Define "Busy"

The list of reasons why I love my friends is as long as it is varied. The following email from my good friend Amy will illustrate one of the many reasons why I love her so much, and will perhaps tell you all you need to know about how we've remained friends for 17 years and counting*.

Yo, lady girl, I'm still waiting to hear if you had a chance to listen to that podcast and what you thought of it.

I know you're busy. Well, no, I don't know you're busy. I'm assuming you're busy, 'cause even I say I'm busy, when really I'm only just busy entertaining distractions and procrastinating. That's, then, not technically busy. It's just pretend busy. Not that you're pretending to be busy, maybe you'd even say you're not busy.

Boy, it's a lot of work having a one-sided conversation!

How are you?

Every line of that is from her, in one e-mail. I have kept it in my inbox, starred, just so every couple of months when I forget why I have it starred I can re-read it. Makes my day every time.

*Nobody's really counting. I mean, I counted but only just now, and merely for the purpose of accuracy/truth-telling.


*****

Just call me "Dear Abby"

Just one example of the solid advice I come up with on-the-fly:


Friend: "He's taking me to a place where I have to wear a cocktail dress. I don't own a cocktail dress. Is it too early to tell him I'm more of an Arby's kind of gal?"

Me: "You gotta show him your class before you show him your ass."


****

My quasi-FIL

My sister started stalking my brother-in-law like prey when they were in high school, so he's been around since I was in 11 and officially in the family by law since I was 13. With so many years of shared family history, his side of the family--though not technically my in-laws--are kinda my in-laws by proxy.

His dad is responsible for telling 2 of my favorite jokes of all time. These aren't typical jokey-jokes, but are more like little non-sequiturs that he said to me eons ago, that still make me laugh to myself whenever I think about them. I have told & retold them countless times, always saying first, "This is why I love Jim's dad..."

Sadly, in merely reading them, you're missing out on the twinkly-eyed man with a charming southern accent whispering them in your ear. Try to enjoy regardless:

"You don't know anything about how bad a bad date can be until you're the man at the square dance whose girlfriend hits the floor every time the announcer yells, "Hoedown"!"

Even though it's a little Jeff Foxworthy/Blue Collar Comedy Tour-ish (and there's no group of comedians I loathe more than those 4 dudes), I really think that is SO funny. It always puts my bad dates into perspective.

Before I type in my #1 favorite thing he's ever said, a little background. During a holiday visit about 16 years ago, he had a really bad cold and bought some cough drops that had the herbal ingredient horehound in them. The packaging enthusiastically boasted quick sore throat & cough relief, all due to this medicinal herb. They smelled really terrible, but the smell was apparently no match for the truly horrifying taste. Having shared that, I give you the #1 funniest thing Jim's dad has ever said to me, which still makes me laugh after 16 years:

"I'm sick and can't taste a thing, but it doesn't take taste buds to know that these are terrible. Someone must've already sucked all the hore out of this hound."

****

I wish I knew how to quit you

Two of my very favorite people in the entire world happen to be married to each other. Emily is one of my college roommates and Mel is the best borrow-a-husband I've ever had. They don't make them like Mel anymore, or if they do, they don't make them anywhere near here! He's the gold-standard, I'm telling you. Then again, so is she. It's a perfect match!

Em was born & raised in Wisconsin and Mel was born & raised in Canada. They're really Californians, though. Just like them, their home is warm & beautiful and when I visit, I never want to leave. They're the kind of people who refer to the guest room as "your room", as in: "Come see us! Your room is waiting for you!" They probably say that to all of their out of town guests but it doesn't feel like it. It feels very much like I am their favorite person and that if I'm not staying in their house, "my" room gets sealed off until the day I return. Of course that isn't true, they are just the kind of people who make all of their friends feel like they are #1, and we all believe it.

This weekend, Mel updated his Facebook status (which he doesn't often do), and since they are known to vacation in exotic locations, I wanted to know where they were. This screen cap pretty much says it all:



C'mon. The man knows how I prefer to be welcomed, in any situation. Open arms & a large alcoholic drink! He totally gets me.

I wondered, when I went back to make that screen cap, if I might have already been enjoying a large alcoholic drink when I commented on Mel's status.

NOTE TO SELF: YOU HAVEN'T LIVED IN WISCONSIN SINCE COLLEGE, WHICH MEANS YOU HAVE ALREADY QUIT WISCONSIN*.

*Sausages from Wisconsin, on the other hand, I will never, ever quit. Ever.

He's in touch with his feminine side. Sometimes.

So, this just happened.*

Rainy night, trying to find an empty parking spot. We see 4 furry legs scurring around in the darkness, between the already-parked cars.

"Uh-oh, somebody's cat is on the loose! I'd better not back into it."

Then we see the animal's head, peeking around the tire of a truck, seemingly to gauge which way our car is going. It is not a kitty at all, but a raccoon.

"UGH! It's a raccoon! Disgusting thing probably has rabies! You do not want to get one of those nasty, diseased things angry, trust me." {dramatic, hacking noises}

The raccoon sees us just sitting there in the car watching it watching us, as rain continues to pour down. It starts to cross the parking lot toward the garbage dumpsters. Then we see 4 smaller raccoons scurrying behind the big one.

