By the time you read this, I'll already be there.

In 2008, I went with some BFFs on an annual October trip to Key West, Florida. You can read about that and my childhood (and continuing) love for a Bertie Higgins song by clicking HERE.

We had plans to do many things on the trip, meeting up with Irish Peter being at the top of the list. (In 2007, the girls made fast friends with Irish Peter--a nickname they bestowed upon him because his name is Peter and he is, in fact, Irish. He is also funny, charming, hot, a good time, has an accent and did I mention that he's hot?--who at the time was working as the bartender on the booze cruise they were boozin' it up on.) We went to a bar he was working at and all of the boxes on the list of reasons men make my heart race were checked off. We had a great time, and at some point in the night we were in the parking lot behind the bar so he could record my outgoing voicemail greeting. This greeting has confused and possibly irritated every straight guy who has ever called me, because the combination of Irish Peter's accent and the speed at which he's talking makes it difficult for people to understand. Every female and gay guy who has ever called me has given it RAVE reviews, though. They usually say that they can't understand a thing he says but the accent makes it sexy anyway. You should give it a listen:

My outgoing voicemail greeting: Irish Peter by HouseofJules

"How's it goin'? Jules isn't here right now; she's out in Key West picking some spuds and lookin' for me Lucky Charms. If you can leave a message, she'll be glad to get back to you as soon as she can. I'll be talkin' to ya and have a wonderful day!"


Friends have called me multiple times in a day just to hear that voicemail greeting.


I wasn't able to go on the trip with the girls this year, but my BFF Jen let Irish Peter use her phone because he was missing me (duh) and he also wanted to hear himself as my voicemail greeting. I had to switch it out for a generic greeting recently because I'm looking for a new job and don't want potential employers to hear him and assume they've gotten the wrong number! The message he left me is one for the books:

He REALLY is a gift by HouseofJules

"Jules, I'm kinda sad. I was expecting to hear myself in your phone! We're calling you here from Key West; you might recognize my voice! Happy birthday! Apparently, we have your birthday present here. I'm wrapped up in a bow; you've gotta come down and get me..."

(It's so funny hearing my girls "Oh my God!"-ing as he hands Jen's phone back to her. So. Funny.)

I made the mistake of listening to that message at work, and then I listened to it again. And again (and again). Wrapped in a bow? Come down and get you? YES, PLEASE.


Then, I switched from the generic outgoing greeting I was using to the one he recorded with me, just so he could call back and hear it. This is his reaction:

Rosetta Stone by HouseofJules

"You need to put subtitles on your message, 'cause I can't even understand that and I actually said it! I need to get Rosetta Stone and get my english a little better there. I'm having technical difficulties! Thanks for putting it back on, you're the best!"


Funny, charming, hot, a good time, hot, has an accent, is wrapped in a bow for my birthday and all I have to do is go get him? Twist my arm.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.

****

In the blink of an eye

Oh, boy... err, man!

THIS DUDE is 18 today. EIGHTEEN.

I can't even put into words how stellar it is to have him & his brother in my life... so I won't even try.

I've been photographing him since the minute he was born (literally) and yet, I don't know where the time went.





Happy birthday to you, Sparks! Your presence is truly a gift to ME (and everyone around you). You have made my life infinitely better, just by being in it.


****

Fiesta, forever!

Lionel Richie wrote a song about occasions like this: Today is my boo Will's birthday!

Please read my previous birthday post to him HERE so you can get a feel for his awesomeness! It'll open in another window so you can come right back to this afterward. Seriously, go read it. DO IT.

He's great, right? Of course he is. The guy TOTALLY gets me & I couldn't adore him more.

Last weekend I went to another friend's wedding and put up a Facebook status letting everyone know what I was up to at the reception. There were a handful of funny responses, but his got right to the heart of the matter:


My status update on one of the greatest songs* of all time, and Will's response.

Love him! I know he would've been right there with me, heckling the band. The two of us could've wrestled the microphone away from the singer & performed the song as a duet. We could easily entertain a crowd. How many times can bands play, "From This Moment"? C'mon, wedding bands! Spice that shit up and take some unorthodox requests.

Back to Will: He's currently in D.C. getting his education on (now I'm just typing stuff in to crack MYSELF up), and you can read my post about that HERE. Don't miss it because your life will get exponentially better after seeing the picture of him ON A DING DONG, also known as my favorite photo OF ALL TIME! No joke. Click to read now & thank me later.

Now that you know enough about him to fully enjoy the rest of this post--and there will be a test at the end so don't cheat or everyone will know--I'll bring you up to a couple of months ago, when I wanted to sent him a surprise package full of things to help him survive all that studying** he's doing at the library.

