:: Friday, January 30, 2004 ::
How can I possibly be this tired?:: Thursday, January 29, 2004 ::
Give a girl some snow days and she comes out all weary. Where's the logic in that?
Equally illogical yet infinitely more pleasant, we're getting a tax refund for the first time since we've been married - from federal and the greedy state of Maryland! It's probably a Republican loss-leader sort of thing - buy votes now, stick them with the bill next year - but I'll take it.
Obviously.
Here's a thing: why the hell does the Presidential Election Campaign Fund have a line on my tax return? For those of you who are too young to pay taxes, at the end of the form you are asked if you'd like to send $3 of your taxes to a war chest established to provide campaign funds to presidential candidates.
I don't know about you all, but it pisses me off to see something so frivolous on my IRS form. I realize these people have to get money somewhere, but do they have to do it on a form REQUIRED of all taxpaying citizens in this country? And if they INSIST on raising money for something, shouldn't it mean something more than lining the pockets of the few Americans privileged enough to have raised the money to get on ANY ballot in the first place?
If you went to Harvard and Yale and you live on an "estate" that has its own name, you don't need my money, and you shouldn't be hijacking a federal form to try and wrench it out of me.
Oh, the humanity.
Yeah, I don't need a drink or anything. LOL I try so hard not to let my politics bleed out all over the blog here, but it's been a long year and I haven't slept nearly enough to hold it all in. At least I'll be talking about American Idol on Super Tuesday and not...
You know, I'm going to stop that thought right there. Just one last thing: if you find a few bucks in the bottom of your purse (like, ahem, $3), drop them off at your local battered women's shelter, or find a charity that's near and dear to your heart that could use a little cash.
It all adds up, dears.
With that, I am off for the weekend! Have a great one, everyone! Hugs!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:20 PM [+] ::
...
I feel like I should put out a party platter.:: Wednesday, January 28, 2004 ::
So far today I've had about 200 more visitors than I would normally expect the day after the show. They are all looking for one person:
William Hung, Superstar!
I shouldn't be so surprised; everywhere I went today people were talking about him. They gossiped, they sang, they mimicked the choreography, and they made me realize William really, really isn't as bad at many of those things as most of the people I know.
And here's something else: people really like him! I really like him! This is not the return of creepy Keith and his excruciating personality, but rather the birth of a much-beloved American Idol mascot we can get behind when the Sallys and bleaters threaten to take over. You know, they never replaced Dunk from the first season, and Kristen Whatever just sorta disappeared partway through the second. Who better to fill the vacancy than our dear, new friend, William Hung?
The people are speaking, Fox.
Just, for the love of God, please don't dress him in a furry suit.
Speaking of furry suits, did you know that today is my blog's first birthday? Yes, one year ago today I moved into this house at Blogger and threw myself a party.
It's amazing to me how many of you never went home.
In honor of this auspicious occasion I'd like to tell you a story, but in true Juliet fashion I can't think of one. Instead, I'll just thank you all for hanging in there with me, and especially to Jo Jfnppr, who was the best blog realtor a girl could ever want.
Love you all! And kisses to William Hung! I know where you can buy a cape!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:17 PM [+] ::
...
The One Where Fonzie Water Skies in a Leather Jacket:: Tuesday, January 27, 2004 ::
Tonight, American Idol takes us to Hawaii! We go up the mountain, we go down the mountain, we get on our knees and give thanks that it's over.
Just one more hour between us and salvation.
Charo is back, as are Randy and Simon, though Simon had better look out for those little girls. Sure, they kiss him now, but earlier I saw them putting some sort of hex on the competition.
It was a sign.
But not for Sonny, who starts us off with "Nice and Slow" in a very nice voice (very nice being my euphemism of choice for "sings in a bar"). Simon would have said no but Team R&P let him through.
Keetelynne or something comes in with "A Moment Like This."
Paula: "Oh."
Well said.
While our Ryan, for no discernible reason, scares the shit out of tourists coming off of elevators, Contestant Ryan harms us all by singing my least favorite Paula Abdul song even worse than she did. Nooo.
But yes to John Peter the Sleeper. He slept outside, he vegetated in the hallway and somewhere in between morphed into Pocket Protector Guy, but the dude can seriously sing. That voice would have put me in dreamland, too, John. Welcome to Hollywood.
And then, Martha, Part II. Paula Fuga busts out with "Son of a Preacher Man" and I'm just fixing to advance order her CD from amazon.com, when the judges throw her out. What? Seriously, what?
Oh, I am so tempted to link you back to some of the people they let through last week. I believe the judges have lost their perspective. Their minds. Their sobriety.
Something.
William the Pooh. Uhh... Mary can't sing, either.
Or Isaac. Except Simon's all about this little challenge thing this season, isn't he? This guy is breakdancing - badly - and his speaking voice is straight out of... You know, I don't think they've made a movie like that yet. But he's convinced he can find five people on the beach who think he's an amazing singer!
This was a tactical error on Simon's part. Dude, remember how you spent yesterday on that same beach? That's right - DRUNK. Clue! Clue!
Sadly for Isaac, Simon won't pony up and send him to Hollywood, but it's for the best. His group probably would have just stabbed him anyway.
cough*Corey Clark*cough
So Crystal here's a scary one. Energetic in the irritating extreme, she rips off some wickedly disorganized version of "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and about puts us out of our misery once and for all. Her voice is all right, I guess, until the whining starts. Then it's only Simon staring at her "Hawaii heart Simon" t-shirt (it would have cost too much to put an " 's " on there?) giving her a yes. P and R are OUT - and correct.
Ick.
Oh, but what's a reality TV show without drama? Crystal emerges from the room deflated and crying while some sort of General Hospital, "your mother is really your sister and she's the one who tried to murder you and take your baby" music plays in the background. Awwww.
I mean, AWWWWW.
AWWWWW.
Enter Camile, whose voice sounds all dusky while her hands are working classic dork. They let her in. I hope they help her.
Welcome to Clifford the Fireman. Initially I thought his voice was all right in a sickly boyband way, but it doesn't take long before he's just plain irritating. Simon sides with me; Team R&P disagrees, and Clifford runs off to the beach amid random-drunk-touristy-screaming, "He's going to Hollywood!"
I wanna go to the bathroom.
Matthew wants a girlfriend.
"Where did we go wrong?"
Way back there, honey.
Montage, montage, montage. What would America's Funniest Home Videos be without a montage? This one's of lotsa hula and weird body talents and a set of baby triplets.
Oh, my!
Oh to Jonah! The freestyle rap champion (of the world!) runs out of breath at the end there, but I really dig this kid's voice. Randy doesn't, but that shouldn't surprise me too much. He and I haven't been getting along too well this season, I'm afraid. Lucky for Jonah Saula disagrees (I can't believe I just used that. Katie, help me!) and J's going to the H.