"Awwwww! BABIEEEEESSSSS!"  {clapping}

*For the record, the only sound that came from me in this little Friday night snippet was uproarious laughter, which busted out of my soul upon seeing his horrified face the millisecond he realized he was clapping.

On a scale of 1 to 10 (10=highly inappropriate), what would you rate this?

I give it a 24, but that's based on the entire phone call, not the following edited version below.

--

Our conversation began with talk of her resume and job search, which turned into a long laughing fit brought on by discussing what she'll probably end up saying or doing while high on nitrous oxide later today, thanks to her hot dentist. 

Some bases we covered were:

• Calling ahead to request he install a mirror on the ceiling and that he have candles lit before she arrives.

• Ensuring the dentist sees her putting a hair scrunchy around the doorknob*.

• Enjoying the dental aspirator (saliva vaccuum-thing) way too much.

• Telling him to pull her hair a little bit or give her a spanking while he's at it.

The rest are so tasteless, I won't even list them here. We got off the phone after exhausting ourselves of every absurd-but-plausible-if-high-on-nitrous-at-the-dentist's-office scenario.

I had to call her back 5 minutes later to say this:

You need to ask him how soon you can resume having sex. He'll probably say something along the lines of, "There's nothing about getting dental work done to prevent you from that".

Then give him the look and say, "Doctor, is that an INVITATION?"

As you get escorted out of the office by security, make sure to toss them your resume and ask if they're hiring.

Can you believe that I don't even charge her for advice like this?


*In case you don't know, a hair scrunchy on a doorknob is the universal signal for "Do not disturb, I'm getting lucky". Acceptable substitutes are a necktie, a towel or my personal favorite: A SOCK.

Free entertainment, in 140 characters or less

These are the kinds of things you've missed over the past 10 hours if you aren't already following me on Twitter:


I totally cracked MYSELF up with that last one about my neighbor... it's funny because it's true. I mean, it's true that I want to say that, but not true that I had bags full of condoms & lube. Still, it's all I can do to stop myself from blurting that kind of thing out.

To get on the laugh-wagon, click here!

After than, here are some related links to check out:

1) The best version of NIN's Closer (live-in-concert) that I've ever seen/heard! Warning: lyrics NSFW... as if you didn't already know, you saucy little minx.

2) The more-adorable-than-koala-bears Kristin Chenoweth on Jimmy Kimmel.

3) A couple of paragraphs on my neighbor and his cat are here.

If by "You Got Served", you're referring to our beverages... then yes, we got served

We had a little too much fun staying in and keeping it low-key this weekend. The tone was set late Friday night. We had just enough wine to stumble upon and actually sit through the Academy Award-winning film, You Got Served*. What's that? It didn't win an Oscar? Well, it SHOULD have, let me tell you. It's only a slight overstatement to say that we've never laughed so loud in all our lives. 

Wait, it wasn't a comedy?

Oh.


You (Had to Get) Got Served (to watch this movie)

*In case you don't already know this, the slang meaning of "You Got Served" is to teach someone a lesson. This is what the movie title suggests, except that it's in the context of teaching someone a lesson by beating them in a dance-off.
__

Saturday night we made a delicious dinner, lit some candles and braved Tristan and Isolde, a movie Netflix recommended based on my previous 4-star rating of 300. It was MUCH better than our Friday late night flick, though I did notice similarities in the plot lines. During one of the battle scenes between the English & the Irish I blurted out,

"If they just added some club music to this scene and the warriors had a hulking, 5th century style dance-off instead of all this violence, they could have easily called the movie, "YE Got Served".

Then we laughed so hard, and for so long, that it was difficult to take the rest of this beautifully shot movie seriously. It was still funny to us in the morning, so I decided to put a little something together in Photoshop, using a Tristan & Isolde cast picture:


"Ye Got Served". Oh boy, did we ever. ©HouseofJules

Paging Dr. Jason Seaver! Someone wants to get you alone.

File this under: "Just when you think you know somebody".

Scooter--my friend of 20 years--and I were chatting away while getting ready for a night out. I had my iTunes on shuffle, and about 40 seconds in to Robin Thicke's 2002 breakout hit, When I Get You Alone, she stopped talking in mid-sentence to give it her full attention. It was one of my favorite songs that year, not only for his hot lyrics (flirty words that made me want to paw at him while saying, "RAWR"), but also because he cleverly sampled Walter Murphy's A Fifth of Beethoven:


Thicke, circa 2002


Don't invest all your energy into that background information. You'll need your wits about you when reading what started as a harmless musical discussion and ended with her letting something slip, leading us both into hysterics.

Scooter: "I love this song!"

Me: "Yeah, if he sang this song to me, he'd barely get through the first chorus before I'd start getting handsy."

Scooter: "HA! Typical. Who is it?"

Me: "He goes by 'Thicke'. As in, the son of Growing Pains' Alan Thicke." 

Scooter: "MY Alan Thicke?"

Me: "..."

