:: Thursday, July 31, 2003 ::
Make Your Mark Dark:: Wednesday, July 30, 2003 ::
My life is rated NC-17.
What is your life rated?
Well that was predictable.
I'm not sure where my fascination with online quizzes comes from. It's as though I'm hoping some kid with a little web knowledge will finally be able to tell me what it is I'm really supposed to be doing with my life.
Or maybe it's just a little old-fashioned regression. I loved those bubble quizzes we took in school: the fine points on all those new pencils, the way the eraser scrub littered the desk...the A I usually got. I was pretty good at cramming random bits of information into my otherwise neglected brain. I was good at purging those bits, too.
According to this last quiz I'm probably pretty good at a few things...
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:01 PM [+] ::
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I gave it the old college try, but the fat lady sang anyway:: Tuesday, July 29, 2003 ::
I love you Simon, just not enough to watch Cupid anymore.
Is it just me, or does this show remind anyone else of watching the B-list kids jockey for position at the junior high lunch table? And that's saying a lot for me - I went to Schmucker Middle School.
I'm not kidding.
And let's just make this worse by saying when I looked it up to make sure I had the spelling right I found out that my first teacher crush, Mr. Kistler, who was a first-year teacher when I was in 7th grade, has now been teaching for 17 years.
That's just depressing.
Anyway, back to my point, I finally passed on watching Cupid, and I'm already a better woman for it. In fact, since The West Wing started their summer reruns tonight at nine I even got some Josh time in. EEEEEEEE!
I used to EEEEEE! about you, too, Simon. You need to come back. Like, NOW, and not with some shy would-be-pretty-except-hell-I-don't-know-but-something-there-just-isn't-right newly-post-adolescent girl, and certainly not with the fanny pack.
Not that I'm picky or anything.
Sigh. I'm off to look at some Simon pics, liberally sprinkled with some Brad Whitford pics, and maybe with a sound clip or two. It's amazing what a girl can find on the internet...
Love you all! 'Night!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:46 PM [+] ::
...
"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." - Mark Twain
I have some confessions to make.
On Monday, when I said my yoga instructor has "doe eyes" - I lied. She is not now, nor has she ever been, a deer. My apologies.
On Thursday, July 24th, I misspoke when I said my aura interfered with the driver's navigational ability; most scientists do not subscribe to the belief that humans have auras. I also do not literally believe I am true north (see aforementioned scientists). My companion and I also did not see ALL the monuments in Washington, DC; I'm sure there are a few I missed while my head was down to read the map. I apologize for all.
On Wednesday, July 23rd, I asserted that the show Cupid was staging "rush parties" instead of "dates", and incorrectly named the host as "Emasculated Ken" (I do not know his real name). I'm sorry for these and any other false statements contained within that post.
In fact, I apologize to all of you who actually believed my statement from yesterday about Ryan Seacrest having a stroke, without question and with considerable vitriol on several separate sites, including my own. I am sorry that I do not make more money so that, by virtue of paying my taxes, my contributions to public education would be higher and therefore remedial class sizes would be smaller. If I had only studied harder in school and become a doctor none of this may have happened. My deepest regrets.
Sincerely,
Juliet Speaks
PS - Watch out, the killer bees are coming.
:: happy hour begins at 5:46 PM [+] ::
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Settle Down, Beavis:: Monday, July 28, 2003 ::
To the best of my knowledge Ryan Seacrest is in perfect health.
He probably had a pretty good conniption over the Wonderdog thing, though. I wonder if there is video of THAT... ;)
:: happy hour begins at 11:28 AM [+] ::
...
Arf.
There comes a time in every young man’s life when he must make a choice. He must weigh all his options, consider every possibility and attempt to discern which avenue will offer the most promise for his future. His decision must be sure, for there is no going back. There can be no room for error.
There can be only Wonderdog.
I know many of you have already seen the clip offered by illcommunications.net, but with the help of HFS and JackieLynn, I have in my possession a full ten-minute video of Wonderdog in all his blue, badass, 80’s techno glory.
Arf.
In fact, arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf.
Buried beneath the miracle that is “Ruff Mix” stands an interview rife with dismal doggie puns, a discotheque fistfight between a costumed bulldog and a blue Clifford with a red cape (after which our hero carries a poodle-garbed slut off the dance floor), some stellar Frisbee footage.
And 100% authentic Simon Cowell mannerisms.
I regret to inform you that Ryan Seacrest will not be returning for American Idol 3. He has suffered a stroke. Our thoughts and prayers are with him in this difficult time.
But what a way to go.
Juliet, Defender of All Things Prancy
:: happy hour begins at 9:24 PM [+] ::
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More Tales from the Retribution Center:: Sunday, July 27, 2003 ::
So I'm singing along with the Frank Sinatra in my head, making my natty way down the sidewalk with my Washington Post and a Starbucks mocha, when I run into my old yoga instructor.
It's too late to hide.
I stopped going to her class mostly because I had some mysterious loss of sensation in my right foot (as in, the whole right side was effectively numb), but let us not forget that the class interfered with both American Idol AND West Wing on Wednesday nights. As much as I enjoy yoga there's just no way it can compete. Well, and the foot thing.
So there she is, striding toward me with her doe eyes and warming smile and we stop to talk. She asks after the numbness and I tell her it has resolved itself (it has). Naturally she invites me back to class.
Naturally I lie.
With averted (and probably shifty) eyes I tell her I have another class on Wednesday nights and can't find time in my schedule right now, but I would love to come back when my plate is less full. She smiles again and ducks into Starbucks for her own mocha (having been persuaded by the chocolate-y goodness of my own wafting toward her).
So now, ashamed of my television habits, I have lied to my innocent yoga instructor AND convinced her to commit a dietary sin.
