tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50025712011-04-21T21:36:06.180-04:00Welcome to my world! Here, my alter-ego Juliet flips her ponytail to the age-reducing tunes of Westlife and drools over the delectable Simon Cowell (who, in this world, has no girlfriend). Be forewarned: lunacy is rampant here...Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comBlogger6031100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1145239056072839772006-04-16T21:56:00.000-04:002006-04-16T21:57:36.083-04:00

Over here.Kiss kiss!

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1107125336653926692005-01-30T17:40:00.000-05:002005-01-30T18:04:38.920-05:00

Every day I think about blogging. And every day I don't. I guess I just needed to read back over the two years o' blog back there to find the key. For the key is Quizilla. What Office Space character are you? brought to you by Quizilla I'm also very into Dilbert lately. And chicken wings. But that's a whole other thing. Juliet

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1104774807503575102005-01-03T13:31:00.000-05:002005-01-03T13:00:12.510-05:00

I didn't mean to disappear like that. I mean, first I was in The Window, when it was too soon to post anything anyway so I could relax. Then it was The Weekend, and most of you don't visit me on the weekend anyway so I could relax. Then we started getting into INeedToHaveAnExcuseBeforeIGoBackInThere episodes, through which I found relaxation difficult because "Speaksy lost his cell phone and

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1101694269524820122004-11-28T21:09:00.000-05:002004-11-28T21:25:36.290-05:00

At Seventy-Two Hours 'til Thanksgiving my True Love said to me, Don't worry, we've got lots of time. At Forty-Eight Hours 'til Thanksgiving my True Love said to me, We'll just stay up all night, but Don't worry, we've got lots of time. At Thirty-Six Hours 'til Thanksgiving my True Love said to me, We don't have a turkey, We'll just stay up all night, but Don't worry, we've got lots of time.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1100223143663719332004-11-11T19:55:00.000-05:002004-11-11T20:32:23.663-05:00

Part of being an Atkins convert is swearing off sugar for the rest of our lives. In theory, this undertaking marks the end of civilization as we know it. What IS life, if not a giant chocolate orgy with 7-Eleven-related intermissions? But in practice, there are Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, York Peppermint Patties, Hershey bars, vanilla caramels... These manufacturers sure know where the money

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1100051314422453172004-11-09T20:25:00.000-05:002004-11-09T22:26:27.686-05:00

Stunning how well the first half of this year went, as opposed to the pestilence 'n famine 'n plague 'n stuff that has befallen my house in the second. We bought a home and it wasn't haunted, though it might be now that' I've said that. And I finally started to get in shape. Then, July. And heartache followed heartache. Just this past month I made a second trip to Las Vegas, marked by the

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1096769779624254792004-10-02T21:40:00.000-04:002005-06-12T11:11:51.713-04:00

Seven days in Las Vegas.And I made friends with a Republican, too.Good God, Almighty, the whole world went upside-down.It tends to do that, there.Instead of retelling all seven days (because, frankly, I don't remember them very well) I'll give you the seven-hour version and let you guess at the rest, though if someone who went with me on the trip would like to enlighten me on why I thought it

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1095651579460330812004-09-19T23:11:00.000-04:002004-09-19T23:42:11.306-04:00

In the last 30-odd hours I have slept in; bought one pair of shoes, three pairs of pants, a shirt and a sweater; watched over three hours of QVC's Day of Beauty (totaling $202.57 in additional purchases by phone); taken a nap; painted my nails; read a book; and reveled in over seven hours of Emmy goodness. I cannot for the life of me comprehend why any woman would have a problem with football.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1095037108918736862004-09-12T20:28:00.000-04:002004-09-13T08:10:52.000-04:00

This blogging thing has completely gotten away from me. I know there are people for whom writing every day is a snap, but I don't know any of them well enough to sell them my firstborn in return for some wisdom. I mean, I can't just give the kid away to ANYONE. Speaking of kids, no, I am not having one so stop that right now. How do you know I'm not secretly knitting booties over here? Well,

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1094177733684200452004-09-02T20:24:00.000-04:002004-09-02T22:16:59.003-04:00

"And for a little while he lay quietly, breathing shallowly, as if expecting, perhaps, from the complete silence the return of things to the way they really and naturally were." This is me the morning after I eat ham. Readers read because writers write about readers. Okay, so Franz Kafka didn't really have my encounter with a Denny's western omelet in mind when he...well, ever, but that

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1093750312202683512004-08-28T23:05:00.000-04:002004-08-29T00:17:21.920-04:00

All I can really tell you is my fingernails are a disaster and I smell like some cheap-o body spray they sell at the Gap. I'm experiencing a sense of Blur. If I didn't get my period every now and again I'm pretty sure I'd think it was still 1997 and I had a job that I... Well, I didn't like that one very much, either. So maybe it really is 1997. Huh. Anyway, I apologize for my absence.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1091999821902439662004-08-08T16:54:00.000-04:002004-08-08T17:17:58.776-04:00