I bought a bunch of small items, including:

• Highlighters
• Post-It notes
• Fun writing pens
• Notation clips for his textbooks
• Mini Chicago playing cards
• Snacks (nutsnacks, etc... HA!)
• Lots of candy
• Little plastic toys like whistles & kazoos
• Magnets (1 from a roadtrip to Tennessee and one with a skull & banner that says, "A Pirate's Life" just because whenever I thought about it being on his fridge, I'd literally laugh out loud)
• Party poppers (those bottle-popping confetti things)
• A shot glass

...and most importantly:

• Assorted mini-liquor bottles
• Tylenol

The pile of goodness all laid out:

Then, I shoved it ALL in this piñata and shipped it off:

It was so much fun putting this together for him, and he loved it. He was even going to keep the donkey around & give it a name. Now, THAT'S love.

Happy birthday, Will! You're the best!

*Unskinny Bop's totally-appropriate-for-a-wedding-reception video & lyrics:


My favorite line: "Like gasoline you wanna pump me". Pure poetry, baby.

Unskinny Bop by Poison
What's got you so jumpy? Why can't you sit still, yeah?
Like gasoline you wanna pump me
And leave me when you get your fill, yeah

Every time I touch you honey you get hot
I want to make love you never stop
Come up for air you push me to the floor
What's been going on in that head of yours?

(chorus)
Unskinny bop, just blows me away
Unskinny bop bop. All night and day
Unskinny bop bop bop bop, She just loves to play
Unskinny bop , nothin' more to say

You look at me so funny
Love bite go you acting oh so strange
You got too many bees in your honey
Am I just another word in your page, yeah, yeah

(chorus)

You're sayin' my love won't do ya, but that ain't love written on your face
Well honey I can see right through ya
We'll see whose ridin' who at the end of the race

What's right? What's wrong? What's left?
What the hell is going on?


**Not a euphemism, but it totally should be

****

Me & my underutilized uterus are doing more than fine!

Sometimes I wonder if I'll have kids of my own. I can count on one hand the times in my life that I have felt a little uterus pang regarding this topic, so it's not something that I feel like I'm missing out on. I leave it up to fate, because while I'd love having a healthy, committed, long-term relationship with a man (do those still exist?), I don't need my own kids to round that out or to make me feel "whole".

I'm sure a huge part of not having an insatiable need for my own kids is because I can't imagine bringing anyone better into this world than my 2 nephews, and trust me when I tell you that I've never said anything more truthful than that. They're such good, fun-loving, smart, interesting, sometimes challenging (in a good way) people.

They're totally different from each other (and somewhat indifferent TO each other, but they'll grow out of that) just like their mom & I were at their ages-- and both, in their own ways, tremendous young men who have made my life... well, that's just it: THEY'VE MADE MY LIFE.

So, if I never have kids of my own, it's okay. For real.

Case in point:

Click to enlarge.

Obviously, my nephew Jason (15) has incredible taste. Dylan (17) does, too, but he hasn't seen that status update yet. Also, they have more than one aunt, so it's not an empty/brown nose-y compliment. That ish is REAL.

Beat that, mothertruckers. Oh, wait. You can't. ;)

****

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."

****

My father's daughter

Happy Birthday, Dad!

For as long as I can remember, I've always been told that I'm my father's daughter. If you believe that astrology has any affect on your personality traits, then I suppose it was kind of unavoidable since I was born the day before his 31st birthday. We share--for the most part--the same sense of humor, the same temperament, the same taste in cars and the same ass-kicking driving style (and speaking of driving: the same ability to drive my mom crazy), the same lack of patience with rude people, the same inability to beat-around-the-bush, the same love for people-watching, the same fascination with all things Chihuly, and the same appreciation for anything that is of-from-around-or-about Italy. Oh yeah, we also have the same nose, though mine is MUCH smaller and cuter.


No need for an actual DNA test, just look at us. Dad at hardball league, holding a beer. I'm the shorty behind him, holding a beer of my own, or so it seems. 1982-ish.

Whenever our family is sitting around reminiscing, our parents complain that my sister & I only remember "the bad stuff"; like having to spend every hot summer Saturday weeding underneath the biggest magnolia tree you've ever seen, or how when we were teens we had a 10-minute time limit on every phone call and how they always knew when time was up even if they were an entire floor below us.

