:: Saturday, August 30, 2003 ::
Let's Take a Moment:: Thursday, August 28, 2003 ::
Update: Derek caved! As I suspected it's a cable issue; the repair person will be here to run the new line on Thursday.
Unfortunately this leaves me with dial-up for a few days, which means unless I can think of something earth-shattering to say I'll be down until Tuesday (when I can get back to work to post). VACATION!!! I'll be over here floating around in my nightgown with Southern Cross on ceaseless repeat, and you won't have to hear about it!
Have a wonderful Labor Day weekend, everyone, and I'll talk to you soon!
Juliet
PS - "You will survive being bested," Derek. I promise. Unless, of course, the repair person is for shit...
:: happy hour begins at 11:47 PM [+] ::
...
How nice to speak with you again, Derek:: Wednesday, August 27, 2003 ::
I'm about three seconds away from a right proper diva fit. It's been a while and I don't want to hurt myself, but any injury sustained here will be nothing compared to the suffering I will visit upon those responsible for my
VIRTUALLY
NONEXISTENT
INTERNET
SERVICE.
Before I make this phone call I'm going to paint on some blood red lipstick, step into my black stilettos and brush out the porn star fall. I'm going to turn up some badass chick music and practice my condescending bitch face - complete with hand on hip - in the vanity mirror. Then, with an extra feline sway to my walk, I will pick up the phone and shatter my rhinestone hammer over the head of a dickless twit named Derek over at Adelphia.
And it will feel gooooood.
No, I don't know why I go for the hooker look when I do a remote smack down, but it works for me. Mock not; you never know when this little tutorial might come in handy for you. Tried and true, I tell ya, especially when I'm as sweet and pure as morning dew the first six times I call.
Sadly for him, Derek's luck is about to change...
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:43 PM [+] ::
...
Let's put it all in one place, shall we?
You, my faithful readers, already know these things about me:
I am not a nature girl.
I wear make-up.
I prefer skirts to jeans.
I like pretty underwear.
I don’t like to cook.
I am a sexual person.
I do not kill spiders if there is someone else to do it for me.
I bat my eyelashes if it will get me help at the hardware store.
I apologize for nothing.
There have been several offline instances in the past few days in which women have hedged on one or more of the above, preferring to put on a low-maintenance front when they are clearly…not. I will not presume to know their reasons, but I do know when someone isn’t being entirely truthful about something.
Frankly, it pisses me off.
Why shouldn’t I be high maintenance? I can be everything above and still be independent – I know because I am. I can do down and dirty, but why camp in a hot, flimsy tent in the rain when I can sleep at the Westin where there are waiters? Why kill the potentially dangerous spider if there is a hero-in-waiting to do it for me? I tip well; I fawn over my heroes. I give back.
I say, go shamelessly into the world armed with a smile and many thanks, let others take care of you where they are willing and able, and YOU return the favor with YOUR skills. If you like to camp then you go, girl, but if you don’t? DON’T. And if you’re trying to land a man by acting all tough when you really aren’t, what the hell are you going to do with him once you get him? Let him think you’re granola and brave FOREVER?
Forget it. Be you, be loved for you and screw everybody who can’t appreciate you. This applies to your lovers, your friends and the everyday strangers you meet along the way.
But for God’s sake it bears repeating: the man should have to kill the bugs.
‘Night!
Juliet
PS – This all works in the reverse, too, you know. If you really are granola and brave and can’t stand it when men fawn over you, don’t let them. Do your thing, honey. I’ll be in the hotel bar when you get back from Camp Massopequa; I’ll buy you a beer and we'll trade secrets...
:: happy hour begins at 11:07 PM [+] ::
...
Taking Back the Kenneth Cole:: Monday, August 25, 2003 ::
The Gatekeeper has decreed that I shall not have reliable internet access. Whether or not this is punishment for wearing the same black slides two days in a row I cannot say, but it means I'm terribly late with my post today (today being Tuesday, but by the time this is posted it will be Wednesday, so really I'm early for tomorrow, which by the time you read it will be today... Oh hell). I will endeavor to wear some color other than black this week in an effort to regain the good graces of the Almighty AOL.
Wish me luck on that.
So without the internet and with the lack of good, unread fiction in the house I thought I'd conquer one of the most feared tasks womankind can face: I cleaned out my purse.
My 17-pound purse.
