Even with all that distance between us, we have remained the closest of friends

Back in 1982, my family moved from Chicago to Tennessee and I was having a difficult time adjusting to my new 3rd grade class. One morning as I was getting on the school bus, which should have been a simple act but instead brought me great anxiety, I saw a girl holding something that caught my eye and before I knew what was happening, I stopped on my way down the aisle to say something.

Me: "That's the coolest parrot puppet I've EVER seen!" (Because, you know, I had seen lots of parrot puppets by then.)

Girl: "Thanks, I brought it for show & tell! You wanna sit here?"

That was the last day I ever felt anxious about getting on the bus.



1984; Three years into our friendship, in 6th grade, we finally get into the same homeroom... and it was glorious.


Today is her 35th birthday, one quarter of a century after we met; and we owe the longest-lasting and best friendship ever known to a parrot puppet. A puppet that had been safely tucked away for years when she surprised me by sending it for my 25th birthday gift, and the very same puppet that I gifted back at her baby shower in 2004, with the hopes that one day her baby-to-be would decide to take it to school and along the way make a lifelong friend.


1986; By 8th grade we were cool enough to score the highly coveted back seat on the bus. I think her "Members Only" jacket had something to do with that, though.


For part of her birthday gift this year, I've spent days (literally, days!) going through old photos and even my old negatives so that I could create an online album that spanned the years and covered some of our travels. I should have started this project sooner, really; but in the end I think what I put together is a decent enough representation.


1999, her wedding day. As tradition dictates, we needed a self-portrait to mark the occasion.

We've traveled all over the globe together and it's truly remarkable how many of our photos are self-timer or self-portrait shots. Also just as remarkable: how bad our hair was. I could write a bunch of stories about things we've done or places we've been but I think the photos speak for themselves. Looking at how I captioned some of them, I think there's something everybody will enjoy:

*The first and last time your mom let us decorate for a party
*Chippendale: Not just a type of antique furniture
*Because we put the "tramp" in trampoline
*Horn E. Coyote
*We're no Corey Hart
*Not the first or last time you'd lick a drummer in a darkened van
*Hold the sugar and just pour some pants on us. No, really.
*It's amazing we didn't turn into Skid Hos
*God save the Queen, and this dance
*Check Out This Mothertrucker, Parts 1 & 2
*That settles it, I'm NEVER leaving Venice.
*Caught making out with a stranger again, but in my defense, he totally started it
*The puppet responsible (for the friendship, not the pregnancy)
*If this isn't an advertisement for reproduction, I don't know what is.

We haven't actually lived in the same state since we were in 9th grade, but have always made it a point to call and write regularly; and get together at least once a year. We either visit each other's city or meet up someplace else, but no matter where we are in the world, it's always like being home again.


Happy 35th birthday, St-End; with love from your Be-Fri.
Here's your online album for all to enjoy: BFFs since 1982! (click here)


By the way, I totally recommend going through old photos, just apologize to your neighbors in advance. You will be laughing very loudly if your photos look anything like ours.

In case you aren't sure, I strongly suggest you get your own ice cream.

This kid looks just like I do when someone says they don't want their own cone and will just share mine. He has my look down perfectly, except I don't do the adorable laughter part.


Baby Gives The Evil Eye

The best part is that I will never have to laser them off

In case you didn't know this, I'm a graphic designer at a small Chicagoland firm; and work Monday-Thursdays, unless we're up against a project deadline and they need me to come in on Friday (which only happens a handful of times through the year because we're a well-oiled machine, and good at getting our work done). I love the people I work for and I would be an idiot to ever complain about my job because there simply is nothing to whine about. The commute is even an unheard of 7-minute drive from where I live, which was a welcome change after commuting over an hour each way in the jobs of years past.

Last week, because we were closed Christmas Eve and Day, I only had to go into the office on Wednesday and Thursday. According to my inbox (and thanks to the best business owners/bosses on the planet), I have the same rough schedule next week as well:


The monotony of another 5-day holiday weekend. Sigh.


I'm going to try really hard to deal with this terrible, horrifying news. While I sit around crying and yelling to the heavens: "WHY, GOD, WHY?", I thought you should see the only thing getting me through these hard times:


Maybe they're not your flavor like they are mine. If they are, though; and if you are having a hard time dealing with looking into your future and wondering how you'll manage long work-weeks, you can score your own pair at Zappos.com

Even though I love the art and history of the tattoo, I am thankful I opted to love my skin-as-it-is a lot more. Because of that, I don't have "Padre Island, Spring Break '93!" inked on my lower back or a Mickey's Big Mouth malt liquor bottle on my hip (and the regret that goes along with either of those options) like some of my college friends do.

Maybe I can't wear the Vans outside today because it has been snowing baseball-sized flakes for the past 3 hours, but you bet your sweet ass I'm wearing them around inside. Like tattoos, the shoes aren't for everyone... but when I saw them online I actually squealed. Less like a pig and more like a school girl, by the way. A school girl who has a 6-pack of Mickey's Big Mouths and 5 snow days ahead of her.


Just kidding about the 6-pack of Mickey's, but back in the day.... ohhhhh, back in the day!

Those cassette tapes never stood the test of time, but luckily my lips did; also see: "Tick Tock Ya Don't Stop"

I've written a handful of posts about my 2 favorite books of 2007: Remembering Ruby (my sister's fabulous book for families, classrooms, pet-lovers, anyone with a heartbeat!) & Transit Maps of the World (Mark Ovenden's drool-worthy book filled with, you guessed it, transit maps of the world!), and I've also written eleventy-seven-thousand jokey-joke posts on what it takes to get me to make out with guys... which, it turns out, is surprisingly not much (In my defense, this guy led me down the path of legendary lip-locking back in 1985 and I never turned back).

