:: Wednesday, May 26, 2004 ::
My Apologies:: Friday, May 21, 2004 ::
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 going to ram your tongue into someone else's mouth you should probably use a little finesse, or else she's going to break up with you the next day and tell her friends you're "gross".)
I'll check back when I can...
XOXOXOXO,
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:02 AM [+] ::
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Thank you, Lord:: Tuesday, May 18, 2004 ::
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 show.
For Diet Dr. Pepper.
For putting those "pause" and "stop" buttons on my DVD player because that new Pilates thing was hard and I don't plan to do it again.
For persuading Sadie not to eat the bee.
And for my family and friends, who keep showing up here even though I've thoroughly lost my mind and don't write that much anymore, because they know I'm with them in spirit.
Especially if they're buying tampons.
And singing Copacabana.
Or Reproduction.
Amen.
PS - Lord, I know it's a lot to ask, but could you please tell the people who are Google searching "Frank+Sinatra+uncircumcised" not to do it anymore? It's kind of freaking me out.
:: happy hour begins at 7:05 PM [+] ::
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I Swear to God, I Thought it Was Still Monday:: Monday, May 17, 2004 ::
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 theme song?
Definitely The West Wing, though Alias ALWAYS has fantastic music throughout. Speaksy and I have choreography for both tunes (and I don't feel the least bit weird about that because I know YOU do that, too, you freak).
2. Which song drives you crazy enough to hit mute on the remote?
Growing Pains. It hurts my feelings.
3. Which song are your proud to say you remember (most of) the lyrics to???
I know the lyrics for damn near everything - it's a stupid gift, but I own it. I really like the lyrics for The Nanny though (see below), so I'll say that one.
~Bonus~ Put the lyrics on your page (from memory), and I'll list you next week in the TV Tuesday Theme Song Hall of Fame. Don't forget to leave a comment so I'll know you posted!
As promised...
She was working in a bridal shop in Flushing, Queens,
'Til her boyfriend kicked her out in one of those crushing scenes.
What was she to do? Where was she to go? She was out on her fanny.
Then over the bridge from Flushing to the Sheffields' door
She was there to sell make-up, but Father saw more -
She had style! She had flair! She was there!
That's how she became the Nanny.
Who would have guessed that the girl we've described
Was just exactly what the doctor prescribed?
Now the father finds her beguiling (watch out, CeeCee)
And the kids are actually smiling (such joie de vivre!).
She's the lady in red when everybody else is wearing tan.
The flashy girl from Flushing, the Nanny named Fran.
Have a great day, everyone!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 12:25 PM [+] ::
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No, I didn't see any spiders, but there were lots of remains.:: Friday, May 14, 2004 ::
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 system! For the town! Hee!
Sickos that we are, Speaksy and I spent twenty minutes BEFORE the warning and ten more AFTER searching through video boxes for our oft-loved copy of Twister.
Just about sums it up, I think.
J
:: happy hour begins at 7:41 PM [+] ::
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What the hell is happening now?:: Wednesday, May 12, 2004 ::
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 mountain," on the radio while I'm driving through a fucking monsoon will tend to pitch my snit up a bit. This was the kind of storm that makes all the other speeders (and I) secretly glad for the grannies driving 45mph on the highway (any other day they call them "fuckwits" and flip them off as they blow by. See, I don't but others might. And I don't know any of those people).
Gale force winds, branches torn from their trees, it's Twister out there and I'm mentally reviewing my underwear to decide whether or not I should pull over.
Big white cotton, yes; you don't want to die with those on.
My pink bikinis and I forged ahead, if you were wondering. But I kept thinking about the scene from 9-to-5 with Lily Tomlin driving around with the cadaver that isn't Dabney Coleman in the trunk. Why was I fixated on this golden movie moment?
I have no idea.
But it beat facing my mortality as the tanker trucks sloshing flammable liquid blew into my lane at the top of the second hill.
Though that would have been better than having a Shania Twain song stuck in my head, which was what was happening before I got in the car.
Maybe I'm too cold now. Maybe my fingers are so rigid from Freon poisoning they can't type out my actual thoughts and decided to make all this up on their own.
It's the only explanation I have.
Have a great weekend!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 10:09 PM [+] ::
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Lunacy:: Friday, May 07, 2004 ::
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 saying anything. Well, except the expected, "You shut the loft door? WHY? All our friends get to go up in THEIR lofts! I HATE YOU!"
Well, you can just hate me from the second floor, Colonel Mustard.
I am also suffering from some sort of Spring Fever that's brought a whole new level of blond-horny-dumb to my personal party. Everybody I see is roughly six shades sexier than they were a few days ago.
Including me.
And probably you.
And yeah, that guy, too.
And it's okay; you can laugh. Speaksy is having a ball.
You can also laugh at the caffeine-and-humidity-induced screaming that occurred when I opened blogger and found a new interface.
Which is the real reason I haven't blogged in a few days.
DON'T LIKE CHANGE!
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 7:45 AM [+] ::
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Musical Cabinets:: Tuesday, May 04, 2004 ::
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 tolerates this behavior from me because... I don't know why, actually. But let sleeping dogs lie and all that.
The point of this story is, my Darling moved the Advil bottle.
If you have a calendar you already know why I trudged downstairs this morning and opened THAT cabinet.
And then I opened all the other cabinets.
And then I returned to the original cabinet with a stepstool and removed every item I could reach. And then climbed on the counter to reach in the back.
And then I laid my cheek on the cool kitchen floor and mourned.
You see, I'm sure the Advil has been moved to wherever it is Advil SHOULD live. If you were in my house you'd be able to find it.
But I think Advil lives wherever I last saw it.
So I have to assume it died.
As may I.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 8:27 AM [+] ::
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Unh.
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 said, "Hey, that's green," except what they see as green might actually be our yellow or our blue or something else on the continuum, and ohbytheway how does one go about explaining the concept of "green" to a child except by pointing to a green circle and a red circle and identifying the difference, which brings us to shapes and how do you explain a circle except to point out a square, too, and ohGod I should never be a parent because I don't even know how to pass along information about yellow triangles and pink hippos. And birdseed.
So, you know. I'm sick.
I mention this to a friend.
“Well, what did you expect from that damned diet? I TOLD YOU it would make you sick!”
Apparently, fudge brownies – and NOT, say, fresh produce and grilled salmon - are a necessity for warding off illness. Who knew?
**********
So yes, I watched 10.5. I suppose it beat flipping over to The Swan, though that has its entertaining moments, too. In the words of my friend, “They always look like drag queens at the end. Frankly it makes me feel better about myself.”
10.5 is the embodiment of everything I can’t stand about television. We have a weak plot full of scientific impossibilities, crappy actors with third-rate dialogue, and a director who should lay off the sauce. When you start cheering on The Big One (but only in your head, because otherwise it’s just uncouth), hoping all land west of Missouri falls off into the ocean because the graphics might be cool and you don’t know anyone who lives in Nevada anyway, you know it’s time to flick the switch and open a book.
Or at least clip your toenails.
**********
I feel sorry for you. I can't believe you read all that.
Juliet
:: happy hour begins at 6:33 PM [+] ::
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And California Fell Down
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.
:: happy hour begins at 8:16 AM [+] ::
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