I spilled my coffee in the car, someone is parked in my spot (!), my CD player fritzed out and won't eject my fave Frank and I smacked my elbow on my office door.
God damn it.
J
:: happy hour begins at 1:09 PM [+] ::
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Joyce DeWitt Chokes at the Monkey Bars:: Thursday, July 24, 2003 ::
What ever happened to Battle of the Network Stars? Why don't they do this anymore?
(If you're too young to know what I'm talking about, first, piss off. Second, think Simon Cowell v. Matt LeBlanc at bowling.)
The Trio network is airing a BotNS marathon today, and Valarie Bertinelli sucks ass at just about everything. Athletic prowess notwithstanding these people are hysterical! Robin Williams and Bill Shatner squaring off in the obstacle course, Billy Crystal getting caught in a net, Lou Ferrigno breaking the target on the dunk tank, and cheesy Atari-esque special effects. Go, Howard Cosell!
I loved watching this when I was a kid, and I would certainly love it now. Why not? Or revamp it a bit and pit shows against shows - AI v. West Wing, Jag v. Everybody Loves Raymond? Maybe base it on Emmy nom counts? And for nostalgia value, hows about using the same events they did in the 70's? Bowling, kayak racing in the pool at Pepperdine, chip shots out of the sand?
C'mon, Simon! Bring it back, baby! (Turn to Trio; I'm sure you have NO earthly idea what I'm talking about...)
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:10 PM [+] ::
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Sustenance:: Wednesday, July 23, 2003 ::
I missed my coffee this morning. My head hurts.
One would think the above cause and effect demonstration would prompt me to question my relationship with coffee, perhaps even convince me that a little substance abuse intervention might be in order. One would be wrong.
All it did was remind me I needed to be more organized on days when I have to be out of the office.
I had to be in Washington, DC, for a meeting at 10:30 this morning, and my friends don't call me Princess Tiny Bladder for nothing. I figured I'd make my destination in plenty of time to catch a cup of joe and still make the conference room with minutes to spare. But, things being what they are my aura interfered with the driver's navigational abilities and we got lost.
Again.
You see, whenever I am in the car the driver is bound to make a wrong turn somewhere. It's not that I give bad directions; I just think my belief that I am true north and all maps are Juliet-oriented actually has some merit. A year ago, Roscoe the Boss forgot our exit into Arlington (a route Roscoe has known by heart for almost a decade) and we ended up touring the Pentagon parking lot and trying not to get shot. A few months ago my sweet James and I, on the way to the same destination, found ourselves circling the Washington Monument and waving at the Holocaust Museum. Today, we saw ALL the monuments.
And arrived late for our meeting (only to be blindsided by new FCC regulations that are seriously pissing me off).
I didn't get java until 1:30, the worst caffe latte I've ever had in my life, and to add insult to injury it was already too late. The headache had arrived.
Since the massive quantities of Tylenol I've ingested today do not seem to be helping, I'm going to bed. And the next time, I'll fill up my travel mug and just make the driver stop so I can tinkle.
We're going to be late, anyway.
Night!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:51 PM [+] ::
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This is like a bad date museum:: Tuesday, July 22, 2003 ::
I honestly wasn't planning to watch Cupid tonight. I even had a whole blog started about how free I felt, knowing I would have my Wednesday nights back until the West Wing starts again in the fall.
But, Mr. Speaks kindly informed me he would be taping it, just in case I changed my mind, and while he was pressing the button...Simon showed up.
Damn.
So here we are at another Cupid recap! Emasculated Ken is back with his bad hair and thrift store dress shirt to show us clips of Lisa hacking her way through her chosen 20. At the end of the evening only ten will remain, and those ten will compete for OUR affections in the coming weeks. But how will she do it?
By putting us all through her very own sorority rush hell.
Rush Party #1: The Serious Guys
Theme: Karaoke in the Harsh Light of Day
Men: Darren, Dain, Robert, Rob, Evan
General Idea: Five men who cannot sing do so anyway without the benefit of alcohol and before any other party guests arrive.
Have you ever gotten to the bar an hour before everyone else shows up? Then you know how this date went. I'm surprised anyone wanted to "get in the limo" with Lisa.
I'm also surprised that a) she cut Dain the Attorney loose, and b) Laura agreed with me that she should have kept him. I must be PMSing or something.
Rush Party #2: The Diamonds in the Rough
Theme: I'll Be Whatever You Want Me to Be, Baby!
Men: Zach, Nate, Ben, Mark, Renda
General Idea: Lisa starts making changes before she even has their first names straight.
This was just every man's nightmare right here. Good for Zach for having the sense to get booted.
Rush Party #3: The Creative Types
Theme: If I Have to Go Back to Freelancing I Can Still Feed You Squirrels 'N Stuff
Men: Scott S., Omar, Paco, Paul, Joe
General Idea: Guns and testosterone. What could be better than this?
Jesus God. This is a Y chromosome Yahoo right here. Lisa outshot all of them, which is nice 'cuz I'm all about the girl power, but God. Bye, Omar. You're too pretty for this.
Rush Party #4: The Jocks
Theme: Removing the Aforementioned Y Chromosome
Men: Hank, Ben, Dominic, Corey, Scott R.
General Idea: Dance with her but don't step on her feet, accidentally look down (her dress gaps in front) or act silly, because apparently those are all very bad things.
What did you expect of Corey, Peanut? Nobody was comfortable with this - including me.
So we're down to 16 and it's time for some reflection. First off, has dating changed all that much since I last did it or were these some of the most uncomfortable moments in dating history? Hell, they are group dates DESIGNED to make the guys unhappy. What kind of good time was anyone really expecting?
Secondly, there is just way too much honesty going on here. Hey, Maryanne, you aren't exactly a peach you know. Why aren't we seeing the guys' reactions to these horrifying displays of...whatever the hell they are?