So, it seems that H.o.J. friend Rob not only bought the above listed books based on my recommendations (as many of you did!), but also sent me an email with photo evidence as an invitation (challenge?) to make good on my words:


Trust that you will have my full attention with a subject line of, "Let the make out begin!". I'm not going to mention anything about that mysterious last line in his e-mail, though. I'll let someone else make the first quip.


Here's the photo he sent along with his e-mail. Oooh, books on the fireplace. Very romantic, no?!


All we need now is some mood-enhancing music. With such profoundly deep lyrics, how can anyone blame me for suggesting this classic:


Do not underestimate the seductive power of Color Me Badd. I played this cassingle (remember those?) so much in my first year of college that I wore it out. I have no shame about that; which seems to be a running theme on this blog.


I'll tell you what, Rob. As soon as you get back from your vacation in Mexico, you should: pour some wine, light a fire in that fireplace, and put on my favorite 90's mood music. You will then have the makings of what could be a very special evening, whether I'm actually there with you or not.

*Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time

Like all good things, Once was worth the months I've spent waiting for the DVD release; happily biding my time playing the gorgeous soundtrack. See, I'm a real music & lyrics junkie. Just about every genre is represented in my music collection, and am always on the hunt for new voices/sounds to covet and eventually share. I thrive on and actually crave songs that get under my skin, emotionally speaking. Add a film featuring that kind of music, and I'm in!

Since I read that the 2 stars of the movie are actually Irish and Czech musicians who have written and performed music together for years, I knew if the movie was half as good as the story their soundtrack revealed, that I would love it:

Once is a 2006 Irish musical film written and directed by John Carney. Set in Dublin, this naturalistic drama stars musicians Glen Hansard (of popular Irish rock band The Frames) and Markéta Irglová as fictional struggling musicians. Collaborators prior to making the film, Hansard and/or Irglová composed and performed all but one of the original songs in the movie.

Once has been not only billed, but also glowingly reviewed as a modern musical (but thankfully is nothing like this kind of crap). The musicality of this film is so naturally weaved in, that the fact it may fall under the definition of the word musical will not really occur to you.

Some of you commented and/or emailed me after the previous post that it looked like a chick flick; and I get where your disdain of that type of movie comes from. Many times I find chick flicks don't give enough credit to the audience, and their endings can be shallow cop-outs. Don't get me wrong, I still love When Harry Met Sally but it's not what I want out of every movie-watching experience. This particular movie is not a chick flick because it's not at all sappy.

I don't ever listen to the critics, but in case you want the male perspective and what 2 dudes who get paid to review films (I'm just jealous!) have to say about it, watch this:


I even had 3 of my straight male friends tell me to see this movie, so that counts for something with you other men, right?

I was mesmerized and got goose bumps from the following scene; which starts 4 minutes into the movie (right after the initial difficult-to-understand scene that I needed the closed captioning for). Believe me when I tell you that literally one minute & 20 seconds into this scene, there was no more struggling to decipher the meaning of what he was trying to convey. I found myself caught up in all of that authentic emotion, and because of that, the gravitational pull of this entire movie for the duration:


"Scratching at the surface now, and I'm trying hard to work it out. So much has gone misunderstood... this mystery only leads to doubt and I didn't understand when you reached out to take my hand. And if you have something to say, you'd better say it now..."


Despite it's title, I've watched this movie three times since Wednesday, and it's quite possible I'll watch it again with friends before the long holiday weekend is over. You should do the same.

Gentlemen, if you still aren't sold on this idea, and if you have a 'special friend' or wife, trust that getting this movie for an evening together will do nothing but score you major brownie points (even without the sappy ending she usually goes for). Do it up right, though. Get a good bottle of red, fire up some candles, snuggle up under a blanket; and enjoy.


*The titles of this post and the previous one are song lyrics from Gold and Falling Slowly off of the soundtrack.

**I hesitated to give away too much of the actual storyline, so if you're interested in reading more, including (unfortunately) plot spoilers, click here.

Walking on moonbeams and staring out to sea

I have had the heart-shatteringly beautiful soundtrack for this movie on constant rotation for months and have had the movie itself in my Netflix queue for just as long. I got some exciting news yesterday, though:


I just know it's going to be worth the wait, but the anticipation has nearly killed me.

So if I don't respond to your e-mails, phone calls--or your advances for that matter--tonight, that's why. Oh, who am I kidding; I'll always respond to your advances.

You won't find it in your grocery store dairy section

I went to visit my old friends Scooter, Todd and my favorite twins this weekend, and after driving for 2.5 hours in traffic & snow to get there, trust me when I tell you I was happy to arrive. Shortly after taking off my coat & boots and giving hugs all around, Scooter asked me the funniest question: "Can I interest you in a chocolate peppermint martini?"

That question is funny because, hello? I just drove 2.5 hours in traffic & snow to get there, of course you can interest me in a chocolate peppermint martini... and if you're my neighbor, and I merely walk over to your house; you can also interest me in one. Why would I ever I turn that down?

When she brought it over to me in a huge wine glass, she said, "Oh, I don't serve this drink in a martini glass because they're not big enough."

...and fade to black


Just kidding. We didn't go THAT crazy, but they were really good. So good, in fact, that I asked her for the recipe, which she wrote out for me at the end of the night, after having a few. I'm posting it here not only so you can try these yourself, but also because you can see that on paper--as in real life-- my friends are hilarious.


"Half -n-Falf"?

They're like a rainbow!

I probably shouldn't be telling you this since What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas™, but last year I was on a little Rolling Stones concert kick with some of my NYC peeps and one of the places we saw the tour was at the MGM Grand. I swore after that trip, my 3rd time in Sin City, that I would never be the same. This realization, stated defiantly in the middle of the airport on the night we were all leaving town, had nothing to do with The Stones and everything to do with our hotel.

