TITLE: Either Way AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/21/2005 01:25:00 PM ----- BODY: 
If you know her, you can vouch for this, but my mother is one of the funniest 
(and most eccentric) women alive. She is the drawlingest woman who ever did 
drawl, and when she tells a joke, unbeknownst to her, she tickles your ribs 
while she delivers the punchline. (She'll get a laugh no matter if the joke 
bombed, by golly!) So, I am going to start adding a feature called Mama Connie's 
Mamalies. (Yes, my friends call her Mama Connie - she's so cute they want her 
for their very own, much like a Pound Puppy.) Before I do though, here is a 
little excerpt from an actual conversation she had with Spencer. Mama: Oh you 
know, I was about as green as Spring clover. I mean, I didn't know what flippin' 
the bird meant. So, when Joe Ed (Julie's Daddy) and I got into this fight one 
time, I gave'm the finger, and he bout lit me up! Spencer: Yeah, I bet. Mama: He 
was like, "Connie! Don't you dare do that to anyone! Don't you know what that 
means?" I said, "Yes, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck! My daddy told me 
what that meant." Spencer: Right. Uh huh. Mama: But, really, I only found out 
later what it actually means. [Blush] At that time, oh no. I didn't think it 
meant anything baaaaad. Spencer: What did you think it meant? Mama: Well! I 
certainly didn't think it meant what it means! I just thought it meant "Up your 
butt with a wire (pronounced "wahr") brush! Spencer: Um...Connie. That is bad. 
That's actually worse than what it really means. Mama: Oh! I never thought about 
it that way! Oh my word! IT IS BAD EITHER WAY! [Shrugs] Oh well, if I give 
someone the finger, they're screwed in both directions. *Sign up on the Notify 
list if you want to know where my new site will be! Mama Connie may flip you off 
if you don't.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 11:15 AM Well, now at least we know where 
you got your crass behavior from. ----- -------- TITLE: It is Nice to Share 
AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/20/2005 02:45:00 PM ----- BODY: 
It was entirely too art house film to have that navel gazing drivel as the first 
post, so here! Let us once again, share the lurve. You need a new object of 
affection, si? Then take a gander over there at some of the new sites on the 
links. (Psst. I have met some of the writers and now, because of our 
association, bascially need an extra set of sunglasses...that is how cool I am. 
My future's so bright...I gotta wear 2 pairs of shades. That is what I am 
saying.) Still loyal to all y'all who knew me when, but like I probably did for 
you guys, here is a list of my new stalkees and those reasons for which I am 
madly crushing: Bathroom Reading: Smart. Suave. Fly. Kind of a mix between 
Anderson Cooper and Lenny Kravitz. The 9th Circle: Carved from cream cheese, 
this girl is. But like high quality, 1/2 the calorie cream cheese. So rich. So 
creamy. Devilish temptation with none of the guilt. Crazying Up the Bottle: 
Writes the way that your funniest friend would if he wasn't too busy shucking 
his corn, if you know what I mean. The 6th Floor: Oh, Dan. Sweet, sweet Dan. I 
wish I could carry you around in my pocket. I would feed you M&Ms and 
Skittles...and Codeine. ...And Not to Pull Your Halo Down: Arty. Concise. (What 
a pleasure that is sometimes!) Will look forward to reading more. Oh, yeah. 
Aaaaannd is very gitchy gitchy ya ya ya with A* from the 9th Circle. I KNOW! 
Anyone else? Probably. But it's time for my shroom break.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: MooCow DATE: 4:41 PM Shucking his corn? Uh...um...

Totally agree with you on the rest of the people - and Allison. ----- COMMENT: 
AUTHOR: allison DATE: 11:47 AM This little love fest has made me all bubbly 
inside.

'Course that could be the burrito.

But...no...love. Totes. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 11:52 AM Jules, 
you've always got good recommendations! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot 
DATE: 12:35 PM *sniff* I remember when I was on this list. "Memories...misty 
watercolored memories." Thanks for the new reads I'll check them out! ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: A* DATE: 12:02 AM Darlin' the man can't wait to meet you. I 
talked ya'll up so much, I think he's a wee bit jealous.

As for me, well I think you are just as warm and gooey as fresh choc. chip 
cookies and tangy like fresh-squeezed lemonade. ----- -------- TITLE: We We We 
We All The Way Home AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/20/2005 10:44:00 AM ----- BODY: 
Woke up growling. Have you ever done that? Awakened from a beautiful night's 
slumber...pissed off? I did. Every side of the bed was wrong to wake up on this 
morning, and everyone and everything I have come in contact with so far has just 
made me exponentially pissier. This is because I went to bed mad. (By the way, 
those "Never go to bed angry" people...I just don't get. I am not going to 
concede just because it's sleepy time.) I had a spat with my guy last night, and 
sometimes after those, I get all, "Fuck it! Let's just break up and get it over 
with because I don't have time in my life for this." Ha. No time in my life for 
a relationship. I love it when people say that because it gives me someone else 
to make fun of. Like when singles say "You know, I am just focusing on me right 
now. My career. Finding myself. I don't have time for a girl/boyfriend." Double 
ha. Y'all, I have said that, and I look back on the chick I was when I did and I 
shake my head and think, "you poor, ignant child." Like it isn't always about 
"me." You know what I mean. Even when you begin a relationship, it's not like 
you say, "Goodbye, self. It was nice knowing you!" We don't pack up all our 
stuff, load a truck full of our insecurities, idiosyncrasies, flaws, attributes, 
habits, and hobbies and are just, "Ok, then. Now I am ready to devote my entire 
being and all of my energy to you, new person in my life. My brain is a clean 
slate. I am your clay. Mold me." Nope. We constantly think about if our needs 
are being met. Oh, sure, we bend to meet the needs of our "other," we compromise 
in order to keep them satisfied, sometimes we go way past the extra mile in 
order to show them just how nuts we are about them, but at some point you start 
to think, "am I going to be happy with this person for the long haul?" I want to 
think in terms of "we." I know I should. Are we going to be happy? Are we going 
to be able to work through all the grit? Are we going love each other, but 
realize one day that we don't like each other very much? That happens, you know. 
No relationship is sacred. When it comes down to it though, you really do 
question yourself. Can I, knowing all of my other's strengths and weaknesses, 
take the bad with good, and do my part in making this partnership solid and 
exultant? I don't know. I want to. I guess I have to get over being mad before I 
can think about the hearts and flowers of the future. *Nonsequitur reminder of 
the day: Don't want to miss all this whining when I move my site? Sign up on the 
Notify list over there.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 1:14 PM What? who? huh? Why you gotta' 
scare me like that.

There is not room enough for both of us in the kiddie pool. Just not. ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 1:22 PM Must be a full moon. Everyone's mood 
is a little off today. ----- -------- TITLE: Keeps the Hot Side Hot and the Cool 
Side Cool AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/19/2005 12:30:00 AM ----- BODY: 
HOT: Normally, I don't complain about the weather, but last night on the way to 
meet some NYC bloggers Al and I couldn't stop lamenting the ungodly humidity. 
(Yeah, GOD, I said it! This constant bogginess is EVIL! Can't the Holy Spirit 
conjure up a breeze? Is that too much to ask? JC walked on water, but cannot 
manage to suck it out of the air? Well, I hope he has some card tricks in his 
back pocket, because dammit if this weather isn't making me lose my religion.) 
Now, I am originally from Houston, you know, where the mosquito is the state 
bird, so I know humidity, m'kay? If I could don a slip and fan myself with a 
lavender scented hankie, on a wrap-around front porch, while drinking mint 
juleps, all Tennessee Williams heroine-esque, then I doubt I'd even utter, "Mah 
word, honey. Ah could just sweeum through this ayah. Ahm positively meltin!" 
Mainly because I'd be drunk. Who cares about the heat when you're gettin your 
drink on. Am I right? But, since that is not the case, and because I am nowhere 
near that genteel, I instead told Allison that I should call The Weather Channel 
and maybe The Discovery Network, as I am quite sure, that they will need to be 
informed of the meteorological data of my recent, historically unprecedented, 
case of SWAMP-ASS...you know, for Science. So, that's nice. Meeting new people 
after basically looking like you just won a wet t-shirt competition. COOL: 
Anywho. It was nice. (Nice? Can I think of a lamer word?) No one was weird 
and/or creepy, which come on, I think it's natural to be a little wary of 
meeting people whom you only know because they are insane enough to publish 
their entire life on the innernets. Everyone had all of their teeth and limbs, 
from what I could tell (both plusses), and the conversation lagged not once. 
Well, that's not surprising. These people have a lot to say, obviously. Since no 
one was fish-belly white, I assumed everyone occasionally ventured out of doors, 
instead of stereotypically holing up in the dark, frantically typing in front of 
a flickering monitor, stopping only to wipe the drool off the keyboard. And? 
Because after a few hours with them I am now an expert on their psyches, I will 
tell you this: They are all genuinely good people. Like us. I so feel like I am 
now sitting at the cool kids' table. You are also invited...if you do my 
homework. I have baby crushes on all of them, and now have added them to the 
character list of my "fantasy scrabble orgy." In other news- I HAVE AN INTERVIEW 
ON THURSDAY. Can you please lend me a suit that doesn't look like I should be 
walking down an airplane aisle handing out peanuts? ATTENTION LURKERS (and there 
are a lot of you) !!! I will be leaving this site soon to move into a more 
anonymous venue. Not that I have changed my character by writing something I 
wouldn't say to anyone face to face, nor my perception that no matter what, 
everyone you may not want to read your blog is, in fact, reading it right now, 
but now, when my name is Googled, this is the first site that pops up. SO - if 
you want to be notified of the new digs, please sign up on that notify list over 
there on the right. Thanks! I don't really know of any other way to do this 
because I want this site ELIMINATED. I'm going incognito. SEXXXXXXXY!
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 1:02 PM It's sooo hot...

How hot is it?

It's sooo hot...that my eeears are sweating.

By the by, I am in serious like with our new friends, aren't you? Two words come 
to mind...one is bees and the other one rhymes. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Bathroom 
Reading DATE: 1:29 PM Ooh! Ooh! I want the new site address! 

And is that "bees, rhymes" thing a private joke, because frankly, I don't get 
it.

And I had a great time too. You two are a hoot. I can see why you're friends.

Did I just use the word "hoot" in a sentence? 

Yes, I did. Shut up. I'm from Memphis, I can say stuff like that. ----- COMMENT: 
AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 1:32 PM I laugh a little every time one of these 
Seattleites complains about 'the heat.' It's only 80 degrees outside. Someone 
hand me a sweater, I miss Texas.

Good luck on your interview secret agent lady. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 1:53 PM Hi. Um, I forgot to add that since the new site is under 
construction, I will email all y'all when it's complete, which may be a while. 
Don't think I am ignoring you...you will forget about it and one day you will 
get an email from me inviting you to my new site for the web equivalent of 
fondue and body shots. Like finding money in your winter coat's pocket! ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2:01 PM Oh, and BR - Bees Knees. No underground 
coding going on over here. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: hofzinser DATE: 2:42 PM I only 
heard great things about you... My first time here

-A*'s not so better half. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: boolie's mama DATE: 4:58 PM 
Buena Suerte en tu entrevista; estoy muy agitada para tí. 
Hace mucha calor aquí en Mo, también, como sabes. Te echo. (Y, Lindsey, te 
echo, también.) Y no bebas tanto.
Besos y abrazos, Mamacita ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: boolie's mama DATE: 4:59 PM 
Buena Suerte en tu entrevista; estoy muy agitada para tí. 
Hace mucha calor aquí en Mo, también, como sabes. Te echo. (Y, Lindsey, te 
echo, también.) Y no bebas tanto.
Besos y abrazos, Mamacita ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 10:46 PM It's 
Rhyme Time! Thanks, Jules, for clearing that up. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: 
Anonymous DATE: 12:24 AM Julie, hi! I don't trust those damn notify lists, so 
just know now that you'd best e-mail me when you move sites. You know where to 
find me. 

-Lauren
www.newjanbrady.blogspot.com ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 9:52 AM Ya 
know, I didn't think it was that hot (I'd say on par with DC) while we were in 
NYC but the damn subway? HOT. Why is it so hot under the ground? Shouldn't it be 
cooler? Why don't they have a/c in there? I couldn't imagine attempting to ride 
that thing to work...I mean, my hair was a frizzy mess every time I walked into, 
well, Hell.

Oh, and I signed up! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 9:56 AM Boozie-
Yes, the subway climate ups the weather ick factor about 7 notches. I told Al it 
was like standing in a convection oven, only the air being circulated isn't just 
hot, it's full of stank and dirt. When I first moved here, I would bring oxy 
astringent pads everywhere...and they would be BLACK and GRITTY when I used 
them. GRODY! ----- -------- TITLE: The People of New York #7 - Life is a Cabaret 
AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/18/2005 02:48:00 PM ----- BODY: 
I forgot to tell y'all that last week while enjoying some delicious Chicken Saag 
with my cousin, Anne...I was dining next to... LIZA WITH A "Z" MINELLI! [Jazz 
Hands!] Our respective parties were the only two in the jurnt. HOW COOL AM I, I 
ASK YOU? I am so glad I decided against wearing my black sequined tunic and Bob 
Fosse jazz pants that morning. I would have just died if we met in the same 
ensemble. Not much transpired between us, if an impromptu rendition of "Money" 
is "not much" to you. [Jazz Hands!] Flourish, exeunt. 
********************************** Do you remember: 1) The Great Space Coaster? 
2) 3-2-1 Contact! and The Bloodhound Gang? 3) The Shirttales? No reason. I was 
just homesick for them. No g-news is good g-news. ******************** I read in 
the bathroom. I also enjoy Bathroom Reading. Good stuff, that. I may meet him 
later - I hope he washed his hands. ******************** The People of New York 
# 7: I May Have Just Met Long John Silver Guy WITH EYEPATCH and limp walking 
down Broadway: Nice [breast]s, Mami. Me: Nice eyepatch, gimpy. Question: Will I 
go straight to Hell without passing Go and collecting $200 or do I receive a 
"Get out of Hell Free" card because a pirate ogled my rack, thereby prompting 
said "lame Cyclops" remark? The People of New York #1-#6
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 12:37 PM Liza!

I'm sorry Gary Gunews. Julie has either been kidnapped by an urban pirate or she 
is hiding with her laptop in the bathroom - which is kinda' weird in an 
adolescent sorta' way. But I do enjoy bathroom reading, too. Arrr, matey! ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1:14 PM Gary Gnu. Journalist extraordinaire! ----- 
-------- TITLE: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Bathroom AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 7/14/2005 03:11:00 PM ----- BODY: 
I went to the gym on Monday after a long hiatus and was so insanely sore 
yesterday that I could barely walk. No, really. Learn from my mistakes. That 
abductor/adductor machine? Is Satan. Shun it. Me: [sheepishly scooting on 
Flintstone feet down office corridor to ladies' room because ability to lift 
said feet a/o legs in heel-ball-toe motion was NOT PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE] Male 
Office Worker: Are you okay? Me: Oh! You caught me! Um, yes. Thanks. M.O.W.: 
What happened? Me: Oh, you know. I went to the gym yesterday and tried to do too 
much, I guess. M.O.W.: Oh. I thought you had hemorrhoids. Me: ?!?!?!?!?! 
[thinking how bad it would have looked, considering M.O.W.'s comment, if I 
continued toward my destination -the bathroom right next to his cubicle - and 
instead detoured into the kitchen for a cup of tea.] 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 5:29 PM Which I'm sure really helped that 
whole having-to-pee thing, huh? ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 7:38 
AM What about saying to that guy...."The only hemorroid around here is you so 
get off my a**!" ----- -------- TITLE: Fat or Fiction AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
7/13/2005 11:30:00 PM ----- BODY: 
I truly don't believe a day has gone by since I was a very young girl that I 
have not thought in some way about the food I am eating and how it will affect 
my body. I hate the idea of pointing fingers, saying that my (I don't want to 
say "obsession." It sounds so neurotic.) preoccupation (still not quite the 
accurate term) with food is anyone's fault. Staring at supermodels in my mom's 
Redbook isn't why I started asking for DIET Cokes when I was four years old. To 
my knowledge, there were no supermodels when I was that age (especially in 
Redbook). Even Carol Alt said she was a size eight in her heyday (right around 
that time, I think), as opposed to the size twos and zeros of today. (ZEROS! 
Does a chick who wears size zero even exist? What if you're smaller than that? 
Are we going to start sizing with negative numbers?) Granted, that was before 
"vanity" sizing, but still. Also, the women I saw on TV were much more 
voluptuous than they are now. As I mentioned in an earlier post this week, I 
wanted to look like Daisy Duke, or (Lord, help me) Blair from The Facts of Life 
(Go ahead and make fun of me, but I assure you, I want to kick my own ass enough 
for the both of us.), not, mind you, Courteney Cox, circa Friends. So, no. I 
can't really blame the media for my awareness (??? I still can't find the right 
word.) of food and how certain kinds or too much of it would make me fat. Yes. I 
grew up in a house with two gorgeous women: both petite, both blonde, both 
knockouts. My older sister, Jill took after my mother, complete with peaches and 
cream skin and, apparently, a hollow leg. That girl eats like a fieldhand, and 
still, the only place she ever put on weight, seemed to be her chest. A year 
after she had her first son, we went shopping for her new wardrobe, and I 
remember sitting in the Club Monaco dressing room convincing her that the size 
two cargo pants she was trying on looked cute sitting on her hips like that. 
"They are cargo pants. They aren't supposed to be tight. You look awesome." My 
mother's breakfast of champions was a Coke and a Milky Way for most of my 
childhood, and up until maybe 3 years ago, she was a size six. She was deemed a 
"M.I.L.F." by my male high school friends (some of whom were her students) 
before the term even existed. At twelve or thirteen, I was wearing clothes from 
my mom's closet to school. (Well, some of them. The hem of her pants came up to 
about mid-calf on me, leaving me no room to tight-roll them, so psshaw. I was 
nothing if not a slave to the hot looks of 1989.) I, however, took after my dad. 
Now, really. My dad was, according to all the signatures in his 1966 yearbook, 
"a fox." I have always gotten compliments on my eyes (which one Miss Sue Ann 
Cotton from Daddy's Biology class would undoubtedly consider "dreamy"), and they 
are, without question, gifts from him. So are the the temperamental skin, the 
broad shoulders, the Fred Flintstone feet, and...the build. A build, in fact, 
that served very well as a quarterback and catcher for him, and one that lent to 
my standing in the back row of the choir every year since puberty. My parents 
did nothing but foster my self esteem. Growing up, I bet Mama told me every day 
how gorgeous I was, and come on! This was even through the era of Aqua-netted 
bangs, splatter painted puffy sweatshirts, and LEGGINGS! These were not exactly 
flattering looks on a pubescent female. Not only that, I had permed hair, mild 
acne, severely framed glasses, and braces, all at the same time. And before I 
hit sixteen, I swear, my face always looked a little...swollen. I called it baby 
fat. Jill, however, said that maybe I was a Mongoloid. Still, other than an 
occasional comment from my dad calling me a "big, healthy girl," a comment, by 
the way, he still considers a compliment, both of my parents raved over what a 
true beauty I was...even in the late eighties. And pictures? They don't lie. I 
may have struck a "Fame!" pose, but man oh man, "awkward stage" doesn't even 
begin to describe it. And then, there were the pageants. DUHN DUHN DUUUHHHHHHN! 
After hearing me sing, a friend of my sister's (and veteran of the small town 
circuit) convinced me to start entering Beauty Pageants. Good. Christ. I 
remember Jill fighting to zip me up in one of her friend's hand-me-down formals, 
and trying to analyze the look on her face. Sympathy and regret...and 
determination. God, she wanted that zipper to go up! I know she wanted me to 
realize I was just as pretty as the girl who had gotten me into this. But, nope. 
Not only being a dress size bigger, but my D cups, prevented that dress from 
fitting. So, with two weeks until the pageant, I ate nothing but CANNED CORN for 
dinner, a modest helping of rabbit food (with no dressing) for lunch, and of 
course, not a scrap for breakfast. Jill was so proud when, the night before the 
pageant, the zipper glided on its track as if it had been coated with cooking 
spray. And? I won that stupid contest. Y'all. Negative reinforcement? Is 
powerful. Canned corn made me fabulous? Well, sign me up! I will eat nothing but 
canned corn all the live long day and be beautiful! And make money from it! And 
win tiaras (that my mom will still showcase in my bedroom until I come home from 
college one summer and DEMAND she remove) ! After winning a few more pageants, I 
was asked to be in a swimsuit calendar. Standing next to girls who were actual 
models. And I DID IT! (Jesus, I cannot believe I did it.) I guess I thought, 
"Finally! People think I am hot! Woo Hoo! Now humankind will have proof for all 
eternity!" Please don't think, "How could her mother let her do that? And eat so 
badly? That's awful!" Um...I am not Tracy Gold, and she had no idea of the 
extremes I went to. I never EVER looked unhealthy. I looked, well...I 
looked...really good. I looked like she did when she was eighteen. Also, you 
have to grant that my mother is a typical Southern woman who came of age in the 
fifties. If you needed to drop a few pounds, you ate like a bird. There was no 
stigma. That's just what you did. The reason I am thinking about this, I guess, 
is that yesterday, my best friend forever and ever, Amen, wrote how she came 
across tropical vacation-y pictures of us from about 3 years ago, and how she 
laughed at all our drunken beach photos. I read her email and thought about how 
I, too had found those pictures a couple months ago, and how the only thing I 
could focus on was how I looked in a swimsuit standing next to her, a former 
cheerleader. She is so slight, in fact, that she was the one that got tossed in 
the air. And then I zoomed in on my fat roll. And...what? What is that? Backfat? 
What the fuck? I was surprised, after seeing those pictures, that some other 
beach-goer hadn't tried to rescue her from the Amazon who was surely planning on 
later barbecuing her on a spit and eating her with a side of poi and a nice Mai 
Tai. That really struck me because (luckily) I hadn't noticed then. I had a 
blast that trip. I had had a blast on every other trip I had gone on with her 
and even other girls her size or smaller. Every time I looked in the mirror I 
thought, "Not bad," (but really it was, "not baaaad" as in "reaaaallly good, you 
hottie, you"). I probably puckered my lips and winked at my reflection. I wasn't 
oblivious to the extra pudge, but you'd have never known it. All those pictures 
commemorating nights out with friends, Flaming Dr. Peppers, bachelorette 
parties, 21st birthdays, football games, there I am: HUGE, toothy smile, squinty 
eyes, arms around a couple girls, (maybe a couple of guys, depending on the 
occasion), and more than likely, an outfit that I tugged on for most of the 
night. I have no point really. I guess I just want to buy into that whole "love 
who you are, exactly how you are," and I think I do...a little. For the most 
part, I have the confidence of a Kennedy. I just don't think there will ever be 
a time when I don't give real thought to what I eat, and how, if I would just 
cut back, or ate something healthier, or got to the gym more often, I would be 
even... better.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 12:51 PM It took me pretty much all of high 
school and half of college to realize that people liked me for me...it's a hard 
conclusion to make, but so good once it's made.

MWAAAAH! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: sammysue DATE: 7:28 PM First paragraph is 
perfect, I was thinking of the same thing the other day...I too will zoom in on 
how I look in every group of pictures, don't know if that makes me vain or just 
pathetic. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 8:01 PM We are our own worst 
critic. I thought the same thing about myself when I looked at those photos, I 
just didn't say anything. And, I thought how GOOD you looked. (Especially the 
flamingo pose ala 3's Company)

By the way, if any of these readers who don't know what you look like saw a 
picture of you, they'd think you were crazy. 

-your BFF and E ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 10:25 PM A day does not go 
by that I don't think about food either. Just food. Thank you.

And? Let's talk about line-backing, and I don't just mean choir. Sing it, Rev. - 
hands to Jesus - AMEN!

P.S. WHERE are the corresponding photos? (I need to bear witness to the calendar 
spread. Neeeeeed.)

P.P.S. You're hot.

P.P.P.S. Like, really hot. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: D DATE: 12:12 AM Standing in 
the back row of the choir? In our hometown, guys would walk into walls and 
lockers staring at Julie when she passed in the hallway. I should know, those 
lockers hurt. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 8:09 AM Yeah, I'm with 
Allison! Photo spread! Photo spread! What's wrong with corn daily? I lost 10 
pounds eating oats and only oats for 2 weeks. Not because I wanted to lose 
weight....I just really was obsessed with oats. Uh oh, I may go to the store 
tomorrow and get the giant sized canister. Great! You sound beautiful, and your 
writing personality is awesome....so unless you're career is actually to BE a 
model, then I'd say it's a lot healthier not to be THAT thin. Personally I think 
it's gross to see a model in person and their bones and ribs and spine are 
showing. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 9:58 AM First of all - thank you. I 
really wasn't fishing, but the compliments are appreciated! (Ya'll seriously 
made me blush...which is a feat in and of itself!) 

Like I said, I always have a great time and plenty of confidence, and I agree 
with everything said here: that people don't like others for how they look, 
we're our own worst critic, that I am hot(HEE!), etc. Just interesting that the 
thoughts regarding food consumption can take up so much of my brainspace (Like I 
have any to waste!), and that even being as smart and secure as I think I 
am...that somehow I still think that I could be better if I weighed less or 
looked fitter (more fit?). Crazy. Why do people think that about themselves? 
Clearly a lot of people do. ----- -------- TITLE: The People of New York #6 
AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/11/2005 03:49:00 PM ----- BODY: 
God must be watching. I posted a "People of New York" that contained a couple 
racial epithets...and poof! While editing, Blogger ate it. Now, I am pretty sure 
God and Blogger are linked somehow. Either that, or God is Iraqi. DO NOT SEND ME 
HATE MAIL BECAUSE I SAID THAT IT JUST SEEMED COINCIDENTAL SINCE THAT POST HAD 
IRAQI SLURS IN IT JUST DRINK YOUR BOURBON AND SING A VERSE OF GOD BLESS AMERICA 
ALREADY DAMMIT. So, now I will offer another. This happened about a week ago. 
Me: (Staring at Girl Sitting Next to Me's huge diamond ring) Girl Sitting Next 
To Me: Are you looking at my ring? Me: Um...yes. GSNTM: It's not real. Me: 
Really? Wow. It looks real. GSNTM: I mean, the diamond is real, but the 
engagement isn't. I'm sleeping with someone else. Me: Oh. Right. WHAT THE? The 
People of New York #1 The People of New York #2 The People of New York #3 The 
People of New York #4 The People of New York #5
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 7:35 AM Sounds seedy and trashy, 
sounds like one of my old bosses. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 1:48 PM 
Sweet hell. Don't you love when people just randomly tell you things like that? 
That's the best. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 9:48 PM Fake engagement 
ring. Ha. A brilliant ruse to ward off the would-be Creepy VonScaryMens in this 
fair city. Her's sounds a little different, but...whatever.