I really am going to the bathroom now.
Good thing, too, because Lisa Wilson the Super-Cool Model and We're So Humbled and Happy to Have Her (aka Madcap's very best girl) is a no-talent country bleater, who wraps up this nightmare of an audition season with a free ride to the next round.
So, 17 contestants from the Hawaii round make it through in all (and why they had to separate that into "from Hawaii"/"not from Hawaii" I'll never care), but we wouldn't be done without a rehash of all the bottom-feeder auditioners from the last five days.
As if we haven't had enough.
All I can say is, William Hung, CE student, didn't sound so bad tonight.
God damn, this needs to end.
So, END.
Juliet
PS - I can't believe I wrote that entire recap without a single Brady Bunch Goes to Hawaii reference. They've sucked the touch right out of me.
:: happy hour begins at 9:49 PM [+] ::
...
Smells Like Teen Spirit. Or Desperation. Or Something.:: Monday, January 26, 2004 ::
Happy Tuesday everyone! We're back in the land of American Idol, where youngsters from several countries are ritualistically tortured and summarily dismissed, except the cute, popular ones!
Of course we're in LA, can't you tell by my exclamation points!
Actually, we start out in Los Angeles, then move to San Francisco in the same episode because SF was too damn depressing to get its own hour. But we'll get to that.
Back to La La Land! Ten thousand people showed up to audition at the Rose Bowl and Ryan Seacrest forgot his eyeliner. How embarrassing for him.
Paula forgot to show up altogether, but that's neither here nor there.
We're singing! Or not.
Welcome to Jimmy's rendition of "We Will Rock You," or at least his damn fine impersonation of the Vietnam vet from South Park with the microphone at his throat.
Nargiza sucks, but her name would make a great horror movie title, don't you think?
Daniel: "Blue... Blue... Blue Moon... Wait, sorry. Blue... Bl... Blue Moon, you saw... Sorry, I'm really nervous. Blue... Blue Moo..."
Simon's in a bad mood. It's hard to say why.
And now, for a total slap in the face to all Juliet Speaks blog readers everywhere, it's Fever Girl Redux in an off-the-shoulder cheesecloth ensemble. She wasn't "that bad" but she wasn't that good, except as a segue.
Cue the Boo Hoo Montage. You would think Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum just brought the mother ship down in the middle of the city.
Total. Utter. Devastation.
Oh, and Random Dad asserting that, "Simon Doesn't like young girls."
Guffaw.
Tangent alert: These contestants remind me of the singer at our wedding. Partway through the ceremony Speaksy and I turned wide-eyed looks at each other and whispered, did we hire a singer?
Answer: NO.
Anyway.
After a much-needed commercial break we come back to spooked contestants and a Dad from Indochina getting all teared up about wanting a better, American life for his son. Thank God, the kid's got game. Welcome to Hollywood, Bao Viet. You'd better be in it for the long haul because if you get knocked out, Speaksy will never let it die.
(Insert your own ORIGINAL Fever Girl reference HERE.)
After Bao Viet reduces Randy to grunts we are treated to Naomi and her dog. As the dog slinks away I have visions of the poor thing just trying to get some peace at home.
Here's hoping the dog was borrowed.
Blockhead Matthew knocks my socks off...or something like that. Sadly I found myself screaming at the television, "GO TACKLE HIM!" We all know who the "him" was and we all know Matthew didn't follow through, but the season is young.
Next up, Jasmine Ortega. It took us a while on that close-up to figure it out, but the answer is "too much eyeliner". I swear to God there should be a class.
Jasmine is very sweet, very nervous and has a very nice voice. It's all very, very nice, except the BLEATING. Simon must have a thing for bleating blondes because this one is in.
How many Carmens can there be in this world? WHEN WILL IT BE ENOUGH?!?
(Martha.)
Dreah wants a pink T-Bird, a plan I can get behind. Her singing is different. Not world-class but not tragic either. She has no sense of time - AT ALL - but that's all right. Burt Bacharach will teach her.
Rodrigo, on the other hand, cannot be saved. Again, he's all right with the singing but there was more Juliet screaming - "DON'T TALK! DON'T TALK! SHUT UP!" If they gave him a million dollars he'd give it to charity.
Of course he would.
Buh bye.
Joey, "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?" Juliet, "I Will Survive."
Miltan, enters and exits on "Blue Moon - The Bowzer Years"
Michael sings the judges to stunned silence. "I guess that's a no, then."
At least he's bright.
Also, Gtoe, who hides behind his shades so his friends won't recognize him after that lame-ass performance. Don't tell them they "aren't there yet" unless the destination is Hell, boys. (I am secretly glad he didn't make it through because I'm pretty sure that wasn't a name I was going to be able to handle this season. Just a hunch.)
But Jefferey. Oh, Jefferey. Where have you been all my life, Jefferey? He misses some stuff during "Gospel Desperado" but it's a pretty good shot. The judges - and I - will take it.
So, after Gtoe complains, Jefferey makes it in, Gtoe complains, Jefferey gets cheers, Gtoe complains and Gtoe complains, we have 25 singers moving on from Los Angeles.
And a commercial, during which Speaksy launches into, "I left my fart in San Francisco, I left my spleen in New Orleans."
I just can't win tonight.
SAN FRANCISCO!
Gusto Garcia! "All that Jazz" entertains us, but not in the good way, so he starts over with "Fever". What, is this the year of the mulligan or something? Everybody's re-singing! There are no do-overs on American Idol! You can't get one, you can't buy one! Don't ask!
Moving on to Victoria, who auditioned in LA, cut and dyed her hair, picked up an obnoxious-as-hell coach and took her mulligan in San Fran. I said it last week and I'll say it again: you can't polish a turd. "Affected." "Cabaret." "Lockjaw."
Okay, that last one was mine, but still. It applies.
So, Jack the Asshole Coach snipes at V until she starts shopping her voice around to the producers. The bouncers arrive, as does the righteous indignation.
As does the commercial.
Tangent #367: Didn't somebody do this show already? You know, where a bunch of wannabe actors share a fleabag apartment and go on audition after audition after audition, never landing anything, and in the meantime slurp down ketchup packets in an effort not to starve?
Didn't that show get cancelled?
Again: Anyway.
This is the portion of the program where the editors try to confuse me by bringing singers by three at a time. I can take it!
Kenneth - "Drops of Jupiter" - reeeeeaaaaallly bad tie.
Aaron - something Partridge Family-related - barefoot, "I like to surf and I like smoothies."
Well, I almost did it but the cowboy threw me. How am I supposed to pay attention to a guy who only served to remind me of the deer head situation?