I haven't been entirely honest with you all lately. I'm not really blocked. I have plenty to write. Lots to say. Words and words some more. But they aren't funny. The last month has been horrible for me, both personally and professionally. Several of my friends are sick or hurting, my head hasn't stopped aching since Chicago and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are riding around

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1091494561928805682004-08-02T20:36:00.000-04:002004-08-02T20:56:01.926-04:00

Oh, so many times I've opened this Blogger window to pound out the Entry of the Century, only to have it vanish into nothingness like a sneeze that just won't come. Bullet points it is. Tuesday - Work. Wednesday - Got my ass handed to me at work. Thursday - Still holding my ass. Friday - With both hands, now. Saturday - In an attempt to erase the memory of the assness of the week, watched

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1090888657594502172004-07-26T19:49:00.000-04:002004-07-26T20:37:37.593-04:00

I've been reduced to making fish faces and rolling my mouse around the new Blogger interface to see what all the buttons do. Click. Back. Click. Back. Click. Huh. Back. Click. Back. It's not that I don't have ideas, you know. Click. Back. Yes it is. I have no ideas. Every time I think I might be getting an idea I just end up flinging my arms about in frustration because I.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-109054965776902062004-07-22T22:20:00.000-04:002004-07-22T22:27:37.770-04:00

If I concentrate, I can see my reflection in the monitor. My ponytail is almost sixteen hours old, which explains the spikes sprouting from my head at odd angles. Sexy. Sexy ma-ma. The Sexinator. Sexinaceous. Sexalamadingdong. I really don't believe this.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1090326155729910602004-07-20T07:54:00.000-04:002004-07-20T08:22:35.730-04:00

As we all know, when I am confronted with a problem I tend to buy books about it. So about a week ago I bought some books about writing. Three of them. Well, four. And went digging through the WWW. So here's what I know: 1. 'Blogger Burnout' is a real disease. Like static cling and acne, it gets pretty much everybody sooner or later. 2. Only bloggers suffering from blogger burnout are

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1090188657874953492004-07-18T18:08:00.000-04:002004-07-18T20:43:01.886-04:00

Since I'm sure I've given you all plenty of opportunities to absorb the fact that I am not tall, I won't go into it again. Except, I will. Because as much as you already know the story, it appears that I needed a reminder. The incident started innocently enough. Speaksy, at my request, was dutifully experimenting with crushed pork rinds as a "breading" for chicken strips, Thou Shalt Not

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1089981375399862152004-07-16T08:34:00.000-04:002004-07-16T11:00:34.266-04:00

I know.   Fortunately you don't have to care - Wicked H has her own blog!  Go check out Avert Your Eyes right now!   Shoo!   Juliet PS - New blogger interface?  Again?  And it sucks?  C'mon people.  Get your shit together.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1089765851632496042004-07-13T20:40:00.000-04:002004-07-13T21:42:18.303-04:00

So I finally found the box of all my old college papers. Been a few years for that one. And can I just say, my writing totally and completely sucked? I am paralyzed by this. Also, trying to write in the morning? Not working out. Why, oh why, couldn't a cat have peed on that box so I'd have had an excuse years ago to toss it out? Even the damn mice in the cellar didn't get it. What the

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1089332697096193022004-07-08T19:48:00.000-04:002004-07-09T16:26:40.220-04:00

In the course of a normal day, there are several thousand things that may cause me discomfort. For instance, I wore a new skirt today that was a little too straight and a little too long, and as a result I spent the hours between 7am and 6pm shuffling around like a pissed-off geisha. (The fabric also made some sort of whoof-whoof noise when I walked, but that's more of a discomfort for other

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1089202104375597912004-07-07T08:00:00.000-04:002004-07-07T08:08:24.376-04:00

I'm a parrot. Apparently I also use mind control through hypnosis. I'm not sure about the rest of it. But damn. If I'd known about this before I went to Chicago you might all be thinner with killer self-confidence right now. I just have to wonder what your friends think when you tell them to search Google for "Juliet Speaks" because you can't remember the URL. And how many of them send

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1089114893733456832004-07-06T07:47:00.000-04:002004-07-06T08:01:34.396-04:00

A four-day weekend. Four days of freedom. Four days of fun and relaxation. So I shopped. And I read. 2000 pages. Hardly a record for me, but with all the shopping and those itty bitty words in the first 1000 pages... My head hurts. My eyes hurt. And since I didn't sleep and barely ate, I feel pretty much like ass. This is why I don't take vacations. I'm far too self-destructive.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1088635853384515852004-06-30T18:47:00.000-04:002004-06-30T18:52:37.220-04:00

Oh my God. I mean, oh my God! I have absolutely no idea what to say to you people! I spent ten days in Chicago and, yeah, stuff happened, but that was a while ago and I didn't have internet access and now nothing is happening because I'm forcing myself to rest and... Oh my God! I get up, go to work, come home from work, have dinner, read a little and go to bed? Is this what my life has