Well, we have to lose one more really fast, so how's about a pool party? Let's bring out all 16 guys in their trunks, and put them with three women in bikinis. Oh, and when you're piloting the boat don't forget to HIT THE DAMN ICEBURG.
It's like a fraternity party as told by a first-year film maker: ugly, wet and all puffed up with bravado. The only thing MORE painful than watching this fiasco had to be attending it. The only thing more painful than THAT is knowing she kept the guy trying to take off her top AND the one scamming on her friends. Instead, she sent Paco packing.
Give the girl a MedicAlert bracelet engraved with "Synaptically Challenged". No one should have to go through life like this. Maybe someday someone will find a cure.
Until then, girlfriend has to rely on a few minutes with each contestant to decide how to whittle this down to the final ten. We see her looking all reflective as she presumably thinks about her "dates" with these 15 men (when really she's thinking about how her ass is to the camera for a really, really long time), then she comes in to kick out the undesirables.
Well, except for Touchy-Feely and Scammer, of course.
No, she opts to remove Scott R., Ben, Nate, Mark and Darren. A couple of good choices there, but still... I'm starting to see Laura's role in all this. As much as I hate her, they need to bring her back, along with Kimberly, Simon, EK and ME.
Ah well, such is life. Her friends were surprised with her choices and so am I, but it's way past my bedtime. Let's hope next week Lisa spends a little more time thinking about the next 50 years of her life. Or, you know, at least the next ten weeks. Goodnight, all!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 11:34 PM [+] ::
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Keeping House:: Monday, July 21, 2003 ::
Today found me pining for all things domestic. I wanted to cook, to balance the checkbook, to clean. Maybe it's a nesting response or something, I don't know, but the fever was high and the conversion strong. So, I went to Wendy's and got my bank balance at the ATM.
Two down.
The third, cleaning, is something I have studied much and practiced little. Mr. Speaks is the keeper of the house over here, a job I gladly relinquished...pretty much at birth, I suppose. I can't say what I was like as an infant, but growing up I heard my parents grumbling many a night about the fact that one could not walk in a straight line from my door to my bed; indeed, one could not lie on the bed at all unless one was less than five feet tall and about a foot wide. Clothes, toys, books and records blanked the carpet like a new fallen snow, and I liked it that way. I still like it that way, and were it not for the housekeeping prowess of one Mr. Speaks I would still live that way, too.
But today I am nesting. So, I consulted a book I purchased years ago when I thought it was high time I got serious about housekeeping. The book is Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House and it was written by Cheryl Mendelson.
It is 837 pages long.
Without the index.
How many of you empty and wash the inside of your refrigerator every week? Do you have carpet in your bedroom? What about curtains? Do you let your pets into your bedroom or, God forbid, into your bed? Do you know 11 and one-half pages worth of information about ironing? No? Then turn to chapter 69, page 797 for eight and a half pages about hiring domestic help, and do what I did tonight.
Watch three episodes of The West Wing from your newly-acquired Season One DVD.
Thank you all for your kind words yesterday. Mr. Speaks, the cats, dogs and I appreciate your response, and are cherishing Thomas' memory tonight. Give your pets a little extra squeeze tonight, and I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Hugs!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:55 PM [+] ::
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To Thomas the Faucet-Drinking Cat:: Thursday, July 17, 2003 ::
I will remember...
...how you looked that day at the humane society, when we had come in for your sister and found out about you. They told us you were overweight and would need special care (like we were going to hold THAT against you). They told us you hadn't so much as looked at any other prospective parents. We told them we were taking you home.
...how your meowing voice was often the first sound I heard in the morning, after my alarm clock. You would sit in the bathroom and yell at me while I showered. I wonder if you thought I was drowning.
...how you survived being locked in the house stairwell (little escape artist that you were) over Christmas vacation one year, eating mice and pulling the third-floor tenant's pants through the gap under his door to keep you warm. We cried and felt horrible that we'd left you in such a state while we were out of town, but you returned to us fatter and happier than when you'd gone in.
...how you charmed my family by drinking straight from the kitchen faucet, holding the stream over with your paw and getting your entire face wet in the process.
...how you returned home after visits with them, fully expecting I would let you drink from the faucet at will, too.
...how shockingly green your eyes were.
...how the first time I put you down outside the house you immediately launched off the deck, ran into the middle of the street and laid down. That was also the last time; after that I had to hold you whenever we went outside, and you hated that.
...how you ran when Mr. Speaks yelled, "Get the kitty!", but not very hard and not very fast. You let the dogs catch you, yelled for a bit and then came back for more.
...how you yelled the ENTIRE TIME you were in the car - whether for 10 minutes or 10 hours. Bascially you were saying what we were all thinking.
...how you didn't like to sleep in the bed unless you could sleep ON someone - preferably Mr. Speaks.
...how the last thing I did every night was pour a stream of water out of a cup into your bowl, so you could have running water before you slept.
For all this and more, I will remember you with love. You were a wonderful cat, a beloved son, the perfect addition to our family. Take care of my grandmother for me, and don't forget to haunt us once in a while. You gotta keep Sadie on her toes, you know.
We will miss you, and always love you.
Mama Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 11:14 AM [+] ::
...
For the last thirty minutes I have been staring at my leg.
Do you ever look down to find a bruise you can't explain? Let me tell you, finding a purple exclamation point on your thigh is a sign you should reflect on your day.
This thing is an inch wide and two inches tall, with another square inch dot underneath it. It hurts to touch it, but I just keep poking at it anyway. Just to see if it still hurts or something, I don't know.
I'm trying to think if I encountered anything exclamation pointed today, but I'm coming up empty. Desk-shaped, yes, rearview mirror-shaped, yeah, but nothing resembling a punctuation mark. Do you think someone with a Schoolhouse Rock fixation could have branded me while I waited in line at Starbucks? No? You know, I could be a CIA agent by day, so deep undercover that they erase my memories and implant new ones when I go home at night. That might explain a lot of other things, too, like my inability to remember my cell phone number.