Vince & Donna planned ahead and got a beautiful suite at The Wynn. Shoni & I ended up kickin' it old school at The Tropicana, mostly b/c of location (across the street from the concert venue) and partly because the price was right. Or was it mostly because the price was right and partially because of location? It doesn't really matter except to say that this is precisely the kind of thinking that inspired the sayings, "you get what you pay for" and "you'll pay for what you get!".


This is where The Golden Girls went for a booty call, and then to die.

By the time we met up at the airport, waited in the 2 hour cab line to get to the hotel, and waited in the 2 hour check-in line to get our room, all The Trop had left to offer us--even with our guaranteed reservation of a double-- was a king. This news was softened by the fact that we'd still be able to get room service and alcohol, so we didn't bother to fight a battle we'd seemingly already lost. We dragged our weary selves through the lobby, the casino, past the maze of kiosks that had closed hours before we arrived, past 2 bar areas; and finally made it to the elevators where we would unknowingly enjoy the last few moments in our lives before we got emotionally scarred from the sight of this:


Neither of us are naive innocents, but this was a shock. Have you ever seen so much bamboo'd mirror in your entire life? I swear, we did not pay extra for this kind of room (unless you count paying in dignity, not dollars).

Shoni went in the room ahead of me and actually screamed out loud; while I was too distracted with my own poor attempts to keep the horror I felt on the inside. Surely you've heard of a mirrored ceiling, but I defy you to find a scarier proposition than doing anything at all in this veritable fun-house nightmare, multiplied by 3 (as anything in that space will be reflected off of not only the ceiling but also BOTH adjoining walls)! Even something as harmless as the first time you open your eyes in the morning becomes uniquely traumatic as you meet your own hungover gaze at 3 different angles. DO. NOT. WANT.

The high points of that weekend, which included the concert and the incredible dinner the 4 of us had at CraftSteak, have not erased the memory of sleeping in that room. However, when I read THIS post on drunken Teletubbies (Teledrunkies?!) over at Taj's place, I was reminded me of something else from that weekend I shared with friends, back in the days before I started this blog:


Hmmm, this looks strangely familiar...


I think it's the colorful shirts and the interesting dance moves...


Yes, that's it! The Rolling Teletubbies.


If you've never been to a Stones show, it's kind of like this. Just kidding.



This should help get the Teletubbies out of your head. Of course you'll be stuck wondering what play-doh rabbits have to do with a classic Rolling Stones song, but this is a risk you're going to have to take.



Thank you, good night!


All concert photos by Vince & Don.

Comcastholes, Part 2: You can't touch this!

My Dad brought this story to my attention after he read this other post I wrote about my friend J.C.'s experience with her local cable service. Note to self: Buy a hammer, you'll need it after your cable service sees this post and retaliates.

Taking a Hammer to Comcast
Mona Shaw had heard and seen enough from Comcast, her local cable television provider. After repeated attempts to change her phone service, the 75-year-old Bristow resident with a heart condition took out her frustrations at the Manassas payment center. Shaw was arrested for disorderly conduct after she took a hammer to several items in the office - all the while saying, "Have I got your attention now?"

Shaw's problems began when she and her husband, Don, waited all day Aug. 13 for a Comcast worker to come to their house to install its much-publicized Triple Play service, which includes digital cable, digital voice and high-speed Internet service. The Shaws were Comcast customers already but wanted to upgrade. No one came Aug. 13 but two days later, a representative arrived. According to Shaw, the Comcast worker didn't finish the job, told her that he needed a third party to finish it and left his equipment there. Before leaving, the cable guy gave her the option of changing her phone number, but Shaw said she didn't want to change a number that she has had for 34 years.

The next day the Shaws couldn't receive calls but were eventually able to make calls. That Friday, Shaw spent the morning on the phone with Comcast and made a frustrating trip to its Manassas office that resulted in no assistance from a company manager, she said. When the Shaws returned home, they discovered they had no phone service at all.

The Shaws waited Monday for a call. Finally, around 4:30 p.m., Mona Shaw put a hammer in her purse and returned to the Manassas Comcast office. "I smashed a keyboard, knocked over a monitor ... and I went to hit the telephone," Mona said. "I figured, 'Hey my telephone is screwed up, so is yours.' " Shaw said she was panic-stricken the previous Friday when they came home to no service because of her need in the past for emergency medical help.

The day after her arrest, Comcast called her husband and said they could switch her to the Triple Play service but the couple would have to wait a week. He demanded that the company come out the next day and remove their equipment and told the company they were returning to Verizon for phone service. Comcast did as her husband requested, but several weeks later the Shaws received a letter from the company thanking them for subscribing. That was typical Comcast, Shaw said.

I wonder if, like MC Hammer, Mona is dope on the floor and magic on the mic?


Read the full article, and check out a photo of Mona "The Hammer" Shaw by clicking HERE, or read what made my Dad think to send me Mona's story by clicking HERE.

Weekend Girl Talk, Part 2: Well look at you, sufferaging through bad dates since 1920

Our friend BG was relaying information on a recent Date-Gone-Bad just the way we like: slow and specific. We're practically a forensics team, digging through the wreckage to piece together how it all went downhill. Far be it for us to interrupt the flow of important details, but sometimes we need clarification. This usually ends in a new catchphrase that will be stuck in our private joke repertoire for decades. After this we all discussed quantum mechanics, I swear.

BG: "... and it was right after that when I made sure to tell him, 'Hey, these pants aren't coming off tonight.', and then he said, 'Well, look at you, calling the shots!'... and he was serious!"

Me: "Wait, he actually said, 'Well, look at you, calling the shots'? Really? Didn't he get the memo that we are allowed to have an opinion on these matters? He should have just said, 'Well, look at you, deciding who puts his hands in your pants!'

BG: "Look at you, with a mind of your own!"

Me: "Look at you, not bending to my every whim!"

BG: "Look at you, with the right to vote!"