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1088465114576026052004-06-28T18:53:00.000-04:002004-06-29T07:52:12.953-04:00

I would like to point out to my professional colleagues that the following items are not prohibited by our new company dress code. Prom or wedding attire Muu muus Tap shoes Togas Burkhas Trench coats Most store-bought Halloween costumes Marching band uniforms Edible pants Latex Scrubs Snowsuits Chain mail Chaps or Anything made out of faux bear skin In addition, the dress code does not

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1087151759611283572004-06-13T14:34:00.000-04:002004-06-13T17:36:26.473-04:00

I like to stay in hotels. Okay, I don't. But if I have to travel, I'd almost always rather be tucked away in a nice hotel room somewhere than staying at someone's home. Our hosts are usually very gracious people with whom we'd like to spend as much time as possible, but all the grace and goodwill in the world won't change the fact that it's awful to poop in somebody else's bathroom. Not that

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1086869695803941632004-06-10T08:12:00.000-04:002004-06-10T08:18:38.970-04:00

Not much time to post this morning, but the whole of my existence can be summed up in one sentence anyway: I swim in a river of snot. To pass the time, why not try out some of the new links in my sidebar? There's some really cool stuff out there - go see it! And if you have a link you think I should add, let me know! Have a great day, everyone! J

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1086782274731908532004-06-09T07:42:00.000-04:002004-06-09T18:55:09.240-04:00

Allow me to say that again. They made us take a stress test at work yesterday. Apparently they're trying to determine the general stress level of people in my position. They're going to do it again at the end of the year to see if we feel better. This is what's called, getting you coming and going. The test itself read like something straight out of Cosmo. "Do you like yourself?" "Do you

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1086696985638219802004-06-08T08:07:00.000-04:002004-06-08T08:54:29.183-04:00

Seriously, JackieLynn. Your comment was bang on yesterday - I was a little afraid I'd killed everyone off with the force of Doris! Instead, she's doing her damnedest to kill me. I thought around lunchtime yesterday her powers had worn off a bit. My mistake. Instead of lobbing shoes at my closed office door and trying to quell my hatred for the entire stupid human population, I wound up

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1086611074496180892004-06-07T08:05:00.000-04:002004-06-07T08:24:34.496-04:00

Doris Day is Satan. I know we all know that, but with all the new kids in the class I thought a refresher would be nice. Also nice for me. Because I almost - ALMOST - forgot. Until I spent all weekend singing (Why Did I Tell You I Was Going to) Shanghai. Yes, the catchy little tune (with all of ten words) whose verses bleed into one another until you've sung it so many times without stopping

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1086352486715414042004-06-04T07:47:00.000-04:002004-09-15T22:19:27.066-04:00

I find it's generally best to get the humiliation out there first and let things settle out from there. We've all had zippers malfunction, or buttons turn stubborn or whatever. Everyone's had that moment in the dressing room when you just stand there, mindful of the security personnel who are surely watching you with their popcorn, and contemplate calling in a salesgirl to help you out. But

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1086264073121959302004-06-03T07:56:00.000-04:002004-06-03T08:02:25.823-04:00

6:30pm. My hair is scraped into a haphazard bun with pieces going a little bit of everywhere. I'm braless under an old army-issue tank top and my ratty jean shorts are three sizes too big. I'm shouting across the back yard through a driving rainstorm, trying to herd the beagles back inside. On my feet, a white plastic bag from Safeway shields my newly-painted purple toenails from the wet.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1086177497865479742004-06-02T07:43:00.000-04:002004-06-02T07:58:44.436-04:00

To say that I read voraciously is both a cliche and an understatement. I HOOVER books. When I was a kid I'd lie in bed reading until one of my parents told me to turn out the light. So I would. And when they walked away I'd turn it back on. Eventually someone would notice and yelling would follow, so I'd move to the floor to catch a beam from the hallway. My arms would get so tired I'd

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1086091753800395652004-06-01T07:54:00.000-04:002004-06-01T08:10:02.356-04:00

Good morning, everyone! I'm going to try to post every day this week, since it's a short week and all, but please bear with me; there are nine gallons of paint sitting in my kitchen. I just couldn't get comfortable last night; I was either too hot or too cold, and there's apparently a pretty serious turf war going on with the pets over my sleeping space. Needless to say I woke up feeling a

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1085573397256055942004-05-26T08:02:00.000-04:002004-05-26T08:09:57.256-04:00

It's a hell week. And may I just say, that bit with the tornado warning announcements over the PA system in my town? ONLY CUTE THE FIRST TIME. Please use this brief intermission to visit my comments and get to know one another. You've heard enough out of me to last you a lifetime anyway. If you need a topic, try telling me about your first real kiss. (Mine was disgusting. Tip: if you're

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1085181774610319952004-05-21T19:05:00.000-04:002004-05-21T19:44:30.236-04:00