There's political leaning, and then there's this

Thanks to Facebook, I've been caught up in a wormhole along with just about everyone I've ever met in my entire life. For someone who moved around a lot growing up, it's been a total blast to reconnect with such a vast network of old friends. I've always been a shutterbug, so I already have a lot of photo albums on my FB page. This has both delighted and horrified some people, and the fact that I have a stack of about 100 more photos to scan has struck fear across this nation.

That sound you hear late at night is me, leaning back in my desk chair, rubbing my hands together and filling the darkness with wicked laughter.

The following is a recent Facebook IM'ing session with Logan (not his real name), who believes he's immortal after jumping out of a plane ON PURPOSE and not falling to his untimely death. I only mention this because he references it once and I wanted to disclose everything just like a lawyer would. Speaking of lawyers, "Logan" certainly isn't one, and he definitely isn't one who works for the government of a certain city, and he obviously wasn't engaging in this kind of conversation with me when he was on the clock as a government lawyer for a certain city. Just so we're clear on that.

If conversations like this aren't an advertisement for getting back in touch with people, even if it means sharing embarrassing photos of yourself (and others) dressed in uniform, I don't know what is.

Logan: Those were some fancy hats y'all wore.

Me: Hats?

Logan: In the "Clarinet Mafia" pics.


(Sidenote: Make sure when you get to the end of this post that you click to read the comments. I'm still giggling over some confusion this photo caused!*)


Me: OOOH! Yes, well, that was _________ High School's national award-winning marching band uniform for you. We all hated them, BTW. Which should go without saying.

Logan: Don't lie.

Me: Ok, we liked them a little. Like, if we needed a weapon of tickle-torture, we could use the feathers.

Logan: If I had a hat like that back then I'd have been getting so much play...

Me: Oh yeah. Definitely.

Logan: All I had was my gigantic cranium, and that didn't get me anywhere.

Me: A big head didn't get you any play? Sadness.

Logan: Given the proper adornment, though... I'd have been SET.

Me: Yeah, well on your huge cranium especially. We could just call it "insurance" for a sure thing. This puts an all-new spin on "feather in his cap".

Logan: Ouch. I'm just imagining where those feathers would be... Never mind. I'm talking about my actual CRANIUM.

Me: Ahhh, cranium is the word of the day.

Logan: Yeah, yeah...It is now, I guess; but I had been leaning towards "Vulva." I usually do.

Me: "Leaning Towards Vulva" might be the best indie band name ever. As in, "'Now on tour: 'LEANING TOWARDS VULVA!'"

Logan: "And now, straight from Long Beach, CA... 'Leaning Towards Vulva!'"

Me: "How you doin' Seattle? We are 'Leaning! Towards! Vulva'!"

Logan: I almost fell out of my chair, and that'd be a bad thing today.

Me: Hopefully not on your fancy hat.

Logan: No, on my gigantic... ummm... cranium.

Me: Wow, it really MUST be gigantic. I'm impressed.

Logan: No vulvas were harmed in the filming of Logan falling out of his chair onto his... Ummm... cranium. Well, not PERMANENTLY harmed, anyway.

Me: Vulvas, no. Feathers however, are another story.

Logan: Oh, the older I get, the more sophomoric I become, and the longer it takes for me to recover from acting younger than I actually am.

Me: Exactly. I'm going to write about this on my blog, you know. I won't use your real name, don't worry. Unless you want me to.

Logan: Feel free. What do I care? I survived a skydive. I'm inf**kingvincible! Just don't mention it was during "business hours."

Me: You lived to tell the tale of your ginormous skull. Generations will benefit...and vulvas, too, no doubt.

Logan: Hey, generations will ALWAYS benefit from MY being here, and from vulvas being here, as well.

Me: Without the vulvas, there'd be no generations. WHOA. That was a little too deep.

Logan: I'm not gonna even *touch* that one.

Me: But you'll lean towards it, right?

*Make sure you click below to read the comments.

The first rule of Pillow Fight Club: Always talk about Pillow Fight Club. The second rule? Same as the first.

Note: Neither feathers nor personal reputations were harmed during this hijinks-filled night out with friends, whose names have been changed!

A lot has been written on a man's sense of humor being the most attractive thing to women, and I'm the first one to nod my head in agreement. If a guy is the right kind of funny, he will have my full attention. In the past few years I've read about how supposedly men aren't into funny women which turns out to be a non-issue because apparently there aren't funny women, only reproducing machines that bring babies into the world. I don't believe any of that idiocy comes from the thoughts & minds of REAL MEN, but is misinformation spread around by The Man*--whose main job is to keep us down--and not in a good way.

One of my oldest** and funniest friends, Linda (not her real name), drove from a few states away for an overnight visit that was planned in advance to coincide with a live performance of one of our newest*** friends, Dundee's (not his real name) band. I emailed him the day before the show to remind him that the song that truly makes me woozy isn't even on any of his CDs--yet!--and he can make it up to me by performing it at least once, or (and I quote), "for just long enough, if you know what I'm saying". 

