcloth and Dawn dish soap.

“That’s awful,” I say.

“Yes, it is. I’m going to tell the condo president,” he says.

To this I wanted to ask, “How are you going to begin that conversation?“ How about “So I was digging through the trash and came upon THIS!’”

The Dichotomy of My Pants

Some guys only pretend to be my friend so they can get into my pants.

And

Some guys prefer to get into my pants when I’m not in the room.

Go ahead and groove on that for a bit.

Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Red

I just got back from Las Vegas. Sorry Cousin Julie, but I'm about four months away from even being able to think about going back. I had no luck gambling, drank too much and probably walked the equivalent of the length of the strip three times in girly shoes.

Although I did enjoy several "firsts" on this trip:

First bus trip to Vegas
First pee in a bus bathroom (again see 'first bus trip')
First Yardarita (Margarita by the yard for those not in the know.)
First time walking down the strip with an open container (see 'first Yardarita')

Portrait of a Bored Blogger

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"I dunno, press the button and find out."

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

Your Celebrity Baby Name Is...

Fifi Fuchsia

What's Your Celebrity Baby Name?

Your 1950s Name is:

Victoria Joni

What's your 1950s Name?

You Are 12% Sociopath

You're empathetic, loyal, and introspective. In other words, there's no way you're a sociopath... but you can spot one pretty easily!

Are You A Sociopath?

You Are 36% Lady

You tend to make up your rules of etiquette, throwing all conventions aside. And while you try to be a lady (sometimes), your behavior is often quite shocking.

Are You A Lady?

You Are 76% Addicted to Myspace

Your Myspace addiction factor is: High You are officially addicted to Myspace. It's quite possible you haven't seen a real person in days.

Are You Addicted to Myspace?

You Are a Frappacino

At your best, you are: fun loving, sweet, and modern At your worst, you are: childish and over indulgent You drink coffee when: you're craving something sweet Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

You Are a Boston Creme Donut

You have a tough exterior. No one wants to mess with you. But on the inside, you're a total pushover and completely soft. You're a traditionalist, and you don't change easily. You're likely to eat the same doughnut every morning, and pout if it's sold out.

What Donut Are You?

Leana and the Amazingly Big-Ass Dreamcoat

My freshman year of high school my grandma took me to the mall to buy a winter coat. I ended up getting one of those ski jackets that are good up to about 100 degrees below zero. And grandma, being the thrifty lady she is, wanted me to get the coat a couple sizes larger- so I could ‘grow into it.’

I would have had to have existed on a diet of Big Macs and milk shakes every day since then to ever grow into the coat she bought me. It’s a 2X. Today it still hangs down to about my knees. It has it’s own post office. It’s that big.

But tonight I am extremely glad to have it. It’s been so cold the last few days, and my stupid furnace is busted, so it’s just me and the coat against the elements. I feel like Laura Ingalls on the prairie as I sit here on the sofa, typing on my laptop.

Leana’s Weekend Wrap Up

Friday:

Worked. Appealed to anyone in the office who would listen about the necessity of an early bus back from Vegas next weekend. You don’t want to leave Vegas in the late afternoon on a Sunday ’cause that’s when all the dumb asses decide to get on the road. It turns a 5 hour trip into 10 hours. Oh, and did I mention I’M TAKING A BUS TO VEGAS!!! No complaining, ‘cause the whole trip is free…just saying….

Met with Trainer. He’s really the devil. As I mentioned before, I have no upper body strength, but that doesn’t seem to deter him from forcing me to use all sorts of medieval gym equipment and make me cry. But if it’s going to make me a hot 30 year old, I’ll take it.

Met with new comedy writing group. Great guys, funny writers and very supportive. Already created a couple brilliant bits from it. Please ask me what I think we should do about pedophiles. It’s hilarious. I swear.

Saturday:

Froze my ass off. It’s about 35 degrees here in beautiful, sunny California.

Flexed the handyman-side of me. Fucking pilot light went out on my heater again. Great on the coldest day in reported history of the world. Called my dad and he was able to walk me through lighting it again. I’m so proud of myself. Although I’ve since come to find out that there is something seriously wrong with my heater ‘cause the pilot light keeps going out. I’m sure it’s something that will cost me a LOT of money.

Spent the entire evening with THE greatest guy. I told him that I like him so much I wish I could clone him and have a three-way. I think that creeped him out. Maybe I shouldn’t say everything I think.

Sunday:

Stole the Sunday paper. Well, didn’t really steal it, the LA Times has been delivering to the apartment three doors down. Nobody has lived there for months. I’m just picking up liter.

Caught up on three weeks worth of television. My Name is Earl, Scrubs, SNL, Ghost Whisperer and Medium, to name them ALL. What else can you do when it’s freakin’ freezing outside?