For the gifts we are about to receive. And the nice people at Jubilee who cooked them so well. For taking those two spiders from the porch to Heaven. For giving me the strength to keep going to work even though all I ever get there is grief and The West Wing was shooting ten minutes from my house all week and all any college graduate really aspires to be anyway is a groupie for a television

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-108489813235906282004-05-18T12:25:00.000-04:002004-05-18T14:00:07.693-04:00

I'm just hosed. But, here to save the day, it's TV Tuesday! All about song lyrics, this one hits me right in my only talent... Jay Leno once quipped when he was alone in an elevator his mind always reverted to the lowest song he could think of: "Come and listen to a story 'bout a man named Jed..." Love them or hate them, TV theme songs stick with us for years! 1. What is your favorite TV

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1084838545808299972004-05-17T19:41:00.000-04:002004-05-17T20:02:25.806-04:00

So my town is small enough to have a PA system for bad weather warnings. How adorable is that? Of course, it was a whole lot less adorable when I was crouched in the dank basement waiting out a tornado warning on Saturday night, and I'm sure the guy whose voice was blaring out of the speakers on top of the fire station was wondering when the hell HE'D get to "seek shelter", but still. A PA

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1084588613577296342004-05-14T22:09:00.000-04:002004-05-14T23:27:47.400-04:00

So apparently while I'm at work to pay for, you know, web pages 'n stuff, my harlot muse is out acting on my springish urges to, you know. Have sex. That's all I can figure 'cause she sure ain't here. However, I do now have air conditioning in my car again, and when my ass is able to get that cold I find I don't mind the scut so much. Except, hearing, "There's a little rain coming over the

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1084364294458744772004-05-12T07:45:00.000-04:002004-05-12T08:19:27.163-04:00

The air conditioning is out on my car. So far I've arrived home from work every day this week with a fair glow about me and a crazed look in my eye. Speaksy's never sure if I'm going to kill him or jump him. A fine backdrop for the events of the past few days. Starting with the dead bird in our loft. No clue how he got in or how he died, but there wasn't a mark on him and the cats aren't

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1083932869755145432004-05-07T08:27:00.000-04:002004-05-07T08:52:38.890-04:00

Speaksy is anal retentive in the extreme. He can't let the grass grow more than a couple of days before he mows it. He can't deal with a dirty spoon on the counter. He follows me around like a fireman, blasting my path with a hose because I never can leave a room without leaving a dish, Kilroy Was Here. This is something I love about him. Frankly I love everything about him. I think he

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1083709990645218962004-05-04T18:33:00.000-04:002004-05-04T18:35:47.263-04:00

I sneeze a little, sniffle some. My throat is scratchy and my head aches. The heat in my face indicates a fever. Also, I'm thinking the "dead giveaway" portion of the program starts when I pause to ponder the color green, and how do we really know it's green, since the only reason we even identify green is because our parents or teachers or a mean kid on the playground pointed to something and

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1083672964505467222004-05-04T08:16:00.000-04:002004-05-04T08:18:47.373-04:00

Sorry I missed you last night; I was watching 10.5. You'll probably need some time to absorb that information, so I'll check back later.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1083286559098811462004-04-29T20:55:00.000-04:002004-04-29T20:59:05.090-04:00

Favorite radio moment of the day: "Mother's Day will be here before you know it; make this year extra-special by giving Mom laser hair removal!" I shit you not. I'm just wondering how you'd word that card. Could you even do it without using the word, "Sasquatch?" ********** Note to shoppers: if the shoes are Barbie pink with a 4" heel, LEAVE THEM ON THE SHELF. Likewise shirts made of

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1083196562913232912004-04-28T19:56:00.000-04:002004-04-28T19:59:08.653-04:00

...I must have TV Tuesday to catch up on! Week 7 - Stop me if you've heard this one... Comedy Central unveiled it's list of the 100 Greatest Stand-Up Comedians of All Time last week. (The list was quite subjective, I don't know who voted, no one asked me.) But it was a fun series of shows to watch. They are replaying it endlessly if you'd like to catch it. You can view their list here, if you'd

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1083153648713614732004-04-28T08:00:00.000-04:002004-04-28T08:04:07.716-04:00

...I only shaved one leg this morning. Not that anyone could tell, really, but still. Disconcerting.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1083109177981818832004-04-27T19:39:00.000-04:002004-04-27T19:42:42.280-04:00

Except it was no moon; it was a space station-sized spider. Seriously, they don't grow these things in the city. Small Cat: The Return I stumble into the bedroom this morning - naked and behind schedule - and there it is in the middle of the floor. It freezes. I freeze. It shoots me this, "Oh holy hell, don't you people go to work?" look. I hit it with an empty video tape case. Kinda

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1083022042939129812004-04-26T19:27:00.000-04:002004-04-26T19:30:26.360-04:00