Moving on, Marisa was pretty good despite the Paula flower in her hair, Dina was good, and Anahita sounded like her name.
Enter Katie the cheerleader. I hate this girl on sight. Let's recap this moment: Cheerleader. Cute. Boppy. Sings all right.
Big tits.
Do these people have to get everything?
I tell you what she could do, though - she could go out with William Hung, the civil engineering major with the hair, the shirt and the choreography. "Ticking away like a bomb," he sings.
Kerplooie.
Ten San Franciscans make it out alive, just enough to put in that fleabag apartment and make a show.
Ken, Dude, I'M KIDDING!
I've never been to Hawaii, but American Idol is taking me there tomorrow night. I can only hope the state can deliver what the contiguous 48 could not:
A happy ending.
Love you all!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:05 PM [+] ::
...
Who thought that was a good idea?:: Friday, January 23, 2004 ::
Jack the Realtor. Sounds like someone who deserves the blame, doesn't he?
Oh yes, and deserve it he does.
For reasons passing understanding, Speaksy and I have been looking for ways to trim a little fat out of our budget. We started on the high end ("we don't really need a new TV today, do we?") and are moving toward the low (though not so low as to qualify box macaroni and cheese as a food group). Somewhere in the middle of that continuum is this story.
The story of how I almost cheated on Charles the Stylist.
At the behest of Jack the Realtor.
Ahem.
Saturday dawned bright and cold. Almost six inches of (surprise!) snow had fallen overnight, so spirits were up all around. It was a good day for an adventure.
Not for everyone, but we'll get to that.
Late in the morning, after stops at the butcher shop, the grocery and Dunkin' Donuts for some hyperdelicious coffee, Speaksy decided his hair needed a trim (his Flo-Bee having mysteriously disappeared sometime over the last month and this just a statement, not an admission of guilt). He knew his usual place would be booked and he'd heard good things about a shop across town. He called them up and got a 2:30 appointment - at their other shop.
Well, all right. At this point I'm thinking, all I really need is a trim. That's kind of hard to fuck up, isn't it? I mean, any recent graduate should be able to handle this kind of job.
"Call them back," I said.
"Why?"
"I'd like an appointment, too."
Speaksy's face registered confusion. Comprehension. Apprehension.
Terror.
"Why don't you just call Charles?" he squeaked.
"Because Charles is very expensive, and if I can find someone to do it for less on off months we can save some money," I explained. It sounded so rational in my head.
Less so to Speaksy.
"Why don't I call Charles instead, see if he has any cancellations for the snow?"
"That would defeat the purpose."
"The purpose being to save money?"
"Right!"
"But won't it cost more to have this place screw it up and have Charles fix it?"
Stare down, followed by dialing.
2:25pm
Sassy sunglasses - check. Styled hair as a guide - check. Prepared statement of purpose - double check.
Ready. Set... Wait!
There's a neatly scripted sign in the window: "Hairstyles for Men and Women".
Does anyone really call it a "hairstyle" anymore? Well, the barber who owns the place is probably 64. He couldn't have known.
I reach for the door.
Approximately thirty seconds later
I am standing in the Hallmark store, pretending to look for a magazine and trying not to cry. I just keep petting my hair, stumbling over my reassurances that I will never, never let something like that happen to it again.
I've been reliving those thirty seconds in my nightmares ever since, and the one thing that's stuck the hardest is the deer head hanging just inside the front door.
It wasn't the first thing I saw, but it was the clincher. Runners up: the hoedown country music about somebody's dead dog (this did not resemble the current country music, which I also hate, but which can often be categorized as twangy classic rock). The string tie on the barber.
The women.
Tell me: if wild horses can't drag secrets out of a person, why do they keep doing it, and why did all the women in this place look like they'd just had their turn?
I swear to God, though - a deer head.
Speaksy says there were two, but I didn't stick around long enough for that kind of inspection. Frankly, I didn't even turn around to see if he was behind me (he was).
I've never run for my life before, but I have to imagine it's an awful lot like that.
I also imagine Charles at the far end of a field full of daisies, and I'm running into his arms while Jack the Realtor stalks me from the tree line.
Thank God I have Speaksy to protect me.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:07 PM [+] ::
...
Wild:: Thursday, January 22, 2004 ::
So we've spent the last forty minutes watching Batman (the 1966 movie) on FMC with the sound muted and Poe's Haunted blaring behind us. Batman and Robin in a speedboat shooting "powies" at a Penguinesque submarine, a fistfight on deck, Catwoman throwing her kitty around...
It's fucking hilarious.
Do you ever do that? Listen to some random music and watch something from an entirely different genre? It's as though all forms of media conform to some rule of pacing that lets everything fit with everything else in some giant cosmic ball of MTV-ness, and since MTV isn't showing videos anymore we're kind of on our own. So, this is a good thing.
Yeah, the music's getting to me a little bit. Sorry about that.
Also noteworthy: the eyebrows on Batman's mask and the curious similarity between the Joker's hair and Brad Whitford's.
Classic.
Anyway, that's how the Speakses spend their Friday nights. We are easily amused.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Juliet
PS - Just turned to AMC to find James Bond in a speedboat. Same soundtrack, different movie, still working...
:: happy hour begins at 7:51 PM [+] ::
...
"She was like a pony." - S.C.:: Wednesday, January 21, 2004 ::
Just when I thought my life just couldn't get any more pathetic, I watched A&E's Biography with Simon Cowell and realized that I know more about him than I do about almost any other subject on earth.
How very disconcerting. For all of us, I'm sure.
Until now I've always been content with my knowledge base. I describe it as "cocktail party": extremely broad and about three minutes deep. After a few minutes on any subject I either turn into a smile and wave doll, or ask if anyone needs a refill.
This strategy has served me well. I can seem terribly intelligent, witty and charming for about as long as it takes me to tire of the person I'm entertaining, and then I get to be done. Works out well for everyone, I think.
But after an entire hour about all things Simon Cowell, I didn't learn a single new thing. Not one thing.
Nothing.
I'm suddenly seeing my knowledge base as a sort of graph, with all other subjects a flat line just below the zero point, and a sharp descent right under Simon.
Kind of like an empty grave.
So, off I go to find something - anything - else in which I can become an expert. We know fencing is off the table, as is auto repair.
Boats, perhaps. Obscure artists of the 1950's, maybe.
I am open to suggestions.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:25 PM [+] ::
...
Where's a grassy knoll when you need one?:: Tuesday, January 20, 2004 ::
I know, I know. But Dallas, Houston, Fookling's Palace of Pain; what the hell's the difference? It's TEXAS, and apparently the producers wasted no time in making their decision:
"They know it's shit. We know it's shit. You can't polish a turd so we won't even try."