Weekend Girl Talk, Part 1: Right before we compared notes on the effects of global warming

My friend 'Doc' and I have serious discussions on grown up topics all of the time. This was not one of them.

Doc: "I've come to a sad realization. The window of opportunity for me & Clooney to be together has officially closed."

Me: "What do you mean? He's still single."

Doc: "Well, technically; but he has a girlfriend."

Me: "The chick whose wimpy foot broke during that motorcycle accident? C'mon, I bet your bones are freakishly unbreakable! You and your super-skeleton would have come through it with little more than a bit of road rash, and because you're a doctor you would have started examining everyone on the scene, where you'd likely write your man George prescriptions for "Kisses to Make it All Better" and "Hands-on-Healing".

Doc: "Her bones might be fragile but she ate a scorpion on TV and I could never, ever do that. (shaking head in disbelief, voice octave slightly rising) A live scorpion, in her mouth, on TV!"

Me: "Do you think he was impressed by that, really?"

Doc: "She. Ate. A. Scorpion. On. TV."

Me: "I think Clooney would be far more interested to find out what you'll put in your mouth at home.

Doc: "Touché."

My last, best night in TN; also see: you know who you are.

In 8th grade, you were a very close friend and also my secret crush ("secret" in the way that you knew it and I knew you knew it and everyone in the school knew it but nothing ever came of it) and on the night of the last middle school basketball game (you were the official halftime DJ), in front of a packed gymnasium, you got on the mic to say some really sweet things about me, then announce that you're going to play Poison's, "I Won't Forget You, Baby" (because there's no night like the last night someone is going to be in town to blow a girl's mind); and since you've made these gestures on such a grand scale, the likes of which most 10-13 year olds have never witnessed, the entire gym is abuzz with curiosity, wondering what will happen next.

The game ends, you pack up your DJ equipment (which in those days consisted of a boom box, a microphone and some cassettes) down on the gym floor. The boys we hung out with surround you with their, "But-There's-Not-A-Lot-of-Time-Left-She's-Getting-Picked-Up-After-The-Game-What-Are-You-Going-To-Do-How-Are-You-Going-To-Say-Goodbye-To-Her-After-That-Why-Are-You-Being-So-Quiet?" and I was walking from the gym (my head reeling) to the front of the school where I knew I'd be savoring my last 30 minutes with all of our friends before being picked up and taken away to this entirely different planet called New Hampshire; and the girls we hung out with were surrounding me with their, "Oh-My-God-I-Have-Never-Seen-A-Boy-Do-Something-Like-This-It's-Amazing-But-There's-Not-A-Lot-of-Time-Left-What-Are-You-Going-To-Do-How-Are-You-Going-To-Say-Goodbye-To-Him-After-That-Why-Are-You-Being-So-Quiet?" and then the pack of boys we hung out with pour out of the school's front doors, with you in the lead, but I don't see you coming... not at first; then the whispers start making their way across the big post-game crowd and I turn to see you cutting a line through everyone with very determined look on your face.

People see that you have no time to stop and begin clearing a path; it's obvious that you have somewhere important to get to, and their heads turn--all eyes following your set direction to see where your final destination will be--and although our eyes locked onto each other as soon as the whispering started, back when you first cut through the crowd, I don't fully realize that it's me, that I'm your final destination, until you stop just short of running me down, and just long enough to grab my face and kiss me for a long time. A real kiss. Then another, and another.

That night. You. Me. My first 3 kisses. It all happened right here:


Coincidentally, I took this photo the last time I was visiting my parents, who moved back to that area not too long ago. I wanted to see all the old haunts and take some pictures, so I drove up to the high school and then couldn't resist going around the bend to the middle school. When I saw that concrete sign and that big brick seating area, the memory of my last, best night as an FMS 8th grader came rushing back like it was yesterday. Except it wasn't yesterday because it was over 20 years ago.


You shouldn't let the fact that I remembered that night and all it's details freak you out. The first kiss is a big deal to a girl, especially one that is about to leave everyone she knows behind, and also I have a steel-trap memory; a fact that all my friends will attest to because they've been both amazed and annoyed that I have practically everything etched into my brain.

To my surprise, yesterday on an old post, you left a comment for me to get back in touch; and I don't know how life has treated you for the past 2 decades but I can't wait to catch up. Click on the red "E-mail me!" hotlink up in the top right hand corner of this page to e-mail me directly and let me know how you've been.



UPDATE: We got to talk over the weekend and it was fun surreal to reconnect after so many years. It's not everyday that he reads a vivid description of one particular night from his past, and he enjoyed the trip down memory lane. I don't think he'll mind if I tell you that things are going well for him; he has a job he's very passionate about, is married, and is still the essence of cool. It's good to be back in touch.


SIDENOTE: Check out Scribbit's Write-Away contest HERE!

An Englishman in New York (and D.C., and back to New York; then finally home to Paris!)

I have a recap and an update from THIS TEASER POST for you... and what an update it is! Just sit back, relax, and read on. But first, let me set the mood by reminding you of one thing from last month. I have never written truer words than these:

You know my crazy plans, don't you? The ones in which I attempt to bend space and time and break every rule of gravity and all human expectation to get something somewhere on the tightest of deadlines; and they never, ever go smoothly, but they almost always have a positive end result? Yes, those are the plans of which I speak.

Back in October, I wrote THIS POST about a newly published book that I was drooling over and had just ordered. Sure, the post was also a thinly veiled excuse to write about how hot Javier Bardem is, but it was mostly about the book and how brilliant the person who came up with the idea to create such a book must be. A few days later, he came across my blog and I got a hilarious e-mail from him (the author, not Javier Bardem...yet), which I posted HERE.