I realize I am not tall, or indeed, of average height. I know I don’t always dress like a matron. I am aware that, from the back, I might look like someone under the age of majority. But I swear to God, for all the wondrous talents He gave me, I AM NOT INVISIBLE. If I am pushing a cart brimming with expensive wares, it is not in your best interest to overlook me as though I have no purchasing

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1082635842906022262004-04-22T08:10:00.000-04:002004-04-22T08:14:22.466-04:00

And that's all I have to say about that. ********** It's Thursday, so let's play TV Tuesday! I really have to get it together here. Week 6 - Just the facts, ma'am Whether it was Barney Fife with one bullet in his pocket, or Lt. Columbo's "Just one more thing", we could be sure in the old days that TV cops would wrap everything up neatly in 30 to 60 minutes. These days it may take a few

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1082462379402051882004-04-20T07:59:00.000-04:002004-04-20T08:18:07.390-04:00

You're a spider the size of a small cat. You see the house. You run for the house. A man shoos some dogs and an hysterical woman into the house, and throws a cup of water in your direction to slow your progress. The only piece of ice in the cup lands ON you, killing you instantly. Right.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1082394534841478452004-04-19T13:08:00.000-04:002004-04-19T13:11:51.106-04:00

I am clearly not back in it. I thought I would try blogging at lunch today, since my nights are currently soaked up by The House we were so excited to buy. In our euphoria we didn't think about the fact that we don't own a lawn mower, or, indeed, anything one needs to keep a real house with a real yard and about a billion real windows. All of which have revealed one or both of the Speakses in

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1082376985224573572004-04-19T08:16:00.000-04:002004-04-19T08:19:21.186-04:00

I thought moving to a bigger house would give me magical domestic powers or something, but I still can't seal a Ziploc bag.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1081987776407027762004-04-14T20:09:00.000-04:002004-04-14T22:08:58.513-04:00

If I turn my head a little to the left, I can see my yoga mat; turning a bit to the right I can see some weights. But try as I might, from my vantage point here on the floor in front of the computer, I just can't see them both at the same time. I'm gonna go ahead and take that as a sign. ********** It's TV Tuesday! Okay, so it's Wednesday but this is me and you all know how it works by now.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1081789960559487482004-04-12T13:12:00.000-04:002004-04-12T13:25:46.170-04:00

Juliet's Painting Test 1. Your teenaged daughter wants to paint her bedroom dark purple. You say: a. Hell no. b. I suppose. I'll help you this weekend. c. I suppose, but I'm not helping you. Or supervising. Or anything. d. Sure! And hey, why don't you sponge-paint a texture over it? 2. Your teenaged daughter wants to paint the trim and moulding in her bedroom dark purple. You

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1081548259473453002004-04-09T18:04:00.000-04:002004-04-09T18:07:26.983-04:00

Thursday Plan: At old house, pack remaining detritus into Expedition. Will take three trips. Actual: At old house, load one small chair into Expedition. Sigh loudly. Rent another U-Haul for the day to get it in one, because three trips might kill us. Or someone else. Or something, but rest assured there would be serious repercussions. Cue rain. Friday Plan: At Home Depot, purchase

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1081391561168826452004-04-07T22:32:00.000-04:002004-04-07T22:35:25.576-04:00

Update: Loveseat no longer in kitchen due to beagle use as step ladder in accessing kitchen counter. Nose prints on all windows. ********** This is overwhelming. I mean, I remember how shitty moving is in general, but this time our crap is fornicating like little heathen bunnies and creating generation after generation of MORE crap we don't need and can't readily categorize into

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1081166457768335062004-04-05T08:00:00.000-04:002004-04-05T08:04:02.310-04:00

There's a loveseat in my kitchen, Speaksy is wearing ratty tennis shoes today because we can't find that box and the dogs are afraid of the icemaker. Plus the house is deserted-mental-ward quiet, bringing the number of hours slept by adults last night down to a staggering ONE. Cumulatively. Word of the day: defenestration. Try back tomorrow... Juliet

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1080609462086970752004-03-29T20:17:00.000-05:002004-03-29T20:20:17.466-05:00

My alarm normally goes off at 6:45am, at least half an hour after Speaksy has left for work. But at 6:45 today I woke up on the couch. No idea how I got there, or why my contacts were already in my head, or why the living room was so dark. Padded to the bedroom, made sure the alarms were turned off, shuffled back to the bathroom and disrobed for the shower, all the while thinking I was about

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1080262128766116882004-03-25T19:48:00.000-05:002004-03-25T19:53:41.466-05:00

AWWW moment: 12:42pm - Toss bleach into grocery basket, turn around, am in BABY AISLE. Sure, they only pick the cutest babies for the cover of Huggies, but still. Reality check: 2:28pm - Receive call from colleague home with sick child. Three minutes in, hear sharp clatter, then, "Go in the bathroom... Go... If you're going to throw up do it in - GO IN THE BATHROOM!" Thump thump... THUMP.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1080185833702375412004-03-24T22:37:00.000-05:002004-03-24T22:42:23.360-05:00