That's the funniest damned thing they've done all week.
Welcome to American Idol, Night 3, and a huge lameass metaphor of a storm. Kids are running for the bridge, Ryan's running for his hairdryer and I'm running for the tequila Speaksy thoughtfully stashed under my sink. Drink up, everybody! It's a'gonna be a'one o' those nights!
First up, Markeis! He's an AI producer disguised as a singer, has to be. He hasn't sung a note and already he's given up. He's riled up all the judges and still hasn't sung. Even manages to insult Ryan, and still no singing.
That's what we call "efficiency" in these here parts.
Lucas hasn't caught the word, though, cos he sure as hell ain't shuttin' up. "How Sweet it Is" to have a Holiday Inn with your name in lights, Sugar. How sweet indeed.
Fook Me! Fook You! Fookling! (There will probably be a whole lot of bad movie references in this recap - gotta take material where you can get it.) Fookling is showing some promise before the whine of a go-kart motor in heat spews out of her mouth. Quick, call a priest! There's probably one right over the border!
Ah, God. Keneshia, Candace, Latrice and Carlos!
Simon: "I'm depressed."
And I am thankful there's a commercial; you all should have been in my living room for Speaksy's karaoke rendition of "I Am Woman...nn.n". Yayus!
Lord, my blood pressure is through the roof right now. This really is like watching Rocky Horror Picture Show in a dark room full of drunks, isn't it? I mean, it's so, so awful you can't help but laugh!
HA!
Okay, I'm okay. Sarah Santiago's about a quarter baked, though, if she thinks stamina is going to win this race. She pushes her first song through the meat grinder, scares the crap out of everybody and just.keeps.singing! I realize the judges have fled, but I'm refilling my squirt gun with lotion. Too messy to move around too much. I'll have to wait her out.
It's a long wait.
Stephen Rainwater bursts in with his insurance salesman take on "She's a Lady" and I almost pee my pants. Whoa. How much better is this going to get?
MALLORY! Horse teeth all shakin' her thang and promising, "guys at parties like it."
Note to young readers: guys at parties like everything you do if your midriff is bare.
Actually, guys at parties like everything you do, full stop.
But there's Mallory, with her "oh, really"s and bad attitude, traipsing off to find ten people at the mall who will call her spectacular. Basically this is Nigel's way of beating us with a pain stick for as long as humanly possible.
The hits just keep on coming.
Back outside the downpour continues and I can't believe they couldn't afford a Jim Cantori guest spot. No matter, because for the next ten minutes we watch why and how the judges are pissed, the contestants are pissed and we should be pissing because we are not there.
Oh, but we are, dears. You dragged us right along with you.
As did Sarah Silva, beating the tar out of "At Last" while Simon rolls his eyes. Randy and Paula like her - or more accurately, they're fearing for the show if they don't let somebody in. Simon couldn't care less, I think, but I agree she was a Martha.
And Kira? Obviously the hat went in her favor. Stage Mommy says Kira's music teacher said Kira has one of the highest "E"s he's ever heard, and I have to wonder - how many "E"s do they have in Texas?
But my problems are small. The judges? That scene, children, is what is commonly known as a "shitfight". Kira is "affected", Simon is over it, Paula is fixin' to smack Randy and Randy? Lets Kira through. Martha.
But, Paula isn't long for this episode; she has the flu. Really, I think it's a Bill Cosby moment: she's sick...and tired. Smart, smart girl, Paula. I have not been your fan for two seasons. My favor is changing...
After Conrado bones a proposal and Lesley looks for a key, Lonnie shows up with his patriotic vibe and some variation on a song I used to recognize. Question of the day: How many Lonnies would it take to equal a bowl of Total?
I guess we'll never know. *sigh*
The auditioners are really wigging out now, but George is happy! He's really, really happy! And not in that fake, I-hate-your-ass kind of way. He's actually happy, and so am I: he can sing! He's in! WE GOT ONE!
Pausing for a commercial break, I see three things I have to think were totally planned for this particular show: First, and they showed it last night but I can't let it go again, Ryan's text messaging commercial. Who here thinks Jeanette there was really a drag queen? Second, did you know that Popeye's is the Official Chicken of the Washington Redskins? I didn't even know sports teams had official chickens.
And best of all, did anyone else get that commercial with the giant pink ass-kicker? If you did, ROFLMAO!!! If you didn't, I really can't explain it any better than that. There's just no way.
Ah, so, back from the break we have Hong Kong Christopher with the Christmas Story classic, "Deck the hars with boughs of horry, fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra."
At this point I'm lucky to be conscious.
So are the judges, and they know it. Cassie walks in, sings one line, and gets her cute ass on the plane to Hollywood. I'm thinking Simon knows there's a timer on something this evil, and if you don't beat the buzzer you're going to have to take Fookling after all.
Or Roman. "Forgit" it. He's all fighting and the judges are leaving and he's back singing and... Oh. Just, no.
They gotta pick some new cities next year.
Three cheers for Jonathan, though, just for making Simon hold his nose and struggle to keep that giggle in. That's just the cutest damned thing I've ever seen, even if it is rude as hell. Even after J douses him with water he's laughing it off. (Oh, and Fox? Anticlimactic, honey.)
Oh, Lord. Thirteen finalists from Houston seems awfully optimistic after what we just saw. Ten bucks says only one of them ever gets on the air again.
So that's it for our re-entry into American Idol mania for this week! Next week we're off to LA and San Francisco. Here's hoping Nigel doesn't drown himself in a hotel bathtub and my case of wine shows up from Napa before then!
Cheers! *clink*
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:02 PM [+] ::
...
The Burning of Atlanta, Part Deux:: Monday, January 19, 2004 ::
We really ought to have seen this coming.
It's American Idol, Night Two, and we're already confused: was it 26 singers from New York, or the 29 they announced last night? Did Bush really win Florida, or should I be pretending to watch Al Gore right now? Just how many votes separated Ruben and Clay, anyway? I NEED THE NUMBERS! GIMME THE NUMBERS!!
Ah, who cares. Simon's "I'm gonna have to raise my bar as well" clip made a reappearance, so what the hell.
Atlanta! Audition city for Tamyra, Clay, Keith and shouty Amy Adams with the pink hair! I'm telling you, she's forty if she's a day, but that didn't bother the judges none. They let her waltz right into Hollywood, dramatics and all.
And we're off to the races!
Wait, wait... There's a flag on the field... WHAT THE HELL IS PAULA WEARING? Surely it's not possible to buy a denim dress small enough that it's too tight on that girl. No need to cut it up and add space with LACES!
Oh Jesus God. I refuse to run the replay so let's move this freak show along.