Once I received the books--one for me and one for a gift--I wrote to ask if I sent him the books with a stamped return envelope, would he be cool with signing them for me? I give you the following e-mail excerpts (believe it or not, I cut some things out!) from the adventure that was to be. You'll have to read it yourself (click on the images to enlarge, obviously) to believe it:


A continuation of the previous posted emails between us, in which I ask if he'd be willing to sign my copy and the one I bought as a gift for a friend, along with his response that he was in NYC for a short time, then off to Washington DC, then back to NYC for a few days; and finally will be flying home to Paris; but that he'd be glad to meet me in NYC for a one-person book signing! Too bad I don't live in NYC anymore.



The short timeframe (he leaves the country in 6 days, and will not be in one place throughout that time for long!) will prove to be less of a problem than all the other obstacles, like the USPS and a forgotten-about-until-it's-too-late holiday weekend. I will have to overnight the books for delivery at the NYC location where he won't even be at until he returns from Washington D.C. It's going to be a real shot-in-the-dark for this to actually happen, which is okay with me because I like a challenge. He's game for it as well!



I email him with the overnighted package's tracking number and alert him that unfortunately, even though I checked off that it could be left without signature, that the post office did NOT follow those instructions and it would be held for pickup at the post office for 5 days, after which it'll be returned to sender. He'll be leaving the country before that time, so this is a problem; however he generously suggests that one of the friends he is staying with might be able to hit the post office on his lunch break to pick it up for Mark (who has a meeting and won't be able to get there himself), and then writes, "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll sort it out!"



This has officially turned into a comedy of errors. I called the post office hotline and am reminded that it's a holiday weekend (Veteran's Day), which means NO MAIL SERVICE, and he leaves for Paris in just over 24 hours. Things are looking grim, but I knew going in that it would not be easy to make this happen. Even at the end, if getting the books signed didn't work out, I'd have a fantastic story, I have made a new friend, and I totally appreciate the rarified experience for what it was! Once again, Mark bends over backward to reassure me that he's in this with me. If he didn't have a sense of humor, this would not have been the case.



We've realized that an exchange of cell phone numbers might help in the 'synchronization of our watches' (so to speak) and trying to stay one step ahead of the barrier that is the USPS. Seems as if the eventuality of mailing them to him once he returns to Paris would have been easier than all of this ridiculousness, and yet still, he laughs it off. This man should be cloned.



I made early morning phone calls to 2 different NYC post offices to find out where the books are being held, and how I can make it as simple as possible for Mark to pick them up. By this time, he has only mere hours before he's on a plane and has many other things he could be doing with his remaining time in Manhattan. His only real concern at this point is not how much energy he's put into this caper for a perfect stranger, but if he'll be able to retrieve the package from the post office himself because the addresses on the package (his friend's apartment) and on his ID (from home) will not match; wonders if he'll have to get plastic surgery to look like the people who live in said apartment (upon reading that very descriptive hilarity, I laugh & spit out the orange juice I was drinking). Also, he apologizes to ME because of the "drama" of the situation. It's very possible that he is superhuman.



I assure him that his name is, in fact, on the mailing label and I did confirm with the post office that as long as he had his ID, he'd have no problem with it being released to him. By now our emails mostly consist of apologizing back and forth.



He emails, "...the job is done!!!!", but what he had to actually go through once at the post office is beyond my comprehension. I can't even sum it up in this caption. You'll have to click on this image to read it for yourself. I can't believe he went through all of that trauma right before he had to hop a flight back home. His generosity with the small amount of personal time he had in the past 6 days blows my mind, and I'm absolutely convinced that even the people who love me the most in the world probably would have given up days ago (except my sister).



Mark checking in from Paris, wondering if I've gotten the books yet.



The books arrive!



Mark e-mails to tell me that in the hour after I wrote THIS post, naming his book as one of "My Favorite Things", it jumped 99 spots up the Amazon charts (which he credits to you, the House of Jules readers)!.



Success!



"For Jules, Hope this gives you something truly drool-worthy! Bravo on getting them here, Mark Ovenden"


Not only did I get an incredible book signed by the author; but I gained a lot of faith in mankind (and a new friend!). There really are people in the world who will agree that what you're going to try might be a little bit crazy and close to impossible, but they're willing to go along for the ride with you. They're ready to make an attempt at bending space and time, breaking every rule of gravity and all human expectation; and that my friends, is what life is all about.



Yes, that REALLY is my Amazon.com review of his book. REALLY.



Click HERE to order Mark's book, Transit Maps of the World!

No Mo' NaBloPoMo, otherwise known as NaBloPoNoDingo

Yesterday marked my last NaBloPoMo entry. I actually did it, 30 posts in 30 days, so bring on the prizes!

Now that I have the luxury of posting whenever I want, without the threat of a dingo eating my future children, I am feeling both slightly woozy AND drunk with power. Or maybe it's all that wine.

I made this custom badge and am happy to share it with my fellow NaBloPoMo survivors! Just click on the below image and it should download to your desktop. All I ask is you leave a little hello in the comments so I can make my way over to your blog and see what you're about!


NaBloPoNoDingo!


Yes, yes, my fabulous readers; I've gotten your e-mails asking if I'm still planning to post with the same amount of fervor. Don't panic! Fervor is my middle name. I'm still going to be posting a lot, possibly even every day; although I can't be held down to this kind of commitment forever, you know. Otherwise I'll never be able to have children with my future baby-daddy for the dingoes to feed on, and what's more important that that?

I know for her entire life, up until that very moment; in her head it was spelled C-O-Y.

I've been friends with Crossley for 25 years (since 3rd grade), and even though I know her better than anyone else does, it's truly remarkable how often I'm in awe of what comes out of her mouth. She says things that are so brilliantly unexpected, so beautifully uncrafted, that it would be impossible for me to exaggerate these gems.

It's in her DNA to spout off quotable statement after quotable statement because both of her parents are masters at it, and their own quotables will start showing up around here, so prepare yourselves accordingly. In conversation, I have always called them "Crossley-isms", and now they have their own label at the bottom of each featured post I write. They will earn it, having their own specific label, trust me.