Change of Epithet: Cheer Mom. Soccer is passe; Cheer Moms have better pins. And, you know. Ribbons. ********** We have The Phone Number now. Contrary to conventional wisdom, I have not been overly excited about the new house. I do not drive by it fourteen times a day to gawk and "awww" at it, mainly because the entire town claims only 2200 residents; since the house is on actual Main

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1080088625870393962004-03-23T19:37:00.000-05:002004-03-23T22:31:26.716-05:00

Boy, those of you who don't read the comments really ought to start. So it seems everyone has babies on the brain, and as I can assure you that I am not now, nor have I ever been, PREGNANT, I can also tell you why the fever has stuck itself to me. You? You're just fixated, and I gotta tell you, y'all don't sound too healthy. In addition to the two friends who announced their soon-to-be

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1079745625682676872004-03-19T20:20:00.000-05:002004-03-19T21:01:17.966-05:00

First, a question: have the questions on Jeopardy gotten absurdly easy, or have I developed a brain tumor that reads the encyclopedia to me while I'm trying to sleep? You know, I was just going to let that lie, but the latter seems quite plausible at this point. For my sleeping is much disturbed. Yesterday, somewhere around 4:30am, I rolled over and propped my head up on my hand. I reached

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1079571932018655372004-03-17T20:05:00.000-05:002004-03-17T20:20:44.360-05:00

This feels weird. Good, but weird. ********** Thanks to the lovely and talented Isabella, we have a new game to play! It's called TV Tuesday, and the idea is Isabella asks a series of questions every week, and bloggers everywhere get to answer them! (Technically this is called a "meme", but only Izzy is really savvy enough to have known that.) This is TV Tuesday's inaugural week, and the

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1079495964795618622004-03-16T22:59:00.000-05:002004-03-16T23:01:46.763-05:00

I just woke up. Ryan is wearing a lot of different browns, there's something about "the mother ship" I don't understand, there are lights flashing everywhere and it's loud. And American Idol is two hours long tonight. How did I miss that? Something the shippers did NOT miss: Ryan - "The only woman Simon will never get - Paula Abdul!" Simon - "Wanna bet?" Juliet - "Yeah." Soul is the theme

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1079404642248693132004-03-15T21:37:00.000-05:002004-03-15T21:39:43.590-05:00

So according to the kind search engines at Yahoo and Google, I am now the banner girl for Kotex quiet-wrap pads. I should get some coupons or something. ********** We love our satellite dish, if for no other reason than because we can always find either Hobbits or Harry Potter somewhere among the movies. Good times. ********** Does anyone happen to know the name of the rat poison Lily

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1079062771846970512004-03-11T22:39:00.000-05:002004-03-11T23:46:10.950-05:00

Fingers suggested it to Arms; Arms whispered up to Shoulders; Shoulders mentioned it to Neck; Neck passed the note to Brain, and Brain said, "Oh shut up, all of yous; if we're going to blog I need you to be quiet." SIT YOUR ASS DOWN! YOU ARE GOING TO WATCH EXTREME MAKEOVER AND YOU ARE GOING TO LIKE IT, PUNK! Replied The Couch. The Alpha has spoken. I don't watch a lot of television, as you

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1078974131734980142004-03-10T22:02:00.000-05:002004-03-10T22:04:28.436-05:00

Plus a quick trip to the post office via CVS. What more could we ask for in a Wild Card Results Show? Speed. We wouldn't get it, but we could ask for speed. Or, we could ask for twenty minutes recapping the SHITTY, and the not-so-shitty, and a lot of snarly Simon. Also a Ruuuuuuben performance to make us wish it were still last season. And maybe a nice tractor race to keep things exciting

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1078888353440888282004-03-09T22:12:00.000-05:002004-03-09T22:17:42.513-05:00

Welcome to the ever-G-rated American Idol: Wild Card Show - with a twist, Ryan? Could the twist be That 70's Ryan's hair is slowly coming to resemble a well-fed lawn, or that Paula finally got E.T. back on two-way radio? (I need earrings like that. I have some ancestors John Edwards wasn't able to find.) No, no, in fact tonight's "twist" can be summed up in just one word: SHITTY Clawing up

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1078540884172697792004-03-05T21:41:00.000-05:002004-03-05T21:43:35.496-05:00

If you're going to give me nightmares during my naps now, we need to establish a few ground rules. First, I do not now drive, nor have I ever driven, a Pinto, in orange or any other color. Second, George Hamilton does not make a good character in any medium. My dreams are no exception. Third, when you send George Hamilton on a purple Spree to chase me in my orange Pinto down the streets of

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1078460649601981772004-03-04T23:24:00.000-05:002004-03-04T23:26:20.076-05:00

I've been jeered. I've been insulted. I've been cyberstalked, and I've been the target of a massive "I'm Simon's ex-girlfriend" email attack spanning several months and multiple screen names. But I've never had my life actually threatened before. Enter Dumbass. Dumbass wrote to HFS/JS Industries looking to pick a fight with Simon. I replied, "you're a dumbass" (only I used more words).