I can express myself like that freely because most of my social circle consists of people who not only get my humor, but also give it right back. They make it possible to engage in the clever repartee that I live and breathe for (I really, really do), which makes me giddy. I'm thrilled to have so many friends with the ability to take something said in jest and run with it because it keeps me laughing. Dunn fits right in by demonstrating a good mix of his own biting wit, thinly-veiled euphamisms, and tongue always planted firmly in cheek.

Since I'm a giver, here is an excerpt from the text message conversation between Dundee & I (none of which should be taken seriously, as we're both shameless flirts with those we adore) on the day of his Chicago show:

Dunn (not his real name): Happy to hear you'll be at the show tonight, Sugar!

Me: If the message sent from this number to me was from 'Chocolate Thunder', I have bad news. I won't be in my usual seat at The Sugarshack for your performance because I'm seeing a different kind stage show tonight. Sorry.

Dunn: You know I love yo' sass.

Me: Oh, how embarrassing! I thought you were CT, who is someone else I know with OTHER talents. If you love my sass, you better prepare yourself for Linda because she's on her way here! Text her your appreciation in advance at ###-###-####.

Dunn: Linda will be at the show, too? I'll have my hands full with the two of you, for sure. BTW, I do have talent. At least 1/2 the skills of Choc Thunder. Let me demonstrate.

Me: I guess that means I better bring dollar bills to your show tonight, though if you only have 1/2 the skills, I can bring my smaller wallet.

Dunn: HA! Where are you right now? I mean exactly, with the zip code & everything. I'm pretty good at stalking, some say.

Me: You gather information for the people you'd like to stalk by ASKING THEM FOR IT? How refreshing. Although you can't really be considered good at something if someone is supplying you with the answers. You're not living up to your potential.

Dunn: Point taken. Does the fact that I'm bringing some great wine put me back in your good graces? If you stalk ME after the show, I'll even share.

Me: Oh, we'll definitely be stalking! It'll be good to have a night off from Chocolate Thunder. He never shares his wine, so you have THAT going for you.

Dunn: Which is nice. BTW, does Linda love me more than you do?

Me: That's a trick question.

Dunn: Absolutely not, it's very fair.

Me: I think you should text her yourself. Go right to the source.

Dunn: So, it's cool that I've been copying her on our messages already?

Me: HA! I call bullshit, but well played. You should actually be thanking me because she's where it's at, baby.

Dunn: Okay, Yenta.

Me: Me? Yenta? Never! Why you gotta treat me so bad?

Dunn: I'll only treat you with loving tenderness, my dear.

Me: That response was very Big Bad Wolf of you.

Dunn: No Big Bad Wolf here, I'm as gentle as a lamb.

Me: Oooh, I hope not!

Dunn: I lie for sh*t, don't I?

Me: You're terrible at it. It's shameful, really. Good thing I know you're great with your hands. When playing your guitar, I mean...

As expected, they put on an excellent show, which included a dedication to his *wink* "special friends" *wink* of my previously mentioned favorite song. Linda was fanning me midway through because I was, well, reacting to it. As the last note was thumped out on the bass, I heard myself yelling over the crowd's applause, "Do it again!". It was quite a moment. The band took a short break and he came to our table so we could make our post-show plan.

Twenty minutes after the show ended:

Dunn: Equipment all packed up. After-show plan in full effect?

Me&Linda: Bring wine, and hurry up or you'll miss the pillow fight****!

Dunn: I'll be right over, and you girls had better not be kidding.

*Jerry Lewis
**23 years & counting
***Less than that
****If you ever want a man to hurry up, use that line. Works every time, no joke.

Putting the Hump in Humpday: Parallel, perpendicular or diagonal hardly matters if I'm enveloped in that wing span

His body is ridiculous.

My oldest friend is my oldest friend for many reasons, one being that when she can't think of the exact word for something, even when the word she uses in place of the exact word should easily lead her to the exact word but doesn't, we laugh about it together. Another reason is because she humors my related, but beside-the-point thoughts that I enjoy discussing simultaneously*. A parallel conversation if you will:

Charissa: "Did you see the men's gymnastics last night?"

Me: "Only because I had to watch something when Michael Phelps wasn't shattering world records with his 6'7" wing span, size 14 feet and double-jointed knees. Or when I was text messaging people about his insane musculature, and the crime that was committed by the inventor of those high tech swimsuits that cover most of his sinewy body when he's cutting through the water."

Charissa: "Interesting. So, did you see when the gymnasts were on those side-by-side bars?"

Me: "I'm sorry, what? I'm still stuck on the measurements of Michael Phelps. The commentators said something about his ankles, too... but I'm still trying to figure out how his double-jointed knees could come in handy. Oh wait, I just pictured it, and I'll now refer to the worldwide competition he's in as the Big 'O'-lympics."

Charissa: "Anyway, did you see the men's gymnastic routines they did on those side-by-side bars or what? I don't know what they're actually called, but you know what I mean, right?"

Me: "The parallel bars?"

Charissa: "Yeah, parallel. That sounds about right."