Even when completely sober and not lashing out at animated woodland creatures like she did in this classic post (which you must click to read, especially if you missed it the first time!), she's so quotable! This next one still cracks me up and it happened almost 10 years ago, when we were traipsing around Europe together for an entire month. One particular day, we were checking out the sites in London, not unlike this:


Look kids! There's Big Ben, Parliament!

Which brings us to this morning, when I was doing some online holiday shopping and I stumbled across these cute little magnets, which reminded me of that day in London. We were walking along and came upon some beautiful urban landscaping.

Crossley: Look! I love these koi ponds! I've never seen one this big before. Check out the fish!

Me: Boom town fish! It's bizarre to see this randomly in the middle of the city instead of someone's backyard.

Crossley: When I get my own house, I'm definitely going to build my own koi pond, and I'm going to get a bunch of those cool fish, too. What are they called, anyway?

Me: [...] Koi.

Crossley: What?

Me: K-O-I. Koi. It's Japanese for "carp".

Crossley: Ooooh right.

(Lest you think otherwise, she is a highly intelligent person. Her day job as the lone female working with the men of her city in the field of engineering is no cake walk. She makes sure the tall buildings won't fall over, and that you aren't constructing houses over sacred burial ground. The brain power she uses for this kind of responsibility is no joke, especially because she sacrifices all of her brain cells and "thinking time" to her job. I should definitely be paying her for this kind of entertainment.

Her favorite part of today will be all the spankings.

Happy birthday, Anastasia Beaverhausen!
You're very lucky I know that half of your employees (the ones with class and taste, anyway) AND your mother read this blog, because otherwise I would pull out the big guns and spill all of your secrets here, for all to read. In an effort to discourage any of them from writing "For a good time, call J.C.!" on the bathroom walls at the office, (I'm talking to you, J.C.'s mom. Put that sharpie down!) I'll restrain myself. You're welcome.


This really IS worth 1,000 words. 1986-ish.

I can't believe we've been friends for this long, especially since the first time I saw you "cheat" on your blind drawing in 7th grade art class I figured you must be a real jerk. Who looks at their paper during blind drawing? What's that you say? Everyone except me? Oh, right. That year, you moved to Tennessee from Ohio of all places. OHIO! Could we be any different?


I'm not even sure whose room this was taken in, but it's not either of ours. I am pretty sure, however, that you're wearing your boyfriend's shorts. HURRAY for my memory and the really important things that stick!

I was very much a good girl (okay, I wasn't a good girl, but I gave off that vibe to all of the adults) and you were very much not a good girl, no matter how well your mother raised you. I didn't warm up to you until I overheard you telling some of our classmates that for halloween, you planned to dress up like Madonna. These were the Like a Virgin days, and because of that, I liked your sense of irony.


We're posing in front of a Rolls Royce, but nobody would know that because we're totally blocking it.

Then I heard you say you liked WHAM!, and that coupled with the fact that you were wearing a "Frankie Say Relax" t-shirt at the time (you even knew what the song actually meant, unlike the other girls in our class who I had grown tired of explaining it to); I knew that we would be friends... cut to 23 years later and we're still laughing so loud during our long-distance phone calls that my neighbors complain.


Frankie Say Relax! Don't do it...

Just the other night when you said that of the Will & Grace cast, you were DEFINITELY Karen, and then asked who I thought I was? I can't believe that for one moment I thought that was an actual question for me to answer ("Well, I'm not Grace, you don't think I'm Grace, do you; because I'm totally not her... OH. MY. GOD. I'm Jack, right? This is when you tell me that I'm Jack, isn't it?") and not just an opening you made for YOURSELF to tell me that you are convinced I'm Jack. By the way, I have to agree. Case in point:


"Chaka Khan, you totally found my G-spot!"


You know I think you're SUPER...


This is "our song" for eternity! Yes, I think you look cute in that hat.


My favorite old-timey (!!) photo of you & Mr. Beer, long before you guys got hitched. Notice your tongue. Some things never change.

Abu Dhabi, Ubbi Dubbi... Ubbi Dubbi, Abu Dhabi.

It was impossible to get away from NPR's (and every other newstation's) coverage of the story on Abu Dhabi's multi-million dollar investment in Citigroup today.

I know, I know... it's a sign of the times; a seriously weighty disclosure and all of that. Nothing about it is funny.

Still, I couldn't help but giggle to myself every time the reporters said "Abu Dhabi", simply because it made me think of the Ubbi Dubbi pig greek language from the PBS show ZOOM way back in the day; as well as Letterman's famously unfunny "introduction" bit from his stint hosting the 1995 Academy Awards.

You'll have to watch both of these short videos to really get inside of my brain, thereby enjoying this post to the max:


Abu Dhabi, Ubbi Dubbi... Ubbi Dubbi, Abu Dhabi.



Oprah, Uma... Uma, Oprah. (starts at :27)

Comcastholes

Recently, my friend J.C. took one of her cable boxes in because it hasn't worked in quite awhile. Between raising 2 children and running a company with her husband, the woman is one busy Texan. She could have chosen to spend countless hours on the phone trying in vain to get through to someone in repair at the cable company, but in an effort to cut out the hassle of the middleman thought it would be easier to just drop it off at the local cable office. This is what happened when she did just that:

JC: "Hi! I'm dropping off this cable box for repair."

Receptionist: "What's wrong with it?"

JC: "I'm not sure what's wrong with it, but it hasn't worked in 2 months. This is the first chance I've had to bring it in."

Receptionist: "Did you try calling customer service about this problem 2 months ago, and every day after?"

JC: "Two months ago and EVERY. DAY. AFTER.?"

Receptionist: (refusing to acknowledge the absurdity of such a question) "Yes."