Worked out at the gym. Had to cut it short when some douchbag, who smelled like he bathed in a tub of Drakkar Noir, decided to get on the elliptical next to me. The smell almost made me gag. Ewww, the smell is still in my nose.

Don't Call Me Powder

It seems those bastards at Max Factor no longer deem it necessary to make my shade of foundation. What do they expect us albinos to do without the proper foundation?

Now the search begins again for the perfect foundation. It’s better this way really. It was already becoming near impossible to find any drug store or department store that even carried Max Factor. Wal Mart’s the only place I could ever find it for the longest time (and we all know my feelings about Wal Mart). Now, even they aren’t carrying #3 Light Champaign.

Then there’s the whole thing about the heir to the Max Factor fortune being a rapist. I can’t get behind that, no matter how fabulous it makes my skin look.

Learning With Leana

I’m constantly surprised at all the wondrous new things I learn each and every day. You’d think, after circling the sun some 30-plus times, that I’d be learning less and napping more.

Here’s just a sampling of what I learned today, perhaps you’ll learn a few new things too!

• I have no strength in my shoulders. Now, I’ve always known my upper body is pretty pathetic- especially when compared to my powerful lower half that will someday allow me to push a school bus off my future son Jerome- but I didn’t realize ‘til I met with my trainer tonight that I can’t even do one rep using just the bar.
  

• YouTube only allows you to upload videos that are 100MB on less. The video I want to upload is 622MB and I have no idea how to fix it and apparently nobody I can get hold of tonight knows either.

• If you don’t get your receipt at Mervyn’s, you have 24 hours to return to the store to get a print out. Otherwise you’re completely screwed. Even if it was the fault of the stupid scank behind the counter.

• Special K has a new flavor! And…wait for it…it’s CHOCOLATE!!! And apparently I’m really “in the know,” as the new flavor isn’t even mentioned on Kellogg’s website or on the Yahoo! Kellogg’s Special K Group, of which I’m a member. I stumbled upon this great find at the supermarket this evening and, the best part, it was on sale. I know this is Kellogg’s way of getting me hooked on this shit, so that when they raise the price to $6 a box, I’ll have to sell plasma to pay for it. But I don’t care.

Synchronize Swatches

Silence of the Neighbor

Creepy Next Door Neighbor has a woman in his place tonight. I saw her through the kitchen window as I walked by. Which wasn’t easy, I might add, as the blinds were nearly closed. How rude of people not to leave their blinds open for the neighbors’ viewing pleasure.

Part of me wanted to quickly run to his front door, pound on the wood and scream “get out of there lady, that dude is a serious freakshow.“ The other part of me wanted to run straight to my place so I could pick out an outfit to wear when the t.v. camera crews showed up to interview me about the guy next door whom they discovered enjoyed chopping up women and stuffing them in his deep freeze.

I’m already practicing my close up in the mirror and the new twist I’ll put on the usual, neighbor interview. “I always thought he was a little off. He was so quiet. Never talked to a soul. I guess the smell should have been some sort of hint…”

Question of the Day

Is it too early to put up my Christmas decorations?

Fucking Early

When my trainer asked me Friday afternoon “you want to meet up Sunday morning at 7,” why didn’t I answer with “Fuck no, that’s way too early. I’m planning on sleeping in ‘til noon, then napping ‘til 2, then perhaps taking a siesta. And, if time permits, I’d like to get in forty winks.”

The IKEA Witch Project

I got lost in IKEA today. I was out of my element. I usually go to the one in Carson, but today I went to the one in Burbank. I haven’t been there in about five years, and boy has it changed.

The layout was completely different than the Carson IKEA. For one, the Carson IKEA is three floors. For two, the Burbank IKEA is completely ass-backwards and ridiculous.

I ended up being the asshole walking the IKEA path against traffic. Much like going down the up escalator, I was given odd looks and spent most of my time dodging people.

The fourth time I came upon the same display of Markör bookcases and Bestǻ shelves I knew I was in trouble.

I finally teamed up with a couple wearing matching backpacks and knee highs and wandered with them to the exit.

And I didn’t buy one damned thing.

Where's Coolio When We Need Him?

Do we really need another movie where a teacher comes into a ghetto school to make a difference? Haven’t Michele Pfeiffer and Morgan Freeman taken care of that tired cliche. While I don’t know much about the movie, I have gotten the “all students need is someone to care about them to succeed” vibe.

In reality, the teacher would probably be laughed or ridiculed out of the classroom, or the parents (who couldn’t give a good gawd-damn about their kids on any other day) would suddenly decide to take just enough interest to get the teacher fired -then sue the school district. .

Get to Steppin'

My inner, black 14-year-old girl really wants to see Stop the Yard.

Do They All Have to Jump the Shark?