*Not all the time, just when someone like Michael Phelps is on the brain. Really, I blame Bob Costas for spewing out all the stats about Phelps' body irresponsibly and haphazardly, like it was the last thing he had to confess before being shoved into a volcano. It was such a clustered flurry of sport porn that I could only commit 3 to memory. In the meantime I'm going to just focus on what wins him the gold... his stroke. (RIMSHOT!)


Click HERE to read previous Humpday posts.

It was a dark and stormy night... seriously!

It really, really was.

If you've been keeping up with my twitter updates in the right sidebar (or you can follow them directly here), you know by now that we had terrible weather in Chicago on Monday; weather that included emergency alerts ordering everyone to dive into the nearest basement, the city storm-siren going off, a neighborhood-wrecking tornado that touched down 6 miles from where I was taking cover in my (empty) bathtub, and the delight of a 24-hour power outage.

Of course there have been more devastating storms around the world, but it was pretty intense. I have never heard Mother (Mutha!) Nature make such terrible, cringe-worthy and evil sounds as I did on Monday night. I love a good rainstorm, but I'm not going to lie; for about 45 minutes I was actually scared. Like, HOLY-SH*T,-I'M-GONNA-DIE scared. I got through it unscathed, thankfully. My only connection to other people and activities to pass the time was my cell phone, so between that and the crazy weather, I was able to enjoy the following:

1) Congratulating myself for money well-spent, Part 1
The video game Tetris that I purchased for my cell phone last month more than paid for itself, and is the best $2.99 ever spent. Not to be confused with The Best $29.99 Ever Spent.

2) I laughed, I cried!
After sending a 86% serious text message with the general sentiment being, "HOLY SH*T, I'M GONNA DIE", my favorite [Cherry] Ride responded with a diversionary tactic, which is exactly what I needed: "Good luck & be safe! Meanwhile, weather here is perfect & I am tan again... (I laughed) ...The men here are awesome, get on a plane & join me!" (I cried. Almost.)

3) Twitter, twutter, tweet!
Twittering is the modern-day smoke signal and I love it. It allows me to send 140-character (or less) text message "tweets" to the right sidebar of my blog, without being anywhere near a computer. Click here to follow me directly on twitter.

4) My own personal weather girl, straight outta Texas.
My friend Jen felt compelled to watch the weather channel and supply me with 20-minute storm updates after I sent her a panicky text message that may or may not have mentioned something about it sounding like Hell's choir outside, and "HOLY SH*T, I'M GONNA DIE". Sensing a theme?

5) Congratulating myself for money well-spent, Part 2
Awhile ago, I bought a live version of Jimmy Buffet's "Why Don't We Get Drunk & Screw" and assigned it as a special ringtone for a few of my friends serial drunk-dialers in my life. I won't mention any names because the guilty parties know who they are. In addition to it being the perfect ringtone for certain people, it's a good song to listen to repeatedly while sitting in your bathtub during inclement weather because who can think about the roof tearing off (and not in the GOOD way*) when you're consumed with thoughts of consuming margaritas?:

Double-click on the 'play' arrow if you have trouble with the imeem player.

6) Deciding ComEd qualifies as a drunk-dialer
I went ahead and assigned the "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw" ringtone to the electric company after one too many puzzling power outage update phone calls from their automated messaging system. My favorite recorded call from them was, and I quote, "We understand that restoration times are important, but accurate restoration times are more important." Talking nonsense in circles is the classic drunk-dial, and obviously their automated messaging system was wasted.

7) Attempting my earliest bedtime since 9th grade
I tried--and failed--going to bed before my usual time of 1:30 a.m since there was no sign of my power coming back on anytime soon and it was either sleep or sweat. Just as my head hit the pillow, my phone rang (I'll give you one guess which ringtone!) and I ended up on a 3-way phone call from the aforementioned Jen and our very old friend Danny, who we just reconnected with after 20 years. It was kind of like them calling to make sure I was still alive and then killing me with the crushing realization of how many years have gone by since we were all in the same classroom. Thanks, guys!

8) Being an optimist, even in little ways
All that time playing Tetris, text messaging, song-playing, and talking on the phone meant that the battery was running on empty. The electricity was still out, but I decided that just in case it came back on before morning, I'd plug it into the charger and hope for the best. That ended up being a no-go, but it did have just enough juice left to beep for the alarm I set before it died the death.

9) Confirming that I'm not optomistic enough to consider romantic showering a SOLO endeavor.
My bathroom doesn't have any natural light, and even the bright light of day from my bedroom couldn't do anything for the cave my shower seemed to be that morning. So, I put 3 big candles usually kept in the living room on my bathroom counter, but purely out of necessity. Unfortunately.

10) Getting proof that the next generation is awesome, and they love me. Or awesome because they love me, I'm not sure which.
After my non-romantic candlelit shower, I went to my sister's house to charge my phone before work. Luckily they weren't affected by the storm at all, and they only live 15 miles from me. While there, I read this email from Jen about her daughter, who happens to be my favorite 10-year old. After you read this, she might be your favorite 10-year old, too:

Katie shared her "My prars to God and other stuff" journal with me this morning and her prayer for last night was:

"Augist 4, 2008. Dear Loard, plese keep Juley safe from the tornatow and protect her."