Are you mocking me? Don't make me use my super-G-woman karate powers on you!
Yeah, I'm not buying it either. I bet Sydney on Alias never has to put up with crap like this.
By the way, it still hurts to touch it.
J
:: happy hour begins at 9:10 PM [+] ::
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"Spock must take a bride on his home world or die when the Vulcan mating cycle overwhelms him" - Star Trek, "Amok Time":: Tuesday, July 15, 2003 ::
Ah, Cupid, the show that pits male and female stereotypes against one another in a duel for marital rights. The show that brings invisibility to hosting and alcohol to the masses.
The show that keeps me away from my fanfic.
But Simon is a sweetheart! Have you ever noticed that Simon has a particular way of speaking when he reads scripted lines? His mouth moves differently, as though he's been working on his articulation or something. It's adorable that he's so clueless. Awww!
Emasculated Ken, however, looks like one of the losers match.com will be auctioning off at the end of the season. Nah, Laura probably would have thrown him out on his ass to begin with. Actually, she might not have noticed him being in the room at all.
New York City! "Love and affection come above everything. Money is GARBAGE!" asserts the elderly gentleman on the street, and Invisible Emasculated Ken (IEK) nods like an idiot. Does the Big Apple hold true love for Lisa?
Well, Christopher (35, sales) looks to be pulling ahead early, if only with Lisa. He's a fairly greasy geek, he calls someone "honey" and sports a broken heart tattoo - DING! Then saliva happens. Next.
Steve, 28, construction, shows up with cardboard boxes next. He seems to have some sort of seizure, then sucks up to the panel by complimenting Lisa's teeth. Elicits stunned silence from the gallery and wanders back into the alley from which he slithered.
Things are looking up, though! Zach (32) arrives - he is unemployed and does an off-off-medication impersonation of Cupid, much to the delight of our fair heroine. I told you she wasn't the textbook cheerleader - he gets IN.
Followed by a flurry of also-rans: Kung Fu Dancer Guy, Pet Snail Guy, Amish Guy with Bible Barbie Accessory and Prince Albert.
"I am mortified for my life," Lisa exclaims. Me, too.
Lisa might be even more "out there" than I gave her credit for being, as evidenced by the fact that she invites Paul, a 32-year-old writer, to Los Angeles. Paul is wearing a pink suit and does some sort of poem/rap/I can't even describe it schtick. Be still my heart.
Then the attitude parade begins! Bring on the confetti! "Bitch, trophy, bitch." "Shouldn't you be pregnant and smoking Misty's by now?" "Hookers." "I got more chest than you." "White trash." "Boringest women."
SECURITY!
No wonder Renda (24) the Poet/street hustler gets in! The dude wouldn't even tell them his first name, but look ma, no threats!
Ah, but Omar has promise! As a singer anyway. His Spanish singing and acoustic guitar win the women over; the nice guy chaser is simply icing on the cake. I won't object to this one.
Frank, however, sparks a catfight between Laura and Kim. Well, he causes Laura to get diarrhea of the mouth and Kim takes the high road, but that's not how the entertainment shows will paint it. Poor Kim, getting lumped in with that idiocy.
I don't like Laura, and I don't like Simon's comment that, "In real life the friends fight." No, they don't.
He also says he thought he could have predicted Lisa's taste in men, but he was completely wrong. I could have told him that. Simon, why don't you just call me up and we'll make some magic? I could certainly help you out with this sort of thing and save you some money. And time. And energy.
Strike that. He'd need to carb up for a visit to me.
Ahem. Two more cuties make the cut - Ben (27) with the basketball and Scott (31) with the humpty-hump - and our New York total stud count is a measly six. On to Los Angeles!
IEK has a serious visibility problem. Does this show even have a host? Oh, there he is! C'mon, Simon, you could at least dress him better than a subway attendant. We promise we won't choose him over you!
In LA we meet Stalker Zachary with his book of bad bar lines. Darling, it wasn't a how-to manual, okay?
Follow Ack with Spike the Gladiator calling Lisa a "little girl," and Lisa has to be thinking about that last guy she dated, the one with bad breath and no job. Surely he wasn't THIS bad?
Bring on Robert (33) the fitness model! Cute in a geeky way, he was sure to be a shoe-in - and predictably he is! He won't last long, but it's always good to have an Arnold in the crowd when you can get one.
Not so fantastic is Vibe Errol and his love of porn. Jesus God. Some strippers, some push-ups and we go to commercial...
We should have stayed there. Too bad we make it back just in time for bagpipes from a man who would be willing to get married for a year! Or more. Or not. Funny flashback to Ross playing for his Friends, though. Classic ep.
I have to like the super-fast-karate dude, though. How cute! Totally reminds me of how five-year-old boys act at wedding receptions before anyone else gets up to dance. Gimme the floor, girlfriend! I'm bustin' out!
Good guy: Corey, 24, Air Force, fear of flying. Awww! A rocket scientist! And what a sweet smile!
Bad guy: "Don't touch my sword." Need I say more?
Yeah, I need. Laura is such a flaming bitch. Don't physically threaten the guy and expect flowers and kudos. He's a wacko, but he's a WACKO WITH A SWORD. How many kinds of stupid are you?
Smart enough to take on Scott the Fortune Cookie Guy, Mark the Sickeningly Sweet Valet, Rob the Salesman with Pic of Grandma, Evan the Goofy Girls' V-Ball Coach and Dain the Texas Attorney.
Seven LA picks in all, and not a bad haul. Twenty total going to the next round - as opposed to the 150 early promos said they'd get.
I could have told you that, too, Simon.
As long as nobody is listening to me I suppose I may as well go to bed. C'mon, Spock; let's go mind the store.