...and just so YOU know, "all you could do" apparently wasn't good enough

Why? Why would you have felt the need to say this? Why, I ask you? We're not in the habit of counting wings, but when you actually say something like this to us, you give us no choice. The ones that remained ended up in the trash.

Pizza & wings delivery guy: "Just so you know, these smelled so good to me, that on my way over it was all I could do to keep my hands out of there."

We hope you enjoyed the wings, you douche.

Candid expression is just one of the many reasons we have been friends for over 20 years

Me: "Your sister is how many years younger than us? Four?"

Stacey: "Only two!"

Me: "After all this time of knowing your family, her age still surprises me. She's always seemed so much older than us, in that her humor is... well, her personality is less.... I mean, she's just so..."

Stacey: "I believe the word you're looking for is: boring."

You can't beat this meat!

Go on, say it. I know you're dying to. Alright, I'll say it for you:

"That's what she said."

There, feel better? I know I do. It's difficult for me to think clearly right now, let alone type. I'm preoccupied with how much time I have left before they cart me off to meat detox (Meat-tox? Meat-hab?), because after our party of 9 ate HERE for dinner tonight, I figure that it's only a matter of time.

While I'm waiting for them to take me away, I am enjoying my favorite--and very timely--Pink Martini song, Brazil.


Try not to shake your ass to this song, I dare you. Be sure to use caution if you just ate your weight in delicious Brazilian-cooked meat.

One of my Favorite Things can actually be yours, and you should order it today!

Mark Ovenden's Transit Maps of the World; the one thing in this photo I really, really want to share with you; though I expect you to buy your own copy.

My new favorite person is Mark Ovenden, the brilliant mastermind behind my new favorite book, Transit Maps of the World. His book probably sounds familiar to you because I wrote about it HERE, HERE and HERE.

I received the copies I ordered (for myself and for holiday gifts) last week, and it totally exceeded my expectations. The graphic design elements of the book and the maps therein really highlight the actual artistry of cartography. It is an excellent gift idea for anyone-- from your parents who like to travel, to your artsy designer friends, to your brother the engineer, your best friend the environmental activist (who for years has lectured everyone in earshot that if people who had access to mass transit used it--instead of using their own vehicles--the planet would be better off) and even your impossible-to-buy-for Uncle, the model train enthusiast. It's a truly fascinating and unique buy, even if it's for yourself.

Trust me, if I were to let you hold my copy in your hands you'd want to take it home with you, and maybe even make out with it a little. Or is that just me? Okay, maybe that's just me:


Yes, that REALLY is my Amazon.com review. REALLY.


At minimum, you'll want your own copy, so buy it today through Amazon and help my new favorite person boost his book up towards the New York Times Bestsellers list. For more information, read this e-mail I just got from him:

Transit Maps of the World has today been mentioned in THIS New York Times book review, in a article by William Grimes called “From the Glove Compartment to the Shelf".

I’m writing to ask you a huge favor: In order to get into the “New York Times Bestsellers Paperback Non-Fiction” chart a book has to reach at least around #140 in overall sales on Amazon.com, on any one day! If lots of people log on to Amazon today and buy a copy then there’s a chance we could get into that bestsellers list! Being able to claim that one of your works has been a “New York Times Bestseller” is a huge honor and as you might imagine, a tremendous boost for any author.

Therefore if you were even remotely considering buying a copy online at any time...TODAY’S THE DAY! If at all possible do order one today as it could make the most enormous difference to the future for my writing work, not to mention further elevate interest in the recent debate about the New York Subway map, and transit and cartography in general!

Sorry to trouble you during the holiday period, but we freelance authors need to be shameless self-promoters!

Drool.

If you order a copy from Amazon today and help my new favorite person, I'll make out with you! (Just kidding--unless you're Jeremy Piven, Javier Bardem, Antonio Banderas, or Olivier Martinez--and if that's the case then you should already know by now that book is not required). However, when the book arrives at your door from Amazon, it's all yours, if you know what I'm sayin', and I think you do.

Click HERE to order!

Pumpkin 3.14159265358979323846...

I was never very good at math until 10th grade, when I started getting A's. It was quite a turnaround from the previous year, one that would forever be remembered smartly as 'The year I got an F in math class'. When my math scores bounced from an F to straight A's, my parents attributed my 180-degree improvement to my newfound dedication to studying, homework, preparation. All of which I did with a smile.

The real motivation behind my top scores? I had a big crush on someone in that class. We had assigned seats and I was the one whose desk was squarely in front of his, and knowing that we'd be face-to-face every single day meant that I put as much work into my math drills as I did my crimped hair. A LOT. Certainly I earned each good mark with the studying, homework and preparation that my parents credited, but the impetus behind all of that work was the biggest cliché ever:

I was a hot for teacher (along with every other girl who took his class).

In honor of Thanksgiving, this glorious Pumpkin "Pi" goes out to him, my 10th grade math teacher; Mr. Hottyman (not his real name, but close enough):


That mathematical constant looks delicious!

Instructions to make your own "Pi" HERE.

One way or another, I'm gonna find ya. I'm gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha.

Last night, Deborah Harry's tour bus. It was a glorious shade of Blond, I kid you not. Unfortunately a camera phone doesn't do much on a rainy night besides take sucky photos with an all-over green-ish color, so I had to pretty them up in Photoshop.



Here's a very blurry Chris Botti (!) (purrrrr), with a very blurry birthday girl! Happy birthday, J.J.! Hope your boyfriend gets you a new camera phone!

I'll take my Favorite Things over Oprah's any day; also see: anytime, anyplace.

My parents have completed most of their drive north from Tennessee to Chicago, putting them 3 short hours away from the non-virtual House of Jules; where they'll be staying for the next 5 days. It's already 10pm and I have yet to do some very key things before they arrive.

For instance, I need to make it look like I could eat off my kitchen floor if I wanted to, and not so much like I actually DO. You understand.

