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?

He doesn't know who you are, Jeremy Piven; and he doesn't like where you're standing very much, either!

Dear Jeremy aka Pivs aka J.P.,
I have some good news and some bad news for you.

In September, my future baby-daddy Todd (McMuffin) & I got back in contact after 20 years of lost touch and because Linda Ronstadt sang a chart-topping, terribly cheesy sweet duet called "Somewhere Out There" in an animated movie about a lost Russian mouse who was trying desperately to find his loved ones, we came to the conclusion that one day we'll have a kid together and name him after the singer Peabo Bryson (which was initially because I thought Peabo was the man dueting with Linda, but I was wrong-- he sang "Tonight I celebrate my Love for You, which actually is just as offensive touching).

I know this might not be making sense, but it'll help if you comprehend the bomb I'm about to drop if you read two short posts, serving as background information. First, click to read: McMuffin 1, then click McMuffin 2.


Now that you know the history, I'm going to break the news to you. Prepare yourself. Maybe take a 10-count deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Here we go:

The bad news: My future baby-daddy McMuffin found out about us and has e-mailed me his feelings on the subject.

The good news: He has NO IDEA who you are...




Because I realize the male ego is a fragile thing, I know you're probably thinking, "He doesn't know who I am? This is not good news!". However, it is my hope that you choose not to obsess over the fact that you have a lengthy resume in stage, television and motion pictures; including your starring role on Entourage, one of the most successful HBO series of all time (not to mention the collection of Emmys you're currently using as bathroom doorstops throughout your Malibu beach house), and yet, McMuffin was only one of the handful of people who didn't recognize you in the photo(shopped picture) of us.

It's kind of astounding just how many people can't place your name when they ask me who you are, and then when I start firing off everything you've starred in, roles you were seemingly meant to play, these people just shake their heads and have no recollection whatsoever. Nothing you've been in jogs their collective memories. Your face doesn't even remind them of an old college roommate or some random guy they talked to at a bar once.

I know who you are, though, and that's all that matters. Now get over here so we can Hug It Out.

Love, Jules

The atomic number of selenium, and as of today, my age

1979. Those wings: took my mom forever to curl, and even more hairspray than you can possibly imagine to hold in place. I remember being VERY concerned that they would go flat before I got this picture taken. That dress: hideous, even then.


This was my favorite birthday gift of my entire childhood: The Hot Cycle "Green Machine", and I was the only kid on the block to have one. Even the boys were jealous, as you can see by the stance of Mr. Plaid Pants. Seeing this photo of me on my much-storied "Green Machine" will make Jen & Eric Cox laugh very hard, but that's another story for another day.


I can tell this is going to be a good year already because in the past 48 hours I've gone through 3 brand-new-to-me experiences. I'll blog about the other 2 when my 'visual aides' are completed, but here's one I can share with you now.

New Experience #1

I got this email from my future baby-daddy Todd (McMuffin) shortly after midnight:




Just after he answered in that southern drawl, I suddenly heard what I thought was static, and I figured the connection on our cell phones was bad. Here's how our conversation began:

Todd: "Hey, happy birthday, babe!"

Static/white noise/blowing sounds

Me: "Thank you! What is that sound? You there?"

louder blowing sounds

Todd: "I'M ON FIRE!"

the sound of a chair overturning

Me: "You're ON FIRE?"

I then realize the noise I think is a bad connection is actually Todd trying to extinguish the flames with his own breath.

Me: "Are you alright???"

more intense blowing, intermixed with that contagious laugh of his, sounding further away, because he has by this time set the phone down

Todd: "WHEW! Ok, baby. My sleeve was on fire. For a minute I thought I was going to be your own human birthday candle, but since I'm planning to jump out of a cake for your birthday, it's good to work these kinks out before the actual show."

It's going to be a very good year.

So our baby will know how much deep thought and introspection his father & I put into naming him

In August, I wrote this birthday post to a friend who goes WAY back to the days of yore, otherwise known as middle school. In it, I mentioned our long lost friend, Todd; and wrote that if by some chance he ever came across it that he should leave a comment with his e-mail address so that we can get back in touch after 20 years.

Two weeks ago today, on what just so happened to be HIS birthday, his sister Google'd his name, came across the post and told him, "Some people are talking about you." That night, he & I were basically reconnected with the click of a button. After a couple of email exchanges, we were on the phone a few nights later. For 3 hours. Picking up right where we left off. Like it was yesterday. Good old Google!

In middle school (and I'm happy to report, still to this day!) Todd's bawdy sense of humor and ability to flirt with ease meant that every one of us girls adored him in such a way that we all wanted to hug him and love him and squeeze him and call him George. He was THAT cute.

If you remember (or 'remember-ize', which is a brand new word he made up tonight during our conversation, a hybrid of 'remember' and 'memorize') back in the 80's, "Stud Muffin" was the thing to call a hot dude, or any guy who had a harem of girls surrounding him at all times. Todd was both, except he was small--like a breakfast sandwich--so I started calling him McMuffin and for the remainder of 8th grade it stuck.


Before *McDreamy or **McSteamy there was McMuffin. How about that? I've been coming up with gems like this for 20 years! {*McDreamy and **McSteamy refer to character nicknames for 2 incredibly hot doctors on the show Grey's Anatomy. You know, in case you have been living under a rock and don't already know that.}

Like last week's marathon phone call, tonight's two-hour talk-fest featured comedic moments a-plenty, filled to capacity with exchanged one-liners and loads of sarcasm, which is really the only way to ever keep me on the phone (and laughing my ass off) for that long. Near the end of our conversation I was asking him where he had traveled for work this week, and the next thing you know, we're having a baby together:

Todd: Hey, I was in your time zone today! Could you feel it?

Me: Aww, I wish I would have known that ahead of time. Maybe then I wouldn't have forgotten to shave my legs this morning. Although, now that you mention it, today DID feel different from all the other days over the past 20 years. It was as if I knew it without knowing I knew it. You know?

Todd: Listen to us, it's just like that animated movie about the russian mouse trying to find his family! (singing) Somewhere out there, beneath that pale moonlight, someone's thinking of me...

Me: Fievel?! Oh my God, we officially have a song. I'm the Linda Ronstadt to your Peabo Bryson!

Todd: Peabo Bryson! Hey, I like that! It's perfect. Let's have a kid and name him Peabo...PEABOHHHHHHHHH!

Me: Peabo McMuffin.

Todd: Peabo FIEVEL McMuffin. We gotta give the russian singing mouse some credit.

Me: Done and done!

UPDATE: I just rememberized that James Ingram sang the duet "Somewhere Out There" with Linda Ronstadt. I was thinking of Peabo's duet with Roberta Flack, "Tonight I Celebrate my Love for You". Frankly, the lyrics and tone of those tracks are totally interchangeable, and I mean that in the good, "1980's sway to a cheesy love song at the middle school dance" kind of way.

Don't worry, we'll still name our kid Peabo!