MAPOFTHEPROBLEMATIQUE

lots of things go together.

peanut butter and jelly.

milk and cookies.

bert and ernie.

peas and carrots.

sonny and cher.

yin and yang.

vodka and i . . .

and, as i have learned in my line of work: embarrassing moments and teaching.

now, usually it's the kids who find themselves in humiliation's unforgiving spotlight while i stifle snickers and snorts in the shadows. but i, too, have had my fair share of mortifying moments in the sun.

ok, more than my fair share . . .

like the time i asked everyone to please pass up their breasts tests. and its sister moment: "i've graded all your chests."

or the time i was sitting at my desk between two students, a boy and a girl, and i passed an SBD (silent but deadly) fart . . . and blamed it on the boy.

or the time i asked for jizz just one moment . . .

and the list goes on, including my newest:

second period. full class. 42 students.

it was cold. (yeeeeeees, it gets cold in southern california.)

i'd worn a poncho to school. (yes, a PONCHO. but it was a very cool, very expensive, very awesome poncho. it was NOT a speedy gonzalez, frito bandito, or chiquita banana poncho. it was a sexy beast, badass, but still keepin' it classy, professional poncho.)

said poncho got itself stuck in my crack sometime between first period and second period. (what can i say? i've got some weight to lose, ok? so, yeah, it got in there good, alright? i mean, it was on an expedition. lewis and clark style. i'm serious. maybe it was looking for unchartered territory. maybe it was looking for gold . . . or jimmy hoffa . . . or atlantis . . . or el dorado . . . or the missing minutes from the watergate tape . . . i don't know, but it was up there good.)

i didn't feel it. (no comments, please.)

cheerleader: ms. banana, come here for a second.
me: why?
cheerleader: just come here for a moment.
me: WHY?
cheerleader: just do it.
me: (walks over to her seat) what's up?
cheerleader: (giggles) turn around.
me: why?
cheerleader: do it!
me: (turns)
cheerleader: (pulls poncho from my ass)
me: (feels violated!) what the fuck?!?!
class: (rolls around on the floor laughing, dying)

is it not bad enough teachers get neither respect nor pay?

clearly, gahd hates teachers.

RULEDBYSECRECY

dear crusaders,

thank you for coming by, sharing your time and thoughts. this was incredibly fun! i do so look forward to visiting your blogs and writing together.

rach, a special thanks to you for organizing this crusade. you're amazing.

now, it's time to 'fess up . . .

here's the TRUTH:

the secret--i peed on coco. TRUE. i swear. don't know how she got in there. don't ask. BUT SHE DID.
the lie--my nephew and niece did not ask for a duck.
the (interesting) quirk--i like doing my "business" in the dark.
the annoying habit--i never close things properly. in this case: coco's cage.
one of my best character traits--i can see humor in ANYTHING most things.
one of my favorite things in the whole world--my family, especially my nephew and my niece, who are the light and laughter of my world.

AND

here's the TRUE STORY, in its entirety, which i wrote some time back:

not all of life's lessons come from wise, old, respectable sources like our parents, other elders, teachers, or religious scriptures. sometimes they come from much humbler, far less conspicuous places . . .

this is a true story about a hamster named coco.

my brother and his wife both have dog and cat allergies. so, when my nephew and niece got to that age in a child's life when it becomes absolutely necessary to have a pet, my brother and his wife bought them a hamster.

coco, may she rest in peace, was a lovely, delightful hamster. she was demure, petite, loyal, slow to anger, quick to laugh, clever with capacious cheeks and long, pearly white teeth. like all nocturnal creatures (and mobsters), she slept during the day and became active at night, running for hours on end on her little wheel under silvery moonlight.

it is this last that leads us to our tale . . . since i often babysat and am a notoriously light sleeper, in the evenings we’d necessarily move coco from the guest bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. coco, being the ever-gracious hostess, slept in the loo with nary an objection.

one morning, i awoke at the unholy hour of 3am for my usual early morning tinkle. with no lights or wits about me, i rolled from the toasty cosiness of my bed to the icily tenebrous bathroom. in complete darkness, i sat down on the toilet, and as my eyes adjusted to the stygian blackness, i strained to see little coco in her cage. but she was nowhere in sight.

i called to her. no response.

i glanced into the bath tub. nothing.

i turned and peered into the shower. still nothing.

i quickly scanned the floor. no coco.

panic began setting in.

where could she have gone?

had i properly shut her door the night before? how had she escaped? the children would never forgive me if i'd lost their coco.

my mind raced.

it went from the plausible: the children . . . was it them? had the children taken her upstairs to sleep with them without telling me?

to the impossible: la llorona? why not? with no children of her own, maybe she felt a hamster--especially one as handsome as coco--was a suitable replacement.

the chupacabras? not much blood in hamsters, to be sure, but perhaps all it wanted was a light midnight snack.

what? who? how?