Simon Thomas. Also forty. Should be disqualified; I just know that's the teacher from Beavis and Butthead. You know the one, "Fly, lesbian seagull"? There's a cult out there missing a convert. Bedcheck, please!
Next up is Kristen Powell with the breakaway pants. My legwarmers never had fringe like that.
Of course, my "Flashdance" number is way better than hers. Maybe pulling her bra out of her sleeve would have been a better trick.
Okay, commercial break, and time for me to bring the honesty: how shitty is this recap so far? That's because THIS IS HORRIBLE! Speaksy and I spent this ad time thinking up recap titles. Also rans included, "Sherman's March to the Sea," "Sherman Should Have Finished the Job," "Gone With the Wind...I Wish," and "I Blame Madcap."
Madcap, if I had your phone number I'd have called it on that break and told you to write the damned recap yourself, Boy Georgia. It's all yours kid!
But alas, I am phone number-free, so onward we go, this time rapid-fire!
Tiffany - "All By Myself" - The Keymaster just had a nutty.
Payton - Didn't he wear safety pins on his t-shirt last year? Speaksy asks for morphine.
Naquan and George and some guy on his knees, three Hoovers all in a row.
The "A Whole New World" montage that seemed an awful lot like that Michael Jackson video where the faces kept morphing in and out...
And the t-shirt from Prom '95.
But then, Laketa. Laketa and the Lip Gloss. MimiKeta. More dramatics while Simon scratches his ass. Must have been one hell of an itch to make him miss that mess - the judges let her through. (Martha. I'm going to say Martha now whenever someone BAD gets through for No. Apparent. Reason.)
Alan the Hottie is up next to serenade Paula while the boys giggle from the sidelines. They play with him a bit and eventually let him in (Martha). Unfortunately he's dumber than a sack of hammers and ends his career with an on-camera quip: "Too bad she's an older woman."
Der.
Right.
I'm realizing about now that Ryan has been mostly absent, aside from some random narration. Sad that it's halfway through the show before I notice that.
But Simon is all here, folks, and he's evidently lost his nut when poor Danny starts to warble. Danny wasn't terrible, but all that helium the judges inhaled at the last break is finally catching up to our fair boy. Giggle. Giggle giggle. Snort.
Fun!
Also fun: Lauren (and her country singing friar father) with the funkiest "Summertime" since I left a banana in my trunk for the whole month of July. She's good, though, and a total non-Martha pass.
Next up, Terrance with an interesting voice, but what's with the song about the prostitute? Did he spend too much time with Laketamimi before his audition?
Who didn't?
Except maybe Pablo. Oh God! (she exclaims) P, put down the imaginary microphone and open your eyes to see the dismay!
Also see Fantasia sing "Proud Mary", and this one's NOT a drag act! (Are you watching, Trenyce? Like that.) They let her in, but I think Simon's going to be a little abashed to hear himself call her one of the best he's ever heard. (Abashed = Pissing Himself)
Darker Elvis Marcus Butts is good, and in.
Heather the Sally clone (bless you, Paula, for insisting she CHANGE THAT!) is also good, though Simon doesn't think so. He calls her "textbook".
I don't care anymore.
Yes, I do. But poor Andrew should have given up long before this, what with that Aliens alien head stomach trick and all. Keyless, switching songs and just plain lost, Andrew trips out of sight in tears after Simon's (edited! edited!) comments, with the cameras following him down the hall. What's the point of that?
Oh. Democrats, right. Lead into the SotU on a down note so we're already sullen and disgruntled.
Right on.
All told, 24 contestants made it through from Atlanta (though that number is likely to change, I'm guessing). Next stop: Houston!
Please let it be better than this. Oh please.
'Night!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:52 PM [+] ::
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My Big Fat American Idol Recap!!!:: Sunday, January 18, 2004 ::
Except it's not that big and it's not that fat because there were only about eight singers, but we have coochi and some props and a tilt-a-whirl and everything! WOOHOO!!!
All right, I'll admit Scooter Girl kinda got to me, but what did you expect. I'm wearing a tiara for God's sake.
Welcome to American Idol 3 from New York City! Right off the bat Ryan makes sure we know we're back home - his fashion choices are as tragic as ever. Paula does her part with Power to the Charo, that ought to help us out. Plus, still no woos in the theme song. Bummer.
But Simon says, "I have to raise my bar," and to that I'll raise my beer and jump right in!
Well, not before a quick note about how "I Love Lucy" I forgot these early shows were. You just know, as soon as Lucy takes off her shoes and hikes up her dress there's a'gonna be some stompin'.
Starting with Martha from the 82nd Airborne, who got pushed out of the airplane awful fast despite being about a thousand times better than Carmen R. ever was. What are you people waiting for? Can't be Paul the Army Freak with his Chinese Chicken Rap. That's probably not even Atkins-friendly right there.
So, let's move on to foreign lands. Seriously, what's with the perm situation here? Roland from Kosovo does his poodle backflips while Randy and Simon try not to asphyxiate. Props - the only ones - for Paula for keeping her composure during the howling tutorial.
Didn't set the stage too well for Poodle #2 from Bulgaria - lost Randy right out of the gate. She even forced Ryan to reprise a wardrobe mistake from the distant past:
"Let's not ruin this with words."
Did he think we wouldn't notice something like that?
Fortunately we are misdirected by Leah from Bulgaria, who, at 16 years old, looks just like Ryan Starr under a Paula hat. She's in. Obviously.
As are Jesus and Noel! Long lost brothers who "found each other" at the auditions! It's too bad Sally Jesse Raphael is off the air now. Poor girl could've had a whole after school special in there.
Tsk.
Salls, start with the wicked awful twins, there, then take on Rasheeda. Woman, if Simon tells you you suck, you do. You don't need to be humiliated - repeatedly - to make his point. The last man standing in that bar? He's trying to get laid, honey.
Just walk away.
Quick flash on Jordan, the uck buttercup guy, then roll right along to Michael singing "Unchained Melody". I know it's Simon's favorite and all, and the kid could sing, but that song is worse than cats in a bathtub for me. Dude, please do not pull a K-Lo and reprise, reprise, reprise?
Thank you.
And we've arrived at Scat Girl, Jaqueline, who prompted a conniption in Randy and Paula (of all people) to rival the Great Keith Debacle of 2003. For God's sake, honey, do you own a brush? Oh, and when Paula compliments your outfit? Not a score.
Kudos to the judges for making nice when she genuinely got upset, though. Bitch didn't deserve a Simon wink - THAT'S ALL FOR ME!! - but if it made her feel better...
Nope, still not feeling charitable enough. Ask me again sometime. (Also, ask Liaraven about that Mary Kate and Ashley straightener - you never know.)