How about the time I got grounded in 4th grade for 6 whole weeks because I got a 'D' in handwriting, while the fact that Dad's handwriting was so sloppy he was often asked if he was a doctor seemed to escape him as he handed down my punishment. Irony, even as a 9-year old, was not lost on me. I just had enough sense to keep it to myself.

I also enjoy bringing up how I had a 10pm curfew all the way through high school when my friends were practically just beginning their weekend night festivities... but all those "bad things" are sometimes more entertaining to look back on now that my sister & I are adults.


Just let your soul glo! The afro seen 'round the world. 1979-ish.


The truth is that there was a lot more good stuff than bad. As a teen I would have disagreed, but it turns out that it's important to have parents who set boundaries and have high expectations of their children because as our parents always say, we turned out alright after all!


Dad & Mom, dating in their teens, plotting how to torture their future daughters with things like personal responsibility and curfews. THE NERVE!


Mom & Dad. Venice Beach, 1993-ish.

Thanks for everything, Dad. I'll try to bring up more of the good stuff when we sit around telling stories the next time, like when you taught me (at 16) to drive your hot new stick shift sports car and I almost killed us in the middle of an intersection when the car died as I was trying to make a left turn. You didn't lose your cool with me, not for a second; even when I was panicking because I couldn't get the clutch and the gas pedals synced up and the car died again, after it sputtered a few feet closer to the swiftly approaching oncoming traffic.

You just yelled, "GO! GO! GO!" and then... I did! That pretty much sums it up. You're always there, spurring me on to simply put my mind to something and do it.


Clearly up to no good in 1987. Speaking of that 'fro... It looks as if Missy decided to sport that look too, but it was just the wind.

You're the best, and not only is that a compliment for you, but it's a compliment for ME because I'm proud to say that even after all of these years, people still tell me that I'm my father's daughter. But they always add, "with a MUCH smaller and cuter version of his nose!" Really, they add that, I swear.

Happy Birthday! I Love you.

The Proposal: Timing really is everything!

The weekend we met, way back in 2005. Who is wrapped around who's finger, exactly?

I got an e-mail from my oldest (in years of friendship, not in age!) BFF last week, telling me about a conversation she had with her nearly 5-year old son, R. What you should know before reading any further is that they live several states away from me and though we talk on the phone often, we only get to see each other once/year.

The following will explain everything you ever needed to know about the effect I seem to have on men*:

I told R. your birthday is coming up and he wanted to color a picture for you. I told him you like hearts, so he asked me to draw some for him. As he was coloring them in, he said,

“I want to marry her, because I like her. I’m going to drive to her house and kiss her, and give her some flowers.”

Then he looked up from his artwork to ask,

“Wait, did anyone marry her yet?”

I said, “Not yet.”

He said,

“Good. I don’t know what time I’m going to grow up**, but when I grow up, that’s when I’m going to marry her***.”

That "AKA Your Husband" above his name makes this the best artwork by a nearly 5-year old (with help from his mother) of all time. OF ALL TIME!!!!!!


All I have to say is, Jeremy better step up his game (*cough* birthdayspankings *cough*) tonight!


*By "men", I mean "nearly 5-year old boys". Of course, I've dated several men who acted about that age...

**...who clearly didn't know what time they were going to grow up, either.

***Don't cry for me! Word has it that R. is going to propose to me with his favorite plastic spider ring. He is wise beyond his years.

Matthew McConaughey* knows I'm alive!

(I just call him Matty, though!)

Dear World-at-Large:
I may have tweeted my love for Dazed & Confused's Wooderson. I may have even tweeted it directly to Matty himself.

Then, this happened:




Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some auburn highlighting work to do on my hair before Matty takes me to that kegger down at the Moon Tower*.

*It could be an imposter, but c'mon! It's probably not. The internet is a very truthful place.

**Where I'll ask him more about the pitfalls of being a movie star in between air breaks from our huge make out sesh***.

***Don't mess with the fantasy.

The [Cherry] Rides off into the sunset*, but is forever in my heart (and on my speed dial)

Surely you all remember my Boo**, The [Cherry] Ride. If you somehow need reminding, perhaps my 2nd favorite picture of all time will jog your memory:

I know you want to be best friends with him, but back off. I called dibs first!


He has left Chicago behind for the further pursuance of his dreams; which take him--for now--to Washington, D.C.

It is truly a gift to find people in this world who "get" you completely. It is a rare and beautiful thing when that happens, or maybe it's beautiful because it's rare. Either way, Chicago has lost some of it's magic now that he's out East. Our loss is D.C.'s gain. Somehow I've become jealous of our nation's capital. This must be a first. 