Love you all! Goodnight!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:18 AM [+] ::
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Back to Basics:: Monday, July 14, 2003 ::
When in doubt, revert to the known: Bitch, courtesy of Meredith Brooks. Yes.
So today was...odd. It appears my company may have been purchased by the Moonies. I'm afraid top-down infiltration may lead to an increase in the divorce and turnover rates among staffers. There are only so many Amway-esque pep rallies a woman can withstand.
I'll keep you posted on that.
Since you asked - mascara! Almost every woman can benefit from a quick sweep across the lashes, some of us (Lola and me) more than others. My picks...
Bourjois Coup de Theatre - Definitely a must have! If your lashes are short, click here to get it! It includes a lash primer and mascara as a separate step. The mascara itself is okay, but the primer is FIERCE!! I've tried several brands of primer, and nothing works like this does. It's a ride in Marilyn Monroe false eyelash land, without the glue!
Got sparse lashes? My pick would be Maybelline Volum' Express Washable Mascara. For extra impact I'll sometimes use it over the Coup de Theatre primer. Only for evening, though; for daytime the duo's look is a little too dramatic. (Perfect with that red pout we learned about yesterday, though!)
EVERYONE can use a good eyelash curler - Shu Uemura makes a wonderful tool that curls even the most stubborn lashes. To use: press lashes at the base and hold for ten seconds, then "walk" the curler up your lashes, stopping to press a few times as you go. Repeat, then follow up with mascara. Word to the wise: curling after you've applied mascara can damage your lashes; I still do it midday for an eye-opening pick-me-up, but very, very gently!
Handy tip: ever sneezed or coughed right after applying mascara? Yeah, me too. Avoid dots by setting your hairdryer to cool and blowing your lashes dry for a few seconds immediately after application. (I sometimes do this between primer and mascara - I'm not a patient person.)
I'm not a fan of waterproof mascara - every brand I've tried made my lashes look "spindly" - but some people swear by them. I have no advice on that, except make sure your eye makeup remover is extremely gentle. No tugging on that sensitive skin around your eyes!
Whatever mascara you choose, keep your lashes from clumping by wiping the brush with a clean tissue before use; obviously clumps on the brush are going to transfer to your lashes.
Thus endeth the Mary Kay lesson. Gah! This is damn frightening! Come on, Simon, save me already!
Hugs, everyone!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:09 PM [+] ::
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Danger! Danger!:: Sunday, July 13, 2003 ::
I listened to Doris! I thought I could handle it, but evidently she really is lost forever. It only took the first line of Would I Love You, Love You, Love You to seriously piss me off. Poor Mr. Speaks bore the brunt of this one.
Oh, who watches Stargate anyway? I mean, really.
I'm detoxing with the soundtrack from Bring it On. I think every woman should have at least one version of Mickey in her repertoire, and if Anywhere USA comes along with it, well, that's just smart shopping.
Speaking of shopping I found the perfect red lipstick over the weekend! For some of you this will be the most trivial fact you've read in your life, but for those of us who wear lipstick and actually care what it looks like, we know a good red is next to impossible to find.
There are rules for red, you know. I would hope you of the lipstick-wearing population already know them, but sadly I know this is untrue. Spend four minutes on a bench in the mall and you'll see the felons in action:
1. Orange-red lips (on ANYONE)
2. Lipstick on the teeth
3. Coloring outside the lines
4. Lip prints on cups and straws and, God forbid, forks
These fox passes are so easy to avoid. All it takes is a square of Charmin and a mirror:
1. Try before you buy! Don't try to pick a red from the colored sticker on the ass of the tube; waltz into the department store and go to town. Try several shades and stand back for a good look. If the salesgirl hands you a single tube and squeals, "this shade is ALL the rage!" -- RUN AWAY!
2. Wear a complementary shade lip liner (NOT black or brown, but a slightly darker shade than the lipstick itself), drawn on your lip line. Don't use the lipstick alone, and don't use the tip as your lipliner. That is just so wrong. Spring for the real deal or look like a ten dollar whore with vampiric tendencies. (Also, do NOT draw a line outside your natural lip line; you won't be fooling ANYONE, unless you are a makeup artist, in which case this entire list is unnecessary for you.)
3. Lipliner applied, slather your lips with red! Really pile it on, and do not be afraid. Once you've done it (staying IN the lines, of course!), take a tissue and blot - purse your lips around it. Do this a few times, until all that is left from your application is the stain. When you touch your lips with your fingertip no lipstick should come away.
4. NOW for the real deal: lightly dab a small amount of lipstick over the "stain" you've prepared. Your lips should be moist but not wet.
5. REAPPLY LIPLINER! You don't really need this step with any other color, but with red you MUST AVOID any chance that your lipstick will bleed out.
6. To keep lipstick off your teeth (and every other damn thing you touch), put your forefinger in your mouth, purse your lips around it and drag it out. This will leave lipstick on your finger - GOOD! Clean off your finger and repeat until your finger comes away clean.
7. Finally, stand back and take a good look. If you have made a single, tiny mistake in application you'll see it now - REMOVE YOUR LIPSTICK and start over. There's nothing worse than a bad red application.
Think truck stop trollop.
Make sure your other makeup is neutral and light, and be sure (way back in the color selection process) that your lips do not precede you into a room. Your new, totally kissable pouter should illuminate your face, not dominate it. If you think the above process makes your lips too matte, or if you worry that your lips are too thin, apply a tiny amount of sheer gloss to the center only of both lips; that will do the trick.
Trust me. I got kissed a lot today - I know my stuff. ;)
Have a great night everyone, and don't forget: DORIS IS NOT YOUR FRIEND -- and she just might be working at the Lancome counter!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:54 PM [+] ::
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"This is pretty fucked up." - Mr. Speaks:: Saturday, July 12, 2003 ::
Are you watching Banzai? Seriously? They lost me on the one-legged kicker/one-armed goalie combo.