On to the self-proclaimed Clay Clone Colin, who sang "One Step Closer" to tragedy. Too much with the nasal. And other stuff.
But then, a crooner. You just knew I was going to fall for John the Dean Martin impersonator, didn't you? Of course you did.
Cue the dance montage: Oh!
Oh.
Ohhh.
Onto a prop segment with batons, I guess. Should've been on fire, but what do I know.
I know seeing Ryan on the ledge of that building made a small voice inside me say, "push". But that's about it.
Until: Scooter Girl.
At first, I'll admit, all I could think of was Roller Girl from Boogie Nights. That quickly gave way to Drop Dead Gorgeous and their wheelchair-bound rendition of "Don't Cry Out Loud."
But then I fell in love.
Simon, you ass, if this turns into Fever Girl I'll never forgive you. Never, never, never.
All in all the judges took 29 singers from New York; tomorrow night we'll visit Atlanta and the Macy's that no longer exists!
Bitter. I'm still bitter.
'Til tomorrow, everyone! Sweet Simon dreams!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:46 PM [+] ::
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One of Those Things You Only Do on the Weekend:: Thursday, January 15, 2004 ::
You know those people who can walk out the door with wet hair and by the time they get to work, they look like they've spent all morning at the salon?
Predictably, I hate those people. (Note to Jo: Shut. Up.)
My hair is neither curly nor straight. It's just sort of...bendy. For the most part a hairdryer and a round brush will take care of the issue; they make it flippy. Flippy I can handle.
But I deserve better.
At least that was the rationale I used to buy a $24.99 3-in-one contraption that would wave, crimp or straighten my hair, with or without steam and with several settings so I can find just the right combination for my "hair type".
Bendy? Not on the list. Whatever.
Anyway, a few weekends ago I finally plugged it in. I couldn't wait to find the new me!
It immediately tripped the circuit breaker for the bathroom, so instead I got to find a flashlight and the box thing in the basement where all that stuff does its thing.
Strike one.
This afternoon, I finally mustered the courage to try again. I turned off every appliance in the house and shut off all unnecessary lighting.
And spent 40 minutes straightening my hair into a shiny mass of L'Oreal-ad-worthy locks.
After which, Speaksy took a look, smiled, and decreed that I looked "just like Jennifer Aniston!"
Strike two.
I resisted the urge to pull the mess into a ponytail (basically because it stuck straight off my head like a handle when I tried it) and decided to give my "new look" a few more hours to grow on me.
Instead, I caught myself doing an incredibly accurate Cher impersonation.
Flip.
Flip.
Lick the lips.
Flip.
And that's the ballgame, folks.
We now return to our regularly bendy programming.
Tune in tomorrow for the first American Idol recap of 2004! We made it!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:09 PM [+] ::
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Bad Girl Wisdom:: Wednesday, January 14, 2004 ::
HFS, you are a goddess. I do not say this enough.
This Christmas, HFS gave me the "Bad Girl" desk calendar (along with a real-life game of Clue starring Simon, which she lovingly crafted by hand - sometimes I take that box out and just stare in wonder, just so you know). Some days are practical (today: "If it isn't great sex and it isn't true love, it isn't worth your time."). Most are funny (last week: things to do with mini-pads, including sticking one on your luggage to make it easier to find on the carousel).
But yesterday was life-changing.
"Learn to say no."
Today I finally said no. I didn't hesitate, I didn't feel guilty and I didn't regret it.
Of course, I said this to my optometrist, but I'm still claiming the victory here.
No more will I suffer the evil that is air shot into my eye under the justification of "glaucoma testing"! I do not believe that humans were meant to endure this, as evidenced by the fact that it is virtually impossible to keep your eye open when you know such trauma is coming! (They call it a "puff", as if the machine blows a warm breeze in your general direction, fanning your golden hair as butterflies dance in the sky. Fuck that; if you've ever had this done you know it's more like lying face-up under the guillotine, meekly tipping your head back and waiting for the "pinch".)
NO! I said NO! And every single damn person in that office told me I didn't have a choice. They said the doctor would want me to do it. I told them to fuck off (well, nicer). Oh, he won't like that. Fuck off. Well, you really should do it. Fuck off. But - Fuck. Off.
When I eventually saw this doctor, do you know what he told me?
"Oh, that's fine. We'll just numb your eye a little, have you look into a light and that'll take care of it."
*blink*
I've been putting off going to the optometrist for a couple of years now, all because of this torturous "puff" crap, and all along there was another way?
Bitter. I'm bitter.
But triumphant! I spent the rest of the day wearing my Lisa Loeb-goes-to-Harvard eyeglasses, flipping my hair around and congratulating myself on a hard-won victory.
I said no.
Hell fucking yes.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:31 PM [+] ::
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DoomedFromTheGetGo.com:: Tuesday, January 13, 2004 ::
Hey all! First off, happy birthday to Speaksy and Girl Down the Street! I hope you both survived your evil musical e-cards.
Hehehe.
Second, yes, that is Copacabana over there under "Now Hear This". Don't blame Madcap. He's new.
Third, HFS finally blogged!! Congrats on your awesome interview today, honey. I'm so proud of you!
Fourth, I have now given Katie an aneurysm and a heart attack in 2004. I'm on a roll, people!
Fifth, Kerry at The Safeword (another of my fave blogs) seems to be channeling me. And possibly HFS.
And last but really first, thank you so much to Carrie for all your fantabulous topic suggestions! I'm processing them as we speak...
As for the rest of you lurking slacker monkeys, you'll just have to suffer once I make it through Carrie's list and come after you with entry after entry about toenails and psyllium husks.
Vindictively yours,
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:55 PM [+] ::
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I am having a day.:: Monday, January 12, 2004 ::
Not to get all Dilbert on you, but I am so flipping sick of my damn job.
But that's not new.
Borders still doesn't have the West Wing Season 1 DVD, nor does anyone else in town.
That's not new, either.
But after yet another bland, fruitless day, Speaksy and I popped into a diner for supper and I asked for french toast:
Peppy teenaged server: The five piece?
Me: Do you have anything smaller?
Peppy teenaged server: Oh yeah, there's a three piece on the senior menu.
I have lost the will to blog.
So here's what we're going to do: since my life is stunningly uneventful and I've written about every damn meaningless thing I could think of over the last year, I am turning this blog over to you. Write to me at worldofjuliet@yahoo.com and give me any topic under the sun you'd like me to cover. It can be about me, about you, about toilet brushes... Whatever.
Because dammit, if I don't have an exciting life I'm just gonna make one up.