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1078370121814615902004-03-03T22:15:00.000-05:002004-03-03T22:17:31.420-05:00

1. Paula must be shooting Mystic Tan commercials in her spare time. 2. Camerapersons should not drink vodka while filming. Witness the focus up Bikini!Model's skirt and the extended close-up on Crooner's hairline. 3. Nobody ever really liked Bikini!Model anyway. 4. Randy and Paula have no earthly idea what they're talking about. 5. John Stevens was always earmarked for the finals. 6.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1078282272913520752004-03-02T21:51:00.000-05:002004-03-02T21:53:21.716-05:00

It could only be one thing: American Idol: Group Four. Has anyone else noticed that Ryan finally let his roots grow out? Good for you, Ryan! Would that every thousandaire were so fashion-forward. :) Ah, Smilies for Sarcasm. Send your donations to the address on the left. I must say I'm glad the preliminary rounds are almost over. Just one more to go, the always faboo woulda-coulda-shoulda

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1078189098358695582004-03-01T19:58:00.000-05:002004-03-01T20:00:25.200-05:00

I don't like pork rinds. Honestly, there aren't many foods I do like. The fact that all of them are off limits to me right now does not depress me at all. Nope. Not at all. Not one bit. Not even a little. None. Because, in addition to cutting back on the cursing, I have given up pity parties for Lent. Of course, both cursing and pity parties made grand reappearances today when I

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1077930868389456492004-02-27T20:14:00.000-05:002004-02-27T20:16:32.840-05:00

American Idol has made me L.A.Z.Y. I've somehow reduced myself to one real post a week, which, while offering me a nice little vacation from my earlier angst over lack of fodder, has the sad effect of rendering me useless to everyone I know. Because I've just stopped thinking altogether. Ah, well. Allow me to catch you up a bit. As you know, Speaksy and I have been embroiled in a battle for

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1077765497232163532004-02-25T22:18:00.000-05:002004-02-25T22:21:36.500-05:00

FREE, Fox! I'm giving you all this advice for FREE, and you're too stupid to use it? Okay. Sorry. Backing up the truck. Tonight on American Idol, we learn Ryan needs a new writer, The Kiss 2004 is rebuffed - and regained, Latoya and Amy sit next to each other on that hideous blue couch (really shaking my confidence for about a minute), the non-Juliet-reading Triumvirate call their faves:

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1077677550838235682004-02-24T21:52:00.000-05:002004-02-24T21:56:10.233-05:00

I may or may not have been party to a conversation earlier today involving the U.S. Supreme Court, midget tossing, a brazen hussy and a dumb girl with gigantimous breasts, all overheard by our company's conservative Christian CEO. I have a pretty good fever. Please take this into consideration while reading this recap. Because, good God, the whole show all I could think was how Lord Ryan makes

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1077587665024665522004-02-23T20:54:00.000-05:002004-02-24T09:51:01.653-05:00

I passed a car today with fuzzy dice hanging off the rearview mirror, and it reminded me of a conversation I had this morning with a friend about underwear. (Don't ask me how that train of thought went. The best thing is just to get on it.) Underwear is a funny thing. The more you pay for it, the less time it takes for it to disintegrate. This leads married women to wear a lot of cotton.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1077157202007901062004-02-18T21:20:00.000-05:002004-02-18T21:21:57.530-05:00

I can name THAT tune in about a note and a half. It's Wednesday night, and that means another Ryan Seacrest Drama Hour, except thank the Lord it doesn't actually last that long. Of course, in perception time, it's about Sunday afternoon right now. Anyway. For the first third of the program we watch the judges be all mopey. Why don't we do something a little more constructive with our time.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1077073004230414752004-02-17T21:56:00.000-05:002004-02-17T21:58:39.046-05:00

Yes. It's American Idol, the Why-William-Hung-Will-Make-More-Money-than-Any-of-You Edition. I can't believe I ate the whole thing. Who the hell are all these people? And why does Ryan Seacrest get more, "Tell her what's she's won, Johnny!" on us every week? By the end of this round he'll be introducing everyone as the Tonight Show Band. Also, I can't identify most of these songs and I

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1076991187546261792004-02-16T23:13:00.000-05:002004-02-17T08:07:05.076-05:00

Please pardon my tardiness; we've just put in a bid on a house and the only words I can use to describe that experience are, "what have we done?" So let's talk about something else. A few weeks ago I wrote about a luncheon that included a woman whose relationship status could best be described as "in limbo." In this case, limbo means halfway between dating and engaged - the conversation has

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1076695734574815072004-02-13T13:08:00.000-05:002004-02-13T13:11:25.840-05:00