Can I down a 40 of Ole E' and bust out some "Proud To Be an American" instead? 
Pleeease? ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Ssssssssss Teeeeeeee Ay.... DATE: 9:23 PM Very 
nice. I like your links to the carious chapters.

Oh, and BR SENT ME. Damn! Had to say that. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Ssssssssss 
Teeeeeeee Ay.... DATE: 9:23 PM Damn, in all the excitement, forgot to leave my 
sig. I hate when I do that.

Stacie - Spitting in a Wishing Well ----- -------- TITLE: Little Bo Beep to Lost 
Sheep AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/08/2005 03:05:00 PM ----- BODY: 
The Dukes of Hazzard movie is coming out and I have to admit, I'm torn. Y'all. 
(That's right...I say Y'ALL...as does everyone else born in Baytown, Texas.) I 
loved the Dukes of Hazzard. Loaved. Lurved. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, I 
was to be Mrs. Bo Duke or Mrs. John Schneider or Mrs. Luke Duke or Mrs. Tom 
Wopat. Those were the four options. (Hadn't really grasped the whole "you can't 
live in the TV and be part of the show" concept yet.) My first choice, was to be 
Mrs. Bo Duke, but I figured that would likely never happen, as my older, and 
decidedly bossier sister informed me that since she was the blonde, she got Bo. 
Case closed. Dude, fine. Luke and I were meant to be. I was on that, as Rosco 
would say, "like a duck on a junebug." Throughout the years, the love in my 
heart for the Dukes may have not been as blatantly worn on my sleeve, but it 
certainly had not diminished. During the heated cat-naming debate of 2004, I 
offered Rosco P. Coltrane as a perfectly sound option. Boss Hogg was a close 
second choice. Spencer said, no though, since our cat is female and he didn't 
want to deal with an identity crisis if it could be avoided. Aside: Seems to me 
that it didn't matter what we named her since SOMEONE in the apartment only 
calls her his little baneeners, but whatever. Let it be known that at the tender 
age of 4, I demanded that my mother cut off all my jeans at butt-cheek level so 
that I, of course, could be the Daisy Duke of Lone Pine Road. In retrospect, 
it's a little weird that Mama had no issue with whoring up her preschooler like 
that, but when asked about it, she just replied, "but your little butt was so 
dern cute!" Note the "dern." If that doesn't explain the lack of refusal on the 
grounds of moral conservatism, I don't know what would. And, really. I did have 
my own Hazzard County right there in Highlands, Texas. My best friends were two 
boys who lived on my street, Brad Loggins (the blond, now a firefighter and EMT 
in Austin, Texas) and Payton Bridges (the brunett, and probably a big shot 
artist/designer in Texas somewhere), so to say that my disbelief was suspended 
would be an understatement. Catherine Bach had nothing on me. I even named my 
pink Huffy "Dixie." When playing alone, which as the little sister, you are wont 
to do...a lot, I would ceremoniously sing "Just the good ol' boys! Never meanin' 
no harm!" while retrieving my Dukes of Hazzard action figures (complete, except 
for the Rosco which my stepmother's Pickapoo, Scooter ate. If he'd been named 
"Cooter," I might have been more forgiving...because that would have made 
sense.) from my toybox so I could check in at The Boar's Nest, a.k.a, my room. 
After a melodramatic love triangle between Bo, Luke, and Daisy got sorted (nope 
- the fact that they called each other "cuz" and shared an "Uncle Jesse" did not 
register), I'd make the General Lee fly off the foot of my bed, suspending it in 
midair, while doing my best Waylon Jennings impersonation. "What a mess. I sure 
hope 'em Duke Boys can git outta thisun!" Then, I'd drop the car and run to the 
kitchen for a cookie break. But, now...I don't know. I love Willie Nelson, but 
Burt Reynolds as Boss Hogg? Jessica Simpson as Daisy? JOHNNY KNOXVILLE as LUKE? 
What the fuck? My beloved would have never intentionally covered himself in 
fecal matter of any sort, nor zap himself in the face with a stun gun, let alone 
do it purposely on a consistent basis. And? Um...that rebel flag? Makes me a 
little uncomfortable. Still...I bet I will watch it when it comes out on HBO. I 
imagine that I will talk over the entire thing, comment on how this was not the 
Hazzard I have known and loved, and more than likely, flip the television set 
the bird. Or, I'll just laugh at the superbly bad acting and ill conceived 
plotline. A GIH GIH GIH GIH GIH GIH GIH GIH GIH GIH!
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 8:02 PM Guuuurl, you cu-ra-zee!

I learned the hard way that it is not that easy to jump into an open car window. 
Back in the day, we had this little thing called "door locks". Yow. ----- 
-------- TITLE: The State of Things AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/07/2005 09:44:00 AM 
----- BODY: 
I got into the office about an hour ago, but I feel like I have been up for a 
long time, probably because I have been. Spencer woke me up so that I could get 
ready in time for him to drive me downtown, as after watching the news this 
morning, he didn't want me traveling underground today. The news of the London 
attacks shouldn't be that big of a shock, I guess. Here in New York, the powers 
that be consistently tell us that we should be scared, that terrorist threats 
are eminent here and in every other metropolitan area, worldwide. Our Baskin 
Robbins "level of emergency" system usually lingers around Orange Sherbet, and 
when it occasionally rises to the Cherries Jubilee region, I guess we're 
supposed to walk around in gas masks or something. I don't mean to make light of 
this. Quite the contrary. At 7:15, I called Jen (who won't mind me telling you, 
she has a tendency to sleep right through her alarm - hence the call) so that 
she would have plenty of time to find another way to get to work. She has lots 
of friends in London, and still, ever the Manhattanite (she was downtown on that 
Tuesday morning and keeping her wits about her, soaked t-shirts in water so that 
she and her colleagues could breathe in the midst of all the ash and debris 
falling around them on her 9 mile walk home), seemed quite calm, very 
matter-of-factly processing the video images, trying to pinpoint the 
neighborhoods in which the explosions took place, and whether anyone she knows 
and loves would have been nearby. No one is really freaking out, though. People 
have filtered into the office, business is going as usual - the conversations 
around the coffee machine aren't flooded with breaking news. I am sure New 
Yorkers empathize and understand the gravity of the situation, but it seems like 
we are accepting of the fact that this is the way the world works today. Bombs 
will go off in Hyde Park. The train you are on, nonchalantly making your way to 
work, may explode. One minute you are innocently reading your book on a bus, the 
next you are watching as doctors pick impaled glass out of your body. War on 
terror, hmm. Hard to think we are winning that one.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 12:30 PM When I heard the news this 
morning I remembered 9/11, I rememered standing in a crosswalk on 6th Ave 
looking downtown from midtown as the towers burned and just thinking of all the 
innocent people harmed and their families, and I feel the same way for those in 
London today. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 7:25 PM Ever feel like you 
are just waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Yep. Me too.

But I'm not letting them change my ways, cuz that would be granting them a 
little victory. And they don't deserve anything but what is coming 'round. ----- 
-------- TITLE: CaliFUNia! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/06/2005 01:21:00 PM ----- BODY: 

So, 5.5 hours and at least that many mini bottles of wine on the plane later...I 
am home! After spending some time in California with Spencer's family, I have: 
a) come to some very important conclusions about my life's ambition(s) and b) 
added to my warehouse of "good to know" general knowledge. 1) I need to be rich. 
2) Gambling is fun! It is exponentially more of a hoot when you aren't gambling 
with your own money. 3) You can be the Doc Holiday of 3 card poker after 5 
seconds of learning time. 4) It feels like a muffin basket full of butterfly 
kisses to have a frillion poker chips in front of you when you started with 
about 10. 5) It feels like being clotheslined at Red Rover 5 gillion times when 
you see them dwindle down to nothing. 6) This can happen in 4.35 minutes. 7) 
California makes you set your watch 3 hours back, and apparently, your scale 4 
pounds forward. 8) Swimming any other way than in an infinity pool in Palm 
Springs with a Lemondrop Martini in your hand is just dumb. 9) Teaching a your 
boyfriend's peach of a niece the proper Skee Ball technique on her 7th birthday 
is as much fun as when your big sister taught you how to take a shot of tequila 
on your 21st. 10) That boy o' mine? He's a good egg, that one. Mas luego. Have 
to go work now.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 12:51 AM I want a muffin basket full of 
butterfly kisses NOOOWW, Ded-dy!!!

And, the swimming-Lemondrop-infinity thing sounds pretty good. I'll have one of 
those, too.

Welcome back, Doc. ----- -------- TITLE: They're Gaining On Us AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 6/22/2005 08:18:00 PM ----- BODY: 
***Updated: Preston's first photo shoot.*** It's a boy! Well, we already knew 
that, thanks to the technological advanced hoo ha machinery that supplied us 
with in utero photos of what kind of looked like a baby with the word "penis" 
and an big, fat arrow pointing to the "sex." I love that we now have a way to 
embarrass our new family members before they're even born. Anyway, the real news 
is my nephew is here! Jill is obviously trying to throw the XY side of our 
highly estrogenated family a bone, because she is now 2 for 2. Healthy. 
Gorgeous. Blond. Surfer baby. So ladies, be careful what you wish for. You may 
pray to the good lord jeebus to be surrounded by cute boys, only for your 
prayers to be answered...but they're your nephews. Be specific.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 12:12 PM Congrats, Auntie Jules! ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 2:16 PM Yes, yes - congratulations!

-Lauren (New Jan Brady) ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 8:33 AM 
Congratulations! Don't spoil him now (well maybe just a little, or a lot)! Heck 
I'm sending candy now. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 8:33 AM 
Congratulations! Don't spoil him now (well maybe just a little, or a lot)! Heck 
I'm sending candy now. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 11:54 AM 
Congratulations, tia julia!

Get that kid some mini-board shorts and SPF 30 pronto!...(and in about 25 years, 
give him my number). ----- -------- TITLE: Some of My Summertime AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 6/21/2005 10:37:00 AM ----- BODY: 
I know. I KNOW. I had a few emails asking me (politely) to post something new. 
Take stock, all you (6) faithful readers...I am boring, and the drivel I post 
doesn't hold a candle to your fabulous life. Speaking of fabulous lives, I just 
got back from Houston after surprising my dad for Father's Day. Can you believe 
how sweet and thoughtful I am? Nevermind that every time I go there, Daddy wants 
to buy new clothes for me, cook me gourmet meals, keep my glass filled with a 
frosty, adult-variety beverage, and do all of this while I drift around the pool 
on a supremely comfortable float, princess that I am. No no. I went because I am 
a giver. (I totally understand if you just gagged a little.) So, news! I have a 
"meeting" today with a very cool person who works for a very cool magazine, and 
who may think I am very cool and want to hire me to kick the coolness factor of 
the magazine up a notch. At the very least, I will introduce myself to a few key 
players which never hurts, right? A position may open later for which they will 
need a dynamo and they will remember the girl in the hot pinstripe suit with the 
perfect tan. Done! (I love the way things work out in my head. I also have a 
fantasy in which I play guitar and sing all rock-starry in my hometown, while 
wearing the perfect tan suede pants and a tank top that shows off my 
magnificently sculpted arms. As soon as I learn to play guitar and tone my arms, 
that's pretty much done, too. So, there's that to look forward to.) And tomorrow 
I start a 6 week temp gig that sounds fun (AND which pays twice the amount my 
old, boring job paid me as a full time employee). Ha! Things are good, y'all. I 
wish I had more exciting things to talk about, but honestly, I am just enjoying 
the summer and trying to find a permanent gig. Time indoors in front of the 
computer is at a premium because I am on the dole, and therefore, have much time 
to go out to see and do. I will be seeing and doing in SoCal (that's Southern 
California for those not in the know) from the 29th to July 5th. (Dear Robbers, 
Please don't break into my apartment and steal my stuff. If you want to take any 
of the bachelor furniture, however, please proceed.) We're going to visit 
Spence's mom, step-dad, sister, sister's new husband, and niece, which I am 
really excited about. Spence's sister is a year younger than me and sounds like 
she's "our people." The fact that we will be in a huge wine producing region of 
the country has not influenced my excitement level in the slightest. Write me 
love letters, won't you? Or, ask me any questions you want to in the comments 
section. I have several areas of expertise, of which, after reviewing my 
post-Houston skin in the full length, tanning seems to be included. Now, stop 
staring at the screen and go get a lemonade (vodka shot, purely optional).
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 10:47 AM Vodka shot is always mandatory, 
you know that. Sheesh.

So, Little Miss SherylCrow-on-the-dole-livin'-off-the-fat-of-Big-Daddy's-land 
finally got herself a jobby job. And posted.

Yep. There is a full moon tonight. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 
12:48 PM I must have mis-read, I thought your tan was pin-striped which would be 
hilarious and awesome! Imagine a tan that was striped. Have fun in "SoCal"! 
----- -------- TITLE: The People of New York #5 AUTHOR: julie DATE: 6/06/2005 
06:12:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Girl on M15 Bus (spoken "discreetly" to friend): So, I am thinking the 400s. 
Friend: Yeah, that'll prolly make you a double D. Girl: That's what I'm thinkin. 
I could go bigger, but I think it might look trashy. Friend: Right. Girl: I mean 
"(Insert Strip Club in Queens name here)'s" is classy, and I think if I got 'em 
any bigger, it won't go, you know? Friend: Totally. The People of New York #1 
The People of New York #2 The People of New York #3 The People of New York #4
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: D DATE: 4:42 AM What's a double D? Is that like when I 
look in the mirror and see two D's? I'm so confused ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: 
SirTalksALot DATE: 9:20 AM I'm still shocked by someone using the word "classy" 
and "Queens" in the same sentence. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 9:39 PM 
The People of New York are brilliant. (That includes you.) (And me.) (And Tony 
Danza.) ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 1:48 PM Especially Tony Danza!

I love the people of New York stories... ----- -------- TITLE: Repent and Be 
Baptized AUTHOR: julie DATE: 5/22/2005 07:45:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Yesterday, over a few glasses (bottles) of wine, I was fully engaged in solving 
all of the world's problems with one of the best co-world-problem solvers in my 
posse, Al. We were, of course, sitting Indian style on her Craig's list sofa 
after an entire day of retail therapy, during which she managed to rifle through 
all the *coke-glam trash stocked high on every shelf down 3rd Avenue's 
boutiques, and purchase some very cute (and very expensive) jeans. A day well 
spent, in my opinion. *coke-glam: A phrase coined by Miss Thing, herself as we 
perused the bedazzled haltertops, Mrs. Roper caftans, and poly-blend Gaucho 
pants referring to the fashion of 1981 and the extra curricular nose activities 
popular at the time. We were being chin up and such while discussing the recent 
lack of jobness we share and the directions our respective lives have veered. It 
seems like I keep folding my damn map all whopperjawed, and end up taking turns 
I hadn't planned on. If only we had On-Star for the journey that leads us into 
adulthood. The exact instant we Pollyanna-ed our attitudes to the point where we 
were toasting our approaching 30th birthdays, the sky opened in an almost 
Biblical fashion and christened the evening that apparently, marked the 
beginning of...something. It strikes me now, that Peter (the apostle) urged 
"believers" to repent, which in that case, meant for one to change their way of 
thinking, before immersion. Eerily enough, I had. I know I haven't written about 
it, but life has been very "'lifey" as of late. No huge problems, relatively 
speaking. You all know I was itching to leave my job. To make a long story 
short, the powers that be found out about it, and I guess, fearing that it might 
be contagious, ahem, showed me the door. Kind of a shock to my system, as I 
wasn't holding the reigns as I like to do, but the result would have been the 
same the following weekend, anyway. I was set to resign on Friday, and was 
handed my pink slip the Thursday prior. My sister is ok. (Thank you for your 
comments and emails, by the way. What a wonderful thing it is to get the 
well-wishes of perfect strangers. I mean that. Sending love to a friend you 
haven't met is perfection.) She's still contracting and the ultrasound showed 
that the baby's head is um...right there. My nephew, Oliver uses Jill's now 
protruding belly button as a kind of intercom to his little brother, already 
bossing him around by commanding him to "stay put and keep cookin'." Since I 
want to be the favorite aunt, of course, I am not demanding anything of the 
baby, but because I am not worried about Jill thinking I am any bigger of a pest 
than she already does, I commanded that she keep off her feet or I will dye her 
hair green while she slept. So, yeah. Family. Friends. Been just taking them all 
in and realizing that nothing really else matters. The Virgo in me had been 
singing loudly, stressing about where I am going, what I have or haven't done 
with my life, and worrying about getting a new job. But, hey. I'll be working 
for the rest of my life, right? Right now the most important job is to work on 
me, I guess. Work on loving the people in my life, something fierce. Taking the 
message from the heavens seriously; change my way of thinking and begin anew. I 
guess that was like sacramental wine or something. I certainly feel baptized.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 10:25 PM Amen, sister. Great post. ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 11:11 AM ...And they said unto themselves "let us 
buy jeans!" And the shelves and the stacks parted and it was so. And they said 
unto them "let them have wine! And wisdom!" And the skies opened and thunder 
crashed and it was so. And they prayed on this day "let us be not lame!" And, 
um... ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 9:43 AM Yeah, the older I get 
the more I realize the importance of time spent with those we care about. It 
doesn't matter what the activity, just being around people you love is the best! 
----- -------- TITLE: Spoon Full of Sugar AUTHOR: julie DATE: 5/01/2005 10:57:00 
AM ----- BODY: 
So... 1) I'm out of the job I was lamenting about earlier. (I will give details 
at a later date.) 2) I have several exciting opportunities lined up, so that 
whole "everything happens for a reason" thing is really hitting home with me 
now. Excited about what's next. 3) In 2 hours, I will be on a plane to help take 
care of my nephew, Oliver since my sister is now on strict bedrest. She was 
taken to the hospital Thursday night because of (way) premature contractions 
with my soon to arrive nephew. So, hey. Good timing, huh? I am available to go 
help out! Julie Poppins. I'll be home when the wind changes!
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 7:21 AM I hope your sister's ok. Good 
luck on the job search! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 8:56 AM Good luck 
with your sister...and enjoy unemployment for as long as possible :) ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 10:29 AM 1. It's about f'n time.
2. Fingers crossed.
3. Love to your sister and the little guy.

It's all in the timing. ----- -------- TITLE: The Deep End of the Jean Pool 
AUTHOR: julie DATE: 4/22/2005 12:49:00 AM ----- BODY: 
This morning, I found a lovely little note from this guy, asking, nay, BEGGING 
ME to comment on this. (Go ahead and take a look.) Not really begging, but how 
cool would that be? "Jules, fashion goddess and femme fatale, I must have your 
input so I know what to think!" Hmm. Just like high school. HA! I hope you 
picked up on that heavy sarcasm. Well, since no one really cared about my 2 
cents then, Travis, my friend, I would be more than happy to give them now. 
Especially because this topic is near and dear to my heart, and another one of 
my favorite body parts, my ass. First of all, take a gander at the following, 
from TR: Since I understand little about women (and unquestionably even less 
about NYC women, I am sure), would you do me the pleasure of blogging about this 
article from today's NY Times? There is no f'n way y'all really would buy $600 
jeans, is there? Please tell me this is a joke. Some woman in the article said 
she pays $500 for shoes? I thought that Sex and the City extravagance was 
embellished for TV. Wow. Now, to be fair (to me), I added that as was written. 
Please, let it be known that I would never cower and say "f'n" when your good 
ol' fashioned four letter word is in order. Alright. Um...I don't know how to 
break this to you, T, but...um, way. F’N WAY! I am planning on buying some 
expensive jeans tomorrow, as a matter of fact. (Weird timing, huh?) No, really. 
I am. And I am a TEXAS woman living in New York. Which probably makes that even 
more shocking, I know. I promised myself that I would find the perfect denim 
casement for my super deluxe bootie when I finally liked what I saw in the 
mirror...again...naked...from ALL angles. What? You didn't know women did that? 
We also wax a lot of places that aren’t the sexy ones. All for beauty. God, 
this is so freeing! Well, anyhoo. Not that I am in Fergie's shape (from the 
Black Eyed Peas, not the Duchess of York, because in that case, maybe I could 
give her a run for her money...or her DUCHESSDOM! Finally, an excuse to wear a 
tiara!), but I have improved my physique as of late, and damn it if I don’t 
deserve a pair of jeans that showcase my ass the way it should be showcased. Let 
me let you in on something that is not a secret, whatsoever. You get what you 
pay for. Think of hamburgers. Or sushi. Or electronic gadgets that some of those 
near and dear to you, T, collect like 8 year old girls stockpiled Beanie Babies, 
circa 1996. You can get your Big Mac, your Cali rolls from KO, or an obscure 
Discman from the guy on the corner with the pirated DVDs. If you’re feeling 
kicky, you can step it up and go to a steakhouse with a salad bar, say Western 
Sizzlin’, splurge for sake at Haru, or geez, I dunno, get some doohicky for 
your MP3 player at RadioShack? But, if you are the coolest of the cool, and you 
decide you deserve a little treat, then, fuck it. Why not? Break out the plastic 
and go to town on some beef, fish, and gizmos. Same thing with clothes. Jeans, 
in particular. I know a girl, let’s call her Pindsey, who showed me the ways 
of the jean. Now, this girl is not conceited. She’s not stupid. Nor is she a 
Southampton whore…that we know of. However, she knows the value of good 
tailoring that lifts and separates, and taught me that there is no shame in 
paying for quality items that make you feel good about the way you look. Oh, 
P.S. Don’t mock the lifting and the separating. Trust me. You have seen a 
beautiful girl pass by with an ass that will not quit, but did not even think of 
throwing a chauvinistic, but appreciative glance her way because…she was 
wearing mom jeans. The pockets were too high, as was the waist, and the inseam 
may not have been long enough. The rinse? On the lighter side. Maybe with some 
darker edging. Had she been wearing more flattering (and, yes, they do cost 
more) jeans, she may have been lucky enough to have been added to your long list 
of conquests that never get a real 1st date, but that provide good locker room 
fodder. Just kidding. You don't play sports. Thing is, guys wear baggy jeans. 
They couldn't care less how their pants accentuate the positive in the caboose 
region, so I guess it's understandable that some balk at spending so much on a 
pair of them (or of shoes, for that matter). Some, who know they have a nice 
rear view, may wear them slightly more fitted, but all guys (lest they be Gay or 
European) these days seem to prefer clothes that resemble hefty bags or shower 
curtain as far as fit goes. Guys, you know those jeans you love to wear from the 
Gap? They don’t fit. They hit you above your waist and make your butt look 
non-existent or droopy. Guess what! Girls like a nice posterior to gaze upon as 
well. Do yourselves a favor. Unless you are a Wrangler model, go to Diesel and 
both you and your girlfriend will thank me and buy me multiple adult beverages. 
And even though some probably wouldn't admit it, I know men that definitely 
appreciate how much better women look in clothes that cost a prettier penny than 
those that come from Old Navy. (This theory holds unless you factor in that 
naked= free.) As is with everything, food, tailoring, and toys, if you want to 
(and can afford to) kick in a few (100) more dollars and it makes you happy, do 
it. Especially if you love and use the bajeezus out of your purchase. I have a 
pair of shoes I spent some of my hard earned table waiting money on that I wore 
to my PROM that are still in my closet and look just as fucking rad, and make me 
feel just as hot every time I put them on. So will my new jeans. I am sure. You 
can bet my bottom’s dollar.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 8:54 AM I'm afraid to spend too much on my 
clothes, mostly because I spill a lot of stuff and fall a lot (maybe because I 
go to a lot of bars?), but I don't mind spending $200-300 on my hair. Is that 
strange? ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 9:48 AM You buy your hair, 
Boozie? But it looks so real.... ;P ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 5:20 PM 
This post has been removed by the author. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 
5:20 PM Pindsey must be really pretty. ----- -------- TITLE: Branded! AUTHOR: 
julie DATE: 4/20/2005 11:13:00 AM ----- BODY: 
It happened. Well…kind of. One of my greatest fears, realized…almost. After 
spin class, (Like how I throw that in there? So you think I am sporty a/o health 
conscious, when in truth, I am just vain?) Jen and I went to get our nails done. 
My pedicure was hanging in like a champ, and I just would have chosen “Well 
Red” again anyway (my polishes have to have a cheeky name that I feel is 
befitting of my personality…I know…I am a LooneyLooneyLooney). So? I 
decided, while Jen was getting all her tootsies pampered, I would get a massage. 
There are very few things I prefer over a massage. Think about it. In what other 
instance can one’s body receive so much pleasure while lying as limp as 
week-old Romaine? And whatever you were thinking just now? Stop. That’s just 
sad. Doesn’t exactly make you out to be the attractive hellcat you think you 
are, does it? I had succeeded in contorting my limbs to fit in the massage 
chair, when the girl who was getting ready to do the honors exclaimed, “Oh may 
gahhhh! Yew hah a tah TOOOO!” “Shit. Shit. Shit,” I thought. This is it. 
This is the moment when my blissful ignorance, or unconfirmed understanding of 
the significance of the (let me be totally un-P.C. here and say “Asian.” 
Were they Japanese? Chinese? Um…I was 18. All I knew is that they weren’t 
Calvin pissing on a Chevrolet logo.) characters inked on my flesh were going to 
appropriately, given their location, bite me in the back. Although, I have never 
had remorse about getting my tattoo, even when I thought I was being so 
original, and only later discovered a tat that could pass as my own, was peeking 
out from over every Gen-X chick’s low-slung Abercrombie chinos (just like 
mine), I somehow knew that one day, someone was going to set me straight. That 
someday, my dad would be vindicated as a random, native speaker would tell me 
that the design I was sure meant “Peace” and “Tranquility” would, in 
reality say “Insert Here.” I have casually inquired about it to people who 
maybe had a clue as to what my back says, but I have never really gotten a 
guaranteed answer. Honestly, I didn’t really want to. Now, you don’t know 
how hard this has been for me…for the same person who still has not overcome 
the embarrassment of sending out a homemade college graduation announcement, so 
that everyone would know just how original and clever I was...with a typo. 
People throw away graduation announcements! They forget them! How could I ever 
forget a huge typo following me everywhere I go? God! The stress! There I was, 
bent in such a way that I looked like a cartoon character when they run into a 
tree, full throttle, after downhill skiing…on their knees. (Get that picture?) 
All I could think was, “Is my back actually blushing as much as my face is?” 
“Do yew nuh whu dah MEEEEZ?” Oh God. Here it comes. I will have to live the 
rest of my days knowing “Pig Fucker” or something equally heinous, is 
brandished on my back. “Um…I think I know what it means.” “Ih meez LUCK! 
So happy! Luh! (Love?) Cahm.” “What?” “Cahm. Cahm. Yew nuh. Cahm. No 
stressy.” “Oh, calm. Oh! Oh, good. That’s what I thought. Good. Um…thank 
you.” Then, I relaxed. And it wasn’t just the massage.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 8:26 AM How funny! I've heard horror 
stories of Chinese/Japanese symbol tattos meaning all kinds of things other than 
what the bearer thought it meant. Glad yours turned out to be a positive! ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 10:20 AM Shitshitshit, now I have to run and get 
a mani/pedi and find out what mine means. Watch, it means "butch" or "stalk me" 
or something classy like that. ----- -------- TITLE: HI RACK AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
4/15/2005 03:15:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Something is wrong with me. I have been incessantly shopping for 3 days. I 
bought some tres sensass pants at Urban Outfitters, and I just bought these (top 
left) in black. Nope. I am not a shoe snob. "39.99? That's practically free!" If 
they are cute and I can walk more than a few New York City avenues in them, 
their next address will be "to the left of recently purchased black Converse, 
Julie's closet". These look a little "too cha cha for words," so watch out, 
Gothamites! You may just see me merengue down Lexington. I just love their name, 
though. HI RACK. Hee! Prophetic of a smarmy stranger's inner dialogue? "Who's 
that hottie in the cha-cha shoes? (Cue cocked eyebrow and pursed lips) Hi, 
rack!" I support the troops in HI RACK. I know Ka-RAH-tay. Hiiiiiiiiiiii-Rack! 
Alright. I know. No more Skittles. Edited to add: According to the shoe box AND 
the back of the actual shoe, the name is HI RACK, not the less provocative 
"Hirack" like on the site. Because..."Hirack?" That makes no sense.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 12:23 PM Don't forget to introduce yourself 
when they arrive. "Hi, my name is Julie...and I'm a shopaholic." ----- -------- 
TITLE: Giving the Finger AUTHOR: julie DATE: 4/13/2005 10:54:00 AM ----- BODY: 
Although a Swingline stapler is a modern desktop miracle, I doubt one of its 
most marketable uses is "punctures middle finger with the ease of a hot knife 
through butter." And yet, this morning, for the second time in my relatively 
short life, I managed to impale the tip of said finger while fulfilling the 
administrative duties my job requires. As in "the horizontal metallic "top" is 
on one side of my finger, and the 2 vertical prongs are embedded in my skin, the 
tips emerging on the opposite side of the digit. "Anti Jam," huh? They're not 
kidding. Let it be known that a human finger does not present a jamming threat 
to the ergonomic abilities of the mighty Swingline. You and your phalanges have 
been warned.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 7:59 AM Milton says, "I want my 
stapler" ----- -------- TITLE: Indeed, 'Twas Grahnd AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
4/05/2005 03:20:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Hey, I'm back! I'd like to buy the world a STOUT, and teach them harmony. Lots 
to tell...of which the least important NOT being that I have switched my drink 
from Johnny Walker on the rocks to JAMESON's. Smoothie smooth smooth! Also, much 
to comment on. Mitch and the Pope. One man uplifted the entire human race, and 
the other...was Polish. Did everyone get that? THE POPE DIED while I WAS IN VERY 
CATHOLICY IRELAND. It was PopeWatch 2005, all Pope, all the time. Nothing else 
was on TV, and when you have patronized many a pub and want to serenely pass out 
in the quiet of your hotel room, a craggly "shallow breathing" Catholic is the 
last thing you want to hear or see...so I kicked Spence out. I keed. I will let 
you in on a little Oirish secret: When your boyfriend says he is going out for 
some bangers and mash, don't accuse him of being a lecherous druggie. It's just 
sausage. Wait...
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 9:00 PM Well distill me some malt and call 
me Happy McJulie'sBack...look who's home!