But SIMON! EEEEE! How unbelievably cute was that? If I forget everything else about this half hour (and believe me, I will) I will take away the vision of Simon peeking around the microphone to prompt the "interviewer" to say something - anything.
What a nice boy. *sigh!*
Juliet
PS - I still say the geisha with the red panties was B.
:: happy hour begins at 8:59 PM [+] ::
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One Fine Day:: Friday, July 11, 2003 ::
I am so hung up on the Shirelles right now!
Though I know you're the kind of boy
Who only wants to run around,
I'll keep waiting and someday, Darling,
You'll come to me when you want to settle down!
Simon Cowell, appropriate in all genres.
J
:: happy hour begins at 11:41 PM [+] ::
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Juliet v. The Lexmark X125:: Thursday, July 10, 2003 ::
It was a simple plan, really. Wake up late, grab a shower and some coffee, review a contract, fax in corrections and get on with my mental health day off. What occurred instead was an apparent breakdown in communication between the Plan Executor and a Plan Participant.
Allow me to introduce you to my colleague, Lexmark X125. Lex is only six months old and is a wizard of multitasking; she can print, fax, scan and copy. She has been a faithful member of Team Speaks since her birth, and will be until her death. Which was almost today.
Me: Okay, I’ll just print out this cover sheet…
Lex: Sucker.
Me: Why is the ink all blurry? Huh. Where’s the diagnostic icon thingy? Oh, here.
Lex: hehehe
Me: Great. So you aren’t going to print at all anymore?
Lex: Nope.
Me: Well, it’s readable. It’ll have to do. Dial the number.
Lex: No.
Me: Hmmm. Why won’t this dial out?
Lex: BEEEEEEEEP
Me: HEY! God dammit!
Lex: Whiiiiiiiiine
Me: STOP! Damn! All ten pages fed through AT ONCE!
Lex: BEEEEEEEEP
Me: SHIT! Okay, clear.
Lex: Beep.
Me: CLEAR, dammit!
Lex: BEEEEEEEEP
Me: LET…GO!
Lex: Beep.
Me: ARGH! Okay, deep breath. Let’s try this again. Dial the number…
Lex: BEEEEEEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Me: #$*&!!!!! OW! Mr. Speaks!
Mr. Speaks: Just a minute.
Me: I need help!
Mr. Speaks: Hang on.
Me: Tron? You’re watching TRON?
Mr. Speaks: What?
Me: HELP!
Mr. Speaks: Give me that.
Me: But –
Mr. Speaks: GIVE ME THAT AND GO IN THE OTHER ROOM!
Me: BUT –
Mr. Speaks: NOW!
Me: But it –
Lex: BEEEEEEEEP
Me: SEE!
Mr. Speaks: Go in the other room and LIE DOWN!
Me: Fine.
Mr. Speaks: What’s the number?
Me: It’s on the cover sheet.
Lex: Beep beep beep – beep beep beep beep. Whiiiiiiine.
Mr. Speaks: All done. You can come back now.
Me: I hate you both. And Tron.
Mr. Speaks: You’re welcome.
It seems that Mr. Speaks and Lex have bonded, but I’ll fix that. I’ll have to be stealthy, but I feel a nice new Hewlett Packard coming on. Hewie will be nice to me. Do you hear that, Lex?
Lex: BEEP.
Bitch.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:34 PM [+] ::
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How to Lose Your In-Laws in One Minute or Less:: Wednesday, July 09, 2003 ::
1. Sit down to Christmas dinner with spouse's family.
2. Spy niece's religious-themed Esther doll on the table.
3. Refer to doll as "Bible Barbie".
Welcome to my Christmas, 1995. I got the boot right then and there, as evidenced by the fact that my sister-in-law stopped trying to sell me Amway, but her husband's laughter at the above comment went unpunished for another seven years. At the time I thought, "you are so divorced".
I'm psychic like that.
I thought Lisa Shannon could use a little advice there. The dumb girl is choosing all these mother-oriented men. It's only a matter of time before she realizes she has brought the, "My mother doesn't make it that way," and, "But she's only trying to help," comments upon herself.
Stupid, stupid girl.
Juliet
PS - Mr. Speaks would like to point out that he believes he was adopted.
:: happy hour begins at 9:54 PM [+] ::
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"Jack's gonna shoot you in the face." - Alias
Hello, everyone! I hope you all watched Cupid because, damn, that was a learning experience. I suppose if you live in Raleigh you're going to have to learn from your own mistakes, but the rest of us need never worry about dating again. There appears to be a formula.
Here to guide us to that promised land is the ever-sexy Simon Cowell! I originally only tuned in to see this pretty face, and I am not disappointed. If nothing else, at least we get some wonderful screen time with our perfect boy! (K, not so perfect, but hey, he's OURS for THREE MORE YEARS! WOOHOO!) (Sorry, I just had to get that in there.)
Unfortunately, Simon doesn't stick around long and isn't in it for the long haul, anyway. Instead, we have the emasculated Ken doll that is Brian McFayden to lead us down the garden path. I imagine he skips a lot in his spare time, not unlike his much more interesting counterpart Ryan Seacrest. I hope Ryan pipes up with some fashion tips soon, and you all know how desperate I must be to say something like that.
On we go to Lisa Shannon, our "bachelorette" du jour. I was fully prepared to hate this chick because she's beautiful, smart, funny and gets to hang out with Simon. (Hands off, bitch!) But there's a lesson here about Lisa, too. We'll get there...
Enter her friends, Laura and Kimberly. First impression? Laura needs to talk to Ryan, too, and Kim could lighten up a little. But we can't all be the pretty one with a million dollars, can we? *sigh*
We learn that Lisa is looking for a man with a good sense of humor who won't lie or cheat. Duh. Will she find him in Chicago?