She may not be able to spell, but she has such a good heart! The funniest thing is how she spells "AMEN". Ready for this?  All Men!!! She does have a lot of her mother in her, doesn't she?

You have learned well, Grasshopper! You even know how to hold onto a tree during a tornatow!    Image ©HouseofJules


Going by that All Men thing, she certainly does have a lot of her mother in her... and maybe a little bit of her, ahem, more discriminating "Aunt Juley", too. Since I don't spell like a 10-year old, I think I'll take partial credit for her sweetness sassiness.

Long story short: holy sh*t, I didn't die! To that I say, All men, everybody, all men.


*If you read that phrase and didn't actually click the hotlink, you're missing out on a good thing. Scroll back up to number 5 and click the purple words! You're welcome.

It's official, I'm calling us the Cherry Icee Coalition™

I just wanted to thank everybody for sending your positivity down to Nic, Tim and her family (and even some up to me!) in response to Tuesday's post, whether it was by leaving a comment, by sending me an e-mail, or through a phone call. I am thankful for all of the kindness you've shown, and I love that some of you took it upon yourselves to join the Cherry Icee Coalition™! Nic is still in the ICU, so your positive vibes are being put to good use.

To lighten the mood a bit, I'm going to share a short snippet from a long e-mail exchange I had with my old friend Charissa. What you need to know first is that in some circles my bed is referred to as "Purple Heaven", because it:

1) Is possibly the most comfortable bed on the planet

2) has not only really great sheets but also a dark purple aubergine (eggplant!) velvet duvet, dust ruffle, etc. It sounds bordello-rific, but I assure you it is very tastefully done. I'm oddly proud of it because it was the first time I really went shopping with the intention to splurge on the good stuff, and then ended up getting it all 75% off in a stroke of luck, making it more budget-friendly than the really scratchy affordable route I had always taken in the past. It not only looks good, but it FEELS good, just ask anybody who's been in it! That statement right there probably just made my parents log off of the internet.

Without further ado... a couple of lines on the subject of how I'm doing emotionally (in direct relation to Tuesday's post), with an intentionally shallow response from Charissa because she knew it would make me laugh... and oh, how I needed a good laugh:

Me: I pretty much just want to crawl under the covers and throw up, though it's probably best if I do that in the reverse order.

Charissa: Please don't puke in your bed, that would just make it worse... think of your beautiful bedding!

One of these days I'll do a post showing you my entire bedroom, the literal "House of Jules", but until then here's a shot of the foot of my bed. You kinda want to crawl into it, don't you?

Pink Martini and pillow-fighting: Otherwise known as the best way to spend time with friends

I went up to Wisconsin on Monday for our "St. Patrick's Day Let's all get together and wear something green while enjoying 3rd row seats at a concert performance of one of my favorite-groups-of-all-time and we'll also imbibe in the traditional drinking of the Guinness (and/or Irish car bombs) without worrying about with all the drunks on the road at bar time because we booked an overnight stay (yes, all of that in one night) at a fabulous downtown hotel" that has been in the works since September.

On the drive up, there was this phone call:

Did you happen to bring a bottle opener with you or do you have one of those little ones on your keychain because none of us brought one.

No, I don't have a bottle opener; I didn't even think of that. I never think of that, actually, and that is why I have 6 cheap-in-quality but expensive-in-price hotel bottle openers at home. I really should invest $2 in one of those keychains because I would have saved a mint by now!

I can't believe we're sitting here with a beautiful hotel room full of Guinness and nothing to open them with on St. Patrick's Day. This is so wrong!

Do you want me to stop on my way in and pick one up?

...Cut to the two of us meeting in front of the hotel gift shop, looking for what will be my 7th cheap-in-quality but expensive-in-price hotel bottle opener. As soon as I hand over entirely too much money for some plastic and metal that has probably been assembled by children somewhere, this verbal exchange occurs:

Did you just BUY that bottle opener?

I thought you said we needed one! I refuse to sit in a hotel room with unopened bottles of Guinness mocking me and the 6 bottle openers I have on-hand two hours south of here.

I was just going to ask up at the front desk if we could borrow one.

On St. Patrick's Day? Do you know how many people in this hotel are actively searching through their belongings for a bottle opener right now? Maybe I'll hang this one around my neck and offer my services. I could make my money back 10-fold when we go out tonight!

Uhhhh....

WITH. THE. BOTTLE. OPENER.

...Cut to us getting in the elevator and halfway up to the 9th floor this same person looks at me and says:

OH, WAIT A MINUTE!

What now?

I think I might HAVE a bottle opener in my bag!

...Cut to me cracking open the first Guinness with unnecessarily purchased and far too expensive bottle opener as she reaches into her bag to pull out not only a bottle opener ON HER KEYCHAIN NO LESS but also? A corkscrew, even though none of us brought wine; for added measure. Knowing that they had been torturing themselves in the room staring at those bottles, thinking they didn't have a way to open them when in fact, they did, was well worth the Hamilton I left behind in the gift shop.