Here's what I found:
-- One expense check for $56.37, source unknown
-- An invitation to a wedding...in July
-- A pack of gum with only one stick left
-- An empty travel Band-Aid box
-- A lipstick I bought two months ago and have never used
-- A recipe, torn from a magazine, for double-fudge brownies
-- One credit card
-- Two hair elastics
-- Three perfume samples
-- Five CD jewel cases holding twelve CDs
-- Six Advil LiquiGels (loose)
-- Six old pay stubs
-- $11.27 in change
What I did not find:
-- My driver's license
-- Paper currency
-- The Alanis Morissette CD I went in there for in the first place
I have something like twenty handbags. Why, oh why, didn't I just dump this one in the back of the closet and pick out a fresh, new one? Especially since I drive far too fast and am bound to get pulled over at some point; before tonight's journey I at least had some plausible deniability about my missing license. I really ought to find that sometime.
But not tonight. I have some www surfing to catch up on...
Happy dreams, everyone!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:11 AM [+] ::
...
For all that he just can't seem to get his shit together...:: Sunday, August 24, 2003 ::
...Simon might be the smartest person I've ever not met. I mean, come on! A professional snarker? I WANT THAT!
I want to be able to tell that make-up salesgirl at the mall she looks like a cheap whore, and if she touches my face with that glitter crap I'll knock her under the bargain table. I want to tell the gaybasher he's so full of shit I can smell him over the internet. I crave the release that comes with telling my doctor, who are you to admonish me for anything when you can't keep your marriage afloat despite the spare tire you've been carrying around all these years?
And I want to be PAID for my efforts! I don't need the millions that Simon commands; I just want to quit my job and live like a hermit for a few years.
But instead I smile and swallow the insults. Sigh. It's no wonder I had to have my gallbladder removed when I was 22; I stuffed down a lot of venom over the years.
But then
I got
A blog.
Here's to life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and the person out there in cyberspace who is contemplating sending me a check!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:06 PM [+] ::
...
"Therefore the debt is very large..." - Dr. Nabil Hilmi:: Saturday, August 23, 2003 ::
For your reading pleasure: Egyptian Jurists to Sue 'The Jews' for Compensation for 'Trillions' of Tons of Gold Allegedly Stolen During Exodus from Egypt
AKA, How the Colts Left Baltimore
'Night!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:22 PM [+] ::
...
"I think that the man should have to kill the bugs." - Suzanne Sugarbaker, Designing Women:: Thursday, August 21, 2003 ::
I love Suzanne.
Simon, however, has lost some major points this morning. Witness Terri's interview in The Mirror, brought to you by the amazing Jackielynn. In it, Terri tells us, "He will never let me kill a spider."
The only way that sentiment can be explained away is if we extend it to include, "He will never let me kill a spider...because he knows how much spiders freak me out, and he does everything in his considerable power to make sure I'm happy and comfortable - including but not limited to always killing the spiders himself."
Somehow I don't think that's what she meant. The idea that he doesn't like to kill anything is supposed to be a sweet, noble one, but THEY'RE SPIDERS. I don't invite them into my home, give them tea and crumpets and kill them when they aren't looking - they shouldn't be here in the first place! And if a spider wanders into my house, well it's my prerogative to squash him because I am the top of this particular food chain. If I were in the ocean I would expect sharks to kill me. If I were in the jungle I'd be looking out for lions.
I don't swim in the ocean, I don't jog in Africa and spiders don't come into my house. That's just the way it is.
Simon will learn. Not killing the spider = Sleeping on the couch. Without a blanket. Without a kiss goodnight.
Certainly no nookie.
Shudder.
Juliet
PS - Hey Brad? How do you feel about killing spiders? (Hint: see above)
:: happy hour begins at 12:31 PM [+] ::
...
The James Joyce Version:: Wednesday, August 20, 2003 ::
...you are the dancing queen young and sweet only God these zingers are reeeeaaallly goooood i wonder what this receipt was for dammit I got chocolate on my shirt i’m gonna sneeze here it comes no no ooooh zingers young and sweet only seventeen aaaaa aaaahhhhh where do they put the filling in from the tambourine oh yeeeeaaaahhh i’m out of soda i should go pee anyway i’ll have to soon enough my cell phone is blinking stupid charger ow ow baxter get off my foot that deaf guy is pounding on the neighbor’s door again maybe i’ll watch some west wing glade is stupid word having the time of my liiiife oooo ooo oooh...
I’m just not feeling all that deep today.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:18 PM [+] ::
...
Jesus Loves a Feminist:: Tuesday, August 19, 2003 ::
Leviticus 15:19 - "When a woman has her regular flow of blood, the impurity of her monthly period will last seven days, and anyone who touches her will be unclean until evening."
Wait, I'm not done...
Leviticus 18:19 - "Also thou shalt not approach unto a woman to uncover her nakedness, as long as she is put apart for her uncleanness."
You're thinking about how barbaric these men are that they would think women "unclean" for getting their periods, aren't you. Well then, let's rephrase the passages...
GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF OF ME! YOU cook, YOU clean, YOU take care of the kids! Don't talk to me, don't look at me and for the love of God, DON'T TOUCH ME! I am going over to the tent to listen to Patrick Swaze albums and watch Steel Magnolias about a thousand times. I am going to cry without reservation. I am going to think about how much I hate you. I am going to eat everything that looks like it might contain chocolate or salt. And you are going to leave me alone while I do it BECAUSE GOD SAID SO!
Genius.
But tell me: if we women are so smart, how come we are still acting like menstruation is some big honking secret, as if about a billion people aren't going through the exact same thing? Seriously, how many times have you:
...shoved a tampon into the waistband of your panties because you didn't have pockets and couldn't risk the shame of carrying your whole purse to the bathroom, thereby alerting everyone in the building to the fact that you have your period?
...put used, obvious-yet-supposedly-discreet-pink-plastic-wrapped paraphernalia BACK IN YOUR PURSE so nobody looking in the trash would find it and realize you have your period? (And no, it doesn't matter how well you wrap it; it still looks exactly like what it is.)
...skittered through the feminine protection aisle at the store as if something with wings is going to soar off the shelf and brand your forehead with a big red X?
...smiled and told someone you pulled a muscle in your back, when really Satan is inside your uterus, clawing and screaming at you to stab that person with your letter opener?
Gah!
I'm coming OUT! I am not "sensitive right now", I do not have "woman problems", my "aunt" is not here for a visit and these are not my "ladies days". I HAVE MY PERIOD for sobbing out loud. Can we please at least all agree to call it that? And while we're at it, men: GET OVER IT! Real men in this day and age are perfectly capable of going to Safeway, purchasing the exact type of tampons we wrote on the Post-It note for you ("Tampax Pearl regular unscented, any count"), and bringing the goods back to the tent where the woman in your life is waiting for them. You do not need to buy a bag of charcoal, a copy of Sports Illustrated and a pack of steaks when you do this; I promise you, the checker does not think you have your period!
Anyway. As long as we don't get to be sequestered anymore I think other privileges should come with menstruation. Like, there should be a discount at the mall if you have your period. This helps everyone; we get to save money while shopping, and retailers get shoppers who would otherwise be fetal on their couches with enough heating pads to thaw Antarctica. Let's make it a REAL red-tag sale!
Well. Reading back over this entry I think it's clear my Midol ran out a while back so I'm going to go take care of things. I'd like to leave you with a little bit of advice. The next time you are trapped in menstrual hell, the magic words are:
PISS. OFF.
Because God said so.
Hugs and kisses,
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 6:06 PM [+] ::
...
Further Proof of Life on Mars
It used to be, when I typed a "j" into my URL window "joshlyman.com" would automatically fill in.
Now I get "japanese text translater."
When the hell...?
J
:: happy hour begins at 11:22 PM [+] ::
...
From One Week to the Next...:: Monday, August 18, 2003 ::
If last week was out of the Twilight Zone, this one is a David Lynch special.
First thing? My colleague had to kill a spider IN MY FREAKING OFFICE this morning. Thank God she was already in there and saw it (descending from the ceiling in its enormous glory) before I did or I would have been performing, let me tell you. As it was I think I squeaked a lot. Eek.
Next: my uterus is very, very angry.
Add in that stupid new virus that's all over the office. I didn't get it, but a trawler picked up my email address from one of our websites and started sending out the stupid thing with my addy in the "from" line. Half the country now thinks of me as Typhoid Mary.
Finally, my router is in cahoots with my uterus. I'm now on dial-up.
I have not the words.
I do, however, have vodka. Stop reading...NOW.
Love you!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:07 PM [+] ::
...
Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy:: Sunday, August 17, 2003 ::
Hello, everyone! So it's Monday and I'm a little closer to normal, or at least to what passes for normal for me. Thanks for all your kind wishes! And welcome home, Jo! We missed you!
In an effort to further reduce my physical activity level (I find it's best if I don't have much of a pulse at all), I've been reading more Josh/Donna West Wing fanfiction. Not to be picky or anything, but what's with all the angst? I'm all for conflict, but only if there's a happy ending. I don't want to read about Josh marrying Amy or Donna moving to France and never coming back or, God spit, somebody dying. I want a happy ending, dammit! I think if there isn't going to be a happy ending they should say so in the synopsis so I don't read the whole freaking thing and get all depressed.
Yes, I realize these are fictional characters, but I'm genetically programmed for fluff on certain subjects. My mother won't see a movie if it looks like it has a sad ending unless someone who's seen it tells her it really doesn't.
We just aren't much for heartache. And frankly, anyone who is needs to get help. Therapy is good.