Who didn't make the cut: the gambling, alcoholic postal guy with strange hair (who took two hits); Superdan the Karate Man (a full-blooded half-Italian stripper with sticking and kicking, who might have been more fun had he been speaking Japanese with English dubbed over it) and his sidekick, Bob; Guy with Bird; Drunk Doing Chair Tricks; Shaved Armpit Man; a DJ; and some kid in his underwear. Also ran: Screamy Massage Therapy Man Who Shouldn't Be Allowed to Touch People ("I'll show you what happens").
I may have dated one or more of those people. The tale of the tape will show me later, after I've had something to drink.
Who DID get in? Let's see... "You had me at hello" Dominic with Picnic, Mom, Wine and Cute Little Sister; Trader Ken with Kids in the Caymens; Real Estate Joe and Family; and Hank With Shark and Late Dad Story.
Did you catch that, boys? Lesson #1: Bring your family. Lesson #2: Tell her you want children. Lesson #3: Bring alcohol.
Girls, there's a lesson here for us, too: WE ARE FUCKING EASY. We are also MEAN. (I wonder who emasculated Ken?)
At about this time Mr. Speaks decides Lisa looks like Bugs Bunny. I think it's tooth-related but I can't be sure.
With four men in the saddle Bugs and Emasculated Ken (EK, because we like him) head down to Miami where, let's face it, you have to know things are not going to be better. I mean, hell, we start out with Jose "I'm gonna be your Spanish lover" Singer Boy, whose accent DOES fade as he gets more flustered. Poor Eric (who hasn't had a date since 1983 and brought a pulled-up weed for his sweet love) can only come up with, "I'm clean" in his own defense. Micah the Pimp recites some poem about the stigmata or something, I can't be sure.
Then Nate, football "dude", shows up talking about his family and he's in like Simon would be if he'd just show up at my freaking house with a box of Trojans. Jeebus, this Lisa... Could we please...? I'm not even going to finish that. I'm not sure I know how.
Paco the bartender shows up covered in tattoos, toting a skateboard but with...MOM. So he's in. Christ.
But the loser parade resumes with Darren the Chiropractor, who made a fatal error: do NOT leave your mother outside the curtain! BRING HER IN WITH YOU! He might have stood a chance if he'd presented her from the get-go, but noooo. He picked a fight with the pit bull and his mom had to come out and defend him.
Stupid man.
Mike the traveling ski instructor makes such an ass of himself (right side up and upside down) that security has to remove him, which is why when Darren (II) the Equities Trader stalks in the room with a freaking singing monkey the girls don't even talk to him. He gets in just because he has all his teeth.
Hm. That might explain Charles, the sophomore love of my life.
Will next week be more fruitful with the women moving to New York and Los Angeles? I highly doubt it. Laura will still be the bitter, man-hating Paula Abdul of Cupid fashion and Kimberly will likely remain pretty nondescript. EK will need a haircut, and I will like Lisa.
Oh right! I didn't tell you about that, did I? Okay, well, you know how I wanted to hate her everliving guts? Well, that was before I found out she is a total doormat. I knew some women like that in college, and I remember the beatings they took in the bars. I'm rooting for this one, kids - she needs all the help she can get.
I really didn't think I would like this show, but it's kicking off with some interesting universal truths. I must admit, I'm fascinated.
Sweet Simon dreams, everyone!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 11:55 PM [+] ::
...
Dammit
It kind of ruins the fansmutfic mood when there's an ice cream truck parked out front playing Turkey in the Straw.
Over and over and over and over...
J
:: happy hour begins at 9:27 PM [+] ::
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Going, Going, Gone!:: Tuesday, July 08, 2003 ::
So my company has been sold. Again. Today, I had a chance to meet with our new chairman of the board, president, some kind of title, and when I asked why he had scheduled my team for just before lunch, the reply was, "Because he's on a schedule."
"Well, we're all on a schedule," I muttered in reply. For some reason this shocked my companion, who laughed and went on about how "nice" I am, how "amiable" and "accommodating" I am. What?
Now I don't know who this guy thinks he is, but where I come from them's fightin' words. But, since I was on the verge of lateness I hastily brushed him off and made my way to the conference room for the pep rally.
I like the new bigwig, I do. But the aforementioned conversation came back to me when he started in on how we're the leaders in our industry. He's right; we are - by a very wide margin. But I have to wonder: how did this ragtag gaggle of goofy-assed misfits ever accomplish that? And that's not a slam; remember, I'm one of them.
Be very afraid.
Ah, well, at least they pay me enough to support my Starbucks mocha habit. Somehow that makes it alllllll better!
Don't forget, Simon on Cupid tonight! What's with the 10pm thing? Not that I would have been asleep, but still! Dag!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:35 PM [+] ::
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This is Hard:: Monday, July 07, 2003 ::
Every time I try to come up with a blog topic it ends in disaster. Who wants to hear about the mysterious white mark that appeared on my sweater halfway through the day, or the inordinate amount of joy I derived from a fresh-baked chocolate chip muffin this morning? (Honest to God, though, that muffin was breathtaking.)
I could tell you about the little ghost icon that has joined my toolbar for no apparent reason. I could tell you how much I hate the heat (I'm sorry, but anything over 90 degrees is fucking extreme). I even thought about dedicating this entry to the fact that my hair got so sunbleached this weekend that my phonytails don't match anymore.
But that would be stupid.
So, I'll have to settle for telling you that I am bone-bored and starting to think about hurling myself out of a moving vehicle to pep things up a bit. I wouldn't really do it - I'm far too apathetic for that - but it would make for a good story.
Eventually.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:51 PM [+] ::
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I TOLD YOU SO!!!:: Sunday, July 06, 2003 ::
The Associated Press is reporting that Simon Cowell has signed on to do American Idol for three more years, on condition that Fox help him establish his own production company, simcow, Ltd.