It was precisely this particular brand of tomfoolery that set the tone for the next 24 hours. The only thing missing was someone taking turns poking people in the eyeballs and saying "whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop". Then again, we're a group of girls, so the likelihood of that ever happening is nil. Because we engage in pillow fights like all girls do when they're together.

The original reason for this gathering was not to have a pillow fight with my friends (even though that is always an excellent reason), but it was because Pink Martini was going to be performing in concert, and each time they've been in the area, I have managed to get friends together to join in on a fabulous evening of music-done-well by some of the most talented musicians I've ever heard. It's also one of the best reasons to be in a concert hall with other people who have not only showered but have decided to brush their hair and throw on some dressy clothes as well. I've mentioned Pink Martini a couple of times here at HOJ, so the following may sound a bit familiar...


Pink Martini: A reminder of the incredible male-to-female ratio of my days attending University of Wisconsin, but with less engineering emphasis, no flannel shirts to be found and infinitely more musical talent.

For 29 glorious days in 1999, I was fortunate enough to go to Europe with my oldest friend (of 24 years) and her family. We traveled throughout Italy, Austria, Germany, Switzerland, Paris and London.

I was on a limited souvenir budget so when I saw something I wanted (basically anytime my eyes were open), I only bought it if I absolutely loved and couldn't leave without it. That was a great system to use, as each of those purchases are still- almost 10 years later- absolute prized possessions. I was determined while traveling overseas to come home with some music to remind me of the trip. I hadn't found it until we were in Paris, when in I saw a huge blow-up of this in a record store window near the inverted pyramid inside The Lourve:


Imagine my surprise when I opened this CD and realized Pink Martini wasn't a band out of Paris, but Portland!

I knew immediately, without even hearing the music, that I was going to buy that CD. I was totally sucked in by the Doisneau-esque cover photo. Luckily, Pink Martini is a group of incredible musicians and since 1999 I've enjoyed Sympathique - as well as their 2004 sophomore effort, Hang On Little Tomato; and the most recent release, Hey Eugene! countless times.


Who could resist an album with a title like this?


Oddly similar to every vintage party picture from my mom's side of the family


We had excellent seats, and the show was 2 hours of being blown away by all the talent up on that stage. They played my favorite song, Brazil last, which is good because it is the one song that you cannot resist shaking your ass to. Even if you're reading this thinking, "I never shake my ass", trust me... YOU. WILL. SHAKE. YOUR. ASS. Some people even started a conga line that led out into the lobby and back into the concert, and I'm not even kidding. You can understand why we have such a good time when they come to town.

Afterwards, the 8 of us ended up in the beautiful hotel bar that was spacious enough for us to not only claim a seating area as our own, but also allowed us to talk and catch up in a way that we never would have been able to at any of the crowded pubs down the street. Eventually the members of Pink Martini made their way to the hotel bar, too, and by then we had already made friends with one of the musicians in the band, who just so happens to be this guy's sister. She sat with us for about an hour, with the rest of the band sitting to our left, and the entire time I just kept wondering how it is that we went from not having a bottle opener to sitting with the talented-in-her-own-right sibling of an American music icon. This is what happens every time (I have plenty of stories to back this up) we decide to dress up and brush our hair, and we all agreed to do it more often. That, and the pillow-fighting.

Click HERE to read the only online show review I could find from that night.


Live performance of Una Notte Napoli, from 'Hang on Little Tomato'

If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend going to a Pink Martini show, and do yourself a favor... dress up a little. You never know who you're going to meet.

They're always after me lucky charms!

You may remember this delightful exchange I had a couple of weeks ago regarding out-of-town St. Patrick's day plans:

I was originally going to take a half-day off of work on the 17th and the entire next day off, but decided instead to just take both days off. I assume I'm going to need it.

If you don't have to work on the 17th at all, what does that mean?

It means that I don't have to work on the 17th. What do you mean, 'what does that mean'?

I'm just wondering what time will you'll be here since you took the whole day off...because I want you here early, {tone of voice suddenly very, very intense; in such a way as to question the next statement} AND. I. WANT. YOU. RELAXED.

Well, I guess I'll make sure to be there early because that tone of voice is making me feel very relaxed already!

So, today's the day and I'm totally relaxed! So relaxed that I overslept, which has put me behind schedule; and you can imagine how being behind schedule would add to the relaxation I'm feeling! So much to do before driving 2 hours north, checking into our hotel, and heading to the concert (which I will tell you about later), and so little time to get things done. I will leave you with this sentiment:


A prediction of how I'll be spending the day tomorrow could not be more accurate.


PS- To the winners of the House of Jerardi contest, I'm sending off your stuff tomorrow afternoon... once I've put some pants on, of course. Sorry for the delay!

Wooooo, it's getting serious up in here!

Thursday's post led to some great back-and-forth in the comments, so I'm going to hold off on a new post until tomorrow or Monday. Feel free to join us with your 2 cents in yesterday's comments!

I know, I said, "back-and-forth"!

Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth...

I spent the weekend out of town and things got a little bit hectic. For some reason, that has followed me into this week, which could possibly be the cause of the stress shooting out from the core of my soul that is shining a brilliant glow-of-disquietude all around me. It's glorious, you should see it! 

