:: Sunday, April 16, 2006 ::
juliet, wheres ur blog?

Over here.

Kiss kiss!
:: happy hour begins at 9:56 PM [+] ::

:: Sunday, January 30, 2005 ::
At least "once a month" is consistent. Right?

Every day I think about blogging.

And every day I don't.

I guess I just needed to read back over the two years o' blog back there to find the key.

For the key is Quizilla.

What Office Space character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I'm also very into Dilbert lately.

And chicken wings. But that's a whole other thing.


:: happy hour begins at 5:40 PM [+] ::

:: Monday, January 03, 2005 ::

I didn't mean to disappear like that. I mean, first I was in The Window, when it was too soon to post anything anyway so I could relax. Then it was The Weekend, and most of you don't visit me on the weekend anyway so I could relax.

Then we started getting into INeedToHaveAnExcuseBeforeIGoBackInThere episodes, through which I found relaxation difficult because "Speaksy lost his cell phone and it may have been because I threw it out during the aforementioned Thanksgiving cleaning debacle" isn't high on the Successful Excuses for Lapses Longer Than Ten Minutes list.

Pretty soon we entered IWonderIfICanSayIWasAbductedByBigfoot territory, at which point I relaxed by plunging into DENIAL about the fact that I hadn't been writing. About the fact that I didn't want to write. About the fact that I had a blog at all.

I even stopped checking my emails, which were tough to access at AOHell anyway, so I could at least try to relax on that one.

And there's even more stress to this milkshake in that part of the reason I haven't been writing is that I AM KEEPING SECRETS FROM YOU. Well, not all of you. Some of you. Almost all of you. Probably 70% of you know one thing about me that the other 30% of you can never know ever. A handful of you know two things that nobody else knows. A whopping ONE of you knows one thing that everyone else will eventually find out, but not for a very long time, like the blog may die before I say what that is.

And these are the things that are taking up 98% of my days.

The other 2% is stuff like tampons and tiaras and I've talked about those a lot before.


In the last month, of the things I can tell you, I will tell you that I gave up caffeine (because I'm an idiot), went brunette (because I always wanted to and I'm 32 so I can), gained six pounds (same reason) and watched The Matrix about thirty billion times.

Because if you have a two-week vacation and a satellite dish, that's just what you do.

Happy New Year, everyone!

:: happy hour begins at 1:31 PM [+] ::

:: Sunday, November 28, 2004 ::
The Seventy-Two Hours of Thanksgiving

At Seventy-Two Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Forty-Eight Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Thirty-Six Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

We don't have a turkey,
We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Twenty-Four Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

We should have hired a cleaner.
We don't have a turkey.
We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Twenty Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Twelve Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Is anything still open?
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We'll just stay up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Ten Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Cat puke doesn't stain, right?
Is anything still open?
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We just stayed up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At Four Hours 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Just stuff the rest in bags now.
Cat puke stains like Satan.
Nothing is still open.
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We just stayed up all night, but
Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

At One Hour 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Oh, who needs potatoes.
Shove those bags in closets.
Cover up that puke stain.
Nothing is still open.
We should have hired a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We just stayed up all night, but
The doorbell's ringing - we are out of time.

At Ten Minutes 'til Thanksgiving
my True Love said to me,

Who are all these people?
Oh, who needs potatoes.
The salt is somehow missing.
Your mom just found the puke stain.
I wish the bar was open.
Next year, hire a cleaner.
At least we have a turkey.
We just sat down to dinner, and
The dog just laid a huge turd in the hall.


So if next year your True Love uses any of these words,
Book yourself a spa trip. Tell him,

Babe, I promise, you've got lots of time.

:: happy hour begins at 9:09 PM [+] ::

:: Thursday, November 11, 2004 ::

Part of being an Atkins convert is swearing off sugar for the rest of our lives. In theory, this undertaking marks the end of civilization as we know it.

What IS life, if not a giant chocolate orgy with 7-Eleven-related intermissions?

But in practice, there are Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, York Peppermint Patties, Hershey bars, vanilla caramels... These manufacturers sure know where the money is.