Anyway, I wanted to find him something that would accurately express how I was feeling, but it turns out the only 4-letter word that Hallmark carries is "card". Even a Google search was fruitless:

How is it possible there are no card or gift items with the, "Holy F**k, I miss you already!" sentiment?


I don't know what I was thinking. What card company could even begin to encapsulate how much I love that he understands me in ways few people do? 

Like the time I sent him a text message that told how someone spilled a beer all over me, which I summed up by saying, "I smell like college." and just like that, he got it. He gets it!

Like I said, it's a beautiful thing. Much like my #1 favorite picture of all time, as seen in the following screen capture of his flickr page:




If you know me at all, you will know that this seems to have only been created for my happiness (it wasn't, but the universe has a way of making these kinds of things happen). From his photo title, "Me on the Ding Dong", to the fact that it was taken during one of his last hurrahs at Smiths Night... (Ugh, SMITHS NIGHT! Don't even get me started on the greatness of Danny's Smiths Night)! 

And need I even mention his pose? The pose! I giggled so hard at this whole thing that I had tears coming down my face. This one screen capture brings me almost too much joy. 

If only screen captures could hug back! Aww, cue the Sad Trombone.

Alright, Cherry, you know I love you and wish you the very best. You are so deserving of all good things. Kisses and love, sibling! Now, go get 'em, tiger... and while you're at it, find out if he has a brother for me. 


*That's a little dramatic, but this occasion calls for it. Don't argue with me, you know I'm right.
**One of the most adorable moments on TV ever: See THIS video, starting at :30. "I wanna be your boo!"

Go on, take a wild guess... Lurkers, this means you, too!

Later today I'm leaving Chicago to visit my heart and the city it has always lived in. The specific reason for this trip has been in the works for over a year, and I invite you to try & guess what's going on.

If you're one of the people already "in the know", feel free to leave comments but don't spoil the fun by spilling the details... let other people's guesses roll in and we'll see if anyone actually figures it out.


Here are a few hints for what's happening tonight:

1) There will be a crowd of well-dressed and fabulous people from all over who have all come together for one reason.

2) I'll be gazing into my favorite man's eyes.

3) Specific words will be spoken.

4) Something will be signed; not unlike a certificate that bonds two people together forever.


In the meantime, I'm going to try not to get overcome with emotion just thinking about how the all the months of anticipation and planning have finally brought us to this point. We've worked hard to get here, and I'm very excited!

My father's daughter

Happy Birthday, Dad!

For as long as I can remember, I've always been told that I'm my father's daughter. If you believe that astrology has any affect on your personality traits, then I suppose it was kind of unavoidable since I was born the day before his 31st birthday. We share--for the most part--the same sense of humor, the same temperament, the same taste in cars and the same driving style (and speaking of driving: the same ability to drive my mom crazy), the same lack of patience with rude people, the same inability to 'beat-around-the-bush', the same love for people-watching, the same fascination with all things Chihuly, and the same appreciation for anything that is of-from-around-or-about Italy. Oh yeah, we also have the same nose, though mine is MUCH smaller and cuter.


No need for an actual DNA test, just look at us. Dad at hardball league, holding a beer. I'm the shorty behind him, holding a beer of my own, or so it seems. 1982-ish.

Whenever our family is sitting around reminiscing, our parents complain that my sister & I only remember "the bad stuff"; like having to spend every hot summer Saturday weeding underneath the biggest magnolia tree you've ever seen, or how when we were teens we had a 10-minute time limit on every phone call and how they always knew when time was up even if they were an entire floor below us. How about the time I got grounded in 4th grade for 6 whole weeks because I got a 'D' in handwriting, while the fact that Dad's handwriting was so sloppy he was often asked if he was a doctor seemed to escape him as he handed down my punishment. I also enjoy bringing up how I had a 10pm curfew all the way through high school when my friends were practically just beginning their weekend night festivities... but all those "bad things" are sometimes more entertaining to look back on now that she & I are adults.


Just let your soul glo! The afro seen 'round the world. 1979-ish.

The truth is that there was a lot more good stuff than bad. As a teen I would have disagreed, but it turns out that it's important to have parents who set boundaries and have high expectations of their children because as our parents always say, we turned out alright after all!


Dad & Mom, dating in their teens, plotting how to torture their future daughters with things like personal responsibility and curfews.


Mom & Dad. Venice Beach, 1993-ish.