He'll never leave us, girls. We may have to share him a little but all in all I'd say it's a fair trade. HE'S COMING BACK!
The Princess has spoken.
Juliet, Defender of All Things Simon
:: happy hour begins at 8:41 PM [+] ::
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I Blame Roscoe
I have moved from Patsy Cline to Erasure by following their common "Stand By Your Man".
That one's for you, B.
:: happy hour begins at 6:34 PM [+] ::
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Baby, You're a Star!:: Friday, July 04, 2003 ::
Do you ever feel like you're the star of your very own movie? Strange things happen to you, people brush up against your life and change the plot and somehow in the end, everything works out all right - until the sequel?
Not me. I have a feeling I'm this character in everyone else's movie:
You see her through her office window; she's bopping her head a little to the beat of a Patsy Cline song you can almost make out through the closed door. Yesterday it was Marilyn Manson and she was pushing paper clips across her desk. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and though you know no good can come of it you open the door. She looks up in surprise.
"Hey," she says, her hand unconsciously reaching up to pat her hair. You smile in response.
"What are you doing?" Really, you should know better than to ask. She fixes you with a look meant to convey her disappointment that you are so stupid, and her pity that you must go through life with such a burden.
"I'm counting my pencils." You feign understanding, and she smiles.
"Okay." You close the door on Juliet and Patsy, and linger a moment to watch her restart the song you so inconsiderately interrupted. It wouldn't do for her to pick it up again in the middle; somehow you know she thinks that would be a grave insult to the song and its singer. You stride off down the hall with your camera crew in tow to finish out the latest episode of the movie of your life.
Someone has to be that character. I'm actually glad it's me; it takes some of the pressure off, don't you think?
I hope everyone had a great holiday weekend! As I mentioned, the fam was here for Independence Day. We spent Friday night watching fireworks on the National Mall here in Jesus-God-it's-hot Washington, DC. Mom and Dad Speaks, Mr. Speaks and I took in the festivities from our beach blankets and collapsible chairs. Lola and G celebrated from the line for the broken Port-O-Potty. Some guy behind us partied by screaming, "Thank you, Dubya!" at the top of his booze-drowned lungs, and the rest of the crowd made for damn sure we were miserable on the Metro ride home (except for the empty-nester tourists from Little Rock, Arkansas, who sat behind us all the way to Bethesda).
Happy Birthday, America!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:49 PM [+] ::
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What the hell happened to Thursday?:: Wednesday, July 02, 2003 ::
Sorry again, folks. Time is just flying away from me! Ironic, since my work hours last F.O.R.E.V.E.R. One day on the job and I expect to have sprouted touch-up-worthy roots.
This weekend is shaping up to be preternaturally busy, especially for someone who spends SO MUCH TIME on the internet! Dad and Mom Speaks are in town for the fourth, as are Lola and G (the cute "significant other"). Tomorrow will be spent sweating like Al Capone before an audit and searching for port-o-potties on the National Mall. Saturday will find me in a church, witnessing the wedding of a friend. I'll spend Sunday rehydrating and snoozing.
And on Monday I'll go back to work. That hardly seems fair.
Impulse buy of the week: tonight, a new, very long phony tail that makes me look like a porn star! I can't imagine wearing it outside the house, but it's earning a place of honor in my lingerie drawer. One more weapon in the arsenal, girls!
I hope to visit you all again soon! Have a fantastic fourth, and keep the sparklers away from your fake hair! Fire + Synthetic Porn Queen Wig = Very Bad Experience.
Trust me.
Love you!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:06 AM [+] ::
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Lust in FanSpace:: Tuesday, July 01, 2003 ::
You all know about my hopeless addiction to fanfiction, and I know many of you share this "hobby". Most of you are familiar with Simon fic and some of you have followed me down the dark path into West Wing Josh/Donna World. Some of you, like me, have yet to find your way out.
In light of our shared passion I thought now might be a good time for a little sex ed for the youngsters, and a refresher course for the more experienced in the crowd. Consider this a public service announcement:
If your partner is in his forties, "all night long" will likely involve more sleeping than sex. Much more.
Don't get me wrong, you know I love fansmut just as much as the next girl, but somewhere around orgasm #4 I tend to lose track of the touchy-feely portion of the program and head straight into the giggles. "Oh, Simon!" "Touch me, Joshua!" "Oh God oh God oh God!" Scream, scream, scream, orgasm #5 is behind him and he's still rarin' to go?
Honey, the only place a real middle-aged man is going now is the hospital because whatever drugs he took to get him to this point are about to start rebelling. There might be vomiting, probably will be some serious heart palpitations and eventually he's going to lose his vision.
I'm just sayin'.
Dream on, girls! Take what you can get in Fantasyland because when you finally get that hunka-hunka-burnin'-love in your bed, he's going to pass out cold, right about...now.
Love you!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:35 PM [+] ::
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No Wonder I've Been Dizzy
Well this is fun. Mr. Speaks got bored today and decided to search Google for our real names and see what came up. Apparently we are now in space: meet NASA's Stardust Program. Our names are engraved on microchips that will stay in space...forever.
According to the site we submitted our own names, but I really think I would remember something like that. Don't get me wrong, it's cool and all, but space? I'm in space? Definitely would remember a conversation with NASA.
It could be worse - Lola, I'm sorry to tell you that your name Googles up to a black transsexual porn star. When were you planning on telling Mom and Dad? Can I be there when you do?
I had a blog entry all set for this evening, but...space. I'll save my other story for another day.
Have fun tonight, and don't forget to wish on that falling star! With my luck it might just be mine!
Juliet, Defender of All Things Simon and, Apparently, NASA
:: happy hour begins at 5:33 PM [+] ::
...