Sorry to hear about the Pope and stuff. I am glad to hear you drank your way 
through it. That's m'girl! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 7:37 AM 
Bangers and mash! ha. The first time I saw that was at an Irish Pub on 
40th/Madison. I don't even know the name of the place, but every day at lunch 
I'd say in an Irish accent "who wants to go get some Bangers and Mash at Sally 
O'Malley's?" Nobody ever wanted to. Bastards! LOL ----- -------- TITLE: Can You 
Do Haiku? AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/24/2005 04:59:00 PM ----- BODY: 
It has been sloooooow today. I have done paperwork, that if submitted now, would 
be three weeks early. POW! Being the helping hand that I am, I have also asked 
all my coworkers if they need help with anything. (What can I say? I'm a giver.) 
Since they don't, and because I have been thinking of the Wayne's World "But, 
that's not Wayne's basement" line and giggling all day, I am bestowing a couple 
of haikus for you(s). EDITED TO ADD: So, I CANNOT do haiku...read the syllabic 
rules WRONG. So, here are the corrected ones. Man, I suck. Thursday, your almost 
weekendness is delightful. Friday still wins, though. Chocolate crosses! Nothing 
says "Candy Time!" like a vanishing corpse. Happy Easter! As always, please 
spread the holiday joy by contributing in the comments section!
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: I'm Brent, ya dorks. DATE: 6:32 PM Hop there, rabbit, 
hop.
Have not seen your tail for months.
Now it goes away. ----- -------- TITLE: The Poop Troupe AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
3/23/2005 04:55:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Um. I NEVER talk about poops (or even peeps for that matter), but I have to say 
that there have been some stories floating around this little realm of ours that 
have been really funny. Makes me think of my 96 year old Granny. Ew. Wait. Let 
me explain. Makes me think of my Granny because she once some wires got crossed, 
and after hearing about a quarrel an acquaintance of mine and I were having, she 
piped in, "With friends like those, who needs ENEMAS." The sage wisdom of our 
elders should always be remembered.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 11:52 AM Ahhh, truer words have never been 
spoken! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 11:55 AM Let us all take comfort in 
the knowledge and confirmation that...

...everybody poops. ----- -------- TITLE: Irish Eyes A Smilin' AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 3/22/2005 03:20:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Y'ALL! I am going to IRELAND! The land of IRE. Can you even? I'll be typing 
along all worky worky work work and then, some little fairy whisper (or possibly 
that of a leprechaun) reminds me that I AM GOING AWAY TO THE EMERALD ISLE WITH 
MY IRISH BOYFRIEND FOR A WEEK. Needless to say, that makes the typing much more 
jovial. Me: "Hidey Didey Didey Didey Hidey Didey Di! Ctrl 'S'." In other news, I 
am thiiis close to being on that Kitty Cop show on Animal Planet, which, let's 
face it, is one step to the left of being a Hanes tank wearing, toothless, wild 
eyed drunk, trying to "splain m'case to the gid lickin' occifer" on COPS. 
Whatcha gunna do? Whatcha gunna do when they come for you? Last night Spence was 
roasting peppers (cuz' he's all gourmet and shit) and the kitchen got a little 
smoky. Hence, the ever so slightly open window...through which my precious 
little angel muffin decided she wanted to crawl through in order to romantically 
watch the city go by on MY FIRE ESCAPE once we had turned our backs. Me: "Mmm. 
These peppers are good. (Noticing that I have food in front of me and there is 
no cat nose attached to an actual cat buried in it.) Um...where's Gracie?" 
Maternal instinct kicks in full throttle. I jump up and dash straight (which 
takes .039 seconds as this is a New York apartment) into the kitchen thinking, 
"Oh God, please don't let the window be open," and there she is, half of her at 
least, on the sill. Head and shoulders into the New York City night, plump cat 
ass in the kitchen, refusing to slither through to freedom. Gracie: "Meow, 
bitch." I open the window wide enough to grab her, kiss her all over her little 
cat head, and step back into the living room with a look of half shock/half 
pissed-offedness. I doubt Spence will open the bottom window anymore. If he 
does, I can just picture Little Orphan Gracie shimmying down the drainpipe to 
get away from her Miss Hannigan. Seriously, don't report me. Apparently, this 
happens quite a bit as every cat has to be fitted with a microchip when they get 
fixed. If she ever turned up missing, I would call Animal Control, and they 
would locate her like a CIA operative...probably at Daddy Warbucks' estate. 
Totally unrelated to anything: I just got new glasses. They're VERSACE which 
means I am...how you say? HAHT SHEET. You know that old saying, "Men don't make 
passes at girls who wear glasses?" Wrong. I think someone just heard it 
incorrectly, like they were playing "Operator" or something, because I am pretty 
sure the real phrase is "Men don't make passes at girls with flat asses." Proof? 
Brad dumped Jen. Jack, albeit a while ago, quit Lara. Ethel Muggs never did win 
over Jughead Jones! Gracie? Cats are obviously trying to get her to sneak out of 
the house...and baby got back. Need I say more? Me: "Hidey Didey Didey Didey 
Hidey Didey Di! Publish Post."
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 10:09 PM Our little Julie is all growsed 
up. She's growsed up, she's growsed up, growsed up! And now she leaves the nest, 
adorned in couture, to take on another big, bad continent. I, for one, am like a 
proud madam watching my favorite lady of the night ride off into the sunrise. Be 
kind to them, Jules, remember what you did to Japan.

YOUR CAT IS GOING TO DIE. There. Now get over it, she's fine, crazy Cat Lady. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 11:43 AM Um...it was CHINA, That's ok...they 
all look the same, right, RACIST? 

Don't tell me my cat's gunna die. I just see me sitting there beside her bed in 
the cat hosiptal, reading our of Southern Living, "Open your eyes, Gracie. Open! 
Open! Ope' your eyes!" ----- -------- TITLE: Brilliant! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
3/18/2005 05:18:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Good things were a brewin' last night, and not just green beer. Spence got 
called back to Ireland. Guess who's going to be with him for a week? We leave on 
Easter, the day on which all will proclaim that my mood has risen like the 
Messiah. I will return with a new and improved attitude! Or at the very least, a 
spot on fake accent.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 7:37 PM Brilliant!

To (again) quoth our favorite hottie-rocker..."a change will do you good."

Erin go brah(less) and top o'the mornin' to ya' lassie! Chip 'n the skipper 'y 
zippadeedoo dah blah plppt! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 9:12 AM I really 
gotta go on a trip. And I'm not talking that 5-day trip to Buffalo I got planned 
in April. Have fun! ----- -------- TITLE: All I Can Think About AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 3/17/2005 03:28:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Work. Jobs. Responsibility. I am at sort of a crossroads. See, I came to New 
York (like everyone else) to be on stage. I love Musical Theater, am pretty good 
at it, have been encouraged by those in the know to stay with it, etc. But, 
y'all...I have no more energy to spend an entire day (or WEEK) at a call in 
order to sing for 2 minutes. When you are at an audition? You are not at a job. 
And when you are not working? Um...no one is paying you. And rent here ain't 
cheap. That means you work double the amount you would have needed to just to 
spend it on the glamorous things like hot water and Ramen noodles. So, meh. A 
year ago, I decided to get a real job. Some of those close to me have been 
really saddened that I stopped auditioning. (One, I am not saying who, may have 
cried.) And it's hard, I admit, to hide my light from the world. 
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Honestly, it has been hard switching to the other side. I 
mean, hey. I'm a Virgo. I loved school. And, duh. I was (am?) a performer which 
means I lap up applause like a Irishman around a spilled pint. I actually don't 
mind working...because usually I get credit for being really good at whatever I 
am doing. Kind of like how I was always eager to get papers or tests back. I 
never minded studying as long as it paid off with an "A." Aside: I know how much 
of a dork I am. Sometimes I want to kick my own ass. But...I haven't been 
applauded in a while. Not on stage certainly, and not even off. Not even a golf 
clap. Though I know how narcissistic this sounds, that has been difficult to 
swallow. If I absolutely loved my job, meaning if I was moving around and 
talking to people, possibly writing a lot, being creative in the slightest...I 
could handle the lack of praise. That's not how it is, though. I sit. I email. I 
fill out paperwork. Then, I slide down the Bronto's tail and that's all she 
wrote. So, I should just leave, right? Find a new job? Who cares about the 
market in NYC? I will surely find something! Even if that were assuredly true, 
the problem is this: I love the people in the (other United States city) office. 
The president and C.O.O. there are wonderful. Their attitudes and support are 
what every employee dreams about. Although I am so very vocal about making 
changes, all "Carpe Diem," and all that jazz to other friends who wanted to 
leave there jobs because they are unhappy, I realize that I am a HUGE hypocrite. 
I am scared about just quitting without anything to fall into. Actually, I am 
hesitant about changing at all, because, here's the thing. What the hell am I 
supposed to do now? God. Sometimes being so well rounded and brilliantly 
multi-faceted is such a chore! Melodramatic sigh. You may now excuse yourself 
from my self-absorbed pity party. I am through.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 4:11 PM Jules...come back to the world of 
the abused, mistreated, inappropriately-cast, underpaid actor and you TOO can do 
Fame in Korea! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 4:11 PM This post has been 
removed by the author. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 4:45 PM Hmmm...Well I 
am HUGE IN CHINA! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: D DATE: 10:01 PM As a 100% pureblooded 
Irishman, I am offended by your comment. Now pass me another Guinness and be 
quick about it ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Audrey DATE: 1:34 AM Don't worry about it 
so much. We are way to young to be concerned with what we are going to do 'for 
real'. Just do what you will someday wish you had. All that boring grown up 
stuff (like rent) will work itself out somehow...it always does. ----- -------- 
TITLE: The People of New York #4 AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/16/2005 10:11:00 AM ----- 
BODY: 
Entirely too confidently, I strolled out of my apartment this morning, 15 
minutes earlier than usual, almost smugly thinking how early I would arrive at 
work and jump into this bright and shiny Wednesday. "BWAH HA HA AHA HAHAA" 
thundered the laughter of the Gods. The 4, 5, and 6 trains weren't running. No 
power. Sin electricidad. So, I followed a few (million) people to the busstops 
along 5th Avenue. 14 crowded buses ignoring our stop later, and much to the 
dismay of my fellow travelers sardined in the front of the bus, I jump on the 4 
square inches of the bottom step of the M3, reciting silent prayers that the 
door would close without the one monterous hinge impaling my ribcage. And, Oh! 
Nothing makes New Yorkers flash their true colors more than mass transit chaos. 
My favorite quote of this morning from a little old man wearing an ensemble of 3 
different plaids, a driving cap, and carrying an umbrella on a sunny day: "Sir, 
could you please remove your briefcase from my rectum? I know we're packed 
tightly in here, but no one at your office is gunna appreciate you throwing that 
on the conference table once it's seen my colon." See? Ahhhh, New Yorkers. 
Always looking out for their fellow man...and their fellow man's colleagues. 
*The People of New York 1, 2, and 3
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Julia DATE: 12:02 PM Hey there JES! It's a fellow PMAer. 
Dessie gave me the link here. Ha ha ha on the old guy comment! ----- COMMENT: 
AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 1:54 PM LOL...That old guy should do stand up. I love 
this series by the way! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 3:46 PM Lest the 
lowly New Yorker dare to dream that she can wrangle this big bad city, she is 
constantly reminded of her massive insignificance and shoved back into her teeny 
little personal space.

Thank you, New York, for not letting us think toooo big. ----- -------- TITLE: 
The Big Screen AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/10/2005 04:55:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Hi. I live in 1994 as I do not have caller ID. Do not even lambaste me with how 
caller ID is your Lord and personal savior. I know. I have had it before and 
loved every snobby minute of it. (Because, you know...saying, "Meh, I don't feel 
like talking to that person right now" is a touch on the snotty side.) It has 
something (long and very boring) to do with the phone cabley things in the 
antiquated building we live in, and when York Avenue was ripped up a few months 
ago, we didn't (couldn't) have a land line for over 3 weeks. Since then, no more 
ID. So, what do I do? Like every other right minded American, I screen. Just for 
study's sake, I actually answered the phone one night. I had signed us up on the 
"do not call" list maybe FOUR times, but clearly that doesn't ward off about 10 
calls from 6-10:30 p.m. telling me I should get a certain credit card. Tangent 
mentioning the fact that even if I needed a new credit card, I bet I really 
couldn't get one, which makes the calls even more infuriating: Me: "All your 
friends have houses. And you. You have been an 'owner.' That's so grown up. Why 
don't I own anything?" Lindsey: "It's so easy to buy a house, Julie. You don't 
even know. It's so much easier than people think. I guarantee you could buy a 
house." Me: "Hmmm. Really? You think? Because even when they say I'm 
'pre-approved,' I still get refused for credit cards with a $2,000.00 limit." 
Lindsey: "Oh! (thinking: 'MY GOD! WHAT KIND OF CRACK WHORE DEBT HAS THIS PERSON 
GOTTEN HERSELF INTO?') Really? Um...oh." Honestly, that is like when people date 
on the internet and a guy is "OH MY GOD you are the love of my life and where 
have you been for so long and I am so lucky to have found my soulmate..." And 
some wide-eyed chick is thinking "Praise da lord, I done caught myself a man!" 
Then he says, "Send a picture to me of your sweet self, my love." "Ooohh, I know 
just the one I'll send...the one at my cousin Laverne's wedding when I look so 
good. That taffeta really did not add the 20 pounds my sister said it did." 
Then, of course the guy is wiggling in his seat, breaks out the Vaseline, clicks 
on the picture, and upon viewing the girth that is his honey pie is like, 
"Oh...um...I can see you're um...at a Christian wedding. I am a Satanist. 
Clearly this won't work." That is how I feel about these offers. Why call me 
promising a magic card that I'm "already approved for, we just need this 
paperwork on file," with which to buy sassy footwear and unnecessary lipsticks 
when after I answer the required questions, you're going to refuse my fat 
taffeta wearing ass? It's so insulting. When I really think about it, they are 
screening me way more than I screen them! Oh well, screen and let screen, I 
guess. Yes, the phone rings and rings, but I ignore it like I ignore my friends 
when they say they are moving and are all, "oh what a pain it is to move with so 
very little help, but [I] can't afford movers." Me: "Uh huh. Well, when you're 
all finished up, I'll bring over my good friend, Jose Cuervo and we'll christen 
your new digs!" Moving friend: "Oh, I er...thanks." My mom told me that since I 
signed us up on the "I said don't call me, asshole" list and the little 
telefucketers are still so persistent, I could sue. Although, considering I am 
too lazy to even pick up the phone to tell someone to politely fuck off, do you 
really think I have the energy to sue anyone? Mmmmm. Prolly not. And besides, 
how would I pay a lawyer? Could I just charge it on one of my non-existent, too 
good for me credit cards?
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 8:38 PM I got rid of those freaks by 
telling them I planned on filing Bankruptcy. They stopped calling.

Hey one of my best friends lives off 81st just West of York! ----- COMMENT: 
AUTHOR: D DATE: 9:01 PM Break out the vaseline? Girl, you are in the wrong 
business, you need to be a writer. Promise me an autographed copy of your first 
book. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 10:42 AM Jules, I'm in the same boat 
as you, girl. Thanks to college. I mean, please don't tell me that I'm 
preapproved and then yank that carpet out from under me. It's not very nice. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 3:49 PM Boozie said "boat". Boat. Ship. 
Cruise. Ahhh...can you tell I am not ready to come back from my vacation yet?

I bought new luggage before my vacation and asked for a $50 credit limit 
increase to pay for it. They said no. It was Mervyn's.

POW, how you like me now? (Btw, it wasn't really a vacation, I was evading debt 
collectors in the Caribbean). ----- -------- TITLE: No News Is...No News AUTHOR: 
julie DATE: 3/04/2005 05:10:00 PM ----- BODY: 
I cannot even tell y'all how many people, friends who live far away and 
brothers-in-law and acquaintances that I haven't talked to in forever, have 
gotten in touch with me lately and asked me the mandatory, "so what's new?" 
Then, all they hear are crickets chirping. Nothing is new with me. NADA. But, I 
want to have news. I ache for it. I want to be able to say, "I got a fabulous 
new job that will fulfill me and make me rich at the same time!" "I am buying an 
apartment!" "I found Jesus! (He was hanging out in Riverside Park all 
along...who knew?)" Seriously, anything would do. But right now, my life is 
pretty routine. Go to work. Make the doughnuts. Go home. Watch TV. Fall asleep. 
Sometimes I mix it up by going to the gym after work which will then incur a 
shower following my arrival home. Cuz you know, I'm saucy like that. One night 
last week, I met a friend for drinks. But, that's not really news. I mean, it's 
not like people on the other end of the phone line want to pay their 10 cents a 
minute to hear me say, "Well, I went to such and such bar on Thursday and I had 
3 glasses of wine and a scotch. So, what's new with you?" And can I admit 
something that (is not really an admission as most of the people who read this 
site know me in real life and know this anyway) I am a little embarrassed about? 
I want to tell people I am engaged. Even more than that? I want it to be 
true...not just something I tell boozie breathing bar patrons when they get a 
smidge to close for comfort to confide to me "you're really pretty, you know 
that, baby?" Don't start calling me with your congratulations. This isn't a 
"hidden newsflash in the blog entry" post. It's just a projection of my 
sometimes present old-fashionedness. But, you know what? I don't even want to 
have the news, really. I want to be able to feel secure and I guess I think that 
all of those things (sans the Jesus part, which hey, maybe even that, too) would 
make me have a sense of stability that I just don't have...haven't ever had. Not 
real problems, I guess, as far as real problems go. That just what my news is.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 6:11 PM I'll marry you!! I've been wanting 
to go back to Haiwaii anyway! Mwah! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 6:14 PM 
Hawaii. Haiwaii's probably fun, too though. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot 
DATE: 12:48 PM Security....have you tried Brinks? ;)

So are you waiting for the bf to ask you or will ask him? (or would that be 
against the tradition) ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 10:17 AM You know, 
they (whoever the hell "they" is) say, "When it rains it pours." So I guess the 
opposite is true, as well. It's just a drought. But that down pour will come 
soon enough! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 3:40 PM News schmooz...hey, 
I'm back from my cruise! Have some more booze and go buy some shoes 'cuz sooner 
or later you'll lose these blues and will want to go back to when life was a 
snooze.

If things don't work out with Lindsey, I'd kneel down on grits for ya' honey. 
----- -------- TITLE: Talk Amongst Yourselves AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/17/2005 
05:23:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Reason # 857 you wish you were me: I am going to Seattle for 3 and a half days 
of wine drinking, dancing (both honkey tonk and clubby club varietals), 
boutiquey shopping, fresh air inhaling, and most importantly, Lindsey visiting. 
So, talk amongst yourselves. What are the other reasons you wish you were me? 
Don't say, "because then, I'd be HOT," because honey, you are en fuego. 
Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 7:39 AM Be sure not to drive to the 
Gold Club member car return area at the airport! Have a safe and fun trip! ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 8:52 AM I wanna drink and dance and shop. Have a 
fab time in Seattle. It's supposed to snow here this weekend. Blaaaah. ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 12:14 PM Have a ball or 8 and make sure you get 
some sleep. Bring me sumthin' purty. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: D DATE: 5:49 PM Did 
she say have an 8-ball? Do they serve those in Seattle? I thought they just 
drank coffee ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: TheDessie DATE: 2:39 PM yay! have fun Jes! 
:)

If you happen to have a stopover through LAX, give me a call. :) ----- -------- 
TITLE: When Dorks Love Each Other, for a thousand, Alex. AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
2/16/2005 03:52:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Last night Spence and I put his Valentine's Day present into use. Several times. 
(Um Hmmmm. It only takes a couple of minutes before he is ready to do it again.) 
I couldn't wait for 5:30 because before we left for work yesterday morning, we 
re-committed to come straight home and "GET. IT. ON!" And so we did. Once he put 
it in, I have to admit, we got a little too competitive to see who could hit the 
buzzer first. Ahem. I won. Twice. (But, to be fair, I let him win once, too.) 
PS2 Jeopardy is the best game ever.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Jamie Reed DATE: 11:27 PM You little slut puppy...

Just kidding, you two are too cute! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 
7:26 AM No whammies, no whammies STOP! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 9:05 
AM I'm such a tool. I love Jeopardy. Are you watching "Ultimate Champions" week? 
The blind guy, Eddie, is gonna be on. He was my favorite.

God, I'm such a nerd. ----- -------- TITLE: Happy Valentine's Day! *As always, 
join in the love by adding your own caption. AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/14/2005 
11:40:00 AM ----- BODY: 
 Finally. A guy with incredible fashion sense, rosy cheeks, and a MUSICIAN, no 
less, who tells it like it is when asked, "What is the deal maker for you? I 
mean, what could really make you fall in love?"
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 7:59 PM Yes, I agree. Valentine's Day 
BLOWS. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 7:21 AM "Maybe if I avert my 
eyes and blow this flute, nobody will notice I'm a boy WEARING A MINI-SKIRT!" 
----- -------- TITLE: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/14/2005 11:36:00 AM ----- BODY: 
 Uppity Brits. Oh, excuuuuse me "guvnah," nice monacle and all, but we wear 
pants in the good ole' U S of A!
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 1:17 PM I don't have a caption, but this 
Valentine really doesn't help the rumor that British guys have small weiners.

I'm just sayin'... ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 7:41 PM "Alright, 
ladies! Get out your singles and get ready for our main attraction tonight at 
the ManBarn...Teddy, the travelling inspector fireman baby! Can I get a WHOO 
WHOO!?" ----- -------- TITLE: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/14/2005 11:32:27 AM ----- 
BODY: 

...unt von ohr two bahxes ohv da chocolate.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 7:57 PM Patches: "Come ON, Ula, all I vant 
is luff."