Hugs!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:58 PM [+] ::
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Well, if Chris Carter didn't write an X-Files episode about it, it can't be true.:: Friday, January 09, 2004 ::
After restlessly flipping my way through 984 channels, desperate for anything that didn't involve people eating worm-filled cow eyeballs, I stopped on the History Channel and left the room.
Imagine my surprise when, on my return, I found a special on "UFO's in the Bible" on my television. (BTW, when did the History Channel stop running 24-hour Hitler? It can't be that they're done...)
So, I watched it. Some of it. Okay, most of it, before succumbing to a dreamlike state in which Rob Lowe rode a chariot of fire into some sort of mother ship and tap-danced with the missing Elijah.
Confusing.
Also, can someone please explain to me how aliens used the propulsion system on their spaceship to part the Red Sea, yet didn't blow all the people away with the water?
I really gotta start getting more sleep at night...
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:11 PM [+] ::
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No Wonder About Those Pants...:: Thursday, January 08, 2004 ::
So there's this cake.
The cake followed Speaksy home from a fundraiser surplus pile a couple of weeks ago. My husband, ever mindful of my sensitivity to sweet things, immediately stashed it in the freezer.
But I saw it.
For the next week I made like a magnet and stuck myself to that freezer door. My hands, my back, my hip... Whenever I passed through the kitchen some part of my body found its way to the cool white surface and just sorta...rested there for a while.
Speaksy caught me once. He asked me what I was doing.
Nothing.
Just stalking the cake.
But he didn't need to know that.
Then one day I opened that freezer door.
And the cake made a break for it.
Except Speaksy was coming, and since the cake didn't know what to do I helped it out.
And put it in the refrigerator.
Where it laid in wait.
For three days.
Speaksy, of course, found the cake and asked me if I'd like a piece.
Oh, no. I'm fine.
I was far from fine.
But I couldn't tell him that.
So I waited.
Like the cake.
Until late last night - really, early this morning - when I finally broke down.
And opened the refrigerator door.
There was the cake.
With trembling hands I reached into the cold and rescued the cake. I held it, and praised it, and apologized for making it wait for so long. I removed it from its box and lovingly peeled the freezer paper away from the frosting. I breathed it in, the cake, and couldn't wait to taste it.
I needed that cake.
Except when I looked at the discarded box, upside-down on the kitchen counter, I saw something that blurred everything else in my vision, much like when you see a spider in the middle of a blank wall. No matter what else is happening or who else is present, all you can feel is that spider, and it makes your blood quiver.
Only it wasn't a spider.
It was two words: Carbohydrate Gum
What the fuck? As a once and future Atkins dieter, all I could think was, they're putting more carbs in food now, just so it'll have more carbs? What kind of evil planet is this? I mean, seriously! Maybe there really is some giant McDonald's conspiracy to make us all fat, if some innocuous little fundraising company is putting extra carbs in its already ass-widening products!
Jesus God!
I ate the cake, don't get me wrong, but carbohydrate gum? I'm pretty damn sure that's not an essential ingredient here like the white flour and sugar I love so much.
Carbohydrate gum. Now that's just petty.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:34 PM [+] ::
...
One More for the Lying Liars:: Wednesday, January 07, 2004 ::
Yesterday was fun, dontcha think? We should do that again sometime!
Oh, I'm so evil. Hehehe...
But there is a greater evil in the blogosphere, wriggling its mouse-trigger fingers and attacking fair bloggers right out in plain sight.
And this is no joke.
One of the blogs I read regularly, tequilamockingbird.blogspot.com, has been ravaged by a plagiarist of the worst kind - the alive kind. He lifted a good deal of "his" work from her site, as well as others. He ignored her initial email to "cease and desist", and wrote accusations of "slander (sic) and defamation of character" in response to her second. He's threatening to sue her. Can you believe it?
Of course you can, if you know that she found out about his site when he, himself, submitted it for a link from hers.
But that's not the point.
Unfortunately this is not the first time a blogger has stolen material from another writer; in fact, I had my own "clone" for a little while. She didn't take my exact words like this numbnut did from TM, but she copied my site and took my ideas. I never said a word to or about her, and she eventually lost interest and gave up.
That was small.
This is big.
And when TM moves to sue his houseboy ass I'll be first in line to donate to her legal fund.
I post this as a warning to all writers and potential writers: your work is at risk if you post it on the internet. We all know this already, but I thought now might be a good time to remind you.
Now most of us are not trying to strike it rich with our writing, but it's still total crap to have it stolen. If you would like to look for ways to protect your work, lawgirl.com is a good place to start. You can't be completely safe - TM's work is copyrighted and Freakass thieved it anyway - but you can give yourself a legal leg to stand on if Freakass, The Return, decides to cast his fancy cut and paste function in your direction.
Thus endeth the lecture.
And can I just say, after all I did for HFS with that damned piglatin, SHE'S the one who got nudity in a Bradley Whitford dream?
I am so not amused.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 9:14 PM [+] ::
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Being a good friend...:: Tuesday, January 06, 2004 ::
...means translating your blog into piglatin as a show of solidarity with your pal when her blog is hijacked by the Swedish Chef or somebody (does anybody recognize that language or know what the hell happened over there?). This one's for you, HFS!
So.
I'mway oinggay otay ebay away ittlelay eachypray erehay orfay
away econdsay. ON'TDAY ODAY UGSDRAY!
Alfhay away eepingslay illpay atway idnightmay astlay ightnay
andway atwhay idday itway etgay emay?
Away ewnay, oremay isturbingday Adleybray Itfordwhay eamdray.
E'reway illstay inway Ordersbay, onlyway I'mway earingway away
iaratay andway enwhay ehay asksway emay ywhay, Iway outspay
offway aboutway annersmay andway ompassioncay andway
eadershiplay. At'swhay issingmay omfray isthay ittlelay
onversationcay? At'sthay ightray - UDITYNAY. Atwhay ethay
uckfay? Eriouslysay, esethay "icenay uysgay" ouldway oday osay
uchmay etterbay ifway ey'dthay ustjay owthray ownday onceway
inway away ilewhay...
Eakingspay ofway Mray. Itfordwhay, ishay eautifulbay acefay
isway acinggray ymay elevisiontay eenscray ightray ownay,
onlyway Iway an'tcay ingbray yselfmay otay atchway. Ouyay eesay
, ethay incrediblyway altruisticway Eaksyspay isway
olunteeringvay ishay imetay ithway anway allway-ountycay
iddlemay oolschay andbay onighttay, osay e'reway apingtay Ethay
Estway Ingway otay atchway itway ogethertay enwhay ehay etsgay
omehay.
Exceptway Adleybray isway earingway away uxedotay.
Andway allway Iway avehay otay oday isway urntay aroundway...
Eepmay.