So here's the happy ending to this blog entry: Josh and Donna live happily ever after, next door to Simon and Paula. (I, myself, find the latter repugnant on many levels, but since some of you do not I thought I'd throw it in. I'm all about the readers, I am.)
And for The Girl Down the Street, I hope your first day at the new job had a happy ending, too!
Night!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:48 PM [+] ::
...
Super Woman
Here's a tip: don't take Dayquil too close to bedtime.
So I was just reading an interview Brad Whitford did for ESPN, like, forever ago, and he was asked an interesting question: Which super power would you rather have, the strength of 100 men, the ability to fly, or the ability to be invisible? Brad said he wanted to fly, that he's always dreamed about that.
I, on the other hand, already have all these. On strength, I know where to find 100 men if I need them (which, curiously, I never have). On flying, I get frequent flier miles on United where I am rarely in danger of becoming "windblown". On invisibility, anyone can disappear in plain sight; just get some frumpy clothes, go to a trendy bar and order a white wine spritzer. Poof!
It's tough to think of a super power I don't have, at least one I would want. I mean, teleportation would probably be cool; I could escape a dreary conversation by snapping my fingers, but with my sense of direction I'd probably end up in the middle of the Safeway feminine protection aisle. Pass. There's also breathing underwater, but why? I don't even own a bathing suit.
Let me remind you that I am medicated.
J
:: happy hour begins at 11:20 PM [+] ::
...
Walt Disney Joins the AMA:: Friday, August 15, 2003 ::
Stupid liar. He promised me raven hair, alabaster skin and bluebirds.
I have a towel wrapped around my head, my skin has assumed a corpse-y pallor and those bluebirds are really just designer Puffs half-stuffed in my pockets and strewn about the floor. Oh, and those aloe dreams they sell us about noses that never turn red? That's a lie, too.
Trust no one.
I'm so crabby I can't stand myself. Being sick sucks hard.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 6:08 PM [+] ::
...
God Damn It:: Thursday, August 14, 2003 ::
The AMA is crap. Don't listen to a word they tell you; they're all a bunch of lying liars who just want your money.
Mr. Speaks and I decided to treat ourselves better this week. We ate more vegetables, got some fruit, slept eight hours a night and generally followed the golden rules of health.
And today I am fucking sick.
Effectively immediately, I am going back to fast food and insomnia. Apparently this is a language my body understands. Who am I to screw with nature?
Signing off for the night,
Julietspeaks, Defender of All Things Simon, Brad and Nyquil
:: happy hour begins at 8:54 PM [+] ::
...
What was that about the Amish thing again?:: Wednesday, August 13, 2003 ::
I'm suddenly feeling the need to brush up on my buggy-driving skills, seeing as how pumping gas may not be an option soon.
Or, I could just get in my car and drive like hell toward California while I still can.
One by one, states are falling to this infernal darkness and we are once again saying, "Top that, stupid France!" They think it's hot there? Try doing it without air conditioning, fans, or running water (if you aren't on the city line). You can't even go to KMart and cool off.
Yeah. We just hafta win, don't we.
Yes, here in Washington, DC, we're feeling pretty lucky about our powered selves. Lucky enough to ask, what kind of moron tossed the eastern seaboard on the same relay system? And does the state in which he lives have the death penalty, or at least a really good torture chamber? No?
Then throw him down the New York City subway system. Buh-bye.
I hope you are all well! And those of you who can't read this right now due to the power situation, we're thinking of you! Except, keep your damn blackout plague, okay?
Love you!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 6:44 PM [+] ::
...
Happy Birthday, HFS!:: Tuesday, August 12, 2003 ::
You'll only turn 26 a couple of times, so I hope it's a good one!
Love,
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:38 PM [+] ::
...
Juliet's Driving Test:: Monday, August 11, 2003 ::
When driving on a back road, if the sky shows signs that it may rain you:
a. Slow from 45mph (the speed limit) to 20mph immediately.
b. Maintain your speed.
c. Punch it, Margaret – you gotta beat this shit home!
When lightning flashes in the distance you:
a. Slow from 20mph to 10mph and cower behind your steering wheel.
b. Tap your brakes.
c. Floor it.
When shallow puddles form on the roadway you:
a. Stop in the middle of the road.
b. Slow to a crawl and cross your fingers.
c. Plow through the damn thing and get home.
If you answered mostly A’s: I had to drive behind you all the way home from work today, you fucking Oldsmobile Nazi! Die, fucker! DIE!
If you answered mostly B’s: You were driving behind me all the way home from work today. I did not appreciate getting flown the bird. Did you NOT SEE the motherfucking Oldsmobile Nazi in front of me? Die, fucker! DIE!
If you answered mostly C’s: You were in the car with me all the way home from work today. I appreciated your help while we sat in the driveway waiting for the rain to let up a little so we could run into the house. I think we have a good plan. I’ll get the cricket bat if you’ll get the trash bags.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:18 PM [+] ::
...