Ula: "Mmm, alright. Come to da vindmill in half hour, ja?" ----- -------- TITLE: 
AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/14/2005 11:30:48 AM ----- BODY: 

"Viva la Valentines!" "Um, dude...your 'grape' leaves are slipping."
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Jen DATE: 12:26 PM Yeah - Viva is right...those I-talians 
sure do know how to celebrate...is that 2 men?? ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison 
DATE: 7:42 PM Jules and allison circa 1977. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot 
DATE: 11:40 AM "Raise your goblet, raise your grapes....to love handles! to fat 
kids! To...to...Naked Fat Kids With Love Handles!"

"YAY!" ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 11:41 AM "Raise your goblet, 
raise your grapes....to love handles! to fat kids! To...to...Naked Fat Kids With 
Love Handles!"

"YAY!" ----- -------- TITLE: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/14/2005 11:27:39 AM ----- 
BODY: 

Well, I'd rather that organ be "worn away" than another one, if you know what I 
mean.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 7:45 PM Someone get this guy a kleenex. 
That's just not attractive. Snotty VonBrokenHearted.

And shouldn't he be wearing some goggles or something? Safety first, people. 
----- -------- TITLE: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/14/2005 11:25:47 AM ----- BODY: 

Get a load of those HEARTS, man!
----- -------- TITLE: Foreplay AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/11/2005 10:24:00 AM ----- 
BODY: 
Y'all remember these? There will be new additions in the next few days, but 
thought you guys needed a little pre-Valentine's day warming up. Enjoy...if you 
can get past the primitive HTML display. Good lord, that was like looking at my 
9 year old self's signature, after I had just learned cursive. *Feb. 14th as of 
10:44 a.m.: I have some great valentines, BUT Blogger/Hello/Picasa doesn't want 
me to upload them for some reason. Clearly they are bitter, lonely programs that 
want to impede all the love. Sorry. Stay tuned, though!
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 12:19 PM I love, love, love the third one. 
God, I can't wait to call someone 'pork chop' this weekend when I'm all drunk 
and semi-belligerant.

Happy V-D! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 4:11 PM "If you'd PIG me for 
your valentine"... used to read "If you'd PORK me, valentine" but parents 
started complaining that it wasn't kosher. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot 
DATE: 10:44 AM The pig one is a hoot! What if it said... "Pig me and I'll bring 
home the bacon...strip" Ah, the romance... ----- -------- TITLE: Not Even the 
"B" Squad AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/03/2005 05:28:45 PM ----- BODY: 
A few years ago, I found myself renting a car at the DFW airport. Jen had some 
sort of "business" meeting in Fort Worth, being that that is where all the 
hookers meet every year to discuss street walking techniques and the new flavors 
of latex. So, naturally, since she was being put up in a swanko hotel (despite 
the rumors, I guess some pimps are generous), I invited myself along. And, hey, 
it doesn't hurt to be updated on the breaking technologies and rules of thumb 
(Ew.) that a lady of the night ought to know, as knowledge is power, friends. 
Also, Lindsey was still living in Austin, so it seemed appropriate to drive down 
ole 35 to visit her and show my Yankee friend all my old stompin' grounds as 
well. "Jen, I used to stomp all the way across campus to 'Do Your Best 101!' 
And, look! That's where I stomped all through my Junior year for like $8 an 
hour! And, oh! I got kicked out of that bar because of all my stompin'!" Fun was 
had. Piano players were harassed. The Cotton Eye was Joed. I think some tails 
were sucked. Mmm! Crawfish Boil! (Pronounced: "bole.") What did you think I 
meant, sinner? Eventually, we had to get back to New York, as Jen was jonesing 
pretty hard for some vein candy, as she is apparently wont to do after some 
Two-Steppin'. We headed back up ole 35 to Dallas, veered accordingly when we car 
the picture of the planes on the street signs, and drove into the labyrinth of 
rental car returns. One sign said "Gold Club Members" and the other said 
"Everyone who is not a Gold Club Member" or something. I knew I was not a Gold 
Club member, so I turned into the alley where all the other brightly colored 
Ford Fiestas turned. With lightening speed, a clipboard brandishing uniformed 
Gold Club Member worshiper ran over to the window and signaled for me to roll it 
down by rotating his wrist like he was whisking an egg, even though we had 
automatic windows, so he should have just crooked his pointer finger, but I got 
the gist as I luckily majored in area of study that strongly focuses on 
"non-verbal communication." Him: "Are you a Gold Club Member?" Me: "Um, no, but 
I think I turned the righ..." Him: "Oh no. This will never do. This area is only 
for Gold Club Members. Please zig and zag where all the non-gold arrows direct 
you so you don't taint the Gold Club Member parking spaces with your non-member 
domestic reject driving selves." Me: "Oh. Okay." Zig. Zag. Zeg. We all unbuckled 
our seat belts and were gathering our things when another clipboard brandisher 
taps on the driver's side window. Her: "Yes, can I see your Gold Club Member 
card please?" Me: "Oh, I'm not a..." Her: (Horrified) "You are not a Gold Club 
Member?!?! Then, no! This isn't where you need to be! You need to be 
blahblahblahgosomeplaceelsewithyourloserynon-memberselves." Keep in mind that 
there was a plane to be caught, and guess what. No matter how nice your rack 
is...they don't call the plane back once it departs the gate. So I am all, "huge 
dramatic sigh/eyeroll combo," and Jen is all, "I don't know if I would have even 
let you travel with me if I'd have known you weren't a Gold Club Member, " and 
Lindsey is all, "Jen, you smoke crack out of a old Mountain Dew bottle. I think 
Julie's Gold Club member status is a moot point," and I am all, "Nice usage of 
'moot.'" Zog. Zug. And sometimes zYg. Me: "Whew! Final..." Idiot Gold Club 
Member Corral Administrator: "And you are a Gold Club Member, yes?" Me: Tears. 
Hysterical 
"M'Lynn-I-can-run-all-the-way-to-Texas-and-back-but-my-daughter-can't-she-never-could" 
freak out. "NO! OK? NO. I am NOT a GOLD FUCKING CLUB MEMBER. I NEVER WAS A 
CHEERLEADER EITHER. NOT EVEN THE "B" SQUAD! OK? I SUCK! I JUST NEED TO DROP THIS 
PIECE OF SHIT OFF SO I CAN CATCH MY PLANE!" I.G.C.M.C.A.: Shock. Horror. 
Silently hands me "departure" slip and out of the clown car we go! Moral of the 
story: Cheerleaders and Gold Club Members are "The Man." Fight 'em. Now for your 
commenting pleasure, I present:  Even Amputee Gold Club Member Cheerleaders are 
thiiiiiis much cooler than Julie! 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 5:48 PM I just wanted to hit 
someone....make 'em feel as bad as I did

Ha ha ha ha... ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 9:40 PM Julie...you are too 
twisted for color tv. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 8:43 AM I love 
'moral of the story' posts! I hate the word MOOT - bad memories! The first time 
I heard it I was like do you mean MUTE? I thought the person had a speech 
impediment And everyone laughed. And I still didn't know what they meant. So 
because I'm a dumbass, I hate MOOT! 

Me giggle at your post and picture, though. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 
9:39 AM Ugh. Someone asked me the other day if I was a cheerleader in high 
school. Are you kidding? I'm way to cynical to be a cheerleader, 
thankyouverymuch. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: D DATE: 7:04 PM Ummm... I was a 
cheerleader. Varsity; A-Squad, baby. And now I coach cheerleaders. So on behalf 
of cheerleaders everywhere, please stay on your side of the white line. I am 
also a pimp, and I don't remember putting your name on the guest list at my 
hotel. You're on thin ice, Julie. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 3:12 PM 
Whack a Weezer!

-New Jan Brady ----- -------- TITLE: Love Is All You Need AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
2/02/2005 03:54:00 PM ----- BODY: 
Hate is the word. It's the word that you heard. It's got a groove. It's got a 
feelin.' (Are those even the words to Grease?) Anyway. Hate. My. Job. Right. 
Now. Big project is fucking upside down, and when I say "fucking upside down" in 
this context, I don't mean in the good way. So, I was spitting on my computer 
when I thought, "Easy does it, tiger. You are not a hateful bitch. You are a 
luva,' not a fighter. (Just like Michael Jackson circa "The Girl Is Mine" not 
circa "Little Boys Dig Spiked Kool-Aid and My Hidden Love Lair.") Now, what 
could you do to spread the LUFF?" I was thinking about writing about who I love 
in real life, but the truth is, I don't even like most people. Oh calm down. I 
am a lovING person, but I have this many friends, (see my one hand held up in 
the air?) and really, I let them down enough. If I spread myself any thinner, I 
wouldn't even qualify for friend status. I'd be the person you call last, if all 
your other friends can't go out, and even then, it would be because I said I'd 
pay. I will tell you who I love love. Not in the biblical sense...yet. (Just 
kidding...kind of.) I will let you know who I love reading when I hate my job. 
And you should read them, too (although let's face it, you probably are already) 
because I am likely smarter than you and I know what funny is. NO! Because I am 
spreading the lurve like Philadelphia Cream Cheese. In no particular order, I am 
pleasured by the following: Amalah. Y'all. She is funny. And bitchy. And she's 
seems more alcoholic than me, and as we all know, the quantity of booze consumed 
is directly proportional to the coolocity factor. And speaking of, I have just 
started imbibing Boozie. All the flavor and none of the waking up in the morning 
with a person you don't know. She's good people. Zoot. Her family is the 
familiest and I love them. Also, she is splendiferous at web design. If I wasn't 
afraid to approach the cool kids' table, I would ask her to design a site for me 
so I could get rid of this lame-o template. But, all's well. She's fun to read 
even without her doing whatever I want when I want it. Pork Tornado at Mental 
Drippings. I snorfed while reading him. Diet Coke spewed out of my nose during 
unprepared for laughter. I think that's what snorf means. If not, I don't know 
if I have ever snorfed before. Maybe I did and maybe that's why that guy never 
called back. SirTalkALot is funny (and a little tortured, I think...he writes 
POETRY!) He was a "*drive by commenter" on my site (the few, the proud, the 
people who comment) and so I started moseying on over there. I mean, read this: 
"Bulimia is a lot of work and money for someone that doesn't even like to 
exercise. I mean you have to eat all this food (chew, chew, chew) then find a 
place to puke. Then clean up the mess. Why not just chew the food and not 
swallow? Spit the chewed food in a cup and feed it to underprivileged babies." 
Clearly, he belongs in my posse. So, other than who is over there on my link 
list, that's who I check out, mainly. (Even though SOME people don't even 
update, so SOME people should be exiled from the link list. You know who you 
are.) And I thought you should know since we have an "open" relationship and you 
are free to read whomever you please, just not in MY HOUSE and not on OUR 
ANNIVERSARY! *Allison's coined term 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 6:59 PM Hey! Thanks! The only thing I love 
right now is that effing Dandelion powder. Jesus. I have enough addictions...I 
mean, with the drinking and the smoking and the cussing and all. ----- COMMENT: 
AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 10:09 AM Thanks Jules! I'm definitely tortured, 
mainly by my job these days, and until those depressing poems turn into money 
making songs on the radio, I'll use laughter as the best medicine. Thanks for 
YOUR site as a bit of the elixir that is comedy. BLOG ON! ----- -------- TITLE: 
*The People of New York #3...or Number Two... AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/31/2005 
08:58:13 PM ----- BODY: 
Where: Uptown 6 train When: 6:04 p.m. What: Well shaven man (?) dressed (only) 
in rainbow clown wig, Phantom of the Opera mask, black vinyl zippered vest, 
adult diaper, fiercely used combat boots, and cardboard sign necklace simply 
stating "Will defecate on cue for money." Why: Um. . . *The People of New York 
#2 *The People of New York #1 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 11:43 AM The strangest thing I've ever seen 
on the metro here in DC was a guy wearing one of those braided belts from 1980. 
Also, it was too big and the end of the belt was tucked into his pants right 
above his crack. He was Swedish, though, so maybe he didn't know the current 
American trends on belt-wear. ----- -------- TITLE: *Tangled in the InterNET 
AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/25/2005 03:13:56 PM ----- BODY: 
Ah, the internet. Blessing and curse, n'cest pas? I have been thinking about 
this a lot lately, as some people have removed content from their personal sites 
due to work "violations." Some have even been fired for having a blog. Some have 
been reprimanded for spending too much time surfing. Let's just assume that ALL 
have been spied on, just for safety's sake. There are a lot of issues that 
pertain to the pros and cons of the internet in today's society, (good Lord, 
that sounded affected!) and if I were still in college, you wouldn't have to 
twist my arm to write an extensive paper detailing all of them. However, today I 
am focusing on internet use at work. Aren't you thrilled? I feel like I have to 
go on record, because so many friends have had corporate fingers wagged at them 
and have written about it. So, if this bores you to tears, move right along. You 
won't hurt my feelings. Let me just preface this by saying, yes, different jobs 
and situations call for different interpretations on what is and is not kosher 
for internet use. Sure, blogging may be deemed inappropriate if the workplace is 
called out by name and particular colleagues are mentioned. I think we all know 
that porn is unacceptable, (Ahem. At work. I am certainly not casting judgment 
on what anyone does at home.) and if an people are lackluster in their work 
because they are spending too much time on the internet, then, let's be 
realistic. If you can't defend that you are a great employee AND you are 
Ms/Mister Cyberspace, well, dem's da berries. That said, here is my beef with 
Spyware, Corporate "talking to's," and overall workplace distrust. 1) If a 
person performs well in their job, what difference does it make if they spend 
time on the internet? I know that old minimum wager adage, "If you got time to 
lean, you got time to clean!" But, come on. No one who is surfing, writing, 
reading, shopping, etc. is at a minimum wage job...maybe they are making a few 
bucks more than that. (Maybe.) It is likely they are stuck in a cubicle, 
trudging along in corporate America, being paid well below what they are worth, 
desperately searching for some kind of creative stimulation or outlet to negate 
the flickering screen that they stare at while crunching numbers or 
"communicating" via email. And let's be realistic. Who is going to figuratively 
grab a mop every time they get a second to spare? There are just so many tasks 
one can self-start. Most systems in corporate America need a little updating, 
but it's likely that those systems were implemented for a reason and we all know 
the "we fear change" attitude many companies impart. Would you offer to revamp 
an office's entire filing system in addition to your everyday tasks, knowing 
that it would likely not be reflected in your review? OR would you be all, 
"Whew! My brain is overloaded what with the phone calls and the email and the 
stacks of paperwork on my desk! I think I'll take a brake to surf the net?" 2) 
The most efficient workers are likely to have the most free time. Hey. You learn 
the system. At least you do if you didn't get to work via the short bus. In 
every job, (and I have worked for several different companies...temping sure 
does teach you some things!) you adapt to "the flow." You get in. Check and send 
corresponding worky emails. Then, there is a huge lag while you wait to get 
responses. You organize the day like everybody else. You know how long it will 
take you to tackle the paperwork. Usually, the work is so predictable you know 
the time needed to accurately complete each individual form within a 
millisecond. And the thing is, if the big wigs increase the workload, they had 
better increase the salary, otherwise people would high tail it to another job. 
(I know I am not speaking just for myself here, am I?) So, the smart people fly 
through their work and have time to spare. They are the same people who were the 
first ones finished with their Geometry tests and household chores, and since 
they have the same title or are in the same "class" (let's keep with the 
metaphor, shall we?) unless they get rewarded with MORE MONEY, MORE than an "A," 
or MORE than and extra hour of TV, they shouldn't be penalized with having to do 
MORE work than their corporate counterparts. 3) People should feel comfortable 
where they work. You know, obviously, I don't keep a lot of secrets. My site has 
my real name on it. I have always assumed that every employer, every 
ex-boyfriend, and every person that I have screwed over reads my site. That is 
in no way true, (otherwise, man, the "screwed over" faction alone would raise my 
hit count to like a krajillion!) but it keeps me respectful of potential hurt 
feelings and all the other consequences of anyone not remaining anonymous. Also, 
I assume everyone likes me or doesn't and if it's the latter, then they turn the 
channel, so to speak. However, when people think that every little thing they 
happen to look at or participate in on the web is being scrutinized, and that 
the fact that they play Solitaire during some slow times may overshadow the sum 
total of excellent personal qualities that make them an asset to a company and 
it could get them fired...does that encourage loyalty to one's job? I don't 
think so, but hey, I am not paying anyone. And I am confident that I make far 
more contributions to my workplace than credited for. I am not complaining 
because I haven't been here long enough, but I guess I have the same outlook on 
jobs as I do on relationships; if someone doesn't think I "am working out" or 
thinks they can find someone better than me to do what I do, and doesn't 
appreciate the entirety of my awesomeness...then, ok. I'll be on my way then, 
and I'll wish you well. 4) Everything is a trade-off. All employees know this. 
The actual work you do may not light your fire, but that's why they call it 
"work." You sit by a window. Your coworkers aren't weirdos. Dental is covered. 
You feel loyal to one of your superiors who isn't afraid to kid around. You like 
the company overall. Whatever the case may be. Why then, don't employers seem to 
know about this trade-off thing? Why is everything so black and white? Many 
companies have very legitimate reasons to terminate employment. If an employee 
is spending what is considered too much time on the internet AND they are kind 
of luke warm, caused other problems, lost big accounts, botched paperwork, isn't 
at all concerned on how to improve their performance, and has been individually 
warned, well then, granted, letting them go is probably best. However, if an 
employee is charismatic, has performed outside the realm of their 
responsibilities, been proficient in their tasks, etc., then maybe employers 
should look past their internet use, and possibly reward them with a promotion! 
This would up the work and responsibility ante as well as the cheddar, so in 
turn, the employee would be even MORE LOYAL to the company! See? Hearts and 
flowers all around! That's about it. If it doesn't compromise the quality of the 
work being done, I don't know how someone who needs to be creative (and 
therefore writes or reads internet fodder) can be fired. It seems like having a 
little personality would be valued. And, I don't know how installing scare 
tactics to make people aware that they are all-work-all-the-timers surrounded by 
carpeted walls stimulates efficiency. What I was taught in my fancy pants 
college (and therefore, it is surely correct) was: good work environment = more 
competent worker = higher efficiency = more money for company = boss man's new 
house in the Hamptons. I don't know. Just seems like some people are willing to 
shoot themselves in the foot. But, consider the source! I need to finish the 
mopping! *Hoo Wee! That there is a creative title, huh? The hits just keep on 
comin! 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 9:55 AM EXACTLY! I think companies 
these days only made the internet rule to have a "ding" on our records if they 
ever need to cut personnel. They'll take the slackers first, then go up the 
line. It's SO much cheaper to fire someone for internet usage (a violation of 
company code) than to pay them severance. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Jen DATE: 10:17 
AM I would have to agree with SirTalksAlot on this one...trust is a huge part of 
any relationship - if your husband, boyfriend or employer can't trust that you 
are always giving a hundred percent - then why are you there??? At the same 
time...everyone needs a break -and if writing a couple of thoughts deserves a 
punishment...well...I don't think I need to elaborate. Basic - you should never 
be afraid in any relationship. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 11:32 AM 
Fight the power, SISTAH! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 3:08 AM 
Corporations are primarily monitoring web surfing habits to cover their asses 
from a legal perspective. If employees are surfing web sites that are offensive 
to other employees because of adult content, racism, sexism, etc., then there's 
a huge potential for a lawsuit. Spotting excessive web surfing is usually a 
secondary task. Search for "anonymous proxy" on Google to cover your web surfing 
tracks. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Boozie DATE: 1:44 PM Yo. Just stopping in to say 
'ello. Um, yeah, my ex-boyfriend realized that I was completely done with him by 
reading my blog, which I didn't know he even knew about. Ha ha. I'm such a 
bitch. ----- -------- TITLE: Say Goodnight, Gracie AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/21/2005 
11:23:56 AM ----- BODY: 
 Sink or Swim Took Little Miss Bitey to get de-femmed today, and will pick her 
up tonight, whence shall begin the weekend of insane pampering (as I am a 
complete mush and feel sahwy fuh ma pwitty pwitty baybee...Lord, help us.) It 
was also the freezingest morning of the Earth's ever lovin' history, so even 
though she was wrapped in her pink pashmina, and her carrier was lined with a 
fleece blanket, Gracie was shivering like the cute and furry version of Little 
Match Girl. Since she was too sick and too young for any shots when I got her, 
she'll also finally get her Rabies vaccination, which is good. Itta' done kilt 
me to go out to the pen with a rifle to "deal with" my coon-bit Tabby. That ole' 
Hydrophobie' can be a bitch! I wonder how drugged up she'll be when I go get 
her. Like, should I get the lava lamp warmed up and stock up on Doritos or will 
she be coming off a different kind of junk which would mean I would need: *"one 
room which [she] will not leave. Soothing music. Tomato soup, ten tins of. 
Mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold. Ice cream, vanilla, one 
large tub of. Magnesia, milk of, one bottle. Paracetamol, mouthwash, vitamins. 
Mineral water, Lucozade, pornography. One mattress. One bucket for urine, one 
for feces and one for vomitus. One television and one bottle of Valium." Hmm. 
Either way, I'll be ready. *-Mark "Rent-Boy" Renton in Trainspotting 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 4:52 PM *And when she's done with all that, 
bring it over to my house. Thanks. ----- -------- TITLE: You Missed Me! You 
Missed Me! Now You Gotta Kiss Me! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/17/2005 01:08:33 PM 
----- BODY: 
Back from China. A smidge jet lagged, but other than that, just fine. Lots to 
tell you, (I was all the way over in CHINA! Can you even?) but it will have to 
wait, as I have other, more important things to do. Not really, but my brain is 
fried like it was on drugs, and really, you don't need to read anything MORE 
incoherent than what you're used to around here. Keeses farh ju. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 2:48 PM you were gone??? ----- COMMENT: 
AUTHOR: allison DATE: 3:11 PM ...I jest. Welcome back, love. What'd you bring 
me? ----- -------- TITLE: Happy New Year! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/03/2005 10:09:26 
AM ----- BODY: 
 May your 2005 be free of mutant phalange type growths on your shoulders and 
Bjork-ish fashion sense. Really. What is going on here? I am still hung over 
from New Year's Eve and apparently, my brain has joined my liver in la 
revolucion, so I got nothin'. Since Christmas week is over and I am no longer 
getting doted on by my family, I'll just tell you what I have been telling them 
for the past 9 days. "I'm too tiiiiiiiiiiired. Do [any little task that should 
be my responsibility] for me." The Comments are all yours, people. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 10:17 AM "Uh...cah thumone helpth me 
pleath? Eh he...my thung is stucth thoo the glath." ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: 
TheDessie DATE: 10:19 PM *bat eyelashes* you should see where ELSE I can reach 
*bat bat* ----- -------- TITLE: Holiday Greeting #5 AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
12/21/2004 01:43:38 PM ----- BODY: 
 And, lo! The Archangel broke it down one time. "All the saviors in the house, 
say 'Yeeeeeah!'" "Yeeeeeah!" So sayeth the Lord. *Add your own blasphemy in the 
comments section!* 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 1:21 PM Dude...check my deodorant. ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: TheDessie DATE: 10:23 PM The child hath taken a crap, and it 
does not stink. Let's praise him! ----- -------- TITLE: Homecoming! AUTHOR: 
julie DATE: 12/17/2004 12:47:15 PM ----- BODY: 
Spence gets in from Ireland tonight, and my close friends are excited for me... 
Allison: are you super cute today? julie: why should today be any different? 
Allison : ha Allison : true true true julie: i am wearing: julie: brown kickass 
boots julie: dark denim above the knee skirt, with brown leather kickpleat 
accents julie: chocolate crew neck shirt julie: with tan cord jacket Allison: 
nice julie: and, of course... julie: non sticky lip gloss and julie: a little 
well placed perfume Allison: ew dirty Allison: do not speak of these things to 
one who is celibate, you trashy whore julie: i meant behind my ears, slut 
Allison: ahhh Observations: 1) Allison is apparently more prudish, and possibly 
stinkier, than one would think. HA! Just kidding. Everyone knows what she smells 
like. 2) Considering the detail I go into regarding what I am wearing, I should 
work for $4.99 a minute. 3) 8 hours and 12 minutes to go! 
----- -------- TITLE: Holiday Greeting #4 AUTHOR: julie DATE: 12/16/2004 
03:03:02 PM ----- BODY: 
 "Lump of coal, my ass!" little Phinnaeus began, and such were his thoughts of 
revenge on Santa, that the flames morphed into the very horns of Beelzebub. 
"When I say Nintendo DS, I mean it, elf." 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 3:27 PM It was suddenly not-so-Silent 
Night when Susie cut one so big her pajama top busted.

-Lauren
www.newjanbrady.blogspot.com ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 4:16 PM A 
Firestarter Christmas. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 9:27 AM Little 
Carnie Wilson sits by the fire
Eating more figgy pudding is her desire
Visions of ho-ho's and snowballs divine
A box of bon bons go with one word... "MINE!"
Her parents worry and they keep a hopin'
But every time her elbow bends her mouth flies open!
This picture captures the scene. Yes, quite classy.
DAMN! How much more disproportionate could her ass be? ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: 
julie DATE: 11:57 AM Wow. 
You guys are sick and weird. 
I think I am in lurve. Sloppy kisses all around.

Lauren-
Thank you for adding the much needed fart humor to this forum. I don't do it 
enough. (and by that I mean ADD the humor.) Comedy Gold, my friend. 

Sir-
And thank YOU for the gift of poetry. Dubbing you laureate.

Al-
Nothing spreads Christmas cheer like a pre-rehab Drew Barrymore reference. For 
that, I thank you.