Thanks for everything, Dad. I'll try to bring up more of the good stuff when we sit around telling stories the next time, like when you taught me (at 16) to drive your hot new stick shift sports car and I almost killed us in the middle of an intersection when the car died as I was trying to make a left turn. You didn't lose your cool with me, not for a second; even when I was panicking because I couldn't get the clutch and the gas pedals synced up and the car died again, after it sputtered a few feet closer to the swiftly approaching oncoming traffic. You just yelled, "GO! GO! GO!" and then... I did! That pretty much sums it up. You're always there, spurring me on to simply put my mind to something and do it.


Clearly up to no good in 1987. Speaking of that 'fro... It looks as if Missy decided to sport that look too, but it was just the wind.

You're the best, and not only is that a compliment for you, but it's a compliment for ME because I'm proud to say that even after all of these years, people still tell me that I'm my father's daughter. But they always add, "with a MUCH smaller and cuter version of his nose!" Really, they add that, I swear.

Happy Birthday! I Love you.

Driving Miss Julesy

Back when I had permed hair and used to drive him around. Oh, how times have changed.

This little guy just got his driver's license. You read that right. No, he's not the tiniest motorist in the country... the photo is dated August 5, 1993. He's 16 now, and I'm older than that. My sister took this photo in their driveway during one of the rare weekends I took time out of my party schedule college studies and went home for a visit. The actual image you see is a direct scan from the first print I made in my color photography class, which I was only able to take after 4 semesters of various black & white pre-requisite photography courses.

This was long ago, in the early 90's; a time when hair perms, not digital cameras, were all the rage. Back when we used a thing called film and chemicals to process what became the negatives; which led to shining a big, expensive light through the negatives onto a substance called photo paper for a specifically-determined amount of time, after which we used rubber-tipped wooden tongs to dip and remove the photo paper in several other chemicals with great timing and precision, all while holding our breath until our efforts turned into what was known as an acceptable developed print. Did I mention this all had to happen by hand and in total darkness, with the exception of the safelight's amber glow? Man, those were the days.

I knew I had to find this photo of my newly old-enough-to-drive nephew for this particular post not only because he was adorable (still is, but it's hard to call someone who towers over you "adorable"), but because of what my color photography teacher wrote on the back. He wasn't only my CP teacher, but was also the department chair, my advisor, my boss (I was in charge of keeping the campus photo lab afloat, he was in charge of signing my measly paycheck for doing so), and also the man most likely to bust everyone's chops on the smallest of things because he rolled OLD SCHOOL like that. No critical stone was left unturned. He was not one of those art department teachers that wore torn jeans and acted more like a friend. He was a ball-buster, so we got along pretty well.

The first color project he assigned was to print one candid photo of a family member we either took ourselves or were actually in. They need not be artistic because he was going to be grading on our ability to achieve perfect color balance. The above photo was the very first color shot from the first color roll that I completed by hand from negative to print; an insanely time-consuming and complicated process that begins with mixing the horribly odorous chemistry, which was made worse by the fact that my lab time was on a Thursday morning, and, hello? Wednesdays were quarter-tapper nights at our favorite bar (there was a lot of dry-heaving in the darkroom on those early mornings). During the critique he said that only a few of us had gotten that color balance perfection on the first project, and I was actually one of them. I thought we would get A's.

I should have known better because I had taken classes taught by this same professor in each of the previous 4 semesters and it was never that easy with him. If you had perfect color balance, he'd find something else to deduct points from. That "something else" was never what you'd have expected to be graded on, and as soon as you realized what he'd downgraded you for, you made sure never to make that mistake again. The problem was that he was always 2 steps in front of us, and when we adjusted for one thing, he was already marking us off on something else we hadn't thought of.

On this first project, I failed to secure the paper tray in the bottom left corner when I exposed the negative to light, which made that corner of the photo imperfect. I circled it in red because the 2 people I showed the photo to yesterday had no idea what I was talking about; which was kind of my point. What made my grade imperfect was my failure to NOTICE that corner, which prevented me from re-doing the print before turning it in. His evaluation is still written in pen on the back of the print: "Color good, but white photo borders aren't clean in lower left corner; watch the processing. Grade: B+". Of course his hardcore criticisms always made us better, and ultimately he was a better teacher for it.

Although my nephew scraped his mother's car with a mailbox the night before his driving test (In essence, it was his very own first downgrade, and I bet he won't do THAT again!), he passed and is now a card-carrying member of the people who better not be in the left lane unless they're passing club. I look forward to letting HIM cart ME around after all these years. I am tempted to sit in the back seat and let him be the Morgan Freeman to my Jessica Tandy, but even if I mentioned that particular pop culture reference to him, he'd have no idea what I'm talking about. Since I'd like to remain the cool aunt, I think I'm just going to enjoy the view from the passenger seat. Hopefully I won't be doing any of that floorboard foot pounding on a phantom brake pedal that the adults always did when I first got my license.