On that note, here is today's shorter-than-usual-but-hopefully-still-entertaining post. I was prompted by a comment made on yesterday's post by Stacey, (Thanks, Nurse-Dr. Stace!) and then my reaction to it; in addition to the fact that today Oprah aired her annual "Favorite Things" show:

Stacey: I'm picturing Oprah's couch when your blog lands you on her show. Javier Bardem, Pivs, Baio, Macchio, Mike Rowe. It's only a matter of time, so I totally call the chick-she-talks-to-in-the-front-row seat... you've gotta call shotgun quick around here.

Me: Funny you should write that, because with the addition of Antonio Banderas and Olivier Martinez, it’s exactly how I picture MY OWN couch looking one day! Just me and my “Favorite Things”.

My Favorite Things, based on what I've both written about and drooled over; be it in public or in private. (counterclockwise, on my actual brand new living room furniture--though not my actual living room): Mark Ovenden's Transit Maps of the World (Filled with ALL the transit maps of! the! world! THE WORLD, I say! Take a minute to think about how cool that is and you might be surprised to find yourself drooling), Olivier Martinez, Javier Bardem, Ralph Macchio, Jeremy Piven, Scott Baio, Dirty Job's Mike Rowe, and finally, splaying himself out on the ottoman like a Beefcake-Buffet: Antonio Banderas. The thing about a Banderas Buffet? He's so hot there's no need for a warming tray. Rawrr!

Kinda like when Britney Spears kissed Madonna, but without the tongues...

...and hopefully without all that spandex & lace

Lately it's been very exciting around here at the House of Jules because in each of the last 4 weeks, I've had some really fun things happen as a direct result of this blog. The most recent thing is that H.o.J. was chosen as the featured "Wander of the Week" from the Taj Wanders website. I'm very honored to be her "Wander of the Week"! Now the pressure is really on for me to be an entertaining host... I have a rep to protect!

Click the image below to enlarge/read her write-up:


A virtual PDA! Swoon!

Thanks to all of you for coming back here to read, comment and keep me company! Keep telling all of your friends to join us. Lurkers, de-lurk yourselves! Let's continue our rolling dialogue, and remember this: Mi casa is always su casa.

The previous very-exciting-H.o.J. experiences (in case you missed them!):
1) My in-depth & soul-revealing interview with infamous blogger MANIC!
2) My email of appreciation from a best-selling author!
3) My cautionary tale got picked to be on a special Halloween website

Big ups to reader Dawn for letting me know about Taj's website!

What it means, my good friend, is that we are not alone!

Back in April, I posted about the Scott Baio dreams I've had. Yes, you read that right. I just wrote that I have had dreams (plural!) about Scott Baio. Give yourself a moment to take that in. I'll wait.

So, tonight I got this email from my very good friend Em:

---
I just ran across my journals from 1989/90, the year I was in Norway. I had to email you when I read my own words from August 9, 1989:

"Very relaxing day today. Got up around 10:30. I was dreaming about Scott Baio, for some reason..."

Weird, huh? I tried to find the post you had written about your Scott Baio dreams, thinking how FREAKY it would have been had we been visited by him on the same night in August. But I couldn't find it.

Jules, what does it all mean????
---

It means that we can't possibly be the only ones, Em! There's no way these Scott Baio dreams are isolated incidences, and I encourage those of you who have also spent some of your sleeping hours with him-- as Chachi, Charles in Charge, or himself-- to open up here in the comments. We can form some kind of wacky dream support group, you know, do precisely the kind of thing that Al Gore envisioned when he invented the internet.


I can only hope that tonight I'll be sucking face with The Fonz, after which he will surely say, "Ayyyyyyy!".


As a show of solidarity, here is a hotlink to the original post of my Scott Baio dreams: click here. May it inspire you to leave a comment with details from your own Scott Baio dream!

Charles in Charge of my days and my nights... and probably yours too.

There IS a bitch in this story, but it certainly isn't the dog!

See this adorable and depressed-looking dog? Not the bitch in this story.


I know the following headline will have lots of you chuckling (especially you married guys, because things are much funnier when you can actually relate to them directly, right?); but after that initial laugh? You're going to think, "Whaaaa?" and "Whooo?" and "Nahhhh!" and "Whyyyyy?" and Dude!" and then, finally; "OH-MY-GAWD-THAT-POOR-DOG-SOMEONE-SHOULD-DO-SOMETHING-LIKE-CALL-MCGRUFF!"

Man 'marries' bitch to beat curse
An Indian man has "married" a female dog, hoping the move will help atone for stoning two other dogs to death. P Selvakumar, 33, said he had been cursed since the killings, suffering paralysis and a loss of hearing.

The wedding took place at a Hindu temple in Tamil Nadu state. The "bride" wore an orange sari with a flower garland and was fed a bun to celebrate. Superstitious people in rural India sometimes organize weddings to animals in the hope of warding off curses. Crowds cheered the newly-weds at the end of the ceremony in Sivaganga district, about 50km (30 miles) east of the city of Madurai. The "bride", who is called Selvi, was led to the temple in Manamudurai wearing a sari before vows were exchanged in a traditional Hindu ceremony.

A relative of the groom who attended the wedding said he hoped Mr Selvakumar would now be cured. "Fifteen years back Selvakumar was physically fit. But, once he attacked a pair of dogs and thereafter Kumar could not move his limbs freely," the relative, Ramu, told the BBC. "He tried every cure for his ailment but could not be rid of his disability.

"On the advice of an astrologer and others, he decided to marry a bitch to get cured. Then we arranged Selvakumar's marriage with a bitch."

Hold up, let me get this straight. He married a dog to cure himself of physical problems that came on over the course of 15 years after he STONED 2 other dogs to death; And he was advised to marry the dog by an astrologer (is this where people go for advice these days)?

This story is wrong on so many levels that I feel the need to tell this bitch guy off in the best way I know how!


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