Sugarplum visions for each of you. ----- -------- TITLE: There's Always Room for 
Brain-O AUTHOR: julie DATE: 12/14/2004 03:11:04 PM ----- BODY: 
Bitchasshelldeath. If I spend too much longer in this job, Bill Cosby will 
provide the voice over for my brain's commercial. Jell-o brand Brain-ioca 
Puddin' Snacks. Deeeeeeelay-cious! So, I need a break. What's going on? 
****************************** Who was it? Lindsey (yes...I think so) and I were 
talking about funny a/o BAAAAD commercials. I told her about that one that shows 
a woman on some low carb diet dreaming about foods she "can't" eat anymore. 
There is a voiceover saying something like, "I can go without cereal (Demon!), 
but what I really miss is YOGURT. Spence saw that and was like, "Who misses 
yogurt? No one likes that shit to begin with, they just eat it as a substitute 
for something better." Then, Lindsey brought up that asinine yogurt commercial 
where the two girls are saying how good their yogurt is. "It's 'good haircut' 
good," etc. She hates that commercial, and I don't blame her. Who talks about 
food that way? I can tell you right now, we could be eating steak and lobster 
and Lindsey and I wouldn't be going, "Mmm...this is 'shoes on sale' good." We'd 
be like, "Good Christ, this steak is my new boyfriend! Pass the wine." Last 
night, I saw the new one where these same girls are sitting at what appears to 
be a deserted wedding reception, in fugly bridesmaid dresses, eating their 
yogurt, saying it is "cute groomsman" good, and "never having to wear this dress 
again" good. Um, first of all, no wonder the reception was empty. If you serve 
Yoplait at a wedding for which I just bought you a $75 towel and washcloth set 
from your registry, I'm out. Of course these two stuck around for the yogurt. If 
I were them, I wouldn't be complaining about wearing an ugly dress for a 
friend...it's likely you don't have many friends anyway, being so annoying and 
all, so suck it up. ********************************** I still have a gift 
certificate from my birthday, so I went to the store to buy some jeans. After 
trying on several pairs, I left feeling depressed because apparently, my body 
doesn't fit the preppy argyle & striped ties body type like it once did. But I 
stopped feeling like Fatty Magee (McGee?) when I spun the experience in my head 
by thinking that clearly now I am storing all my "hot" genes in my ass until I 
pass them on. *********************************** I almost wet my pants. Brent 
linked to me. Really. You have no idea of the extent of my dorkdom...how excited 
links make me. Well maybe you do. Now I am a shooting star, like Anna Nicole. I 
need to practice my slurring. Thasssssssall forrrrrnoww. I loooove you. Now, 
getttttta tattoooofmeeee onyour boooody. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 3:23 PM Ah, I remember the Mary Tyler 
post. You made me, blush. 

Brent's a hunk of burnin' dork. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 3:24 PM 
Ugh, that was me. Don't EVER type and eat Chex Mix at the same time. YOU'VE BEEN 
WARNED!

-Lauren
Always with the Talking, RIP
New Jan Brady ----- -------- TITLE: Holiday Greeting #3 AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
12/13/2004 10:54:59 AM ----- BODY: 
 Worried that partially nude cherubs would condemn all Heaven's citizens to 
eternal damnation, John Ashcroft helped to pass legislation that banned all body 
parts from the neck down. *Post your own caption in the comments section and 
guarantee your spot on the naughty or nice list.* 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 1:12 PM CHERUB 1: "Raise your fluffy 
little wing if you want go with moi to soar over the NJ Turnpike.... and take a 
dump on car windshields below."

CHERUB 2: "Oooo Ooo! Me ME! I wanna! I wanna go! Pick me! PLEEAAASSSEEE!" ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 1:36 PM "Wanna make out?"

"Hmm, 'kay."

-Lauren/New Jan Brady ----- -------- TITLE: Holiday Greeting #2 AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 12/10/2004 01:53:17 PM ----- BODY: 
 Frosty the Snowman was a jolly, happy soul, with a corncob pipe and a button 
nose and testicles the size of basketballs. *Please spread the holiday cheer by 
adding your own caption in the comments section!* 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 2:55 PM This post has been removed by 
a blog administrator. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 5:10 PM This post 
has been removed by a blog administrator. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 
5:11 PM The Truth about Frosty's trek to the North Pole...
He wasn't melting, he was seeking a cure for elephantitis of the balls which had 
been discovered by native eskimos in a remote region of the Arctic. ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 5:29 PM SIR TALKS A LOT's comment was MISTAKENLY 
erased because a certain "other poster" (let's just call her Mallison) posted 
twice. When I tried to delete it, because though, funny, didn't bear repeating, 
I deleted SIRTALKSALOT's comment instead. So here it is:

Sure Frosty had a corn cobb pipe, but does anybody know what was IN that pipe? 

(Sorry, Sir) ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: I'm Brent, ya dorks. DATE: 8:35 PM The 
Children's Mafia knew the perfect wintery disguise for a corpse. ----- COMMENT: 
AUTHOR: SirTalksALot DATE: 9:13 AM When I first saw the comment deleted, I 
thought 'uh oh' perhaps I'd offended. How sweet of you to repost! Keep on 
bloggin', Jules, YOU RULE! ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 5:12 PM Meh 
heh heh.

-Mallison, the blogging gremlin ----- -------- TITLE: Holiday Greeting #1 
AUTHOR: julie DATE: 12/09/2004 05:40:25 PM ----- BODY: 
 With enough rouge, the hottie with the mistletoe will surely forget you're a 
midget. *Add your own Christmas caption in the comments section! 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 9:19 PM And if not, just jump up and punch 
him in the knee. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: I'm Brent, ya dorks. DATE: 8:30 PM 
"Merry Christmas with Lots of Things" was the popular holiday greeting amongst 
detached, powder junkies of the time. ----- -------- TITLE: No Shit! AUTHOR: 
julie DATE: 12/07/2004 03:06:29 PM ----- BODY: 
After listening in on an exchange between a couple of tweens this morning on the 
subway, I realized that the phrase "I shit you not" makes me giggle. It's like, 
way to class up a foul mention of defecation, dude. "Art thou shitting me, 
Perseus?" "No, fair Madeline. I shit you not." 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: I'm Brent, ya dorks. DATE: 2:17 PM I was once so angry at 
a horrible motorist I yelled out "Fuck my balls, you whore!". That one kept me 
thinking for weeks. ----- -------- TITLE: The Poodle and the Tramp AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 12/07/2004 02:00:26 PM ----- BODY: 
So Al inspired a bad-date-a-thon, which is not so much what the name implies (we 
all didn't intentionally go on bad dates...to raise money for Corky and 
friends), but rather an oral presentation of all the misadventures in coupling 
(I got sick of saying "Bad date." Does anyone else think of Sallah catching that 
monkey poisoned fig before it lands in Indy's mouth?) my friends and I have 
experienced. Lindsey has a funny one. Jen has a few. As awful as I think some of 
my rendezvous have been (like the time I asked "the soldier" why he giggled when 
I casually mentioned something that would hint as to what my political leanings 
were, and he responded, "No! I'm sorry. I just think it's so cute when pretty 
girls try to talk about politics." Um...thank you? Asshole?) I don't think I 
have heard one funnier than Al's Bad Date #1. I remember her telling me about 
that night, too. Right before she decided to give him a second date. I was going 
to write about all of the doozies I have been on, but today inspired something 
else. I had no choice but to recall this little gem. Remember when I told you Al 
was crazy in the last entry because she was walking around town, zipper down? 
PS: Between you and me, that's also how she gets dates...the fine caliber of men 
she sees thinks it's HOT. Hee! Homeless junkies love it when you forget to XYZ. 
Well, I discovered karma in all it's jokester glory. Do not tease friend lest 
their misfortune will fall upon you. Not only did I realize my zipper was down 
for who knows how long, but I spoke with all three coworkers and a guy who works 
in the suite down the hall with a LOUDLY printed pair of undies screaming out 
from under my denim. They had pink and black poodles on them. (At least I am an 
equal opportunity dog supporter.) I am 27. And wearing poodle panties and 
showing them off to all of New York City. And to you, fine reader. I thought the 
guy from 2 doors down was shy or something, avoiding eye contact and looking 
down...at my waitband? Poor thing. Social anxiety is not a disease to be laughed 
at. Even more embarrasing is that...I am not. Embarrassed. Not even to admit to 
the pattern of my unmetionables (that aren't) to the entire world. Conceited, 
much? The entire world reads my little blog. Yes, Julie. No one can get enough 
of your subway encounters and shoutouts to your teeny circle of friends. So, to 
segue into something comletely non-sequitor...I ate a turkey sandwich with WAY 
too much mustard and not near enough turkey. That reminded me of the time that 
Spence told me he ate mustard and cheese sandwiches when he was a kid. After 
noticing my appalled grimace, he said, "What? You didn't eat those when you were 
little?" Me: Shaking head, emphatically "No." Him: "Why not." Me: "Because I 
wasn't a hobo." So, Allison. Although you trump me with bad date stories, I 
think I date a hobo, too. Seems like I wanted to mention something else, but as 
the cat and beginning of fine lines and wrinkles would suggest, I can't remember 
what it was. You're probably better off. Who knows if I'd have regaled you with 
a personal history of underwire. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 6:42 PM Hey, are you talking about the time 
that guy came over after we went out and we were all telling stories and he told 
the one about when he was thirteen and he shot someone. With a gun. On Purpose. 

I miss Texas. ----- -------- TITLE: The People of New York #2 AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 12/01/2004 11:58:19 AM ----- BODY: 
(The People of New York #1) The behemoth Christmas tree in Rock Center was 
lighted last night which served as the flying green flag for all the insanity, 
er...I mean...Holiday cheer to plow, full throttle, through the streets of New 
York. Crazies, start your engines. Hoo, boy! What this city DOESN'T need is a 
"little Christmas," right this very minute, or really, even the next minute. 
What is DOES need, is manners. A lot of em. Now think. If you add a kajillion 
more people to an already congested city, what do you get? More congestion. And 
people? People. Are. Rude. When. Congestified. Congestcated? Congestered. 
Speaking of... Al and I were out shopping last night (for ahem yarn ) and a guy 
sneezes without covering up his snot riddled nose and/or mucus infested mouth. 
Immediately, she goes into this mantra: "I love New York. I love New York. I 
love New York." She had to do this to convince herself that she still wants to 
be here. I, on the other hand, had to repeat, "I am friends with Allison. I am 
friends with Allison. I am friends with Allison." What? She was talking to 
herself. On the street! In public! With actual people around! I don't want to 
look like I attract the crazies. Heh. Right. Like I don't already. She even, as 
we discovered later, had her zipper was down the whole night. (Pssst. She's 
crazy, I tell you!) I guess I am feeling a little bah humbuggy. Spence is in 
Dublin and he just oooozes Christmas Spirit. (Ew. Note to self: don't ever say 
someone you love oozes anything. Grody. "Hey! Watch what you're doing! I just 
slipped on all this Christmas Spirit in the hallway! Three words. Brawny. Paper. 
Towel.") He is usually the one who wants to get a tree and enjoys prancing 
around in the snow. Well, he doesn't prance. He just walks. Normally. It's a 
normal, manly walk. I don't want you to think I am in love with Corky St. Clair. 
Anyway. He loves taking me Christmas shopping, and enjoys all the nog, and the 
cheer and whatnot. Spence is just so magical that he...well, I don't 
know...he...just pulls a rabbit out of my ass on the count of three. WAIT! NO! 
He just is. Magical. And he instills that sense of excitement especially around 
this time of year. And he's not here. So, you do the math. Guess where our 
Christmas decorations are? If you said, "in the closet" you are right! Where 
will they stay this year? Right, again! You are en fuego! But, I do give myself 
a little holiday credit. I do still have some Halloween candy. New York. 
Christmas. I swear some guy lowered his shoulder before he crashed into my frail 
little body yesterday. And did he say, "excuse me?" Oh no. He did not. Did I 
give him the finger? Oh yes. Yes I did. (I am becoming one of them. I need me 
some manners, too.) Jingle all the way! It was raining like Jesus was crying 
this morning. Which, let's face it. He probably was. I bet he still can't get 
over the election results. Because of this, the trains were disfunctional. 
DISFUNCTIONAL. A little water on the tracks? The signals malfunction. Hmmm...New 
York is an island...looks like we'd have planned for this. I wonder how we can 
land on the moon, but cannot fix a little track water. If the signals 
malfunction, trains are impossibly slow, which leads to eleventy frillion people 
trying to clamor in from out of the rain, into the subway station, to add to the 
hugamajillion people already in there because the trains...they are not a' 
comin.' One prince of a guy shook his umbrella out all over me. Thanks, man. Fa 
la la la la la la la la. A very plastic-y, "pulled" Upper East Side bitch pulled 
me out of a crammed subway car I had sardined myself into this morning...so she 
could sardine herself in my place. My jaw hit the floor on that one, but at 
least I gained my composure in time to say, "If you're rushing to get to your 
plastic surgeon, ask him what you should do about your jowls, and for God's 
sake, enough with the eye lifts. Your eyebrows are where a debutante's headband 
should go." She just heard the jowl part. The doors shut shut before she got 
that last little gem. My fellow 6 trainers in a 2 foot radius laughed, though. 
Peace on the earth, good will toward men! When I finally got off at my stop, a 
woman tossed a half full (still, I am an optimist) coffee cup into the trashcan, 
but not before a third of it splashed all over me. Luckily, my raincoat was 
still zipped, otherwise I would have gone Kill Bill on her ass. Repeat the 
sounding joy! "I love New York. I love New York. I love New York." What? Why are 
you backing away from me? 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 5:40 PM As I already mentioned to Julie, I 
thought my jeans were fitting surprisingly well yesterday (dammit!) Long 
sweaters, y'all. I am bringin' 'em back!

Julie, it is no wonder you are feeling so frustrated this holiday season. Your 
Christmas is gay...let it out of the closet so it can be free to express itself.

I need help. ----- -------- TITLE: Merci Le Bleu AUTHOR: julie DATE: 11/24/2004 
01:28:30 PM ----- BODY: 
I read over what I had written about being grateful and whatnot, and it was so 
sappy and cheeseball that I almost put my book bag on the only remaining area of 
cafeteria bench in order to subconciously ban my crap writing self from sitting 
at the cool kids' lunch table. Fortunately, I am the only cool kid at this 
table, so I caved and let myself join me. Hey, I let myself copy my homework. 
So, I am thankful, sure. Family. Friends. Health. Awe inspiring good looks. Cute 
cat taking a break from scratching the ever loving shit out of any of my exposed 
skin. I am also thankful that I can laze around my apartment in a t-shirt and 
underwear for the next 4 days. (Obviously, my neighbors across the street are 
thankful for that, too.) Although, on second thought, considering Gracie's 
penchant for human flesh, maybe I'll rethink that one. So, in order to spare all 
you faithful readers, of my..."'ow you say...zee writing du le sheet," I will 
just offer a poem that I wrote when I was 4. Blue by Julie Ellen Sutton 1981 
"Blue?" "Blue." "Hey, you cutie pie! Just give me a hug! I'll know why." Ta Da! 
Happy Thanksgiving! 
----- -------- TITLE: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 11/19/2004 02:10:01 PM ----- BODY: 

Cat? Check. Crochet? Check. Now all I need is a bifocal prescription, a Cathy 
cartoon on my fridge, and mothball scented perfume.
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 2:18 PM Look at that precious baby girl! I 
want to pet her.

Also, you need a tote bag. I don't know what it's for, but it must be canvas. 
And, preferably with the logo of your local library. Carry it everywhere. ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 7:25 PM Wine. You must have wine.

And Aleve. I hear it is wonderful for those arthritis aches and pains. ----- 
COMMENT: AUTHOR: Anonymous DATE: 8:29 PM What a precious baby!! 

I hope you're all stocked up on hard candy.

Audrey ----- -------- TITLE: Nothing Special AUTHOR: julie DATE: 11/12/2004 
10:14:11 AM ----- BODY: 
Despite the fact that my little life is relatively pretty normal, this week has 
been about as typical as (enter witty simile that denotes uncharacteristic 
behavior from a stereotyped individual. I'm drawing a blank.). Spence headed to 
Ireland for the first of 2 six week stints there, and what with the packing and 
the preparations, I am eager to have a quiet weekend all to myself. Also, 
because this week wasn't crazy enough, I decided to adopt a (THE sweetest, 
spunkiest, adorable-est) kitten from New York Animal Control. Spence and I have 
been talking about it for a while because we (ahem), though very clean people, 
who live in a nice building, have had some issues with unwanted visitors of the 
rodentia family. (Genus? Order? You got me. I passed notes through Biology.) 
(Shudder.) RODENTIA! Please don't think we're gross and live like those filthy 
people on Clean Sweep or another show of the same ilk. Aside: That show gives me 
a series of little, baby heart attacks. I don't know why I watch it other than 
that rush similar to what people who like horror movies get. How can you live 
like that, people?!?! Bottom line? We reside in Manhattan. Frost creeps in? So 
do the vermin. I've learned to accept it. I'll spare you the story of how I got 
her, but I will tell you that I turned into the biggest mush the minute she was 
handed to me. The clouds parted, a ray of heavenly light beamed down, and a 
choir of angles hit a high C. Now, all I can think about while I am at work is 
getting home and rolling a ball of aluminum foil around. We named her Gracie 
after 1) The neighborhood we live in, 2) The Irish legend of Finn and Grace 
McCool, and 3) our favorite diner, Gracie Mews. Also, Van Halen was too much of 
a mouthful. Spence is a bigger softie than I am, though, and I swear, I had to 
make sure there weren't any kitten shaped lumps in his duffle bag before he went 
off to the airport. So, what does any right minded gal do when her honey leaves 
for an extended trip? Clean! Spruce! Repair! I have 3 running lists for Home 
Depot, Bed Bath & Beyond, (beyond....my budget! HOOAH! Rim Shot.) and the big K. 
Remember how I said I was eager to spend a quiet weekend flying solo? Heh. I 
invited 6 girls to come over on Sunday evening for wine, cheese, and crocheting. 
Good Lord, Spence is gone for 3 days and I turn into a cross between Laura 
Ingalls and Andrea Immer. I even made a stew last night. If you can eat stew and 
not feel like you are smack dab in the middle of Walnut Grove, then you and I 
have nothing in common. Of course, I have to prepare my abode before my guests 
come over. However, when I plan to have a get together, I tend not to think in 
such small terms. I don't need to clean the apartment. I need to PAINT the 
apartment! You think I am kidding? I have already taped off the crown molding. 
So that will be my weekend. Cat nip. Home renovations. Yarn, booze, and friends. 
Try not to be too jealous. ************************************ Ok. Not to 
drudge up a bunch of hostility or ill will, but I found out last night that 2 of 
my very favorite people who I thought shared many of my beliefs...voted for the 
other guy. Why? Because of their tax bracket. I'm sick about it. Honestly. I am 
really trying not to jump on a soapbox, and I won't...to them, but MY GOD. At 
least vote by way of your social convictions. Disagree with me about civil 
liberties? The war? FINE. But, vote one way because you're loaded and custom 
made furniture means more than your fellow man (and WOMAN)? I think that is 
heinous. I won't debate them about this. I doubt I'll even mention it. But, it 
actually does hurt me. Physically, my pulse quickens when I think about it. In 
fact, my hand is actually shaking a little as I am typing this. (Note to self: 
Get a grip, dork.) When I was younger, up to the age of 19 or so, I used to cry 
when the people I love disagreed with me, politically. I thought the lack of 
compassion for certain sects and refusal to understand the necessity of 
legislation for the greater good contradicted what wonderful people they were. I 
never could wrap my brain around it. I have since learned to smile and nod at 
family functions so that we could just enjoy each other while talking about less 
charged topics. It's so much better that way. I just never thought this younger 
generation (mine) would pose the same obstacle for me. I guess it's always 
disheartening when you have this idea of what someone is about and you find out 
you were wrong. I should have predicted it, though. I expected it from other 
family members, but like I said, these two are young. At least one of them 
always agrees with me and cheers me on when I reiterate that living on a crappy 
salary and the not having the things I could accumulate if I lived and worked 
somewhere else don't matter as much to me as my life experience does. Still. 
I'll never forget one night I was at home, eating a bowl of Ramen, worrying 
about floating my rent check until my next temp job paid me so I could use the 
$7 in my account to buy sheet music for a callback I was going to the next week. 
1/2 of this lovely couple called me and was complaining that they had just 
spent, I think it was $1,500 getting a room of their house painted. That figure 
could be wrong. It's just sticking in my mind like that, probably because $1,500 
at that time, for me, might as well have been $1,500,000. I didn't understand it 
then. I don't now. I love my life. Granted, I don't have the financial freedom 
to do or have every little thing that I want, but really? I do and have 
everything that I need. And no matter how fortune will enter or evade my life, I 
hope I will always think with my soul more than with my pocketbook. I hope that 
doesn't sound too holier than thou. I don't mean it to be. 
************************************* My friend, Allison made, well...encouraged 
me to sign onto Friendster. Am I hip or what? It's a little weird for me. I mean 
I have a handful of friends and never really get out and network it up like I 
used to. I like my little circle. I have to say, though, I have gotten a couple 
of good laughs from just the initial process. My picture wasn't up, so I had 
this big question mark where my face would be. It was awesome. I felt like Deep 
Throat or like I was on The Dating Game. Who IS this mysterious woman? Dun Dun 
DUUUUUUHN! And as if I don't already feel dorky enough, After I signed up, it 
said: "Julie, you have 1 Friend(s)." HA. I am going to count the one in Dublin, 
though. He'd be my friend(ster) if he wasn't all caught up in cornbeef hash and 
Guinness. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: D DATE: 12:46 AM Don't let her fool you... Julie passed 
notes in every class ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: allison DATE: 7:29 PM If you are 
Laura Ingalls, then I am your blind sister. Bitchin' and stitchin', 
baby...THAT's what it is all about (I don't care what anyone says about that 
stupid hokey pokey). ----- -------- TITLE: Why-o Why-o Why-o Do We Even KEEP 
Ohio? AUTHOR: julie DATE: 11/03/2004 10:34:38 AM ----- BODY: 
So close. That's what the front page of a New York daily rag said. So close to 
an administration change, sure, but what would that have brought us closer to? 
Progress? Change? Improvement? We are in a country that seems to be moving 
backwards. We're a country full of backpedalers, and it looks as though we are 
going to head in that same direction for a while. "We're declaring war on Iraq 
because they are linked to 9-11!" "The 9-11 commission found that Iraq had no 
links to Al Qaeda and nothing to do with 9-11." "We're going to Iraq because 
they have weapons of mass destruction." "We did not find weapons of mass 
destruction. Well, we want to free the Iraqis from oppression!" I have always 
felt as though we were being told one thing to believe as the reason to enter 
into a WAR, and then later, we get treated like children that couldn't handle 
the truth about what the adults needed to do and what they had to tell us to 
keep us calm. "Freedom for the Iraqis!" Meanwhile women in our very own country 
cannot decide what to do with their own bodies. People who love each other 
cannot get married if they share a gender because then, of course, as the right 
wing points out, what will be next? People will want to marry animals! Or 
children! Or relatives! (And they think WE, more liberal types are sick and 
weird?!) I have never thrown my full support behind John Kerry. However, I did 
and I do think his ideologies are more American. Policies should not be 
determined by religion based prescriptions. Everyone can have the same 
opportunities. You are in charge of your life (your body, your partnerships, 
your business), but if you need some help, then yes, maybe we can lend a hand. I 
know (and love) a few people in some pretty nasty tax brackets. Sometimes, I 
even understand their gripes about funding other, less ambitious people's lives. 
It always strikes me a hypocritical, though, that these are the same people 
(Republicans, incidentally) who will stand behind their faith and preach about 
what NOT to do. When really, all religions are focused on one thing TO do: Love 
each other. (But not too much, mind you, unless you are of different sexes and 
the same race.) Doesn't loving each other mean giving of yourself to those who 
need what you are able to provide? Bush said that God speaks through him. Hmmm. 
Well, I believe God speaks through everyone, if they choose to listen. God has 
just never given me the messages that he/she/it delivers to W. "Kill people! 
They have your oil! Ahem. I mean...um...Freedom!!!" Blah blah blah. Yes, I think 
everyone is better off without Saddam. But, when is enough enough? When does 
someone cross the line? Throughout history we are said to have used "might for 
right" against people who have said they, too, hear from God, and they were told 
to heinously kill people, go to war, etc. Now, we elect one of them as our 
highest representative. "Yes, but he speaks with a drawl." Oh, and don't berate 
me for questioning our president and his policies. That's our responsibility as 
citizens. Dissent is democratic. Anyway. I am rambling. This entry is all over 
the place. I just feel deflated. I don't know if anything would have been any 
better if Kerry had become president. We do have 3 Supreme Court Justices who 
are considering retirement...from EARTH, and who knows who W. will appoint and 
how far back that may set us. Who would Kerry have appointed if he needed to? 
It'd be nice to believe things would have changed overall, though...that we 
would have actually progressed. We came so close to a chance for improvement. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: - TR DATE: 4:51 PM Brilliant post. I found your blog off 
a comment you left on David Session's site, and I agree with everything you said 
on Bush. I just finished my own rant on W, if you care to check it out. At least 
you live in New York where a majority of the people agree with you. That's not 
so in Texas. ----- -------- TITLE: Hair Don't AUTHOR: julie DATE: 10/20/2004 
05:59:29 PM ----- BODY: 
When Jill and I were little, before we were capable of doing our own hair, my 
mom, ever thankful for having girls so she could dress us in eyelet and lace 
without fearing for future psychiatrist bills, would girlie us up proper every 
morning. We'd walk out the door and be on our way to Day Care or Kindergarten, 
respectively, with matching pigtails, ponytails, or elephant ears (braids a la 
Pippi Longstocking, starting above each ear, with the end of the braid looped 
and secured with a barrette, preferably of the Twin Star or Snoopy variety, near 
the start of the braid to form an "ear"). On nights before a "big day," say for 
school pictures, Mama would wrap our hair in pillowed curlers, and being the 
prissy, little divas-in-the-making that we were, Jill and I would try as best we 
could to sleep on our faces so we could have the prettiest curls in all the land 
the next day. Really. We slept on our faces! All so we could hear, "Smile 
Pretty, Miss America!" from the photographer instead of the dreaded, "Smile 
Pretty, Strawberry Shortcake!" (which, let's face it, just made the compliment 
juvenile and unsophisticated). Our updos, mine in particular, were highlighted 
by bangs, that while usually trimmed to fall neatly above my eyebrows, extended 
a good four or five inches, to the back of my preschool aged head. This made my 
hairline appear to begin where most middle aged Rogaine users' do. Seriously, at 
one point, I was convinced to cut off my long hair for a "Dorothy Hamill," but 
considering my bangs, I looked more like Nicholas Bradford from Eight is Enough. 
Now, Mama was a single, working mother in the early 80's (and Papa was a Rollin' 
Stone. Just kidding.), and some mornings she just didn't have time to waste 
playing Vidal Sassoon, dammit! Haircuts may have been missed. Bangs may have 
grown to Dumb Donald lengths. But there was fondue to make! And macrame to 
weave! And other early 80's activites to partake in! A single, working mom in 
the early 80's work was just never done! So there were those days, those dark, 
dark days, we just had to suck it up and not be the pretty pretty princesses we 
thought we were. And on those dark, dark days Jill and I would have to suffer 
through a going out (in public, no less!) with the 
one-barrette-pulling-our-bangs-back-out-of-our-faces-so-we-could-finger-paint-and-swing-on-the-monkey-bars-without-pulling-a-Mr.-Magoo 
'do. I hated this "look." Hated. It. It's true that at the tender age of four 
(or *wince* 26), I may have not known to look the other way when a hair fad 
tempted me, however, I did know that this half-assed "one barrette for the 
bangs" shenanigan was maternal neglect. That's why it struck me today, that 
maybe I should allot some more me time. Do some shopping. Pick up a good read. 
Get a haircut. Because... as I was working hunched over my keyboard, I kept 
sweeping the overgrown bangs (apparently, I still get tempted by hair fads.) out 
of my face, and since I didn't want to quit working (not me! I am the hardest 
working employee ever and ever, Amen!), I grabbed a few samples we got the other 
day (coincidently, for the Twin Stars' BFF, Hello Kitty) and finally rid myself 
of the work impediment. In the ladies' room just now, I looked in the mirror and 
had a flashback. Fondue, anyone? 
----- -------- TITLE: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 10/20/2004 05:06:29 PM ----- BODY: 