WHY?

as i reached for some tissue, a sudden dread enveloped me. i'd checked everywhere for coco. that is, everywhere save the toilet on which i was sitting.

but, no . . . absurd! she couldn't have. could she? how could she even get in there?

using my kegels, i stopped midstream. i listened and then came the most horrifying, indeed, the most sickening sound i could have possibly heard at that moment . . .

splish . . . splash . . . splish . . . splash . . .

IT WAS COCO!

and i had just given her a golden shower.

OMG.

i stood up and looked into the toilet. THERE SHE WAS. there was little coco clinging to the side of the bowl for dear life.

oh, the humanity!

without a thought or moment's hesitation, i reached into the bowl and pulled her out. then, i rushed to the sink and turned on some warm water.

she didn't move.

i was terrified. had i killed her? i knew i shouldn't have had so much water before bed! (thank god we didn't have asparagus for dinner . . .)

i finished rinsing her, and placing her gently on one of the soft, fluffy, pink hand towels, i dried her off.

she still didn't move.

fuck!

please move, coco, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaase.

then came the desperate prayers to god: dear god, if you let coco live i promise to go to church, call my mother more often, stop using profanity . . .

and then, she keeled over.

OH MY FUCKING GOD, she's dead!

thanks a lot, pal!

she LITERALLY keeled over.

some people have the kiss of death.

i, I have the piss of death!

OMG.

i moved in very close.

i nudged her.

and i'll be damned if she didn't spring back to life like frankenstein's monster, scratching and snarling . . .

oh, thank you lord jesus!

then, slowly, coco sat up and began fluffing her fur. after about ten minutes, she was once again perfectly coiffed. she'd been to hell and back, but in true coco style, she didn't look one bit worse for the wear.

i tossed a towel over her and put her softly back in to her cage, making sure the lock was firmly shut.

no, i didn't tell my family. i didn't tell anyone.

until now . . .

and there you are, wondering why you've wasted five minutes of your life reading this shit.

well, little coco went on to live several more happy years at the banana household. and me, i learned a great lesson from that tiny creature: no matter how bad your life gets, you always have to keep a sense of perspective about you because i guarantee that even at its worst, your life is not so bad that you're in a toilet getting pissed on. not usually, anyway . . .

(yeah, ok, i'm sorry. and no, i can't give you your five minutes back.)

KNIGHTSOFCYDONIA

(what? and miss my chance to poke fun at religion?)

i've decided to try my hand at crusading . . . you know, minus the sword, the armor, the knights in white satin, the catholic guilt, the bloodshed and the trips to the middle east.

here's the challenge: in 300 words or less, i'm supposed to tell you . . .

one secret
one lie
one interesting quirk
one annoying habit
one of my best character traits, and
one of my favorite things in the whole world

what follows here encompasses all of the requisites above, but in no particular order. it is not an entirely original piece--as i have written about this story before--but rather a summary of a previous experience, which neatly fits the bill, methinks:

when my niece and nephew were little, they asked their parents for a pet. initially, they requested a fuliguline companion, but their pool was too small. next, they petitioned for a rabbit, bloviating and extolling the virtues of hares, but all to no avail. in the end, they got a hamster.

coco was a delightful hamster. petite, loyal, slow to anger, quick to laugh, clever with a blade-like wit, capacious cheeks and long, pearly white teeth, she--like all nocturnal creatures (and mobsters)--became active at night.

since i often babysat and am a notoriously light sleeper, in the evenings we’d necessarily move coco from the guest bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. coco, being the ever-gracious hostess, slept in the loo with nary an objection.

one morning, i awoke at the unholy hour of 3am for my usual early morning tinkle. with no lights or wits about me, i rolled from the toasty cosiness of my bed to the icily tenebrous bathroom. in complete darkness, i sat down on the toilet, and as my eyes adjusted to the stygian blackness, i strained to see little coco in her cage. but she was nowhere in sight.

calmly, i looked about, pondering coco’s whereabouts.

but as i reached for some tissue, a sudden dread enveloped me. i'd checked everywhere for coco. that is, everywhere save the toilet on which i was sitting.

absurd! she couldn't have. could she? how could she even get in there?

using my kegels, i stopped midstream and listened. then came the most horrifying, indeed, the most sickening sound i could have possibly heard at that moment . . .

splish . . . splash . . . splish . . . splash . . .

IT WAS COCO!

and i had just given her a golden shower.

can you figure out what's what?

