I'll let you figure out who is who

"BREAKING NEWS: What's Next for Oprah & You?"

If I had to guess, I'd say that one of us will continue living life as a billionaire and the other one will continue wondering why her dreams of getting tickets to the other one's "Favorite Things" show never came true.

****

Paying it forward as often as possible

One of my oldest friends & I are in the initial stages of work on a big project together.

This particular undertaking is all in the name of doing something thoughtful for other people-- friends we know & love-- and I can't recommend this kind of thing enough. Seems almost silly to mention, because for all I know you're already on top of being the most giving person ever, but I'm mentioning it anyway:

Surprise people you love by being thoughtful in extremely unexpected ways. Recruit other people to help you if it isn't something you can do yourself. Do this again & again, the thrill will never get old.

Once, I surprised my sister by taking advantage of the fact that I have a copy of their house key. Read about it HERE. She would never ask me to do something like that, but it was a particularly stressful week for her. It took me half of an afternoon; I was in & out of there before she got home from work. Her phone call to me after she got home was TOTALLY WORTH IT. I'm not telling you this to get pats on the back for it. I'm the one who ends up getting the bigger adrenaline rush than the person I'm doing it for.

Look around at those you love. What do they need? What would really help them out, even if they don't realize it yet? I've often found that the things people need help with or could use a break from don't cost a lot of time or money. Think of it as the proverbial boy scout helping an old lady cross the street; something that may be no big deal for you to do, but could vastly improve (or just improve a tiny bit!) the day, week... LIFE of someone else!

As for the current large-scale project I'm working on with JJ, there are many little facets of it that have to get done in stages. I just got an email from her on something else she thought of to help the other friends we're recruiting along the way feel more attached to the end result; to allow each of them to have a personal investment to this project even though some of them don't know the friends we're doing it for. This idea she's come up with is excellent, and perfect for the tone we're trying to set.

Ultimately, it will be me who has to execute this idea from her concept to fruition because it's a design-related, creative-type of thing. I laughed forever when I read the last sentence of her lengthy email, because it shows how well she knows me. We've been friends for 20+ years, and she's aware that when attempting to add more things to my tasks list, flattery (no matter how full of B.S. it may sound) will get you everywhere:


A master at work: Flattery + Bullshit = Bullshittery.

Either he and I have the same taste in men or he just has a death wish. You decide.

I'm officially at war with Josh Brolin.

Back in January, I wrote my first and what I thought would be my last open letter to him, which, if you just aren't up to clicking on that "open letter to him" hotlink, looked like this:


Click photo to enlarge. Click hotlink above to enjoy funny reader comments. Click on Brolin's face with your fist if you see him in public (he's definitely asking for it, as you'll soon see).


Re-armed with that information, it will come as no surprise to you that my head nearly imploded when I was doing my Humpday "research" last month and came across these photos from Oscar night:


In No Country for Old Men, Josh Brolin's character Llewelyn Moss tells his wife he is "fixin' to do something dumber than hell". Dumber than hell is right! Nobody gets to hold Javier against a wall with their body besides me. (Javier may be smiling, but it's only because he knows I'm digging in my pocket for a quarter. This will only make sense to you if you've seen No Country for Old Men, or if you click on the hotlink in the next photo caption.)



"What's the most you ever lost in a coin toss, friendo?"

+++++

On to more pleasant news! Approximately 2.4 seconds after I put up the Humpday post last week, I got this email:

Hi! I found a spanish copy of Jamon Jamon. Here is the link...

If you have no idea what Jamon Jamon is, please refer to last Wednesday's post, in which I suggest that although the title directly translates to "Ham Ham", by the looks of the adults-only trailer it should be called "Pork Pork". It's the very JB movie I had been unable to Netflix (because as of now it isn't even available), and the very movie I said I was making my mission to see, even if I had to buy it! Ask and ye shall receive Bardem, which I'm pretty certain is a phrase straight out of the Bible.

Our communication continued like this:

You are ON TOP OF THINGS like nobody else, sister. Who are you, where did you come from, how did you find my blog and are you okay with being my new favorite person?

Your show of generosity in emailing that movie link will put a skip in my step today, so thank you!
-Jules


Jules,
I'm Cristina, and am reading you from as far as Portugal. I'm a Javi fan, and that should say it all. I found your blog through Javi and Google Alerts; and your promise awhile back to make a hump post about him. I had to add you to my RSS feed.

"...and are you okay with being my new favorite person?": Totally!
-Cris

So, there you have it, internet. To my new favorite person in Portugal, I say: OBRIGADA, CRIS! Now let's go kick some Brolin ass!

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

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

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


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


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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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


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


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


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


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

Walking on moonbeams and staring out to sea

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

Now all that's left to do is wait for the e-mail from Javier Bardem. He's probably typing it up right now, or maybe he's ordering me some flowers.

After Wednesday's post, I got an email from the gentleman who created the drool-worthy Transit Maps of the World book, Mark Ovenden. Not only is he very talented in design and cartography, but he's also good at crafting a hilarious e-mail!


You're not alone, Mark! People always marvel at my ability to drool effervescently on such diverse subjects.


After recovering from a fit of laughter, I wrote him back:


Let it be known to one and all that I take very seriously both the studies and appreciation of graphic design and spanish hunkology. I've been kind of a trailblazer in that realm for a long time and I don't think people give me enough credit for it, to be honest.**

**Just kidding, people give me PLENTY of credit, or shall I say "crédito".

CLICK HERE for Wednesday's post that Mark refers to in his e-mail to me.

Finally, gentlemen! A show you & your lady can agree on; though admittedly for different reasons

The Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs.

Probably due to the back-to-back summer reruns of Dirty Jobs, recently 4 of my female friends have--on separate occasions--brought up this show, and namely, their attraction to the show's host Mike Rowe. Reading this post will be the first time they'll find out about this--their (our?) shared adoration of the ultimate "Dirty Guy". I know my phone will ring in the next few hours and there will be grown women demanding to know who their competition is. Two have claimed him as their very own future husband, one wants to make him her desktop wallpaper at work, and one wants to make him do something kinda *naughty.

Here's an example of one of the emails from a couple of days ago:

Now that I think of it, they ALL want to make him do something *naughty, but only one has the foresight to remind her co-workers to ask about it when they see her computer screen.


*...and by "naughty", I could just mean "landscaping"; but honestly, probably not.


*Ok, by "naughty" I meant "cook naked (under an apron)". It's a good start, anyway.

So, enjoy an evening devoid of fighting over the remote, and don't get jealous. You know that YOU'RE her favorite "Dirty Guy".


Dirty Jobs airs Tuesdays at 9 p.m. New episodes start soon!

...and so, that's bad, right?

Straight from my e-mail inbox:


Maybe it's time for CC to cut back on the java. Either that or all those methamphetamines*.

Heart rate chart

*Just kidding about that whole meth thing. I actually had to look it up on dictionary.com to make sure I spelled it correctly.