Fondue
----- -------- TITLE: Domestic (Issue) Abuse AUTHOR: julie DATE: 10/13/2004 
01:16:23 PM ----- BODY: 
Not only did I have to get that last post off the front page of the site (Dear 
God, Please fire Mack Brown. Amen.), but I had to post a thought or two I have 
about this. I know there are other issues to talk about, but since I think 
anyone who tries to shove one ideology down a civilization's throat, he's bound 
to try another, I think it appropriate to write about this today. Oh, and it's 
my site, so I can say whatever I want. W. has always made it very clear where he 
stands on this issue. So does Kerry. Personally, I think anyone that even 
suggests anyone is "pro-abortion" is an idiot. That's like saying that someone 
who didn't sign a Environmental bill that had some type of Cancer Research 
funding tacked onto it somewhere is "Pro Cancer!" Dumb. No one is FOR abortion. 
People who are Pro Choice are Pro Health. Pro Good Doctor/Patient Relationships. 
Pro Constitution. Pro Get Your Damn Nose Out of My Private Life and Private 
Parts. Let us all consider that anytime you promote legislation that bans any 
type of medical practice, you are preparing to ski down one hell of a slippery 
slope. Think about it. This president and his party would have you believe that 
late term and "partial birth" abortions are a method of birth control, 
predominantly used by minority teenagers, whose medical bills piggyback the 
welfare support all of the "good Americans" provide them. I have news for you. 
Some 90+ percent of women who undergo this type of medical procedure, wanted 
their baby. They are educated. And not that it should matter, but they have the 
money for fertility treatments, so I'll let you assume for yourself from which 
ethnicity they mostly derive. Many of them paid thousands of dollars for 
fertitlity drugs and IVF after multiple miscarriages in order to become 
pregnant. And then, at the eleventh hour, an amnio or ultrasound shows that 
something is terribly wrong. But the mother wasn't raped. The pregnancy wasn't 
caused by some filthy, sexually abusive relative. This pregnancy, likely, was 
celebrated. So, since the mother wasn't a victim of some type of horrible abuse 
(since infertility and the heartbreak that goes with that apparently doesn't 
count), she has to give birth to this baby, knowing that it will be stillborn or 
die within days. Not fair. No one has the right to tell a doctor how to treat 
his patient. No one has the right to make a parent and their families suffer any 
more than any parent who loses a child already will. For GOD's sake, quit tying 
religion to governmental issues. Separate Church and State. Your job, Mr. 
President, is to serve and represent your public, not speak prescriptively about 
what a woman should do. I guarantee that one day (and I hope I see it), when 
Congress consists of enough people who actually posses a uterus, the church they 
go to won't be as much of an issue. My body is my temple, and you are not 
invited here. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Dave DATE: 6:03 PM Think about parents who find out from 
a prenatal blood test that their child will have something as terrible as 
Tay-Sachs disease, which is usually fatal by the age of 5. Kids born with it 
will be vegetables within a year - paralyzed, blind, deaf and unable to swallow.

Whose right is it to tell a parent that they must allow their child to suffer 
for five years? Is that "compassionate conservatism?" ----- -------- TITLE: 
Texas! Texas! YEEEEEEE HAW! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 10/07/2004 04:51:06 PM ----- 
BODY: 
I more hour until I leave for the airport to go to Houston! Texas plays OU this 
weekend in the legendary Red River Shoot Out. Pa-ting! (That is the sound of my 
'backy ricocheting off the spitoon's brass belly after I hitch up m'britches and 
kick a cowpie with the toe of m'boot.) Normally, we would head to Dallas since 
that is the actual site of the game, but this year, Daddy's throwing a good old 
fashioned football watchin' party at the homestead. Daddy, I do believe, IT'S 
ON! You and your OU cheering friends (Hi, Uncle Bud and Mitzi!) can gloat all 
you want about our(shudder) record the last few years over at the Cotton Bowl. 
Let me remind you, however, that no matter what happens this Saturday, there are 
a plethora (oh, yes...a plethora!) of instances when UT kick OU ass, no contest. 
Here are just a few, as I have to hurry up and get out of here so I can cheer 
the Longhorns on: #1) Austin, Texas vs. Norman, Oklahoma (That should be enough, 
right there.) #2) Longhorns listen to good music, float the river, and hang out 
on 6th Street for a good time. Sooners do this. #3) Live Music Capitol of the 
World vs. Home of The Santa Fe Railroad? What? Do people even take trains 
anymore? #4) I chose UT over OU. So , there. Ok, I am outta here! HOOK 'EM! 
----- -------- TITLE: Forgive Us Our Trespasses AUTHOR: julie DATE: 10/04/2004 
10:33:40 AM ----- BODY: 
There are lots of things I've been meaning to write about. I watched The Passion 
of The Christ a couple of weeks ago, and have lots to say about it, mostly 
negative...well all negative really. I don't think it is anti-Semitic, but it 
seems to be grossly inaccurate, and the most violent film I have ever seen. 
Also, I just registered to vote in New York. Although eager to flex that 
"patriotic" muscle, I have to say; I am not enthused about either of the 
options. I would love to be excited about really supporting a candidate, (wear 
buttons, pass out bumper stickers, hang banners from my fire escape) but I'm 
not. There. I said it. To all of my friends who are chomping at the bit to vote 
for Kerry, I agree that Bush is inadequate, (and I know that is a huge 
understatement) but Kerry doesn't make me want to wave my little American flag, 
either. Recently, so many Republicans I know have been throwing around "facts" 
about Kerry and his wife. Every time that they do, I want to say something that 
refutes that information, but come on, I don't have a fact checker program in my 
head. What I do say, comes out like this, "Hmmm. That doesn't seem right. I'll 
have to check that out." Not exactly stirrin' it up, am I? However, at least I 
CHECK my "facts." Most of my red state friends go along with anything that any 
Republican says. Bush clearly mumbles through an answer to a question during a 
press conference because he obviously doesn't know the answer (read: what his 
Deputy of Communications would advise him to say), and one actually said, 
"Well...so! He said Tribal Nationalization was the nationalization of tribes! 
That's true! Maybe he didn't stay 'on point' but, he was correct, nonetheless!" 
What? Kids, deciding to back anything idiotic that is said is...well, idiotic. 
All politicians say dumbass comments, and it's our duty, as citizens, to call 
them on it, no matter which party they represent. Anyway, I am not informed 
enough to get into a big debate. I do know that only those that are voting for 
W. are sending me masses of email propaganda. When I read it and research the 
issues, almost every time, the information in the email is completely false, so 
much so, that I don't even read it anymore. It could very well be that 
pro-Kerry-ers are sending all this crap to me, though, because almost nothing 
will make me want to vote for the other guy more than getting loads of Spam 
about how terrible he is. (Not really. Please don't send me anymore email.) I'm 
not undecided. I am voting for Kerry. I am in the camp, though, that when asked 
why, will list off reasons I don't like Bush. Some Democrats even get pissy 
about that, but shut it. I am voting for your guy, so chalk it up on the board 
and quit trying to make believe Kerry is our savior. He isn't. We all know that 
title belongs to Mel Gibson. (Please note the heavy sarcasm.) 
----- -------- TITLE: A Pocket Full of Posey AUTHOR: julie DATE: 9/16/2004 
03:30:20 PM ----- BODY: 
Why must I have such an intense girl crush on Parker Posey? It started my 
freshman year at UT. I was sitting on a floor pillow in my friend, Amy's dorm. 
She was living in The Jester Center, which, despite it's name, had as much 
personality as a bowl of sawdust. The construction of it alone sucked all the 
potential fun out of its inhabitants. It is this monolith of brown brick and 
retangular boredom. Considering it was designed by the same architect that gave 
the world this Texas institution, I guess you can't expect an environment 
conducive to mind expansion. Amy's room however, looked like a cross between the 
inside of Jeannie's bottle and an Opium Den a la Indochine. As I contemplated 
skipping my next class and forcing Amy to skip it with me, she popped "Party 
Girl" into the VCR. Finally! A movie about a club kid whose ambition is to 
become a librarian! (The story had to be told.) Sweet baby Jesus, I started 
loving her as soon as she wore her pullover sweater as if she got distracted 
while putting it on and never finished the task, and I never looked back. I even 
forgave her for being in You've Got Mail. I justified Scream 3 as a campy 
paycheck. The Sweetest Thing. Well...whatever. She was still Parker. The lurve 
was real, and therefore, never required an apology. Her first name is a last 
name, people! And her last name is a flower! C'mon! She's coooooool. And though 
I loved her in Basquiat, Clockwatchers and Dazed and Confused, she will always 
be Libby Mae Brown from Waiting for Guffman. Spence and I watched this for the 
umpteenth time the other night and she was Teacher's Pet all over again, as if 
it were the very first time. I don't care how many Laws of Attractions she 
makes. My heart is just like the D.Q. She'll always have a place here. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: lindsey DATE: 6:17 PM ... and, according to imdb she is 
also an accomplished mime. ----- -------- TITLE: Big D AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
9/12/2004 05:47:32 PM ----- BODY: 
And I ain't talkin' 'bout Dallas. It's one of my best friend's birthdays. He's 
stationed at the air force base in Guam, and probably hanging out, sipping a 
beer after getting all of those in his command geared up for the Operational 
Readiness Thingamjig. (That's the technical jargon.) I miss and love you, D. 
Wishing you a year of joy and all of the blessings you bestow on all of those 
around you. 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: D DATE: 11:26 PM Thanks for the birthday wish, darlin. 
It's the best gift anyone has given me this year, I miss you very much and love 
you even more.

If you visit this site as often as I do, then Julie has probably touched your 
life in one way or another; consider yourself lucky. Scratch that, consider 
yourself blessed. I can truthfully say that I have known Julie half of my life 
and that she is one of the most special and most important people in the world 
to me, as I know she to many of you. Be sure that you let her know that as often 
as you can, and in a few days when her birthday comes around, please join me in 
wishing her love and luck on her special day.

Through 13 years of Egg Nog, High School chemistry and typing, Winter Sports 
coronations, the Renos, Evil Stepsisters, and Molly Browns, Saturns and muddy 
boots, and especially the ring that lies on my right hand (you'll have to 
explain that to the masses sometime),we've always been there for each other. 
Thank you so much for being an essential part of my life. I love you. ----- 
-------- TITLE: Clean Slate AUTHOR: julie DATE: 9/01/2004 01:28:08 PM ----- 
BODY: 
God, I love the first of the month. That day just seems to hold as much promise 
of a new box of 64 crayons. For me, this holds true always and especially on the 
first of this particular month every year. The first of September. I turn 27 
this month. The first of September has excited me for as long as I can remember. 
(Yes, I have pretty much been creating and checking off tasks on To Do lists 
since I was about 4. "Milk and cookies? Check. Nap? Check. Lite Brite? Check.") 
Every year, I think about what goals I'll have for the next year. And, I always 
always think about the goals that I set the previous year, magnifying those that 
I failed to achieve, painstakingly examining why I couldn't manage to accomplish 
what I had confidently assured myself that I would. I'm not big on regret. Who 
has time for it? Regret isn't positive. Or at least, it doesn't seem like it is. 
Although, recently I have been letting my own personal little history teach me 
and hopefully, propel me in the right direction, so I guess regret may serve a 
beneficial purpose. (How very Oprah and overthinky of me, right?) Yes, overall, 
I consider myself a really good person (but then again, "Don't Ever Change!" and 
"Stay Sweet!" may have been scribbled on Hitler's yearbook, so who knows?). In 
the last few weeks though, I've been noticing all the negative things I think on 
a daily basis, some of them, pretty ugly, and worse, what I have allowed myself 
to do or not do, even though I know better. Now, I know you can't be chastised 
for your thoughts, no matter what Jim (Bakker or Carter) said, but I still 
regret thinking petty, careless, or mean things. I haven't exactly led by 
example thorugh my actions either. I wasn't going to write about any of this, at 
least not here. I was just going to save it for my personal journal at home or 
cash in arguably the best part of being raised Catholic and go to Confession, 
but really, I have no real qualms about being completely (if you don't count 
omission) truthful. Considering who reads this site, anything I write is likely 
common knowledge anyway. Besides, I write here for me. I mean, I'd love it if 
more people responded and made me think that maybe something I wrote elicited a 
reaction, but there never seems to be much of a back and forth. So, I accept 
that this is my safe space and that either what I write isn't provocative enough 
or it's just not worthy of comment. Regardless, I always feel better after 
venting a little, and even though I am not looking to make excuses, or worse, 
sound like I am soliciting forgiveness, I have never regretted coming clean. In 
no particular order, these are the things that I cringe at the thought of 
lately. I did not send wedding presents to probably 4 high school friends who 
sent invitations to my Mom's house. Now, the 1 year Emily Post-ish time limit is 
up, and I have officially become the girl you don't want to waste an invitation 
on because she probably won't be able to go and won't send a gift if she 
doesn't. I have taken 3 guitar lessons and cannot seem to keep with it. I spent 
some of the money I was supposed to have been saving for new furniture on a 
haircut and highlights, which in this city, would have bought me an armchair. I 
have willingly fallen out of touch with a really good friend, who really needed 
help, at the time she probably needed it the most, because of frustration and 
the lack of energy to pursue it. Sometimes I stare at women on the subway with 
pretty diamonds, some classic and tasteful, some huge and striking, glittering 
on their most culturally recognized ring finger, and I think "how on earth did 
she get someone to propose to her?" while looking at my small, naked left hand. 
I don't like to call my Granny because it takes too long to explain who I am. I 
didn't send one birthday card on time this year. I lost a piece of jewelry and 
can't afford to replace it yet, so I lie every time the person who gave it to me 
asks why I don't wear it. I stopped going to a therapist because I saw where the 
sessions were heading and was scared to start admitting some pretty big truths. 
I didn't lose those 10 pounds I said I would. There are times when I hate this 
job and can't believe I took it instead of continuing to audition because I 
wanted "money and health insurance." Etc. Etc. Etc. There are more, of course, 
but they are for my personal journal. There. Ahhhh. OK. Now I can move past all 
of it. I know it may seem like an odd thing to do, it's not like I stashed a 
body in the trunk of a car or anything, but it's very cathartic for me to own my 
mistakes. If I don't zoom in on my problem areas once in a while, how can I ever 
expect to improve? 27 will be a great year. Big changes ahead, I think. I would 
write all my goals up here for y'all, but trust me, I hold myself accountable 
enough already. Basically, I will try to be a more considerate friend, a more 
thoughtful daughter, a sweeter sister, a more responsible citizen, and a more 
flexible person, all while remaining true to myself. I will continue to look hot 
while doing so. *Note: maybe one of my goals should be to write less 
parenthetically, eh? Check out those first few paragraphs! No wonder nothing got 
done this year, Miss Tangential! ************************************* Hey, if 
you haven't already, you should check out the links over there on the right. 
David is a really close friend of Lindsey's and is a professional writer, so if 
you can tolerate my drivvel, you'll LURVE him. More links to come! 
----- -------- TITLE: Mi Casa es Su Casa AUTHOR: julie DATE: 8/23/2004 12:45:53 
PM ----- BODY: 
So, where was I? Oh, Yes. Visitors. I have quipped every year, usually around 
Easter, that during the Summer season, I should change my last name to Sheraton. 
I build nothing, yet the people will come, Ray. It does not matter that I live 
in a space equivalent in size to what my Missouri and Texan counterparts would 
allot to the “special occasion a/o evening” section of their walk-in 
closets. My visitors couch it like champs. Sometimes, they even floor it. 
(Sorry, Mandy Lutz! By the way, Mandy is a, though never my, math teacher, at my 
high school alma mater. Her son is 4 years my junior. Does that give you any 
idea of what a terrible hostess I am? “Here, lady. Here’s a loaf of bread 
you can use for a pillow and a bath towel in case you get chilly. There should 
be about 17 square inches of floor space between the oven and front door. 
Nightie night!”) Regardless of the accommodations, some of the finest women in 
the universe have graced me with their presence this Summer. I was going to 
devote an entry to each of them, but I decided that since they are all members 
of my family, and because I am a huge fan of consolidation, (Yay, Container 
Store!) I am just going to smush them all into one. Also? I am lazy. First on 
the hit parade was my older sister, Jill. I was really excited for Jill to get 
here. Excited and nervous. Mostly excited. Maybe only 10% nervous. Ok, 20%. 
Fine. I was scared shitless of Jill’s impending arrival. No. Not really. I was 
totally excited. I just wanted everything to go well, and for Jill to have a 
great time. It had been so long since we were able to just hang out like we used 
to now that she has become Miss Do it All Extraordinaire. She is a wife, a 
mother, is involved in a number of community organizations, and has a full blown 
career. I, on the other hand, can barely get the job thing down, let alone a 
career, and let's not even get into the rest of it. Of course, my moving across 
the country doesn't help to facilitate frequent get togethers, I grant you, but 
you get what I am saying. It takes some hard core planning for us to casually 
hang out. Anyway-this was the first time she was going to be with me, in my 
city, sans husband, sans little boy, sans rest of the family. Just us. Alone 
together. And I wanted it to be so good, she would understand why I am living 
here and not a stone's throw away from her. It was and she does now, too. She 
bought an entire new wardrobe! Which, for her, is a huge deal considering that 
she never shops for herself and still has clothes in her closet from when she 
was a sophomore in high school. The bitch can totally fit into them, too. She 
usually just refurbishes her closet with the booty she steals after raiding my 
suitcase at Christmas. But this time, we went to stores, nay, boutiques. Saucy 
little shops whose employees would cock their eyebrows and not let us shop there 
had we been dressed like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when she was still a 
whore. Also? We went out for drinks! And brunches! And brunches with drinks! And 
Jill carried a sassy little pink purse, not a diaper bag to bars! And she 
mingled with the other drinking, little purse carrying adults! And no one had to 
worry about who was driving home! And when we finally made it home, she didn't 
have to worry about tiptoeing around the apartment because there was not a baby 
that would wake up! And we talked about sex! And marriage! And motherhood! And 
religion! And politics! And all sorts of girlie and grown-up things! And it was 
wonderful! Of course, I cried when she left. (I always do.) She is just the 
coolest of the cool and I have always aspired to achieve her level of coolocity 
and bask in her kingdom of coolness. I guess that's why she is the big sister. 
One of the best compliments I have ever received: "I am going through serious 
withdrawal after leaving New York." -Jill, in a phone conversation 1 week, 3 
weeks, 6 weeks, 8 weeks, etc. after her departure. That may not seem like much 
to you, but it is HUMUNGUS to me...for Jill to appreciate where I am, 
geographically and in my life, really. It makes me feel like so much less of the 
prodigal daughter/sister. She doesn't even ask anymore why I live here instead 
of somewhere closer to Washington, Missouri. She knows now, and because of that, 
she knows me a little better, too. Oh my God...this is getting a little too 
Remember Your Spirit for me. Moving on... Lindsey was in the area on "business" 
and was able to jet to NYC and come to the beach with me for a few days. Before 
we left for Long Beach Island on Saturday morning, however, we of course, went 
out to dinner (Lindsey's first Indian food...dots, not feathers.) and managed to 
find some bars in my neighborhood to patronize. To properly sum up the evening, 
(and morning after) I will offer a few observations the fair Ms. Willis made and 
the locale from which she quoth: "Why did I think it was a good idea to have 
wine, then vodka, then beer, and then wine again?" - bathroom sink while 
lethargically brushing her teeth "See, when you said we were leaving at 9 in the 
morning, I thought you meant from your apartment, not Port Authority." - in the 
cab while lethargically pulling her hair into a ponytail "Do I have time to go 
to the bathroom?" -in the line for the bus at Port Authority while lethargically 
leaning against a partition "zZZzzzZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz." -On the bus 
lethargically making its way to New Jersey "zZZzzzZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz." 
-after disembarking the bus, lethargically waiting for Roseanne to pick us up 
whilst using her backpack as a pillow at the busstop "Nice to meet you, too! 
zZZzzzZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz." -meeting and lethargically boarding Rose's van en 
route to the beach "Cheers!" - at dinner, first night on the beach, quite a bit 
less lethargically raising a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon I kid. I kid because I 
love. As per usual, we had a great time and her visit reminded me how difficult 
it is to make good girlfriends, especially in New York where all women view you 
as competition. That is why it is important to have friends equally as hot as 
yourself...so no one feels overshadowed by the other. It has worked for me. 
(Jen? Allison? Candy? Bonafide hotties, every single one.) When I go out with 
one or more of my girlfriends, it's like a Bombshell tour de force. We may be 
small in number, but mighty in sex appeal. So let that be your tip from Julie 
for today. If you find yourself with an abundance of girlfriends, it's probably 
because you're allowing the less attractive (who secretly envy you) into your 
circle. Try to set your standards a little higher, and you're likely to forge 
stronger friendships in the long run. Obviously, I am kidding. I am friends with 
lots of dogs, too. Anyway, where was I, again? Right. More (hot) visitors. After 
much convincing of my stepmother that I would not lose, injure, corrupt, or sell 
my little sister on the black market, Leslie was finally allowed to visit. For 
the record, I never bought that whole "Well, we'll have to see if she has time 
in between church camp, band camp, softball camp, archery camp, firey baton 
twirling camp, etc." Say, what? Even if you disagree about family being the most 
important thing, or forget how I spent all of my junior high and high school 
summers away from my friends to be with my Dad, we all know that Julie Camp is 
the dizzle fo shizzle and is the best experience a 15 year old girl could have 
forever and ever, Amen. It is way better, I am sure, than that Britney Spears, 4 
year old girls wearing makeup, Star Searchy, "Performing Arts" camp where kids 
"focus on the most rewarding dimensions of entertainment - the power to heal and 
the power to fulfill" (apparently by learning to dance like a stripper). I would 
have even throw in S'mores and sung Kumbaya if that would have somehow sweetened 
the deal. Anyway, she finally booked a ticket and the date was set...the only 
date she could set because she was ever so popular and over booked. I swear, it 
was like trying to get 5 minutes with the president. But, I was happy for 
whatever I could get, and began to make preparations. Remember how I said that I 
was nervous/excited for Jill to visit? Well, double that for Les. I mean, I 
never campaigned full throttle for her to stay with me sans parents any summers 
before this one because...duh. I didn't think she (and if we're being honest 
here, I) was ready to tackle the big city with just her "loose-cannon" big 
sister being the only one that had her back. Aside: Some of my family thinks I 
am a bleeding heart liberal because I don't think people should be judged by 
such things as race or sexual orientation. Oh, and also because I think Rush and 
W. are tools. I know! I'm wacky, right? I mean, Leslie would totally agree with 
me when I say that she has been pretty sheltered. Her mother would likely have a 
full on coronary if Leslie actually applied to a college outside of the Texan 
borders. And, really? I am not even saying that's a bad thing. Clearly, Daddy 
and Marilyn love her like parents are supposed to, and the girl has been 
protected from all the things parents are required to shield their kids from. 
So, where's the rub, right? Well, I'll tell you. While I think her innocence is 
the sweetest, most endearing thing, and it makes me love Les even more than 
sisterly possible, um...how was I going to relate to her? 
What did I do for fun when I was 15? Well, I was in Podunk Mid-Missouri, so 
drinking and making out at field parties was probably on the menu. Jill used to 
take me out with her friends, and being a freshman who hung out with the innest 
of in crowds, all seniors or older, probably (read: totally) introduced a few 
things that were a little advanced for my precious little corruptible mind. No, 
I did not "do" drugs, nor did I do anything that warranted being called "Julie 
SLutton" like some of my classmates thought it cute to label me. But, yes, I 
drank, and sure, I had a steady boyfriend.
I was into music. I was pathetically into all things school, both academic and 
clubby, and just like everyone else, I was trying to figure out where I fit in. 
Oh, the draaaaaaaahma! So, Les is a kick ass musician, and some shows were in 
order. (That was a highlight of the trip...her squealing and uncontrollably 
laughing in total SHOCK when a character in the musical, Chicago offers a twist 
that they don't touch in the movie. I was waiting for it to happen and for about 
2 minutes, just watched Leslie instead of the show. Priceless!) Also, we shopped 
around the Village and SOHO, ate at some very Manhattany restaurants, and people 
watched like the papparazzi. I think she had a good time. I know I had the best 
time. First of all seeing her eyes widen at what I have grown accustomed to was 
awesome. Pardon me while I gush. Leslie is just so fresh. And although she is 
naive (again...as I would hope and pray my fifteen year old daughter will be 
naive) she is so open to learning about what else is out there, beyond Dayton, 
Texas. She wanted to look around at Julliard. She laughed, and applauded, and 
WOO HOO!ed while watching a singing transvestite at Rent. She commented on how 
cool it was to hear a different language being spoken by each passing couple. 
She navigated Gotham like a pro. She made me look at the city with new eyes, and 
when I think about it, she also made me look at her differently, too. I 
completely respect the challenges that she is going through right now. They 
aren't what they were for me, but I guess none of that high school bullshit is 
the same for everyone across the board. And, even though she has been raised a 
bit differently than I was, I admire how she leads by example and stays so true 
to herself. Kind of like how I hope Jill thinks of me now. Ohmigod. Cue "Circle 
of Life" or something. What is with me getting so sappy with this? Anyway, It 
was a total blast. My sisters rock the Kasbah. Mama closed the season, and it 
was an excellent finale. She spoiled me rotten. She has always been the Mom 
that, while shopping, will say, "Oh, honey yes, you have to have that. You just 
look too gorgeous in it for me not to buy it for you." Hmm. I guess no one has 
to wonder where my inflated self esteem comes from. She has been in the city 
enough to have seen all the sites and do all the stuff, so we basically just 
hung out and did all the girlie things like shopping and lunching, and trying on 
makeup. I don't know what that woman would have done had she been blessed with 
sons. We also talked about serious, adult things, which somehow I forget she is 
quite good at doing. I guess I just always think of her being silly and 
whimsical. When I was in college, she would tell me things she said to her 
students, and I would be like, "Oh my God, Mama! You did not say that! They'll 
think you're so goofy." To which she would reply, "So? I am goofy. But, Julie 
that's how kids learn. You have to make it funny. You're not really doing your 
job right if they aren't rolling their eyes." Oh. And she loves Spencer. Loaves. 
Lurves. Luffs. And that makes me feel good. It also makes me feel good that he 
feels the same about her. The night before she left, Spence came in and said, "I 
guess I should say goodbye to your Mom tonight since I am leaving so early in 
the morning. But, she's already in bed. Do you think I should say something? I 
just want to hug her." I assured him that my mom is one of the affectionate, 
cuddly sort, and that she'd love it if he said goodbye that way. He did. When he 
came back to bed he said, "Ok. I feel better." I did, too. She has that way 
about her. So, there it is. My summary of all of the amazing visitors I have had 
this summer. The kitchen's closed for the season, but book now for next year, 
and we'll upgrade you from sleeping on a carpet square to a cot! 
----- COMMENT: AUTHOR: Dave DATE: 2:57 AM Hey, if you lived in, say, Oklahoma 
City, you could afford a place with a huge guest room. But would you have any 
guests?