Pie, Bomb, Ride

Today is all about The [Cherry].

I know you want to be best friends with him after seeing what is quite possibly the funniest picture of all time, but back off. I called it first!


I don't know how he found my blog (how DID you find my blog, Cherry?) but for me, it was love at first comment. Or maybe the love came a little bit later, I'm not sure. It could have been curiosity at first comment. Hoping to randomly bump into him in the grocery liquor store at first comment? Wishing he was my next door neighbor at first comment? I don't know. It was SOMETHING at first comment, and I immediately became addicted to his blog. He's funny, he's smart, he's charming, he's ADORABLE (I can't believe I left that out this morning!) and he's okay with me stalking him, which is probably only because he once stalked Crowded House's Neil Finn and knows the reaction should be flattery and not a restraining order. He's also a fan of Little Britain, which makes him the... hmmm, let me count... ONLY person I know who would get it if I said, "What a kerfuffle!"

It wasn't long after commenting on each other's blogs that personal e-mails were exchanged, activity coordination was attempted and a general feeling that being new BFFs was inevitable, but our connection was cemented the day I saw this post title on his blog:


Soulmates! The rest of you realize that I named this ENTIRE blog after my love for H.O.B., right?!


So Cherry, while you're off sunning yourself in the park today, I hope the person I sent to spank you does the job right. Next year, when we actually have photos together, your birthday post will be more entertaining for the masses. Until then, you're my favorite person I've never met... and my BFF come Fall when we're both in town at the same time and can actually meet up at House of Blues (or wherever!) as is suggested here:




I'll bring the birthday candles if you bring the Pancake Puffs:


I'm using the spanish commercial here because I love how the voiceover guy says, "Pancake POOF"


[Happy] Birthday, Cherry! If I was Sara Bareilles, I'd bring over cupcakes & make you a casserole!

When asked who my favorite football player is, you're the one who comes to mind

When you're old enough, I'll to tell you & your sister all kinds of stories about your mom & I when we were kids. Until then, you just keep right on being adorable because it gives me a reason to love being a photographer, even when the people who pay me to be one drive me mental. Note: your mother doesn't fall under that category because, 1) I only let her pay me in wine; and 2) by the time I'm done "collecting my payment" from her, I'm too tipsy for her to make me crazy.


CC, in action! You have that Michael Jordan-sticking-your-tongue-out-the-side-of-your-mouth syndrome. Whaddoyoumeanwho'sMichaelJordan?


I swear I heard you saying to the older neighborhood girls, "Pick you up at 8?"


Ladykiller.


Happy 6th birthday, Coops!


Images ©HouseofJules

Stealing Pies, Hearts, Bases

September, 2003. With my 2 favorite bookends (at 5'5", I'm not as short as the 5'11" Staci and 6'1" Emily make me look), at Emily's 30th birthday party. The three of us have been friends since 1991, so you can take it as gospel when I say that Em is refined and classy even when she's not sporting that tiara. Except when she's had tequila. Staci is always sweet and empathetic, except when you're an adult who acts like a whiny baby and she's your orthodontist (Luckily, my teeth were straightened a long time ago).



Later that same night with Debbie, another tall drink of water who happens to be one of Emily's 7 sisters; all of whom I adore. Deb has that shirt on because of the "wear something tropical, it's a luau!" theme, so she dressed accordingly. I mistakenly thought it was a "match the interior of Emily & Mel's den, and while you're at it, flirt with the bartender Emily & Mel hired" theme, so I dressed and was served really good drinks accordingly. In our own special ways, we're both excellent at adhering to party theme requests.


Staci & I met Debbie's husband Adam for the first time that night. He was warm, charming, and exactly the kind of man who inspires you (after 2 minutes in his presence) to say to his wife/your friend, "He's a keeper!". Not only do you say it, but you also MEAN IT.

Everyone at the party was enjoying the unconventional birthday PIES that Emily requested her husband Mel have the place stocked with. Shortly thereafter, Staci & I headed to the guest room for something. Debbie and Adam joined us, and we discussed how surprisingly great the pies were; that it must be a California thing. Adam noticed on our way through the kitchen that there was only one pie left, and he broke this news to us gently.

Staci & I feigned tears, joking about how we were out-of-town weekend guests at the house and all the locals were eating what we hoped would be our morning hangover cure. This meant we'd possibly have to consider cutting back on our alcohol intake or something else "mature" to avoid being out of commission when the sun came up. Without another word Adam left the room while the 3 ladies continued discussing serious topics, like how the hot bartender is only bartending until he gets discovered, something you never hear people say in California.