Ouyay owknay, ifway Iway ustjay ooklay atway imhay ithway ethay
oundsay utedmay, it'sway otnay ikelay I'mway actuallyway
atchingway ethay owshay, ightray? It'sway otnay ikelay I'mway
oinggay otay owknay atwhay appenedhay, usplay owhay ancay
inkthay ithway allway atthay Adleybray aroundway? I'mway uresay
Eaksyspay on'tway indmay. Inway actfay, I'llway etbay e'llhay
ebay appyhay Iway otgay ostmay ofway ethay oglingway outway
ofway ethay ayway. Iway eanmay... Ightray?
Ightray?
Ahway, ellhay. I'mway ustjay eakway.
Andway OOOSAY onnagay atchway Adleybray...
Ulietjay
:: happy hour begins at 9:46 PM [+] ::
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A Mutual of Omaha Special All To Itself:: Monday, January 05, 2004 ::
When I told Roscoe the Boss one of my New Year's Goals (I refuse to call them resolutions because that's just the kiss of death) was to avoid buying any more fuzz-producing sweaters, he laughed that I had a list long enough to include something like that.
I didn't tell him it was at the top.
Or how difficult it would be to keep.
Especially on a shopping binge of sufficient size to include two identical white T-shirts and khaki pants lined with flannel ($7.49 at LL Bean).
Can someone please tell me why a search for a new winter coat should end with seven bags' worth of wares - and not a coat? Or why a trip to Safeway for Charmin Ultra costs $72.58 and requires two trips to empty the trunk? Maybe why a cup of coffee at 7-Eleven requires the use of my debit card?
Mysteries of the Uterus
-- By Julietspeaks
Stay tuned for Tales of the Testes: How Seven Men Bought an Elephantine Air Compressor at Home Depot with $500 in Loose Change...And Loaded It into an Escort Hatchback
:: happy hour begins at 10:41 PM [+] ::
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The First Working Monday of a Brand New Year:: Saturday, January 03, 2004 ::
1:11am
I'm so good. This is sooo good. I'm gonna get a full eight - wait...seven hours of sleep. Damn! So good.
2:43am
one thousand one...one thousand two...this isn't working...three...give it time...one thousand...this seriously isn't working...thousand six...one thousand seven...one thousand eight...really, I don't think - shhhh!...one thousand ten.
okay, that didn't work. You didn't give it enough time! I need something else, something to - ah! Yes!
one thousand eleven...this is like that movie...twelve...what was that...thirteen...one thousand...runaway bride...fifteen...yeah, that one, where they rub her ears...thousand and...to calm her down, like they do to the dogs...eighteen...except...nineteen...it's my belly...twenty...this is kind of...twenty-one...hmmm...twenty-two...one thousand twenty-three...nice...twenty-four...there should be a machine...twenty-five...that does this for you...twenty-six...except then I'd lie awake all night worrying that the auto-shutdown didn't work and the thing's gonna fritz out and set the bed on fire.
Aw dammit!
Dammit dammit dammit!
Okay. Next time I take a vacation I need to try not to stay up all night and sleep all day. Why do these things always happen to me?
Dammit. Okay.
Okay.
One thousand one...one thousand two...one thousand three...
6:47am
Maybe I don't have to go. Maybe we have enough in savings that I can just stay in bed. I mean, I've worked two days in the last two weeks; surely that counts as notice, right? Brrring Dammit! What the - why is the phone in the bed? Where the hell is it... What is our net worth, anyway?
Click
Speaksy: Not enough for you to stay home. GET UP!
Goddammit!
7:48am
Um, these pants are a little...uncomfortable...OW! You know, I think this is the first time I've worn pants since...well, last Monday when I went to work. Huh.
Huh.
7:48am
car keys...car keys...car keys...oh good crap they have to be in here somewhere...
6:51pm
Speaksy: Hey, wake up.
Wait - what? Wake up?! NOOOO! Dammit dammit dammit! Now I'll never get to sleep tonight!
I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN!
*******
So those of you who read the comments will notice there is another boy in town. Say hello to Clark, everyone! Clark must have been roused from his lurking state by the presence of another testosterone-laden person from my past.
But Clark, unlike Madcap, actually let me catch him (or so he says; I remember it differently ;)) and keep him for a couple of years. Also a hottie, Clark is one hell of a kisser and an absolute doll for putting up with the likes of me for so long.
Hmm. We've never had an ex-boyfriend around here before. Looks like we have a lot to talk about in 2004!
I'm gonna girlie scream now: EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Love,
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:14 PM [+] ::
...
Remember that perm I told you about?:: Friday, January 02, 2004 ::
Well, now you get to meet someone who witnessed it firsthand.
In a twist of fate that could only happen in a John Travolta movie, I ran into a good friend from high school online. Where? ON HIS BLOG. Mind you, I haven't seen this person since 1990 (*cough*) so there was a bit of hesitation on my part about contacting him, but what the hell, right? I bought TAMPONS! I can DO this!
Well, it turns out he not only remembers me, but he also has a small cache of Juliet stories from which he plucked an entry you might find interesting.
Apparently my affection for Meryn Cadell's The Sweater has roots.
My affection for him, of course, goes back further still, so pay no attention to his description of himself (he was a hottie then and he's a hottie now) or of me (he's sucking up for some as yet unknown reason).
And yes, the Melisa he's talking about is the same one who broke her ankle running for the bus.
So go already! You can find Madcap at madnotions.blogspot.com, his new blog home - the one he is blaming entirely on me.
So maybe that's what the sucking up is about. Of course, as many of you know he'll be asking to borrow my spell book soon enough...
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 1:00 AM [+] ::
...
It's 2004!!
Good Christ. Seriously? I am really quite unprepared for this. I was supposed to refinish the floors in my living room last year.
Well, last week anyway, but doesn't it sound much more failurific my way?
So I couldn't blog last night due to some sort of outage at blogger, but you didn't miss much. Yes, the World Idol reveal occurred last night but since I already knew who the winner was I just dragged out my old copy of The Joshua Tree and played along at home.
I did watch snippets here and there, though, enough to see a few shots of Kelly looking at H7SBBT with an absolutely perfect expression on her face: "We do have math in the United States, Dant."
Sweet.
Anyway, hey to my new readers from Japan! Since your referring page is in Japanese (something I discovered while half into a rum bottle on New Year's Eve, and don't think that wasn't an issue) I have no idea why you linked me, but welcome just the same! For all I know it's a shot at the stupid American girl, but I've done my damage to the average British chap (though not the women, mind you, the fanny pack excepted) in the past year and, as you know, paybacks rule.
As do tiaras.
So here's to yours, and here's to mine, and one more drink for unfinished flooring and that damned calendar. Let it begin!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 3:52 PM [+] ::
...