Every time I hear the song Snow from the Chili Peppers' latest album I want to punch a baby. Here‘s why-

"Hey oh... listen what I say oh I got your hey oh... listen what I say oh

I said hey hey yeah oh yeah, tell my love now.

Hey hey yeah oh yeah, tell my love now.
said hey oh yeah oh yeah... tell my love now Hey yeah yeah... oh yeah."

What kind of shit is that? Why would the Chili Peppers take song writing tips from the Dutch-ass Fergie?

Dinner Time

I supped last eve with a good friend of mine. He’s recently “out of the closet” so I can’t reveal his name as he’s somehow certain that his Rush Limbaugh-loving, flag draped father, whom I’ve never met, will come across my blog and learn the truth about his baby boy.

I guess stranger things have happened.

The whole evening was interesting. It was like having dinner with a 15 year-old girl. All he could talk about was his new fella and how wonderful he is. Everything we talked about would somehow relate to this guy. Here’s a perfect example- when we exchanged holiday gifts:

Recently Out Friend: (opens gift 1) An Itunes gift card? This is great, there’s a lot of music I want to introduce New Boy-toy to!

ROF: (opens gift 2) A rice cooker? New Boy-toy loves cooking. Did I mention that he has a refrigerator AND a stove in his apartment. I was there last night you know.

ROF: (opens gift 3) A t-shirt? I’ll wear it while I’m out on a date with my new boyfriend. It will look great on his bedroom floor.

And so it went. I don’t begrudge him this time though. He’s extremely happy and it’s a new look for him. I just hope the newness will wear off soon so we can go back to talking about more interesting subjects. Namely ME!

Oh Whoa is Lee

There are probably 120 units in my condo complex. To average it out, I’m guessing there are about 2 people in each unit. Of course there are some with more, but there are some (like mine) with less. I’m also guessing, from the smell that’s seeping in the front windows and door, that there are about 1,267 cats -all peeing.

It’s freakin’ nasty. I thought, at first, that it was my dear cat-roommate Willow causing my kitchen to smell like an old, spinster lady’s underwear drawer, but the smell lessened as I walked through my bedroom to the bathroom, where the liter box actually resides.

I opened the front door and was nearly knocked over by the smell. As I walked outside I saw about four cats just hanging out on the steps. It was like that creepy Stephen King novel where the chick does it with cats. (At least that’s what I got out of that film.)

And cat pee isn’t one of those smells you can get used to. It’s not one of those smells where someone comes to visit and says “What the fuck is that?” and you say “What? Oh, I don’t smell a thing.” It’s a constant, horrendous smell.

The people in my complex let their cats roam freely and pee wherever they please. I hope they know that I follow the same thread of logic about my gun. I let the bullets roam freely and land wherever they please. The dude who invented the silencer is awesome. Turns out, cat’s don’t like bullets. Who knew?

Sometimes You Just Don't Need a Headline

My Visit to the Subcontinent

Alternate title: How I spent My National Day of Mourning

So I stopped by the Indian restaurant down the street from the office after work tonight. (It’s fun with prepositional phrases!) I know it was all the IM-ing with Cousin Julie, who’s in India, that sent me there instead of home for dinner.

The old guy who runs the place is always nice and friendly to me and the office lunch crew. He’s even given us nicknames; of course he only uses the nicknames of the people who aren’t there. Like when I go in with Bill, he asks where Tall and Sexy is- that’s Jamie. When Jamie and I go in he asks where the guy with the tiny glasses is-that’s Bill. Apparently when Bill and Jamie go in and I’m not there, it’s “Where’s Red?” I guess it could be a worse nickname to have.

Tonight I went in alone. I have the toughest time understanding the old guy. It’s not the thick Indian accent, it’s that he mumbles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy’s teeth. He wished me a Happy New Year and then either he asked me if I had just come from work or if I thought Bob Dole was a dork.

And on my way out I either agreed to see him soon, or I promised to marry his first born son.

I think I’ll stay away from the Indian food for a while.

Isn’t He Precious?

I’ve been busted. The gentleman I’m dating called me out on a recent post in which I totally used a thought of his and took it as my own.

I should have been embarrassed, but I was just flattered that he was reading my blog. Of course I think part of the reason he reads it is to make sure he’s not being defamed up in here. Little does he know, I save all the good stuff for the stage. Hazards of dating a comedienne. I’m going to have to have him sign some sort of waiver.

Leana’s Rum Diary

Ah, New Year’s Eve. It brought me together with some old friends. Most notably, Malibu Rum. I haven’t had it since college and I thought it would be nice to see how the old bastard was doing.

And boy did I. I managed to drink the whole bottle in about two hours. It really is like riding a bike. Of course, after drinking the entire bottle, there was no way I would be able to ride a bike, or drive a car or operate a hair dryer.

The greatest part; I woke up this morning WITHOUT a hangover. This might set a bad precedent for ‘07.