A few minutes later, Adam came back in the guest room, closing the door behind him. He had been in the kitchen, stealing that last pie for Staci & I, and it was exactly in that moment that he stole our hearts, too.


Debbie, Adam, and the stolen pie. Our hearts were quick to follow.


Adam is not only an accomplished thief of pies & hearts, but also a published author. The Boston Globe just wrote THIS great story on Adam. He has 2 upcoming events in the Boston area, in which he will read from his own work and that of other contributors to the "Fenway Fiction" series. Books will be available for purchase and signing.

Rounder Books is pleased to announce the release of "Further Fenway Fiction", an anthology of Red Sox short stories, edited by Adam Emerson Pachter. "Further Fenway Fiction" follows-up "Fenway Fiction" which Yankee Magazine called “delightful.” These two collections of short stories are the first all-fiction anthologies inspired by the Boston Red Sox. The stories look at the Red Sox through humor, drama, mystery--and even a bit of Shakespeare. “…[Adam Emerson] Pachter drew on a very real passion for the Sox, added a bit of imagination, and hit a home run with a truly unique collection.”

Baseball Fever at Livewires
Tuesday, May 13 at 10:00 a.m. (tomorrow!)
Reading Public Library
64 Middlesex Avenue, Reading MA 01867
Come early for coffee!

Adam Emerson Pachter at WPL
Thursday, May 29 at 7:30 p.m.
Westborough Public Library
55 West Main Street, Westborough, MA 01581


Be sure to tell him his Chicago partner in pie-crime says hi!


Get "Fenway Fiction" HERE


Get "Further Fenway Fiction" HERE

It's time for your spankings, Mr. Tophowitz!

Happy Birthday Chris/Crees/Topher/Tophy Tophowitz! We love you!

Shoni is the shortest one of all of us. Is she standing on a chair in this photo?

You're HOW old today? INCONCEIVABLE!

Proudly holding up the shirt my nephew J and I made for you!


Our first face-to-face introduction was at the party Donna threw for Vince's 50th birthday. I won't count the years on this public forum because I am a kind person and I love Vince (if you're reading this Vince, you're only as old as the body you feel! Wait...), but I'll just say that we go back a few! Shoni said, "This is my friend Chris, you know, 'Bowling Chris'!" My very first impression? That you had great hair. Serious!

We had a good 10 minutes of time all together until Jazzy sniffed out the new person in their loft, and it was not love at first sight for either of you. She barked and growled like you were a scary intruder. I still think it was because you had on camouflage pants and she couldn't see your legs. Hmm. Dogs. Well, she might not have liked you, but I did! You and your great hair and your invisible-to-dog-vision legs!

Not too long after that, I moved back to Chicago, but we see each other at least once a year. My visits to see you guys are always planned around bowling league night, and things never feel quite right until I hear Ben Sunshine yell "Juuuules!" across the lanes at Chelsea Piers; along with your *traditional greeting for me*; and then hearing you say "Welcome home!" or "Shmelcome Shmome!" depending how how many drinks we've had. I always know I'm right where I belong in that moment.


*Our traditional greeting*: A firm tug of the hair and a lick on the face; precisely in the way that I demanded from you once, and now the way in which I've become accustomed. Because I enjoy it so much, you have done this to me in crowded bars when we're with friends, on the sidewalk surrounded by strangers, and (most impressively) even if I have unfortunate blond orange highlights as proven by this photo from 2005. Sigh (to the sad highlights, not the greeting).

I wish I could be there tonight to pull your hair and spank you help you celebrate your birthday. Here is the list of activities I'd plan if we were in the same city: I would suggest starting at Egg Harbor in Chicago so you can have your favorite sandwich in the world: the Door County (or, Door COUNTRY as you call it) Melt. The very same sandwich that I text messaged you the ingredients in the hopes that it would help tame your craving.

Even though I sent you this tm from Chicago to NYC, this photo OF the tm was inexplicably taken when we were all together at Barrage during one of my visits.

I would not allow anyone to serve you hot beverages on your birthday or any other day of the year in the clear mugs that we have such disdain for.

When cropping this photo taken of us with my hot chocolate, I made sure to leave in your entire bicep. You're welcome.

After you work off the sandwich by doing 100 push ups, we'll go out to celebrate.