ANSWERS THIS COMING FRIDAY.

UNITEDSTATESOFEURASIA

this just in: i have a sense of humor.

no, it's true.

kal just said so.

all this time i thought what i had was a penchant for crude, self-deprecating, foul-mouthed sarcasm, but now i know it's called "humor".

AWESOME!

thanks, kal!

FALLINGAWAYWITHYOU

SOOOOOOO . . . here are a few of my pictures from spring break, april 2010, in england and scotland.

late, yes, but suck it.

not a whole lot to say about my trip, other than it reaffirmed my love of all things united kingdom . . . and that i want to live there forever and ever and ever and EVER.

this time, no-one called me a "fat cunt" and prompted me to jump off of a bridge.

PROBABLY BECAUSE I DIDN'T GO TO WALES!

j/k.

i love my welsh peeps.

i had an incredible time--one i won't soon forget. wish i could do justice to all the beauty i saw, but alas, i have a shit camera.

basically, take my word for it and visit. and even if you've already gone, go back!

it's THAT wonderful.

lovely place. lovely people.

go.

NOW!

(all photos: edinburgh, scotland, uk. such a GORGEOUS place, edinburgh. more gorgeous, i think, than london. too bad the weather was utter shite and i couldn't take more or better photos. seriously fucking cool place. as if i wasn't already in love with the uk!)

(you just have to LOOOOOOOVE a people whose motto is: NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT. in latin: no-one injures me with impunity. or as i like to put it: nobody fucks with me and gets away with it, beeeeeeeyotch!)



(below: somewhere near auchterarder, scotland, uk.)

(so, i know you're tempted to say, "lana! OMG, you dyed your hair red, girl!" but actually, this isn't me, it's an aberdeen angus . . . AND I LOOOOOOOVE THEM! i named this one molly. they come in black, too! a bit like chewbacca made love with a cow.)


(THIS is me--though NOT in the uk. but it's me. and it's me from an angle that doesn't make me look fat. it IS possible. i call it the "facebook angle". you ever notice that almost all facebook photos are from THIS angle? it's because it makes people look thinner. like me. if you saw me in real life, you'd wonder, "who is the person in THIS picture?" . . . no, really.)

(all photos: fuck-if-i-remember, england, uk. this was either on the way TO oxford or on the way back to london FROM oxford. senility is hitting me early, y'all.)




(all photos: oxfordshire, england, uk. blenheim palace, birthplace of sir winston churchill.)






(all photos: london, england, uk. walk along the thames.)

(wish i could say this photo is about showing you a beautiful tree in brilliant bloom, but it's more about showing you two stupid twats in the center of my shot going around picking daffodils in the park. fucking bitches! you see with your eyes, not with your hands, damn you!)


(just keepin' it classy, y'all. keepin' it classy.)


(i loved this painting, though i can remember neither its name nor its artist's name . . . it's hanging in the tate modern, though, if you want to pop by.)

(all photos: london, england, uk. borough market . . . GET IN MY BELLY!)

STOCKHOLMSYNDROME

(all photos: june 2010, sequoia national park, ca.)

my favorite place on earth.

THOUGHTSOFADYINGATHEIST

while we're on the subject of THINGS THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN TO LANA BANANA, let's talk about weddings . . .

and bridal diapers!

you heard me.

BRIDAL D I A P E R S.

that's right, ladies, if you ever find yourself under 700 pounds of unweildy tulle, crinoline and silk on your wedding day with a dire need for the loo, then look no further than your own underpants!

'cause who needs a toilet when you've got BRIDAL DIAPERS?!

after all, they're not just for infants and seniors anymore!


("it's like a g-string, honey, but not, if you see what i mean.")

now when you say, "I DO!" . . . you can also say, "I DOO DOO!" . . . or, "I POO! . . . and/or, "I PEE!"

i'm here all week folks . . .

TIMEISRUNNINGOUT

i teach kids.

well, more often than not, they teach ME, but this aside . . . i teach kids.

i don't want to HAVE kids. you know, as in, birth them and bring them up.

that's right, i said it: i am 33 and i don't want to have kids.

forever, you ask?

probably.

more than likely. (if anything, i might adopt older children.)

and NO, i'm not infertile. NO, my parent's didn't beat me. NO, i wasn't molested or otherwise sexually assaulted . . . EVER. NO, i wasn't bullied as a child.

i am FINE.

i just don't want to have kids.

is this so hard to believe?

yesterday, someone--a person whom i love and who knows me well--got into a conversation about this with me. as teachers, we had a lengthy discussion about parenting (the good, the bad and the ugly) . . . which ended with our own feelings about procreating.