Wondering why nobody ever wants to visit me here in suburban DFW... ----- 
-------- TITLE: Funny Girls AUTHOR: julie DATE: 8/10/2004 02:06:37 PM ----- 
BODY: 
Damn! I keep writing this entry about all my visitors...meticulously choosing 
words and phrases that will do these ladies justice, but while I do so, they 
make me laugh so hard that Arizona Diet Green Tea shoots out of my nose. That's 
not a euphemism...I was actually drinking the tea when I opened up an email from 
Lindsey and read this: "Someone actually titled her book Annie Loses Her Leg, 
But Finds Her Way. Maybe instead of Thomas, The Tank Engine little Oliver would 
like a book about a dismembered dog. It's only $12.95." The next email I opened 
was from my mother telling me that she returned from her travels in South 
America. Two thirds of the email was devoted to the incredible bargains she 
found while she was there. Undoubtedly my favorite part, the one to which I say 
"Bravo, Mother!" is: "Then I found a really pretty sport jacket/blazer in 
Argentina. It's made of carpincho, which is a water hog." Sexy. Addendum: I 
found out that Carpincho is actually NOT a water hog...it is worse...much worse. 

----- -------- TITLE: Please Still Be Friends With Me AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
8/04/2004 01:34:08 PM ----- BODY: 
Got bored with the old look of the site. I was shopping around in the ole' 
generic blogger templates (because I am not designery or tech-ish enough to 
design my own) and I found one that I liked, but it was maroon and gray. ("Gray" 
or "grey?" Which is it? ) I am ashamed to admit that the most retarded thought 
went through my mind. "Mmmmm, no. Too 'Sooner.'" So, is that clear? Did you get 
that? I did not choose a maroon and grey (gray? ARGH!) background of my geeky 
BLOG because it made me think of my alma mater's football rival. I have crossed 
soooo far over the line between cool/quirky and you rolling your eyes because 
you can't believe you are friends with someone so dorky/quirky. So sad. So so 
sad. I know you are shaking your head thinking, "Pity. She had so much 
potential." Also, half of my comments were wiped out and none of my links are 
up. HEY!!! I am also thinking of changing the name of this. Is that too stupid? 
Yeah, I thought so, but do you know how many people have somehow been directed 
to my site thinking that this was dedicated to "Urban Jews?" I guess that's a 
fun, slangy way to express your chosen-people-ness??? "Nah, I am not Christian. 
I'm a Ju." What? And not that I don't love bagels, but I really don't have much 
insight to offer on being Ju-ish.(See? I'm down.) If you can think of a name, 
let me know. I will send you presents (read: stuff I can steal from my office)! 
I am still writing about Leslie's (and Jill's, and my mom's, and Lindsey's) 
visit. Shut it. 
----- -------- TITLE: Kid Sister AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/28/2004 11:06:39 AM ----- 
BODY: 
Leslie visited for about 4 and a half days earlier this month.  I have been 
wanting to post an entry about it, but have not gotten off my lazy cyber ass to 
figure out how to post pictures.  Well, this morning, after getting an email 
from my sweet little sister that read,   "gurl you betta put somethin on you web 
page bout our time up there! love, leslie" I figured I betta appease the gurl, 
and post what we done got did!  
Alas, I still am working on the entry, but in the meantime...looky here!  Aren't 
we cute?
----- -------- TITLE: AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/28/2004 11:05:43 AM ----- BODY: 