A legendary T-shirt, the ultimate in cleverness and irony. Clever because it's a reversible shirt with 'I Love My Girlfriend' on one side and 'I Hate My Girlfriend' on the other. Ironic because your ex-boyfriend bought it for you. Though, now that I really think about it, one of those phrases makes it NOT ironic at all. I'll let you decide which one.

On the way, we'll hopefully find as many revolving doors for you to go through as we can. Oh look, here's one now!

Chicago's revolving doors never had a bigger fan than you. You didn't know what the love affair was with this city and those doors (other than the fact that they're more fun than just walking directly into a building), and I remember seeing the proverbial light bulb above your head when I told you that they help keep the heat inside during the windy city winters (and of course the a/c inside during the humid summers). You're trying to look very jaded in this picture but right after I took it, you said, "I'm going around again!". So the rest of us did what any good friends would do by leaving you with your revolving door and headed further inside to the bar. Because we're not savages, we had a drink waiting for you when you were done with all that revolving.

We'll go see Avenue Q again, and I'll sit next to you because I'm the only one who loves it when you sing along happily to every song.

You really DO have great hair and I'm a little obsessed with it. I don't know why. Looking back on this post years from now, we'll all recognize this particular photo caption as my cry for help.

Then after that, it'll be time for your traditional show of flexibility. There are many other photos I have as proof of said flexibility. This is the only one that doesn't feature you in any number of positions illegal in at least 7 southern states.

You're wearing camo pants in this photo! Good thing Jazzy wasn't at this bar with us; she wouldn't have seen your legs that night, either. Interestingly we were at ViewBar, whose slogan is actually "See and Be Seen"; though the slogan should really be, "Our watermelon martinis will kick your ass so stop yourself after 2, otherwise you'll end up walking right into our bathroom door with nothing but your bloody face to stop you (*cough* Shoni *cough*)." Furthermore, whoever is holding up your leg has all those RAFFLE TICKETS in his hand, and this makes me laugh hysterically every time I see this picture because I remember exactly what the bar was raffling off that night (it wasn't YOU, I would never let that happen!), and this mystery leg-holding guy? He REALLY wanted it. In so many ways, apparently.

It goes without saying that after your show of bendy-ness, everyone will fight over who gets to spank you first. Why should your birthday be different from every other time people line up to give you spankings? Just another night in the life of Tophowitz (which has somehow become your fake last name, even though it's the evolution of your Topher to Tophy nicknames, and it makes you sound like a cop)!

This was that one night we played a little game (Not really a game, per say, but there is a point system. Anyone interested in joining should e-mail me for details. I could tell you more but you'd have to be initiated) called "grab-ass". Oh, that's pretty much every night. It was the same night Benny had that big red tongue issue. Wait, that's pretty much every night, too. OK, it was the same night Dr. Jason's ass resided in my hands. Wow, this is not helpful at all because I've just described all of our nights together.

For our 2 a.m. roof picnic, I think we should head to the pizza joint near Shoni's old apartment at the intersection of 29th Street & Ethan Hawke Avenue. I already know what you'll have: 3 slices, one calzone and NO, you don't want to just split one with either of us. Then afterwards maybe you'll feel a little too full and will wonder out loud, several times, why you didn't just split one calzone with us?!

Summer in the city. It's 2 a.m. and still a stifling 100 degrees. Regardless, this is your "stoked to eat pizza" face, otherwise known as "Pre-bloat" or "Before the good times ended".

Wait a minute, we forget about lunch!

"LUNCH". Best belt buckle in the universe, purchased right here in Chicago's Boystown.

We'll definitely have to get a hotel room. How about our usual haunt, the (no longer the same) House of Blues Hotel? Between Shoni & I, you always get a lifetime "pass" to our hotel room. We're no fools! You obsessively (adorably?) keep the place clean and you always answer the door for room service. Since you can't sit still for longer than 5 minutes, you often hit the floor to knock out yet another set of push ups or dance around the room whenever the mood strikes.

Giving the people living in the adjacent Marina Towers a little "Taste of Topher". I just made that saying up, but feel free to use it.

Are you trying to sleep?


C'mon really! You can't sleep yet! It's still your birthday!

Shoni & her monkey pants will keep you conscious!

Finally, in the super-day birthday I've planned for you in my mind, tomorrow we'll all end up on the beach in Puerto Rico sipping ice cold beer, looking forward to another year of big adventures together, numerous funny stories, many tugs of the hair and the required shmelcome shmomes. However, you'll still be the only one who looks THIS DAMN GOOD:

Yowza!

The best thing about you is that your insides match your outsides. You're truly beautiful through & through. Have an amazing birthday (or should I say, "Shamazing Shmirthday!"). Love you!