Do you ever feel overwhelmed by all the "stuff" in your life? That's me right now. With the blog, the show recaps, househunting, work and a project I'm doing with Lola, I'm feeling more like a platypus in hip waders than an actual human being these days. If I could just let go of one thing, just one, I'd be all right. Stupid job. So, I'm sorry I missed you last night - not that I had

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1076552794117624252004-02-11T21:26:00.000-05:002004-02-11T21:28:22.543-05:00

It's the American Idol results show for Group 1! This means 21 minutes of absolutely nothing, and one minute of surprise. Or in this case, forty-five seconds of "yeah, we knew that" with a 15-second foray into "what the hell's wrong with you people?!" But I'm getting ahead of myself. Again. Easy to do when the bulk of the show is about as substantial as cotton candy. Quick note here - did

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1076468292786875152004-02-10T21:58:00.000-05:002004-02-10T22:06:56.670-05:00

Welcome to American Idol, the First Eight! Tonight, our fair country will vote out six Idol wannabes and promote two to the final round. How will you vote? First, let's talk about the new digs! Is it just me, or are those people around the stage positioned just right to peer up into all the minis we're gonna see tonight? I guess if the singer sucks they can at least keep themselves occupied

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1076365518170509492004-02-09T17:25:00.000-05:002004-02-09T17:29:37.090-05:00

I spent several minutes tonight dropping individual pumpkin seeds onto a food scale, trying to hit exactly one-quarter of an ounce. I wonder if the floor of rock bottom is covered in these shells. Not to get all "Cathy" on you, but Speaksy is getting along famously with the late Dr. Atkins, while I'm ready to launch myself at the TV every time a Snickers commercial shows up. He craves nothing;

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1076039217498396732004-02-05T22:46:00.000-05:002004-02-05T22:50:08.293-05:00

Whoa! It's like, my blog again! It's back! It's back! Well, let's not get too excited; I only have things to say when I can't say them. Give me any measure of white space and the chatterbox in my head bites its cheek and smirks at me. It thinks it's so funny. Ah, but I have stories to tell tonight. Almost a week ago, I spent two lovely days in the company of almost all the people I

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1075951887396404582004-02-04T22:31:00.000-05:002004-02-04T22:33:08.623-05:00

Oh. I won't. Between now and the end of this recap I'll be repeating them like a Scandinavian death mantra. My voodoo dolls are right...over...there... Welcome to American Idol, the Final Pre-AT&T Audition night! Once Ryan completes his interpretive dance featuring scenes from last night's episode, we'll be all set to roll! Go, Ryan! More Ryan! C'mon, Ryan. Ah, good. It's 8am on Day 3

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1075864847913800622004-02-03T22:20:00.000-05:002004-02-03T22:22:28.360-05:00

117 contestants. Half of them named Gizmo. Thirty will fall. Wake up, number 31. Did you like that sense of drama there? Well, I'm just a Princess compared with what's coming up. Welcome to the first two days of American Idol Goes to Anaheim! The contestants are ready (and already complaining), so why don't we just jump on in? On Day 1... (cue dramatic theme music!) "My lips are big,

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1075776896999653572004-02-02T21:54:00.000-05:002004-02-02T22:02:15.110-05:00

Tonight, from the cutting room floor, it's a whole bunch of people who did make it to Hollywood! WOOHOO!! Deemed too boring for the Tuesday/Wednesday night schedule, these contestants banded together to create a one-off episode I normally wouldn't recap. But what the hell. I don't have anything else to do, and since you don't seem to either, let's get started. Elizabeth kicks off the evening

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1075519224208838162004-01-30T22:20:00.000-05:002004-01-30T22:22:00.686-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1075425461059903382004-01-29T20:17:00.000-05:002004-01-29T20:28:25.746-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1075344599911413442004-01-28T21:49:00.000-05:002004-01-28T21:52:50.873-05:00

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.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1075259105771663792004-01-27T22:05:00.000-05:002004-01-27T22:21:37.263-05:00

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.

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1075169229294750202004-01-26T21:07:00.000-05:002004-01-26T21:08:41.810-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1074905506825916442004-01-23T19:51:00.000-05:002004-01-23T19:54:34.513-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1074824710881997542004-01-22T21:25:00.000-05:002004-01-22T21:27:46.340-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1074740568381534972004-01-21T22:02:00.000-05:002004-01-21T22:13:19.106-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1074653525096405922004-01-20T21:52:00.000-05:002004-01-20T22:10:05.920-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1074566810527993922004-01-19T21:46:00.000-05:002004-01-20T11:47:34.090-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1074474567082273132004-01-18T20:09:00.000-05:002004-01-18T20:15:24.873-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1074216693140398312004-01-15T20:31:00.000-05:002004-01-15T20:32:54.513-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002571.post-1074128102519984922004-01-14T19:55:00.000-05:002004-01-14T20:00:24.450-05:00

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

Julietspeaksnoreply@blogger.com