And the money is in "sugar alcohols", which are LIKE sugar, but AREN'T sugar. In what way I'm not sure, but I don't care.

Because oh, my God, they work.

They also inflict gastric distress on certain members of the sugar-busting population, but not us. Oh, no.

So last week, when we embarked on a 12-hour car trip, we included some sugar-free chocolates for snacks.

And since we rarely eat them, this was quite the treat.

We indulged.

To our great consternation, within 20 minutes of consuming these Satanic bits of yummyness we were forced to roll down the windows, but it was cold and rainy, so that wasn't practical.

Pretty soon we were just rolling down the window on the offender's side for the few moments before, during and immediately following the disturbance. But that made us laugh and the disturbances were scared back in, only to cause greater disturbances later on.

Eventually we settled on disturbing first, THEN opening the window, and this system got us through Ohio.

All of this would have been great, except when we made a pit stop it became clear that all that window-rolling-down didn't really do much good and the whole car smelled like disturbance.

Which still would have been fine, except I had an armful of coffee on re-entry and a very nice stranger opened the car door for me.

His face looked like that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

I don't think there's a hijacking mass-murderer anywhere in the world who would have gotten into that car with us.

Everybody has their level.

In the end, I had to Febreeze my coat when we got to our destination, just to be sure nothing disturbing would whoosh out of the poly-filled arms at an inopportune moment. Like anytime at a hospital.

But God, that chocolate was good.


:: happy hour begins at 7:55 PM [+] ::

:: Tuesday, November 09, 2004 ::
Tempting the Wrath of the Whatever from High Atop the Thing*

Stunning how well the first half of this year went, as opposed to the pestilence 'n famine 'n plague 'n stuff that has befallen my house in the second.

We bought a home and it wasn't haunted, though it might be now that' I've said that. And I finally started to get in shape.

Then, July.

And heartache followed heartache.

Just this past month I made a second trip to Las Vegas, marked by the passing of my dear grandfather on the front end, and the sudden illness of my father-in-law at the back. I spent many days crying and shuffling in circles, muttering about the fucked-up-edness of specific incidents and my life in general. (There was also a spectacular tantrum that resulted in mayonnaise being smeared on the inside of the windshield of Speaksy's Expedition and a part of said truck being left at a Speedway station in Xenia, Ohio, but we won't talk about that.)

But then, on Sunday, my friends R and L welcomed their son Ty into the world.

And yesterday an occupational therapist kicked my father-in-law's ass. ("What's wrong with your finger? Nothing? Then you can just turn the damned TV off yourself.")

And things seem to be looking up a little.

Now that I've said that I have to run outside, turn around three times and curse and/or spit*, so I'm going to do that now. But here's hoping I can return to some sort of regular posting schedule.

Also that I can finally stay home long enough to avoid pooping at Bally's or a Hampton Inn.

Much love to you all,

*Long live Aaron Sorkin.

:: happy hour begins at 8:25 PM [+] ::

:: Saturday, October 02, 2004 ::
What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Except this stuff.

Seven days in Las Vegas.

And I made friends with a Republican, too.

Good God, Almighty, the whole world went upside-down.

It tends to do that, there.

Instead of retelling all seven days (because, frankly, I don't remember them very well) I'll give you the seven-hour version and let you guess at the rest, though if someone who went with me on the trip would like to enlighten me on why I thought it would be a good idea to...

Well, nevermind.

Monday, 11pm PST

The Redskins lost.

The Redskins lost, and I now know that it takes less than three beers to put me down if all I've eaten in the past twelve hours is two bunless hot dogs and a package of Altoids breath strips.

Tuesday, 4am PST


I gotta get up. I gotta get up. The trade show opens today and that's the whole reason I'm out here at all and they gave me a suite and everything and I haven't hemmed the right leg of my pants yet and the Vietnamese delegation never picked up yesterday. I gotta get up.

Tuesday, 4:47am PST

I gotta not do this anymore. I am 32 years old. One would think I would know better than...oh God this thread is small. I'm going to thread this needle. I. Am. Going. To. Thread. FUCK. Okay, I can do this. Threading the nee-- FUCK.