At the Seinfeld Stage:: Sunday, August 10, 2003 ::
Me: I'm serious!
Mr. Speaks: I'm Polaris.
Me: Cumulonimbus over there.
Mr. Speaks: Give me a second.
Come on, Monday Night Football.
Oh hell's bells. I know I have things to talk about but I'll be damned if I know what they are. I could make fun of Simon in London, surely whining about their shocking 100-degree heat, but that's just too easy. I am on thought safari over here and there is no end in sight. Of course, everyone else I visit is in the same boat so that's gotta suck for you.
Joe Rogan just ate a cockroach. I'm just going to give up here and pass you off to the next link on the right. Have a fine time!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:42 PM [+] ::
...
Question
Does it hurt my case that, in between Sex and the City and Dead Like Me, we're watching Star Wars: Episode IV?
Does it sound any better if you know I've been wearing lipstick and a silk nightgown all day?
I need to get out more.
J
:: happy hour begins at 9:58 PM [+] ::
...
I am such a geek.
I think that's why Josh Lyman appeals to me so much; he's a geek, too, and he feeds my inner nerd-child.
Any comments about my outer nerd-adult will result in swift and sure retaliation. You will not survive.
I've spent today listening to old Prince and the Revolution albums, reading the first Harry Potter book (yeah, I'm freakishly late on that) and playing Bookworm, an online word-find game in which you get all the letters but there is no list. You just catch 'em where you can, somewhat like Scrabble.
I am still basking in the glow that is "C-H-I-M-A-E-R-A". Almost 5000 points, baby!
We aren't even going to talk about the debate a friend and I had about unenumerated rights or the daily visit to Speaks v. Speaks on whether FoxNews or MSNBC is the better default position for the television.
Do you see what I mean? Let's just throw in "H-O-P-E-L-E-S-S" and call it a Sunday...
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 6:37 PM [+] ::
...
More questions from somebody else:: Friday, August 08, 2003 ::
Hey kids! My synapses are on vacation this weekend, so I'm stealing - yes, stealing; I do not intend to put them back - the questions from the beautiful and talented HotForSimon.
Shameful. And just earlier tonight we drove away from McDonald's with more change than we were due. We feel pretty guilty about that $1.76. Seriously.
How do you feel about being naked?
Oh, my. Seeing as how I do not like to have my picture taken because I don't like the idea of people looking at me for extended periods of time, it's curious to note that nudity does not bother me. Jose Cuervo go in, shirt come off.
I may as well confess here and now that I participated in a strip poker game in college that managed to get videotaped. Now you know why I can never be President.
How big is your bed? Big enough?
Queen-sized and plenty of space. Well, until the dogs and cats get in, which tends to cramp my style a bit. Mr. Speaks? Not so much - he is much less delicate about removing living obstacles.
Have you ever seen a dead body?
I refuse to answer on the grounds that my response may incriminate me.
Have you ever broken a bone?
Sadly, yes. Picture it: Delta Zeta foyer, 1992. I have bronchitis and am hacking up internal organs like they'll spontaneously regenerate. I hit the stairs on the way to the dining room and am seized by a coughing fit so fierce I lose my balance and pitch forward, striking my hand on a marble pillar in an effort to remain upright.
Being a good girl (the nudity thing, $1.76 and dead body question notwithstanding) I fight the pain in my hand and go on to class, where I am expected to take a quiz involving a pencil. I take the zero.
Run off to the emergency room after class to find I have chipped the bone in my right ring finger. I wear an attractive claw-shaped bandage home.
That evening, while attempting to climb into my top bunk bed one-handed, I lose my balance and plummet to the earth.
Break two toes.
God.
This is kind of depressing. Let's go back to nudity, shall we?
'Night!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:00 AM [+] ::
...
I forgot it was Friday.
What does this tell us, hm?
The Friday Five
1. What's the last place you traveled to, outside your own home state/country?
Outside my home state would be Washington, DC, and the haphazard trip around the monuments. Welcome to my radar problems. Outside of the country would be France, I think.
2. What's the most bizarre/unusual thing that's ever happened to you while traveling?
Well, there's always my entire trip to Singapore. It started with some confusion about the toilets (or lack thereof) in the airport; Wicked H, would you like to take this one? Move on to getting on a bus going the wrong way (language problems, plus the radar issue) and taking a trip around the island, leaving me with fifteen minutes in my room to dress and make pretty for an international television appearance. Add in a couple of drunken karaoke fests with many, many people who didn't speak English all that well but seemed to know a lot of Elvis songs. Finish off by getting hit in the head by the beverage cart on the plane on the way home - twice.