she--a beautiful, solvent and intelligent (emotionally, mentally, spiritually, financially) woman in her early 30s--declared she is all but itching for children of her own.

i said i could pass. that if the planets aligned just right, then maaaaaaaybe, but that, as above, more than likely not.

this is what i got: "how can a TEACHER not want babies? i just don't get how someone who obviously loves children so much cannot want some of her own."

on and on and on . . .

it doesn't end there.

seems like every person i tell--man or woman--about my NON-desire is bowled over.

if i told people i enjoyed drowning puppies in my spare time, i could NOT get more damning looks.

a while back, i fell for an amazing man. i said to myself, "self, this is THE one."

amongst other things--and i'll be the first to admit that there were, indeed, OTHER THINGS--the relationship ended because, as he put it, "ONE DAAAAAAAY, lana, you'll change your mind. you'll want kids." he didn't want more children (he already had two from a previous marriage), but was 100% certain i WOULD.

REALLY???

i mean, fucking REALLY???

can i have tomorrow's lottery numbers while you're at your crystal ball, you fucking prick (note: he's not REALLY a prick, i'm just riled)?!

this is such complete, utter poppycock!

i guess i'm just stupid because i don't get it. i just don't get it. why is it perfectly fine for a man to say he doesn't want children, but sacrilegious for a woman to claim the same?

that's not a rhetorical question.

i'm serious.

any takers?

SINGFORABSOLUTION

ACTUAL comments i put on students' essays from semester I:

1) "Dear _____,
There is nothing you cannot achieve if you work hard enough. Life puts up walls not to block you from your dreams, but to force you to prove the strength of your desires. Build a ladder, climb a rope, go around, or dig a hole . . . Whatever you must do to get to other side of life's walls, do it. Work harder next time."

2) "Dear _____,
People can take everything away from you . . . cars, clothes, money, family, friends and even your dignity. The only thing people can't take away from you is what you put inside your mind. Work harder next time."

3) "Dear _____,
You're beautiful, but only your brain will get you into college. Long after your beauty has faded, your mind's radiance will still shine. Work harder next time."

do y'all see a theme developing here?

4) "Dear _____,
I was born in another country, came to the US as a poor immigrant who didn't speak the language, my father was killed by a drunk driver when I was just 10, crime and drugs ran rampant in my neighborhood and I have dyslexia. I was also on varsity cheerleading, practiced karate, did student council and volunteered at a home for senior citizens in high school, then graduated at the top of my class and obtained a full scholarship to UCLA, where I, again, graduated with highest honors.

You can make excuses or you can make it happen. Make it happen. Work harder next time."

AND FINALLY, AS I WAS ABOUT TO DRINK THE MAGIC KOOL AID AND CALL IT A DAY . . . REDEMPTION . . .

5) "Dear _____,
THANK YOU for working so hard on this piece. Your dedication to knowledge and self-improvement is an inspiration to me. You make being a teacher worthwhile."

i work my ass off teaching, and it really sucks when, despite my best efforts, my students blow me off. fortunately, making me happy is easy . . . just one hard-working kid reeled me back into the craft.

BUTTERFLIESANDHURRICANES

apparently, i have a thing for close-up nature photography . . . sue me.

maybe this cantankerous exterior of mine has a few cracks.

maybe not.

(all photos: august 2010, san juan capistrano, ca. sjc mission.)

HOORAYFORHOLLYWOOD

(2010: huntington beach, ca. holly, femme fatale extraordinaire.)

i don't have many friends.

it's true.

hard to believe, i know, right? all this charm, grace and eloquence . . . and only a handful of friends.

fact is that it takes a special, brilliant, clever, attractive, interesting, intelligent, intellectual, witty, strong, vivacious sort of person to be friends with me.

enter holly vance of crime, thriller, horror and one bad romance.

holly is one of the fiercest women i've ever met: a devoted teacher, a loyal friend and a talented writer . . .

yesterday, she fired up her own corner of the net. if you like me, you'll LOVE her. actually, even if you hate me, you'll STILL love her. ACTUALLY, if you're breathing and have just two synapses to rub together, you'll love her 'cause she's just that fab.

word.

HATETHISANDI'LLLOVEYOU

i was going to write y'all a valentine's day poem, but i thought you might prefer a picture of me.

yeah, so . . . happy valentine's day!

xoxo,

lana

SUPERMASSIVEBLACKHOLE

(just wanted all of you to see that i'm STILL keepin' it classy.)

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

yeah, it's mid-february. so fucking what? i got a late start.

and yeah, i know my last post was LAST january . . . i ain't getting paid for this shit, after all . . .