Tuesday, 5:14am PST

Maybe I should get room service or -- God, no food. Please God no food. And don't bend over. Must. Not. Bend. Over. Flat hair is fine enough. It's not like my eyeliner went on straight anyway.

Did I put on eyeliner? Yes, yes, okay. SHIT! STOP BENDING OVER!

Tuesday, 5:54am PST

The elevator made it down one floor before it did the dippy-thing and stopped. Who the hell gets up at 6am except me? Shouldn't these people still be in the casino or something? WHO DOES THIS?

Okay, it's enough that we stopped on the 22nd floor; why are we stopping on the 21st?

And the 20th?

I swear to God if one more person gets in this elevator I'm gonna puke on them.


Why are there 17 tiny Asian women in jean jackets in this elevator with me?

Oh, I see. I'm still sleeping. It's a dream! I'm dreaming about the Vietnamese delegation, and here they all are in the elevator! And I'm not really this hungover, and I really didn't resort to taping the hem on my pantleg, and I probably didn't even fall down in the shower. See? My knee doesn't even hurt!

And the elevator doors just opened on the casino level to THOUSANDS of tiny Asian women in jean jackets, all speaking a language I couldn't possibly understand, AND IT'S OKAY! IT'S JUST A DREAM! I'll write this in my blog and it will be just like Seinfeld!

I'm so funny!


Oh, no. No no no. You should be Bradley Whitford or Gladys Knight, or maybe even Doris Day. Course there's always Elvis, so maybe --

"Juliet, c'mon. We're going to be late."

Well, this is a pisser.

Slow down, asshole. The lady's limping back here...


The rest is up to you.

Because what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

I did wear the tiara, though. A couple of times.
:: happy hour begins at 9:40 PM [+] ::


If I knew how to describe what this blog has become I would do it. Sadly, this is not the case.

So, you know. Good luck and all.

FYI, today I am feeling...

I Almost Had a Weakness - Elvis Costello and the Brodsky Quartet, from The Juliet Letters

Really. Just let it play for a minute. You'll see what I mean.

Jesus Loves a Feminist
Of course. Potentially my last post for weeks and it's about this.
I got stuck in a denim halter top in the dressing room at Old Navy
"I hope your new neighbors aren't freaks." - Auntie G and Uncle J
On Some Level, I Guess I Always Knew This Post Would Come
Who thought this was a good idea?
No Wonder About Those Pants...
The New Rules
Let's put it all in one place, shall we?
Juliet's Driving Test
On Her Best Behavior
Reveal Your Whiter Smile in 14 Days
Cosmic Retribution
I Have Not the Words
Phobic Thirtysomething Female Seeking Long-Term Relationship with Licensed Hypnotherapist

Rock the Vote :: Every Day

V-Day: Until the Violence Stops

Clothes Off Our Back

Crime: Information and Prevention


Arsenal, wtf?
Avert Your Eyes! – Wicked H
Belle de Jour
Boys Have the Stupids – Hello Kristie
Castle Thoughts – Lord Boomboom
The Catacomb
Chef Clary Ville
Chronicles of a Shameless Shipper
Codswallop and Flapdoodle
Coolio's: Your Daily Doggy Style
The Daily Obsession
Dark Blue Chip
Fat Eye for the Skinny Guy
The Flophouse
Fuqin Up My Qi - Tara
Give Me Spirit Fingers Dammit!
Hunk Heaven - ADULTS ONLY!
I So Totally Suck - Becca
Ingrown Brain Stem - Copygodd
It's Always Something - HFS
Jamie Nicole's Live Journal
Jessica's Universe
The Kin Chronicles
Mad Notions - Madcap
A New York Escorts Confessions
A Programmer in Training
Random Thoughts - Kassahn
Reading in the Dark - Diana
The Sarcastic Soccer Mom
She-4.com: Explosive By Nature
Thinking Digitally
This Thing Called Life - Necie
Twisted Insights - Dancegirl

Weblog Commenting by HaloScan.com

Copyright © 2003-2004 Julietspeaks

juliet @ julietspeaks.com