That was seriously a great trip, though.
Next most bizarre would be the gas station in WestByGod Virginia that didn't have a bathroom or a pay phone but would rent you a carpet shampooer for $14.99.
3. If you could take off to anywhere, money and time being no object, where would you go?
Most days I just want to go back to bed.
4. Do you prefer traveling by plane, train or car?
Car if the trip takes less than a couple of hours. Plane if longer. NEVER train. Oh God no.
5. What's the next place on your list to visit?
The bathroom.
My heart really wasn't in that, huh. Well, better luck next week!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:30 PM [+] ::
...
Mothman Prophesies at 8 in the morning?:: Thursday, August 07, 2003 ::
I don't think so.
:: happy hour begins at 8:32 AM [+] ::
...
"It's gonna be a new experience if you wanna play with me.":: Wednesday, August 06, 2003 ::
It's amazing how much music affects my mood. Remember the Sing, Sing, Sing debacle? It was like IV-delivered espresso to this already over-stimulated body, and all week I've caught myself staring blankly into space and twisting frazzled strands of hair between my fingertips. I'd have made a fantastic poster girl for government-run asylums all week, were it not for the twitching.
But there's a new Juliet in town.
Enter Not a Virgin by Poe: "I don't think you wanna start that shit with me."
I've been saying "fuck off" a lot today.
I like it.
It makes me want to sue Wendy's for never listening to my very explicit instructions against the presence of cheese on my hamburger. I don't want their money; I want VINDICATION!
It's probably a good thing I'm taking tomorrow off work...
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:15 PM [+] ::
...
Timing Is Everything:: Tuesday, August 05, 2003 ::
So I'm watching The West Wing, cringing already because I know this is the episode ("Inauguration Part I") in which Donna takes the fall for her boyfriend and everyone is upset with her, and the damnedest thing happens:
NBC runs a special announcement across the bottom of the screen about actor Arnold Schwarzenegger's decision to run for Governor in California with the Davis recall.
I haven't laughed like that in a long, long time.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:26 PM [+] ::
...
The Things We Do For Love
Or, I Am Voluntarily Listening to Sing, Sing, Sing.
American Juniors. God. Where do I start? There are so many reasons I have never watched this show, and were it not for the promise of a peek at Simon's pretty face on a gigantamous screen I would still have my dignity. First glance: Ryan Seacrest looks like a technicolor crack addict, the theme song is a blatant Fame rip-off, and the graphics and lighting are high-school-project-on-cable-access caliber.
The judges: Tiffany, Gladys Knight and Dionne Warwick, who for $4.99 per minute will tell you who the winner is going to be.
How. Promising.
"Let's not ruin this with words," spews Ryan's t-shirt, so let's sing instead!
Morgan - Groove Thing
Who are these background people? There's something very 80's Nickelodeon about this situation. They should slime people. Since I have nothing to compare this kid to I'll reserve comment.
Mr. Speaks, however, has something to say here: "This is the most annoying show on the face of the planet."
I'm going to be paying for this later. And for a reeeeaaaally loooooong time.
Danielle - Never had a dream come true
No kidding. Tiffany choreographed this, didn't she? It's like a middle school show choir concert out there! I have to say, though, Danielle is a lot better than some of the AI competitors (cough*Carmen*cough). She even made Tiffany cry! (HRT problems, honey?)
AJ - Alive
You know, there's been a commercial break in between every singer, and yet no Advil spots. Wouldn't that have been a gimme?
Jordan - You're the One
I can't close my mouth.
Mr. Speaks: "Pipe this shit over Iraqi radio and watch Saddam surrender!" You could sell tickets for that. I bet Advil would sponsor it.
Whoa, the Paula Posse is OUT! Translated critiques: Dude, that sucked. Fortunately these children are inexperienced with the Posse and will bear no residual scars. Jordan's a happy girl.
Chantal - Sundown
Aw man, Chuck Barris would have ROCKED as the host for this! Me? The twitch in my left eye has gotten so bad I can barely see the screen. Defense mechanism I suppose.
WAIT! A hush falls over the crowd. Did Gladys just say this kid can't sing AND dance at the same time? OH THANK GOD! She grew a NUT!
You go, girl!
Katelyn - I have no idea what she's singing.
This is just bad. Even the background groupies have lost it.
The sister is good, though. The best part of this primer on torture techniques has been the kids in the crowd tweeting through Rockin' Robin.
Cut to the Teen Choice Awards for a shot of Paula in a bad dress, mentioning Simon (I'll bet Dionne could have told us that for free) and we're at another commercial.
8:49. Simon, diamonds are always in good taste. SEND ME SOME.
