Shake Dat Laffy Taffy

Most people would say, "You are your own worst critic." Although that may be true in the real world, I live in the Lane Estate, therefore, my worst critics are my lovely children.

I just finished up a writing gig for a stand-up comedian. While working on material, I would periodically run a joke idea by them. Do you remember Statler & Waldorf, the Muppet Show critics? That would be the Lane kids. They even came up with a grading scale to rate my jokes.

Popsicle stick means it is not great. It is, like the jokes written on those sticks, mediocre at best.

The next, which means good, but not great is, Bazooka.

The final means, I have just knocked one out of the park, and that one is called Laffy Taffy. Apparently, according to my kids, Laffy Taffy has the best jokes snack food has to offer.

I felt like Fozzie Bear getting tomatoes tossed at my head, as they said, "Popsicle stick! Next!" and, "Bazooka! Next!"

They are a tough crowd, but at least they demand the best Laffy Taffy I had to offer.

Now that the job is done, I wait. I hate waiting! There's a team of four or five people who have to go over the material before I know what will be bought by this comedian.

I'm also still waiting on Spike Feresten, who says the end of May would be good, for me to submit something. I have a good backlog of sketches ready to go. I just need to figure out which make the Laffy Taffy cut.

Another comedian friend of mine is trying to get me in as a sub on a different late night TV show to fill in when scheduled guests aren't available. I know this is vague and in code, but I don't want to do any name dropping until all the ducks are in a row. But it is good news.

But wait, there's more good news! I found out that when Lane 1 isn't being an evil Statler, critiquing my jokes, he's out there in the world, turning out to be a pretty great person.

My son received a thank you card with a reward from a teacher. Had she not sent the card, I wouldn't have known just how nice he can be. Let's face it, 16-year-old boys can be douche bags, which I say with motherly love.




Here's Lane 1 playing with a mega icicle. Tell me you can't detect douche-baggery in that handsome face?!

Anyhow, the card was thanking him for bringing her purse to her. Apparently, after school one day, they were both at a gas station. She set her purse on the roof of her car and drove off. He saw what happened, scooped it up and followed her and gave it back. I'm proud of my kid.

So that's what's been going on in my neck of the woods. Tell me what's new with you guys! Have a great weekend!

Photograph

My daughter Lane 2, took some pictures of our travels and time spent at the in-laws. You can read the full story below. Our 6 1/2 hour ride turned into a 9 1/2 hour ride because of the road and weather conditions.




Here's Mr. Lane trying to pull ice off of the windshield wipers.




Here's a state trooper controlling the speed by leading the way.




Here's a jackknifed semi. She got some other good accident shots of the 41 we saw, but I'll spare you.




Here's Daisy chomping away on a travel cup.




The story about the supermarket buffet is also below. But little did I know, Lane 2 brought her camera and took this picture of her dad uncomfortably walking up to get seconds. See, it really is in the MAIN grocery aisle!




Christmas Eve, Mr. Lane's dad dressed up like Santa. Here he is with some of his grandkids and his first great-grandchild and one of his grand-doggers.




After his grandchildren tormented him, he got up and staggered his way toward his regular clothes. He looks drunk, doesn't he?




Grandpa and Nana Lane bought Lane 2 a beret, which I thought looks really pretty on her.


So enough holiday fun. Here's what we Lanes are doing this fine Saturday morning.




Lane 1 and Lane 2 playing Rockband. I love how they really get into it. Her face is so serious and he is rockin' his heart out.


But something terrible happened soon after the game was over...one of the bathroom lights high in the ceiling went out.


So how many Lanes does it take to change a light bulb?




And why did it look so perverted from my angle?




We really need to buy a ladder, and some storm windows so we don't have to put plastic and... duct tape? on our windows. Oh yeah, we are classy rednecks!




But they got 'er done.




And headed out to play more Rockband...




...but not before Mr. Lane dropped our son.


I hope you all have a great weekend! With these people around me, I know I will.

Happy To Be Stuck With You

I know I just blogged four days ago, but today, I realized that I missed our blog anniversary last month. I hope you aren't upset. I know, I didn't get you anything. It's just money is really tight right now, but I love ya just the same.

Yesterday marked the 19th year of shackedupdom for me and my old man. Mr. Lane was as smooth as curdled milk back in the day. He acted as if being from California was so different than being from Illinois that he said, "Hey Lois, you know I like you and stuff, right?"

"Um.. yeah?"

"Well, I don't know how you say it here, but like, umm... would you want to be like... my girlfriend or something?"

"Something?"

"Oh come on, you know what I mean. Do you wanna like... date... and stuff?"

"What is this 'and stuff' you speak of? Is that Californian for screw? You know I don't speak that lingidy. Plus, I'm not that kind of girl!"

Wringing his hands and staring at the floor, he asked, "Is that like a yes?"

Hanging myself upside-down, nose-to-nose with him, making him look at me, I said, "Like fur-sure."

That was how this whole thing started. It's hard to believe I've spent more years of my life with that man than I have without him. A couple of years ago, I told the long-winded version of how I met Mr. Lane. The Story of Us ended at chapter seven in the spring of 2006 here on Home Fires, should you be curious about that part of our lives, you can read all about it in the archives or Cold Ashes on the sidebar to your lower right. I think part 1 was mid-March.

It seems fair, to write about that man who has been my best friend, coffee buddy, partner in crime, sidekick, comic relief, writing material giver upper, lover, and biggest pain in my ass since that hemorrhoid I had last year. Skipping many a run-ins with that little California Raisin, I'll fast forward a bit to... this morning.

But first I need to rewind a second to tell you about my friend Mary. She made me a Christmas gift based on a blog post of mine she read. Learning that her friend is not only experiencing a graying beaver, but also one that seems to be balding at a rather alarming rate, she bought a thong for me. She also bought some faux fur and proceeded to sew it onto the thong.




Here's her masterpiece, which may be my favorite gift received this year.

We laughed our asses off because nothing says, "Hey friend, merry Christmas!" quite like a twat toupee.

Mary said she thought it best for me to show, rather than tell Mr. Lane, who wasn't home when I received this lovely gift.

Per her instructions, I closed myself into the bedroom, took off all of my clothes, put on my petable panties, and called him into the bedroom.




Mr. Lane's reaction to me modeling Mary's handy work.

And then something triggered his internal cross dresser, and he said, "Let me try them on. I want to freak the kids out."

Not one to turn away a chance at scarring my kids for life, or laughter or blog material, I whipped those suckers off and handed them to him, giggling all the while. I had to help him "tuck and fold" so no bits or pieces would show. He wouldn't let me take a picture of him modeling them, so here's how the kids reacted to seeing their dad wearing them.




How much therapy are they going to need?

Lane 2 screamed and ran, hiding her eyes.




Mr. Lane, invading his personal space, asked Lane 1 if he wanted to snuggle. To which, I believe the boy gagged.




Lane 1 was so appalled that his father suggested he wished he had a pair of his own, that the wrestling began. I'm sorry Mary had already gone home and missed the action.

I broke up the wrestling match because from my angle (sparing you the image) it seemed more than a bit or piece was fixin' ta fall out, if ya know what I'm sayin'.

When people ask how to make a marriage work, or ask how we've stayed together all these years, I never really know what to say. But moments like these sure do make me want to stick around to see the next crazy thing this man has up his sleeve...or thong.