Enough about me, let's talk about you for a minute. There's only one more day before the winners of the first House of Jules giveaway are picked and announced. Click HERE to leave a comment on last Wednesday's post, which will be used as your entry in the random drawing! By this time tomorrow morning it will all be decided and the winners will be notified. Can you handle the pressure? I hope so because otherwise I'm going to have to ask someone to help you all chill out and breathe easy. Lucky for you, I know just the person to do it!

In the last 24 hours, I had a conversation about our long-awaited St. Patrick's Day out-of-town-and-overnight plans with a group of old friends, in which a road-trip, a concert and a hotel are involved. Also, Guinness, but that comes after the road-trip part, don't worry. So, this is how we hammer-out important details in a special shorthand I like to call, "WasThatClearEnoughForYou?".

I was originally going to take a half-day off of work on the 17th and the entire next day off, but decided instead to just take both days off. I assume I'm going to need it.

If you don't have to work on the 17th at all, what does that mean? 

It means that I don't have to work on the 17th. What do you mean, 'what does that mean'?

I'm just wondering what time will you'll be here since you took the whole day off...because I want you here early,  {tone of voice suddenly very, very intense; in such a way as to question the next statement}  AND. I. WANT. YOU. RELAXED.

Well, I guess I'll make sure to be there early because that tone of voice is making me feel very relaxed already!

The girls are talkin', the girls are talkin'... and Bullie, you didn't disappoint!

Do you remember this post from two weeks ago? The one that ended with someone paying $29.99 for a certain item that was described to have "at one time contained the seeds of life and the future of the herd"?

To enhance the reading experience of this post, I'm going to get you in the right frame of mind, because I'm a giver like that (Double-click on either "play" arrow if you have trouble with the video):

TLC's "Girl Talk": A most appropriate song for this particular post, and pretty much my life.


Alright. I think you're ready now, or as ready as you're going to be!

I got a phone call from Anastasia Beaverhausen (Jen) the other night while I was rushing around getting dressed up. Ignoring that I was almost on my way out the door, she responded with a very Carol-Anne-from-Poltergeist-like, "It's he-ere!"!

I stopped what I was doing and knowing what the answer would be, asked, "What's here?"


And thus begins the first H.o.J. live blogging event: The un-boxing of el Saco de Toro!

THE PLAYERS: Jen, Me, El Saco De Toro, KC (Jen's 9 year-old daughter, who had a red Prada bag on her Christmas list, to which Jen replied, "First of all, young lady, you don't even know what a Prada bag is, and second of all, I DON'T EVEN OWN A PRADA BAG SO KEEP DREAMING!"), and Jax, their family's small but very amorous dog.

Jen: It's he-ere!

Me: What's here?

Jen: I waited to open it until you were on the phone... The Saco de Toro "Bullie"  is He-ere!

Me: Don't go to the light, Carol Anne! Soooo, what's your first impression?



Jen: It.............. ohmigod, it smells. It really, really smells. Like...

Me: Wait! Let me guess. It smells like balls, doesn't it?

Jen: Quick, someone get MENSA on the line!

Me: You know I totally aced their "fun test", don't you? For awhile, B. called me "Ace" because of my score. This fact totally pales in comparison to what you're now holding in your hands.

Jen: Anyway "Ace", it has some marks on it, but they said that would be the case with each one, and that these 'blemishes' are "indicative of the hardships endured by the beast", so I guess I shouldn't expect it to be pristine. Uh oh, here comes KC. This should be interesting.

KC: Gross, Mom! What is that and what is it made of?

Me: I dare you to tell her it's the new Prada bag. That'll teach her not to be a slave to fashion!

Jen: It's the new brown Prada! Hold it so I can take a picture.

KC: (clearly smart enough to know better) No, I'm not going to hold that thing! What's it made of? Tell me!

Jen: Uhhhh, animal skin.... like your boots. Hold it so I can send a picture to Julie.

KC: I'm not touching that thing. (exiting the room quickly)

Me: She doesn't have time for these foolish games! What are your other impressions of el Saco?

Jen: It has HAIR on it!

Me: What did you expect, that it would be waxed?

(Jax the love-dog walks in, sniffing around to see what's up.)

Jen: Now the dog has come in here to inspect the Saco.



Me: Animal recognizes animal. It's like us, out at the bar! Anyway, Jax is probably formulating a plan on how to get the Saco all to himself later, and get all romantic-like. Again, like us out at the bar!

Jen: This is by far the best $29.99 I've ever spent.

Me: I totally agree. What are you going to do with it now?

Jen: I have it up on a shelf, looking gorgeous. All I have to do is take care of that smell. Maybe I'll buy some dried flowers.

Me: So, what once held the "seeds of life and the future of the herd" is to be a large potpourri holder? I'm SURE the bull would be pleased.

See Jen's post on her new "purse" by clicking HERE.

In our circle, you have to ask a specific question to get a specific answer

In the midst of a phone call with a friend, discussing an upcoming and long-awaited hot date:

So, what are you wearing?

Right now or on Saturday night?