Finally, FINALLY, we get what we came for! It's Simon, sounding all canned and looking beautiful! I hate his LA tan, much prefer this happy, relaxed guy, even if he does look tired. He also looks rumpled. He looks ready for bed.
Naw-ty, Juliet! FINALLY!
I'm going to go get my drink on and try to black out for a while. Memory of this evening is neither required nor desired.
I have the Simon footage on tape.
Sweet Simon dreams, everyone! May you forget all but the last ten minutes of this terrible, terrible tragedy!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:38 PM [+] ::
...
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...:: Monday, August 04, 2003 ::
...Brad Whitford said on The Daily Show:
"It's my standard autograph policy: if you let me touch you down there, I'll do whatever you want."
I can WORK with THIS!
:: happy hour begins at 1:19 PM [+] ::
...
Roll over! Play dead!:: Sunday, August 03, 2003 ::
Yeah, my makeup is doing tricks again. I wonder if Letterman would take me on.
It's the damn humidity; fine hair gets flatter, frizzy hair starts nesting and anything made by Lancome makes a run for the chin. It's like sitting at the bottom of a hot tub all day, only without the benefit of escape by drowning.
I am so over it.
Anyway, with all this talk about dating Simon, I obviously had to flip things over and think about Brad Whitford. What would THAT date be like?
Let's just start by saying, he was raised a Quaker.
Oh, dear.
Well, maybe this isn't the best time to start thinking about that after all. While other writers might consider a night like this to be sultry, this real person just wants to take a shower - and not the fancy kind. If I believed in bar soap I'd forsake my girlie potions and go straight for the Zest. I wouldn't even use a loofah.
'Course that might help me with the Quaker thing. I should look that up sometime.
Sing, Sing, Sing,
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 5:33 PM [+] ::
...
Dating Simon Cowell:: Saturday, August 02, 2003 ::
Happy Sunday, everyone! First off, let me just tell you that Sing, Sing, Sing is now permanently lodged in my brain. I found myself humming it at brunch this morning. I need help.
So does Simon, apparently. Actually, strike that: Emma Cox needs help. She is the TV reporter who went on a date with Simon Cowell and lived to write about it. I'm assuming she was assigned to do a story for the Sunday Mirror on what a date with the Evil, Sexy One might be like, but even so...she needs a coach. Where did she go wrong?
Let's start with her very first sentence: "The date doesn't start well...Simon Cowell arrives two hours late."
Date? What date? By five minutes after our appointed meeting time I would have been in my car. At the two-hour mark I either would have caught up with my friends at a club, or would be in my pajamas polishing off leftover Chinese and looking forward to my next companion. But that's me. Moving along...
Simon scores some points by listening well, but blows them all back by flirting with the waitress.
Christ, Emma, have you no self-respect?
I realize she had a story to do, but if it were me I would have bailed before he even arrived and written a dating guide for men instead. But Emma, God love her, stuck with Simon long enough to dig up the following nuggets:
******
SIMON'S DATE TIPS
- BE yourself. You don't have to spend a lot of cash to impress. A walk in the park can be just as romantic as a posh meal. (Not on the first date. A walk in the park is too ambiguous; first dates need the structure of an established dating ritual like dinner or drinks - in a restaurant. That way you have a framework in which to plan an escape route if necessary. - J)
- MAKE sure your body language is positive. Folded arms and turning away from your date are a turn-off. (This is true, but if you read the article you'll see Emma wasn't exactly impressed with Simon. Perhaps her body language was very much on target. - J)
- BRUSH your hand against your date's hand. If she acts like you've got a contagious disease, it's not going well. (See above. - J)
- ALWAYS make sure your date is comfortable. (Easy to say, tough to do, eh, Simon? - J)
- IT'S OK to disagree - a bit of debate is healthy. I love opinionated women.
******
Well at least that last point goes in his favor.
It looks as though Simon's dating style is very much like mine, less the tardiness, discussion of his fondness for lap dancers, and ogling. He plays by established rules, which is nice, but doesn't always follow them, which is rude. Still...
Yeah. I could take him.
Hugs!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 3:31 PM [+] ::
...
One Delicious Boy at a Time
Can I just tell you how distracting my new Brad Whitford (JOSH!) buttons on the sidebar are? I came in here all set to write about Simon and the fanny pack, and was totally derailed by the new boy.
Still a good swoon, though.
Charles (my stylist) and I were talking about that this afternoon. He maintains that a person can only handle one thought at a time, that people who say they multi-task are really only switching among multiple thoughts quickly. Juggling, basically.
I can juggle with the best of them, but for me it's more being able to "auto-pilot" tasks while performing other tasks. For instance, I think of something to write, send the information to my fingers, then am able to sing a totally different set of words while I type out the original thought. My hands become responsible for the written thoughts; my mouth is responsible for singing along with the radio.
And the whole time I'm still pissed about the Sing, Sing, Sing situation.
But some thoughts just drive everything else outta Dodge. Brad tenderly kissing the top of my head - that's one. Simon plundering my mouth - that's another. Two completely different approaches, each capable of making me forget how to drive.
Christ, I hope after that I remember how to post my entry...
Juliet
PS - You're just lucky I deleted the paragraph in there that looked like: sdfin owjel hkhf kajs jsdhf kjahs fsdfkuj...
:: happy hour begins at 8:33 PM [+] ::
...
I liked the dog. I guess.:: Friday, August 01, 2003 ::
Kate and Leopold. The only movie with Bradley Whitford not in a microscopic part that was available at the video rental place tonight.
God help me.
Cast o' characters:
Kate - A New York woman with lousy taste in men and a burgeoning career in advertising. Played by Meg Ryan, she is klutzy, scattered and not all that likeable.
Leopold - A duke from the 19th century (I think) who is supposed to be every woman's romantic fantasy. I found him mildly irritating at best. Mr. Speaks wanted to throw something through the television screen. Leo is transported to present day by...
Stuart - Kate's lunatic ex-boyfriend who lives in the apartment below hers. He is a scientist of sorts - can't fathom what his day job might be, though we know he has a kickass apartment and is home in the afternoons to watch TV with the kid down the hall - and he has found a rift in time. Or something. I dunno. He ends up in an asylum after falling down an elevator shaft and telling his time-travel story to the wrong psychiatrist.
Charles - Kate's brother. Goofy actor. No job. Funny in a doofy way.
JJ - Brad's character, he is Kate's boss. He is odd, maybe a little creepy, redeems himself a little but... Hm.
I won't even tell you the story because it's completely useless. With ten minutes left of the tape I went to the bathroom. We didn't pause it.
This is ridiculous. Somebody seriously needs to write a script for Brad.
No, wait.
I need to write a script for Brad.
Maybe this is just the encouragement I needed to get my synapses firing again. Yes! I'll do it! I'll have to work fast, though; Scary Movie 3 is due out soon, and there's going to be some MAJOR damage control to do after that...
Hugs!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:38 AM [+] ::
...
Wake Up, Number 37
Oh Lord, I'll do pretty much anything to get rid of this damn song, including this:
The Friday Five
1. What time do you wake up on weekday mornings?
That depends. During the school year I'd say 6:45, but in the summer when Mr. Speaks the Teacher is home, it's more like 7:15. (Not that my alarm doesn't go off at 6:45, mind you. Then again at 6:49, 6:53, 6:57... Mr. Speaks has been begging me every morning since mid-June to find an alarm with a longer snooze time than four minutes, and I just keep reminding him that studies show people wake up more quickly if they don't use the snooze button at all, just get up the first time. I don't know why that shuts him up, but it does.)
2. Do you sleep in on the weekends? How late?
Oh hell yes. I spend as much time in bed as I can. Saturdays I probably get up around 10, and on Sunday it stretches to 11...or so. How embarrassing. Also sheds some light on why Monday mornings are such a bitch. (7:01, 7:05, 7:09...)
3. Aside from waking up, what's the first thing you do in the morning?
Pee. Definitely. I love all those fanfics that feature morning lurve with nary a stop to the bathroom. How uncomfortable is that? I can't even enjoy reading about that. I just keep thinking, *He's bouncing on her bladder!* Then I have to pee on her behalf. Yeesh.
4. How long does it take you to get ready for your day?
Fifty minutes. No more, no less. On weekdays, anyway; on the weekends it's anywhere from fifteen minutes (shower only) to hours (if I stop mid-agenda to get coffee, read the paper, watch the news, check email...).
5. When possible, what is your favorite place to go for breakfast?
The coffee maker. I'm not big on breakfast; if I eat before a certain time (around 9:30) I feel vaguely nauseous for a while, then get hungry again before lunch. I will break that rule for muffins or a fresh glazed Krispy Kreme, though. Oh, and Roy Roger's breakfast fries. I'm not stupid.
Well, except for the Britney Spears I've got going. I don't know why I don't just delete this from my playlist. Probably because I don't know how.
Hey, it beats Sing, Sing, Sing.
Aw DAMMIT!
J
PS - Can anyone name the movie from which I scammed the title of this entry?
:: happy hour begins at 9:24 PM [+] ::
...
Noise
I'm desperately trying to drown out the persistent, adrenaline-producing, steadily-speeding-up Sing, Sing, Sing in my head with a little Juice Newton. Love's Been a Little Bit Hard on Me. Not true, but catchy.
And not working.
I think there's something wrong with me.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:28 PM [+] ::
...