Les and Me 
----- -------- TITLE: Outline AUTHOR: julie DATE: 7/20/2004 03:34:08 PM ----- 
BODY: 
Lindsey and I pretty much figured out that we need to operate our own business 
to ever a) really be happy in a job and b) make any decent amount of money.   My 
only problems with that are a) I don't know what kind of business I would have 
and b) even if I did, I have no money to invest in a startup venture.   Also, I 
would have to go it alone because a) Lindsey gets sick of even the people she 
loves most in about 3 days and b) I would want to run the show even though I 
would probably prefer to have a margarita.   So as it stands right now a) I am 
stuck in this job as long as it takes me too think of something more fabulous 
but, b) it is so slow right now that I could guzzle concoctions made from a 
margarita machine on my desk and it it wouldn't affect productivity and/or my 
job in the slightest.   Are any of you still smitten with your job?  If so a) I 
will send you my resume and b) your guidance counselor deserves a bouquet of 
flowers every now and then.   I know I can do anything and be really good at it, 
but I kind of still feel like I don't really know what I want to be when I grow 
up.  That said, I guess the only things left to say are a) on the rocks and b) 
with salt.     
----- -------- TITLE: The People of New York AUTHOR: julie DATE: 6/30/2004 
01:15:20 PM ----- BODY: 
Nothing makes your morning commute more exciting that witnessing those who just 
helped themselves to a whopping dose of crazy. One, rather ripe subway passenger 
was arguing so loudly with himself everyone else was looking around to see who 
the hell he was yelling at across the car. Once he started punching the air 
above his own shoulder I actually thought to myself "I wonder if he's pissed at 
the angel or the devil whispering in his ear." Then, while pausing at the 
crosswalk, a HUGE man, dressed completely in woolen garments (No kidding. We're 
talking sock hat, scarf, and mittens.) stopped scratching himself long enough to 
"pump" his Super Soaker 7000 (and I am talking about the actual water gun here), 
hike its 3 foot length above his head, shower himself with an undisclosed 
liquid, catching several drops in his open mouth, and shake his head, spraying 
the bystanders, like an athlete in a Gatorade commercial. I resumed walking when 
the light changed, but only after declining his offer, asking me if I needed "to 
take a swig." Thank you, Mr. Insane-o, but I switched to decaf looney and had my 
water gun's worth already. 
----- -------- TITLE: Living the High Life AUTHOR: julie DATE: 6/16/2004 
02:55:57 PM ----- BODY: 
I have several things I want to write about, but apparently I need to start 
taking "the acid trips" (what does one pack for such a journey?) or something 
else that hip writers say they do to "let the creative energy gush forth, man." 
Seriously...a really good writer whose work I read quite a bit actually said 
those exact words to me. Between you and me, I tend to avoid "gushing" anything. 
Even if said substance was divinity-laced happiness goo, "to gush" is kind of 
icky, yes? Anyway, I'm not on las drogas, so instead of really cutting loose on 
multiple topics, this is what I got. Let's see what happens, shall we? Last 
night after work, I met Spence uptown and we walked to the Metropolitan Opera 
House's Summer Series in Central Park. We sat on blanket along the Southeast 
edge of the Great Lawn with some good friends, a couple bottles of wine, an 
assortment of cheese and crackers, and listened to Giuseppe Verdi's Nabucco 
while the sun set behind the ornate apartment buildings on the Upper West side. 
How swanky are we? Even though mega swanky, we giggled when an audience member 
sitting close by starting singing , "Kill da wabbit! Kill da WABBIT!" in a low 
Elmer Fudd voice. We met some new friends and just hung out on a beautiful June 
evening while listening to some of the most talented voices in the world. Ahem. 
FOR FREE! Well...considering you basically have to sell your blood for grocery 
money because the rent is so damn high in this town, I guess it's not exactly 
free, but y'all...it was really cool. Spence (who I have to say was not exactly 
thrilled with the prospect of this little excursion when I mentioned I was 
meeting Candy Tuesday night for the start of the Met in the Park series and 
would he like to come with me) LOVED it. He actually had never gone before and 
called me this afternoon to say how much fun he had last night. Aside: Isn't 
that cute that we have been together for almost 2 years and he still calls me to 
"thank" me for a neat date? I swear. Nights like the last make all those times 
when I consider moving back to Texas or when I second guess my decision to come 
here in the first place, worth it. We walked home a little drunk, hand in hand, 
through the Park with the other East Siders, past the room in the Metropolitan 
Museum of Art where Harry and Sally say they "would be proud to partake of your 
PEE-CAN PI-EEEE," crossed 5th, Madison, Park, and Lexington Avenues before 
getting home and showering off the (very effective!) Skin-So-Soft bug spray and 
the remainder of the Merlot's perfume. I went to bed a little giddy. In fact, 
reliving the evening is making me a feel a touch high right now. Which probably 
accounts for this sweet gem of an entry. (Hee!) 
----- -------- TITLE: Come Back Now, Ya' Hear? AUTHOR: julie DATE: 6/03/2004 
05:31:40 PM ----- BODY: 
'ello dearies! Tell me please how you have been bearing these "sweet baby Jesus, 
I am busy!" type of entries! I look back on this crap and just shake my head and 
wonder wonder wonder what in the hell I was thinking. I might as well send you 
guys some of my used Kleenex instead of you reading this... you'd be like, "La 
la la. Let's see what Julie sent me today. (gingerly unwrap wad of tissue) 
Um...what the...oh my GAAAWD...is she out of her damn mind? Why would she think 
this is appropriate? The girl needs help." Therefore, I offer the following 
resolutions: 1) I will try to write better stuff more often. Oh. I guess that 
was just one resolution. Regardless. (I guess it's safe to say that the better 
writing will come after this entry.) So, I have been doing some Nancy Drew Super 
Sleuthing and I was wondering who is reading. Someone from the Boulder Colorado 
YWCA actually stopped by, so obviously, people are picking up how I am very 
granola and outdoorsy. Also, I am seeing a lot of new user numbers which act as 
very small clues as to who is reading. I get a bit obsessive about who the new 
readers are. Like, I see that they are in the "Pacific" time zone and I start 
going through my mental rolodex while muttering, "Who do I know in California?" 
Apparently, that's the only state in the Pacific time zone according to me. I 
think I am going to cave and offer a lovely little notify list on the page. 
Please be a doll and sign up. If you don't, well, why not? Are you just bad to 
the core or are you just trying to be superficially non-conformist? In other 
news, I am thinking about redecorating around here. Also, I may need a new name 
for the site...any (nice) ideas? Someone informed me that my name on the website 
was a bad idea, but really? If a stalker wants me that bad, what little crumbs 
are going to come from the site? I sent my resume out to a kajillion people and 
my phone number was bright and shiny on each of those babies. Still, no heavy 
breathers as of yet. At least, none other than the ones I pay for fair and 
square. I have a feeling my mom will have a few ideas for a name, although when 
she was reading a lot of Maeve Binchy, she actually wanted to name our track 
house Cedarbrook Cottage, like we were some country Brits. After my hysterical 
laughing fit, I asked her at the time, "Why don't we try to be a little more 
accurate and name it Stumpy-Drainageditch split level?" Yup. I was a treat at 
thirteen. Take that, whimsy that my mother tried to instill! Try not to be as 
harsh. I know you're a clever bunch, but still... If you're too yella' for the 
notify list, then just leave a comment...and then run on home to your Mommy and 
your blankie.
----- -------- TITLE: Thoughts on the 6 train this morning AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
5/26/2004 11:32:59 AM ----- BODY: 
1) Yay! Jill is coming in this weekend! MUST CLEAN HOUSE tonight. 2) I need to 
call Dad and see how he is doing. 3) Come to think of it, I need to call a lot 
of people. 4) Why don't I call anyone anymore? 5) When I was 15, I spent all my 
free time on the phone. 6) 15 years old. Call Leslie. 7) Ok, so clean the mini 
blinds, then sweep, then the rest of the laundry. 8) We have nothing in the 
fridge. 9) I have to deposit that check today if I want to go to the grocery 
store. 10) That girl has a cute outfit on. I could never pull that off. 11) 
Where am I going to take Jill shopping? 12) I wish I was paid before the holiday 
rather than the 1st of the month. 13) Ohmigosh. It's almost the 1st of the 
month. 14) I have to talk to Lindsey! She's moving!!! 15) God, I can't wait to 
move. 16) Crap. If I look at that apartment tonight with Spencer, how am I going 
to get all that cleaning done? 17) I really should get a new bathmat before Jill 
gets here. 18) Would I rather have a bathmat or get a manicure and pedicure with 
Jill. 19) Sir, I hope you can tell by my raised eyebrows and without me saying 
anything that your shoving is completely rude. We're all trying to get 
someplace. 20) Yuck. I am so clammy and it's not even 8:45. 21) I wonder where 
Detrick is. 22) F*@k! I forgot to go to the pharmacy this morning. I hope they 
are open when I get home. 23) Get shampoo and conditioner. 24) I wish I could 
get my hair cut. 25) Mama likes my hair long, but I like that girl's hair a lot. 
I bet that's easy to do in the morning. 26) Jill will tell me what to do with it 
when she gets here. 27) I have to remember to remind Jen about Saturday night. 
28) And Anne. 29) Seriously, Sir. If you press up against me any more, I will 
have to charge you the Champagne Room fee. 30) MMMMMM. Mimosas. 31) Oh God! Did 
I just miss my stop? Hey, I never promised you complete, entertaining, coherent 
entries now did I? 
----- -------- TITLE: Note to Self AUTHOR: julie DATE: 5/05/2004 02:46:46 PM 
----- BODY: 
You are born. You grow up with so many people to love and more often than not, 
most of them love you back. Yours is the kind of family that treats your friends 
as if they share your surname. Your friends feel comfortable wearing their 
pajamas at the table where your family sits down to enjoy a country breakfast, 
they call your mom "Mama" and your dad is someone they think they should refer 
to when needing advice. You know your sisters are your best friends and even 
after gaps in your usual routine of correspondence, you realize that you can 
still call your older sister in middle of the night if you have a nightmare in 
which she is involved. You swell with pride when your younger sister consults 
you about boys or high school, or any other rite of passage. You were never 
grounded for lying to your parents because you never felt like you had to lie to 
them, and discover that while in your mid-twenties, you are worrying about their 
health and well-being the way they have always worried about yours. You find 
yourself loving the new members of your family just as much as the ones who 
welcomed you on your initial birthday, deciding that adding "in-law" isn't 
appropriate when speaking of your new brother. You understand that you are in 
the presence of perfection every time you study in detail the grinning face of 
your growing-way-too-fast, cotton-topped nephew. You pray every night for all of 
them. You love them with everything you are and know that if you could, you 
would bargain with destiny to focus on you instead of them when dealing cards of 
sorrow and pain. This is who you are. The people in your life make up what you 
are and what you want to become. And as complete as this love is, there is 
something decidedly different about the love you feel about the family you 
created. Your family of those acquaintances that simply outgrew the title of 
friend and now need a name that fits them better. Her~ You ask a girl you've 
seen in the dorm hallways with whom, on a few occasions, you have casually 
conversed and randomly partied to become your roommate. While being your 
roommate, she becomes your friend. You share everything: clothes, classes, and 
the couch during MTV's Real World Marathons. You share the same sense of humor. 
You share family secrets. You share your history. Who you are. What you are and 
what you want to become. You know she is pulling for you when you're succeeding 
and she's pulling harder for you when you're not. She pulls her hair out when 
you fold the towels so they don't fit in the linen closet. She pulls your 
swimsuit tie up after sunning by the poolside bar of one of the many exotic 
resorts she has taken you to. She pulls your ass off the floor after too much 
tequila and not enough poise. She pulls rank when your other friends are giving 
you advice that she knows shouldn't take. She goes inside the house so you don't 
see her crying as you pull the U-haul out of the driveway. You realize that you 
don't even share the same zipcode anymore. You miss her every time you start a 
story with "remember when" and realize that no one around is nodding their head, 
eyes closed, with a knowing grin creeping across their face. You notice the 
complete lack of laughter every time you say something that is supposed to be 
weird and hilarious. You consider how much you had to bend to accommodate others 
and how little you ever needed to bend to accommodate her. You look through 
apartment listings and job notices from your city paper's classified section to 
see if one meets her needs. You mention within every lengthy phone conversation 
the advantages of living in New York. You tear up and hypocritically pout a 
little bit when you hear that she is planning to accept the position for which 
YOU SUBMITTED HER RESUME...because the job actually offered is on the opposite 
coast from where you live. You can't even say that your "original intent" was to 
get her a job in your city because your "original intent" was doing anything you 
could to help her change her surroundings with the hope that she'd be happy 
someplace fresh. Him~ You take an empty desk in a class your sophomore English 
class never imagining that the rather talkative young man sitting behind you 
would be one of your lifelong friends. Because you are fifteen and not exactly 
comfortable in your own skin, you marvel at how he has the confidence to be so 
decidedly himself. You awkwardly blush when he takes a deep bow in the middle of 
the hallway between classes while addressing you as "M'lady." You pull your 
mother's car over to the bus-stop on the way to school and tell him to get in, 
then tease him for the next three years about how he didn't even stomp the 
calf-high clumps of mud off his boots before he accepted your offer. You depend 
on him the entire semester of typing class to entertain you with his strange 
humor and debate-encouraging blanket statements. You stand and applaud loudly 
when he is acknowledged as one of the elite few appointed to the United States 
Air Force Academy in the awards assembly of your senior year. You cry when you 
hear that, because of an accident, his broken limbs keep him from heading to 
Colorado Springs the Autumn after graduation. You shed tears of an entirely 
different ilk when he uses the time allotted for physical rehabilitation not 
only to transform himself from a tall, gangly teenage boy into a strong imposing 
figure of a man, but to rejuvenate his character as well. You look forward to 
seeing his eager smile at your mother's front door every Christmas season. You 
giggle a bit due to the Barnum and Baileyish quality of seeing this young, 
hulking, black man having to bend at the waist to gently hug your 95 year old, 4 
foot nothing, fair skinned grandmother. You laugh at the way your mother pours a 
cup of egg nog with nutmeg in "[his name's] mug" almost before he sits down on 
the sofa to catch up with all of your family. You find you are a little too sad 
to hear that his parents are moving away to Alabama, and that your Holiday 
reunions probably won't happen anymore. You cannot believe it when he tells you 
he is going to be stationed in another country for a couple of years. On the 
other hand, of course you believe it. You're sure that he'll always be assigned 
wherever he wants to go... ~ Although the title doesn't seem to do them justice, 
they are still your "friends." Your best friends. They are family. They are 
another type of soulmate. They have seen you through everything and they see 
through everything you do. They will continue to do so, no matter how far away 
they are. By loving them, you are born in a different way. You become a new 
person. A better person. And you are so lucky. 
----- -------- TITLE: Home Sweet Home AUTHOR: julie DATE: 4/14/2004 01:22:56 PM 
----- BODY: 
I don't really know if I'll have enough for a real entry here, but I guess 
that's kind of like saying "long story short..." in the middle of one of my 58 
minute tirades about laundry or something as equally compelling. I have been 
known to ramble. I'm just saying. Seattle was good. Good and eerie in a lot of 
ways. I mean the beauty of this city is quite striking. However, you know what 
else is striking? The feeling of isolation when you're driving along the highway 
and see nothing but conifers for miles around. What if you break down? What 
then? I'll tell you what then. A large man with a flannel shirt and ominous scar 
on his face will pull over, chop you up into little pieces, and throw you in 
with the kindling before you have time to say, "Go Mariners." Or at least he 
will in my head. It rained a little every morning, sometimes while the sun was 
shining. I'm like, "uh...sunny or rainy? Make up your mind, Seattle." Other than 
that, everything was great. Nice folks in the Issaquah office of what seems to 
be a real peach of a company. Look at me! All trained! I liked seeing trees and 
water (and boy, do you see a lot of all around nature-y stuff in Washington) and 
realized how pleasant to walk outside in the morning and inhale really deeply 
without catching way too much of a whiff of fresh tar or that homeless stink 
that clings to you like an unnoticed spiderweb. But...I missed New York. I was 
in Washington, but in a New York state of mind. (cue saxophones) I missed my 
turkey and Swiss on rye with mustard from the little deli around the corner. I 
missed the proximity of running errands for necessities or little treats during 
a lunch time walk. And even though I enjoyed driving while singing along to the 
radio again, I missed the subway/magazine chill combo that bookends a typical 
day for me. I am in the midst of packing my stuff and moving over the next few 
weeks. I'm just switching apartments, really. Of course, this time, I am 
switching to an apartment that's already lived in...by my boyfriend. It's weird 
because I realized that while I was across the country, thinking about returning 
to the city, I wasn't planning on grabbing a turkey and Swiss on rye or window 
shopping on my lunch hour. I was just thinking about being home. Even though my 
"home" is in transit, so to speak, so it didn't really feel like there was 
something physical to "come home" to. I was just focused on being with Spencer 
again. I realized that "home" was with him. That pretty much "home" will be 
wherever he happens to be. So, before I even parked my suitcase by the front 
door or kicked off my shoes, I felt like I had returned home. Spence was waiting 
for me at JFK's baggage claim with a relieved smile. And even though we were 
heading out to the Jersey Shore, straight from the airport, it didn't matter. I 
didn't need to sleep in my own bed to feel like I was home. As soon as he took 
my hand in one of his and my suitcase in his other, I was there. 
----- -------- TITLE: Sleeping in Seattle...for a Week! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
4/02/2004 12:54:26 PM ----- BODY: 
Grab your hankies and get ready to wave 'em at me. I am leaving for a week. 
Heading to Washington state for new-real-job "training." Obedience school for 
the working class, I guess. Although, I already know how to sit and stay. I 
promise to be an "expert" when I return...I just don't know what my expertise 
will cover. A mystery! Fun! I am excited for a change of scenery, and I have 
always dug Seattle, so it should be a splendid sojourn. See you after Easter! Be 
sure to have a Happy Risen from the Dead Day! Of course, you should celebrate by 
eating lots of chocolate. 
----- -------- TITLE: Taking Up Cyberspace AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/30/2004 
05:44:52 PM ----- BODY: 
Apparently, I was totally lying when I was promising you two new, meaty entries. 
Psych! Ha. Made you look. Who knew I would go all Pinnochio on yo' ass? I 
didn't. Or did I???? What happens when you get inspired, tap excitedly at the 
keyboard, finish two paragraphs, all of a sudden stop as if the devil turned 
your brain switch to "off," and stare into space, open-mouthed like one of Bobby 
Deniro's cohorts in Awakenings? Well, it seems what will happen is people will 
start calling you "Julie" because you have morphed into me. While that may 
appeal to you at first, I beg you to consider your options. On one hand, you are 
cute and sassy and mix a very pleasant-to-sip cocktail. On the other hand, you 
are creatively challenged and question the importance of your existence on the 
internet. And I ask you, where is the self-help book for that life mystery, 
friends? Okay, so I grant you that it is probably cooler to be me and still 
doubt whether or not to be poking around on the INFORMATION SUPER HIGHWAY! (Too 
bad for you, the role of "me" has been filled.) But, what am I doing poking 
around on anything called a highway, super or not? Highways are not meant to be 
doddled upon. Just ask Frogger. You must have purpose. You need intent. Also, 
skill wouldn't hurt. Why in the U.S. of A. did I just spend ten minutes typing 
those paragraphs? See? Nonsense. That is what has been happening lately. I don't 
have purpose. No real intent here. Skill? Please. I am skilled at very few 
things and nothing about any of them has to do with "information" anything. Am I 
feeling philosophical or lazy? Should I keep posting when nothing is really 
going on and I really don't have anything to say? Ahhh. What would Jesus do? 
Right. He'd probably turn something into wine. What can I turn into wine? Will a 
twenty do? Excellent. In summary: 1) I lie. 2) The devil switched my brain off. 
3) Still cute and sassy drink mixer. 4) Can't really write. 5) Could get hit by 
an INFORMATION SUPER HIGHWAY semi. 6) Should probably take the next "exit." 7) 
Should definitely quit with the highway metaphor. 8) Will be buying some wine. 
Okay, then. G'night! 
----- -------- TITLE: Speak! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/29/2004 01:41:20 PM ----- 
BODY: 
Well, aren't y'all the most wallflowery bunch ever? After a bit of Nancy Drew, 
Super-Sleuthing, I found that the readership of this little site is close to a 
thousand. A grand. (aside: Wow! Isn't that cool?) And what? Maybe 4 people have 
utilized the comments portion. Not enough, I say! And I know some of the people 
reading are my close, personal friends, and let me assure you, they are as 
naturally blabby as me. Where are you guys? To cool for school? If so...you 
suck. Just kidding! Keeses for jooo. Mwah. But, seriously it's like, "Hello, 
dark vaccum-like void into which I am writing. Hello? (echo: Hello-oh-oh-oh?)" 
My very own mother doesn't even comment! The nerve! Of course, she can't tell me 
I need "more powder" or to "fix [my] lipstick," so what would be the point, I 
guess. (Oh, Ma, you know I'm teasing...and I know you're not, so let me set your 
mind at ease and tell you I have my compact right here at the ready.) I feel 
like a sixth grade teacher...begging you to respond. (Nothing too mean, 
thankyouverymuch.) On the other hand, maybe nothing I have said has been very 
provocative. Huh. Never thought that would happen. (wink and pucker, one eyebrow 
cocked) Am I going to have to start talking about politics and religion? Am I? 
Is that really what everyone wants? Didn't think so. Anyway...just reminding you 
that the option is there...to talk back. And I won't even send you to "time 
out." 
----- -------- TITLE: Oliver, 1- Aunt Boolie, Zero AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/24/2004 
05:02:08 PM ----- BODY: 
I can already tell what kind of relationship Oliver and I will have and I just 
can't wait! Of course, I adore him as a chubby teeny roly poly tow-headed 
toddler, but I know in my heart of hearts that kid and I will have one of those 
mystical connections that they write about in Time Life Books. I want him us to 
have the kind of rapport that I had with my Aunt Jane...and then some. I want us 
to be so close that we are able to really kid around with each other. I want us 
to have the kind of relationship in which inside jokes are involved. Sure...I 
want all the important "confidant and role model-y" stuff, too...but he's a 
little young to look up to right now and when I try and get into a meaty 
conversation with him, he usually wants me to be hiding and then pop out at him, 
and that really throws the dialogue off. I want us to save up jokes to tell each 
other over holidays and use each other as the target of the perfectly 
strategized prank. And besides, I have always thought that you are only able to 
make someone laugh... really laugh, I mean from the gut, no sound can come out, 
tears streaming down your scarlet face kind of guffaw...if you share a great 
friendship, a stong bond, or if you really love them. He's been baby talking for 
a while, but he's really cruising now. Numbers. Animal names. All the baby stuff 
you'd expect from the most brilliant human being in the world. Well, Jill and 
Jim are really good about pointing out pictures of family members that Oliver 
doesn't get to see very often and quiz him on their names so he feels 
comfortable when we finally do get to see him. Because a few members (including 
Jill and Jim) call me "Boolie," it stands to reason they have been calling me 
"Aunt Boolie" to Oliver. The other day, Jill holds up the phone to Oliver, 
points to my picture, and sing songily questions, "Who's this? Whooooo is it? 
Who is in this picture, Oliver?" The sweetest, softest, most splendid voice in 
all creation proudly confirms the identity of the girl in the photo. "Boobie." 
(Kid, you don't even know how well that fits.) Holy Moses on the mountain top, I 
thought that was funny. I laughed. I really laughed. From the gut, no sound came 
out. And whether from enjoying that innocent bit of humor or from missing him so 
very much, I promise you, tears were definitely streaming down my face. He must 
really love me. 
----- -------- TITLE: Sadies and Spinster Find Common Ground AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
3/22/2004 03:07:48 PM ----- BODY: 
Being ever the multi-tasker, I am working on two (Two! Two mints in one!) 
entries right now and both are taking their sweet ass time being brilliant. 
Obviously, nothing I have been doing the past couple of months has been 
particularly shiny, so I don't really know why I am expecting more from my 
writing. Right now, I seem to relish mundane things like getting my laundry done 
and finally taking time to tweeze my eyebrows. See? No glimmer. (All the sheen 
must be buried under the Kilimanjaro of clothes and overgrowth of hair.) I am 
predicting some changes, though. I plan on stepping up the multi-tasking a notch 
by going out and doing more this Spring. (By the way, hurry up, Spring! Winter, 
you need to step, biatch.) For instance, I went to a lovely wedding reception on 
Saturday night for which I had to dress with a modicum of panache, and I was 
actually satisfied with the outcome of my ensemble. Considering that we left 
Spence's apartment at 5:00 that evening, and I went to find something to wear at 
around noon the very same day, should clue you into the amount of time I have 
had recently to shop and also why I was so proud of a very basic black dress 
spruced up with some clever accessorizing and fancy lipgloss. I had never been 
to a New Jersey wedding reception, and though different from the syrupy Southern 
love parades to which I am accustomed, I found I enjoyed myself more than I had 
anticipated...of course I have to say most of the enjoyment came from making fun 
of the THREE dee-jays' black shirt/black jacket/white tie "formal wear" and from 
our good friend, Mr. Open Bar. I only knew 3 people when we arrived and yet I 
managed to entertain a few guests (and myself) when the time came for "all the 
bachelors in the house" to gather around and try to catch (yeah, right) the 
bride's garter. All of our table's male occupants were either heeding the 
deejay's call or busy bellying up, ordering themselves rounds of beer and 
fetching white wine spritzers to take back to their wives. I discovered I was 
the only non-married or engaged woman at the table. While all their heads were 
turned toward the single guys on the dancefloor, I murmured, "If Spencer scoots 
any further back he's going to have to write a check to Jacob Friedman, as he 
will be a guest at the bar mitzvah reception in the next room." Luckily, I got 
more laughter than pity stares after that one, although some managed to giggle 
and throw sympathetic glances in my direction at the same time. Apparently, 
married women are multi-taskers too! Anyway---just wanted to let you know that 
more is a'comin' so hold your ponies. 
----- -------- TITLE: The Right Thing to Do: Lifestyle Choices of Julie (and 
Wilferd Brimley) AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/15/2004 05:30:37 PM ----- BODY: 
Alright. I have always admitted to liking a fast paced environment. I did and I 
do. I like having my dancecard filled...lots of projects to tackle, dates to 
keep, red circles on my calendar. It makes me feel productive, writing down 
missions to accomplish and checking them off when I do. Ahh, yes...that's the 
Virgo part of me singing loudly, my friends. And, I am slowly getting acclimated 
to the pace my life has taken. It's funny. People think living in New York is 
always hustle and shake, but honestly, I felt much busier in Austin. Even with a 
new "real work" schedule and a grown-up social life, my niches in this city are 
small. Limited, really. I guess that's why it's so different here than when I 
went to U.T. Well, that and the fact that I really can't justify skipping work 
like I used to skip a class if I threw back one too many the night before. I 
have a handful of friends here. Just a dear few. I reminded myself all week to 
call them, and have failed miserably. I only hit one of the "A's" I was supposed 
to call (yes, I also find myself making a "to call" list alphabetically) and 
that was because I wanted her to know that Spence and I were going to attend her 
latest performance on the coming Sunday. (We did, and she was spectacular, by 
the way. The lovely Miss Anne is quite the comic genius.) So comfortable getting 
back to this familiar pace did I think I was, that I also believed I was going 
to rally on Friday night. Get a friend on the phone, force her to wear 
uncomfortable shoes and sticky lip-gloss and saucily sit on a barstool next to 
me while we solve the world's problems. Sure, I was tired around 4:30, but one 
of my grievances about struggling financially as a performer living in this city 
has been that you have to cut back so much to make ends meet, you don't have the 
bank to actually live in this city. To enjoy it. To experience it. And that is a 
real shame. Why haven't I been going out more now that I have real income? What 
am I, a Quaker? Therefore, it was my intention to call Allison, go home, get 
showered, dressed up, and enjoy a night out with a girlfriend. So what ended up 
happening? Well, I called Allison and left a message. (Check!) I got home. 
(Check!) Got showered. (Check!) Flipped on the T.V. while I sat down to take off 
my chipped finger nail polish. Nothing like the 6 o' clock dose of murder and 
mayhem to pump you up for a night out, am I right? My makeup bag was waiting on 
the coffee table, so my next check was on its way... Y'all, I didn't even make 
it to the weather before I fell asleep, in my bathrobe, wet head seeping its 
product onto a Chinese silk pillow, all lights on, COTTON BALL STILL IN HAND. 
Great. I wonder what my face will look like on a canister of oatmeal. 
----- -------- TITLE: No Applause Necessary AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/04/2004 
05:17:13 PM ----- BODY: 
Sweet baby Jesus, I feel overloaded. Run, run, run as fast as you can, you can't 
catch me because I have a kajillion things to do and my ass is on the go! So, I 
am at a new job. Because I like a paycheck and don't want to get fired, I won't 
mention much about it, but I will say that considering it's not actually on 
stage, I am surprised that I am as creatively challenged as I am. That's good. 
On the other hand- Where, exactly did my life go? I feel like Lionel Richie 
circa 1983...can't slow down. Wake up. Work. Work out. Eat something when 10 
minutes happen to be free. Shower occasionally. Sleep. That's not so good. I am 
sure my friends think I have been kidnapped and I have noticed that 
communication with my family has been limited to cryptic text messages and 3 
minute cell phone conversations in which 1 and 1/2 minutes are spent saying, 
"Wait...you're cutting out. 'Kay, now it's...wait. I'll just have to call you 
later." That just sucks. Also, I can't help but feel a little blue. Sure, I am 
making actual money now, but what did I sacrifice? I have always thought that if 
I get into one show...just one that I am really proud of, I'd be content. I'd 
just check that off my list of things to accomplish. I have a lot of talents and 
I have never felt confined to one industry in order to succeed. I know I can 
still find opportunities to sing and act and all that jazz. I just haven't quite 
figured out how to do everything...have a job, support myself, and be creatively 
fulfilled at the same time. Oh, and I suppose one day I probably should take 
time and get married and have babies and stuff. In fact, I know some family 
members would just about lend me their uterus if I'd say I wanted to get that 
show on the road. I guess it's how I decide to juggle my activities from now on. 
It feels like I have switched from knives to scarves, though. It's far less 
dangerous to be part of the 9 to 5 set rather than another struggling artist, 
but then again...the oohs and ahhs from the audience are far less 
enthusiastic...if they ever come at all. 
----- -------- TITLE: Craziness AUTHOR: julie DATE: 3/01/2004 09:43:35 AM ----- 
BODY: 
Hello, Pets! Switching jobs and a bunch of other hullabaloo... Lots to tell you, 
and right now, no time for the telling. Send love and "get-organized" vibes to 
me, lovies. I shall return!
----- -------- TITLE: Going Down? AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/24/2004 09:53:37 AM 
----- BODY: 
Some idiot was in the elevator just now telling his cohort all about his recent 
up close and personal biznezz with the "girl from legal." There must have been 9 
people in there, mostly male, and the description was getting pretty detailed 
and hardcore, until one guy said, "Hey, man...there are a couple of ladies in 
here." The guy barely acknowledged him, didn't let up, and was still locker room 
talking...in the elevator. One of his colleagues turned to me and apologized. 
"Whatever, it's fine." I said. "That guy is 5 foot nothing, maybe a buck twenty 
soaking wet with boots on, and wearing a baby blue sweater vest...If anyone in 
here believes he's a real (audible "ahem") lady killer, I'll eat my hat." Snap! 
No, I di'int!" Ding! The elevator doors opened and I stepped into the vestibule 
while his buddies laughed and commented on his reddening face. I wouldn't have 
said anything, but I had heard him give the same spiel about a week earlier 
about a different girl, and I just hate that particular breed of jerk. I just 
wish I could have thought of something better to say. 
----- -------- TITLE: Back Dat Up! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/19/2004 03:14:56 PM 
----- BODY: 
I won't bore you with another self-worshipping tale about my spinning class this 
morning except to say that: 1) I am proud of myself for, once again, waking up 
before farmers and getting myself to the gym. Let's face it...self can be such a 
bum, sometimes. 2) I rocked so hard I thought at one point I channeled Lance 
Armstrong...except with one fewer ball, but still. My day is making me realize 
how blessed I am that my friends still talk to me. The following is what some 
would say qualifies for their "Most Embarrassing Story." For me? Wednesday. I 
was lamenting to my roommate, Jen this morning that either despite all my hard 
work, my ass is expanding, or the dry cleaners shrunk the pants of my favorite 
suit. Since the legs are now too short to wear with heels without looking like 
the long lost member of Bananarama, I am thinking that my ass is still the same 
sweet size and that I will be going to the dry cleaner one door down from the 
other one from now on. One is French and one is Chinese, and I don't really know 
the difference between how they clean things. One uses a heavy cream sauce and 
the other uses chopsticks? I don't really care. This land is your land and 
whatnot. At this point, I'd let the Wonkamobile burp foam on me if it would also 
run my clothes through that car-wash whatchamadoo and they came out the same 
size as they were at the get go. But, I digress. So, I was feeling a little ass 
conscious already. (Aren't you happy you decided to read today?) Then, as I was 
sitting down to work behind the computer, I felt my pants rip a little in the 
vicinity of my bee-hind area. Right on "the seam," so to speak. Since I had not 
enjoyed a three-bean salad in quite some time, and considering my 
tight-pant/ass-girth dilemma this morning, I immediately thought, Holy Christ on 
the cross, (except with a lot more swearing and several hexes on those idiot 
frogs who shrunk my pants) what the hell am I supposed to do now? What would you 
do? Right. I panicked. I even cursed myself for discriminating against panty 
lines, because kids, let's just say Sisqo would have been very proud of my 
undergarment choice. Very proud, indeed. I kind of brushed my hand over "the 
area" as if smoothing my pants before sitting down, and couldn't really feel 
anything, but I had to know at that very minute whether or not I was just 
imagining my fat butt incredible hulking itself out of my trousers or if it was 
nothing at all. But really, who imagines that kind of thing about themselves? My 
ass was assuredly making its corporate debut this instant. I didn't even think 
to get a nudity clause for a temp job! I was in even more of a predicament 
because my office is male dominated and I'll be damned before I let a Disclosure 
type fiasco ensue, so I didn't want to ask anyone near if I was indeed, stuck 
between the moon and New York City. Being situated at the end of a row of 
offices, I convinced myself that I probably wouldn't run into anyone on the way 
to the little girl's room and I absolutely had to survey the damage a little 
closer. So, of course, I mustered the courage to sort of sideways walk down the 
hall to the bathroom. The coast was clear. Save for a tumbleweed and a water 
fountain, nothing was in my way. I get into the (then) vacant bathroom, sweating 
at this point I think, and... nothing. The full length mirror reflected no ass, 
(well, no naked ass). No rip. Whew. Awesome. Thank you, Ann Taylor. Sending all 
your little sweatshop workers the contents of my piggy bank via Sally Struthers. 
Crisis averted. Nice. Thought, well, might as well use the facilities since I am 
here. Open the stall door, get ready to take one more step in overcoming my fear 
of public restrooms, and notice that the lining of my pants has a rip starting 
from my knee. Inner dialogue went like this: Aha. So that's what it was. Oh 
well, I'll just rip that out when I get home. All that needless anxiety. God, 
Julie. I can't believed you panicked so much about mooning everyone at work. You 
are such a dork. Way to overrea.... Real dialogue went like this: "Argh! What 
the!!" I look up to see that the door had swung wide open while I was inspecting 
how far the rip went...meaning, I was bent over, ass exposed, arm elbow-deep in 
leg of pants, head almost fully covered in pinstripe fabric... all to the 
awkward horror of two un-identified coworkers who thought they were just going 
to wash their hands and see themselves in the mirror. Sitting up and scrambling, 
I even Sharon Stoned them before I got the door closed. I heard them gasp a 
little, but they had the grace to leave before I could even zip up. God bless 
stuffy corporations and their dignified atmosphere. Because that's what I am all 
about. Dignity. Always dignity. 
----- -------- TITLE: "How Will You Make it on Your Own?" AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
2/17/2004 10:26:22 AM ----- BODY: 
"This world is awfully big, girl this time you're all alone..." I assume you 
know that my inspiration for the title of this post is from one of the greatest 
television shows ever, "The Mary Tyler Moore Show." If you don't, um...why don't 
you? Didn't your mama love you? Anyway- Upon reading Lauren's, "Always with the 
talking." while I settled in with my coffee this morning, I discovered this 
lovely little tater tot's entry singing the praises of this here site. Did 
everyone just get goosebumps, or was it just me? Cue: "Love is All Around" a.k.a 
Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song. Lyric: Who can turn the world on with her 
smile? Action: Julie...typing at the computer. She pauses, looks at camera, 
smiles. Lyric: Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem 
worthwhile? Action: Zoom in on computer screen, notice Always with the talking. 
is blinking back. Lyric: Well it's you girl, and you should know it. Action: 
Julie quickly kisses screen, hops up from crappy office desk chair, dances 
around office. Whoa. Is she skipping down the corridor? Lyric: With each glance 
and every little movement you show it. Action: Julie making her way through the 
office hallways. I don't know for sure, but there appear to be cartwheels and 
back handsprings involved. Lyric: Love is all around, no need to waste it. 
Action: Smiling Julie is at the elevator bank, pirouettes, and while doing so, 
taps the "down" button with her pointed toe. Lyric: You can have a town, why 
don't you take it? Action: Elevator doors open to the lobby, Julie runs out of 
the elevator, through the revolving doors... Lyric: You're gonna make it after 
all! Action: Julie is out by the fountain in the front of her building, throws 
her beret jubilantly into the New York City sky. She was wearing a beret at 
work? Fin. Well, that's how I felt when I saw that someone linked to me. Isn't 
it great to derive so much joy from a seemingly small gesture? Considering how 
happy Lauren's link made me, can you even imagine the love I am going to radiate 
when I get cast in a decent show again? It'll be a damn Mardi Gras. I'll have to 
jet to Mexico and buy illegal amount of botox to combat the permanent smile 
lines etched onto my face. Oh, Lauren...you are the so the Lou Grant of my day. 
----- -------- TITLE: Nuttin' but Love for ya, Baby! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
2/13/2004 04:33:24 PM ----- BODY: 
Didn't really know what to write today, so Spence and I had some fun with a few 
"vintage" Valentines. If you aren't going to send me hate mail because it's 
un-p.c. and kinda smutty, take a look. P.S. You are so pretty. I love you! 
----- -------- TITLE: Why I'm dumb AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/12/2004 03:18:05 PM 
----- BODY: 
You have got to be kidding me. I was reading my favorite entertainment as of 
late, and her blog was linked to a blog which had a link to a blog (What is 
this, an old shampoo commercial?) called, "This Fish Needs a Bicycle." 
Immediately, I'm all, "OHMIGOD!!!! Everyone is going to think I am plagiarizing! 
Wait. Wait...Julie. Calm yourself. a) This lovely blogger who is the author(ess? 
I dunno...haven't read anything yet, but I will! I just feel the need to be 
monogamous to my cyber-writer girl crushes...one at a time, you know.) didn't 
coin that phrase. You were writing about spinning...and were trying to think of 
a phrase with 'bicycle' in it, so as to appear ever so clever. By the 
way...mission accomplished. Well done. You're so sexy. b) You got that phrase 
from that U2 song. c) If you 'stole' that line, then U2 apparently 'plagiarized' 
Irina Dunn (cited phrase coiner on "TFNaB"). d) You are so the Vanessa Huxtable 
of over reaction." And then I got back to my life. How's that for the dorkiest 
37 seconds ever? 
----- -------- TITLE: This Fish Needs a Bicycle! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/12/2004 
10:09:37 AM ----- BODY: 
Were you just looking at my ass? Thought so. As much as it hurts, you bettah be. 
Why, you ask? Well, after a rockin' and rollin' 45 minute session of spinning 
plus 20 minutes of "X-pressline" strength training last night, what did our 
heroine do today at 6:15 in the damn morning? Go to another spinning class. Uh 
huh. Dat's right. 2 workouts in less than 12 hours. How much do you want to 
french kiss me now? Spinning? Is awesome. For a gal who hates (My dad always 
tsk-tsked about saying "hate." "Hate's an awfully strong word, Julie." 
Well...ahem, I am passionately saying "hate" about this.) running, I am kind of 
surprised by how much I love this intensely difficult, sweat-ridden class. I 
have tried to run. God knows I have. Actually, I am pretty sure the Devil does, 
too considering he is the one I always offer to sell my soul to if he would just 
make the pain go away while I am doing so. But, even after several attempts with 
my runner friends, running classes, and even on a treadmill, I stand firm on my 
"running is crazy" platform. I mean...like I always say...I will run...if a bear 
or a lunatic with a knife is chasing me, or if I am on fire and there is a 
filled water trough nearby. I just don't understand taking several laps on 
purpose...without a gym teacher first busting you for talking to your 
square-dance partner. The only time I really see myself running willingly is if 
I have bionic powers and that ultra technotronic Six Million Dollar Man "chicka 
chicka chicka" plays in the background while I kick some drug dealer's ass. But, 
that hasn't happened...yet. Anyway- I love me some cycling. I usually get what I 
assume to be that runner's high feeling about 25 minutes into the class. What 
makes it even better is when the instructor kind of lets you close your eyes and 
zone. I have found that is when I really work some shit out, physically and 
mentally. Whoa. Who'd I just turn into? Why don't I just eat some grain and 
sprouts and light some incense to make the hippie transformation complete. Jee. 
Zuz. Last night's teacher played the sweetest workout soundtrack, too. I knew 
all the words to all the songs. None of it was that nns-nss-nss trance hooha. I 
mean, I got George Michael's "Freedom," Sting's "Desert Rose," and Prince's 
"When Doves Cry." Rad. Although, now when I think of it, I may have just been 
initiated into some kind of weird, spinning, drag queen society, but whatever. I 
loved it. I do think I need to get that doughnut thingie that the Preparation-H 
set totes around because my "sits bones" are burning like a rock star's urine. 
Now, please pardon me while I tuck these ice packs down my pants. Oh, you can 
stop looking at my ass now. 
----- -------- TITLE: Brilliant, Bewildered, and Bedazzled AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
2/11/2004 02:08:37 PM ----- BODY: 
A few things: 1) Birthday Crisis, 2004 was averted thanks to my hoarding (not 
whore-ing, thankyouverymuch) and thrifty ways. See? What had happened was I had 
held back some of my Christmas love for Spence, thinking "Um...I got him enough, 
already. I'll save these for some random gift so he will think I am randomly 
awesome, and the best random girlfriend ever." I guess I should have pre-thought 
about my consistent what-do-I-get-him-at-the-eleventh-hour dilemma, so I could 
have just titled said goodies "birthday gifts bought way in advance" rather than 
"random presents for a rainy day." It would have made me seem much more hip and 
with it. So, his birthday wasn't so random, I will admit. It does seem to fall 
around the same damn time every year. However, let us give props where they are 
due...that was some pretty pre-planning, albeit unintentional, genius on my 
part. It's like I was Martha and had extra labeled drawers in my closet filled 
with a fancy pre-wrapped hostess gift for when you get invited to a dinner party 
"last minute." That, by the way, happens to me all the time. 2) Krista Sutton 
has my last name AND my dream job. Kids, have y'all watched Suite and Simple on 
the Fine Living channel? Two travelers go to the same destination, but with 
different means. "Suite" (Michael Lamport) does it up with a pretty penny, while 
"Simple" (Krista Sutton) has a blast on a party girl's budget, meaning she gets 
comped a lot (which is a skill I have in spades, being Texan, the daughter of 
two shameless flirts, and living in NYC where scrimping is an art form) and 
knows where to cut corners and still par-tay. Um, WHY IS THIS JOB NOT MINE? 
Honestly, why? If anyone knows of a better host for this show, who speaks better 
Spanish, who is as congenial and extroverted, who fits in with members of every 
caste, who is more comfortable speaking in front of a camera, and who is the 
most laid back traveling companion in the history of the universe, speak up...I 
dare you. Now, I am seriously vieing for this position. Not that I begrudge 
Krista (In fact, I'd love to work with her...we could have an act called "Sutton 
Squared: Twice as Nice for Half the Price"...okay, that may need some work), but 
I emailed my both my resumes and my headshot already. I will write letters as 
long as it takes to get an interview. If you know someone who knows someone from 
Fine Living, I will be your very best friend if you give me a shout out. Someone 
HAS to know someone, y'all. Thanks, ever so. Smooches all around! 3) I am making 
valentines tonight, so you will get yours late, as per usual. It wouldn't be 
thataway if you didn't live like a bazillion miles away. But, the point is...I 
heart you, and I am hell on wheels what with the cutting, and gluing, and 
card-making prowess. Be mine and whatnot! 
----- -------- TITLE: And Many Moooooooore! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/09/2004 
01:36:35 PM ----- BODY: 
Tomorrow is Spence's birthday. Of course, your favorite procrastinator has yet 
to do something about it gift-wise. I had an idea a looooong time ago, and it 
was a gem, even ifn' I do say so myself, but his father has trumped me once 
again! (I will file "birthday 2004" right next to "beer mug incident of 
Christmas 2002") So, now... I have squat. To make matters worse, the only thing 
I had in my back pocket was beaten to a bloody pulp when this very morning, said 
birthday boy offered, "I really don't want to go someplace all fancy for a 
birthday dinner, if that's okay. I'd rather just stay in and have some pasta." 
Great. Standard girlfriend fallback "nice dinner" now looks like I am saying, "I 
know you wanted to put on some comfy clothes and chill, buuuut, too bad for you! 
It's your birthday and I want to get dressed up, so now you have to as well. Put 
on your longpants, baby...we's going out." So, be a dear and tell me what to get 
my honey pie, won't you? I'd be obliged. Oh...and if you could just go ahead and 
pay for it and wrap it up, that'd be great, thanks. 
----- -------- TITLE: My Doorlin' MamaTHEEta AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/05/2004 
04:17:50 PM ----- BODY: 
So, hey! Nothing much going on, although I will say that I am sans headache, 
which means pretty much anything could happen today and I'd greet it with the 
same response...a big, ole' smile and possibly, a click of my heels, midair. I 
feel like animated woodland creatures are following me around the day after a 
headache takes its leave. Pretty soon, I'll start singing on the way to the 
bathroom or coffee machine. I've been tinkering with the front page of the site, 
as you may have noticed. Not bad for a novice, eh? We'll see how long it lasts. 
I talked with Mama last night and was thrilled (and a bit surprised...no 
offense, Ma) to hear that she has been sticking to our goal of "saving" for a 
trip together to Espana. This means that I actually have to cut back on 
expenses. For Mama, it means she cannot continue to buy more stuff (that I will 
eventually have to clean out) to clutter up her home or garage...namely another 
set of dishes. The woman loves dishes. I actually convinced her to give 2 sets 
(TWO SETS!) away over the holidays. Don't worry, though. If you and say, the 
population of Delaware want to stop by for dinner, she'd still be able to 
accommodate you, and I'm not talking about with any Chinette or Dixie garbage 
either. You'll likely be supping off of Blue Willow, Desert Rose, or the most 
expansive collection of Fiesta ware you have ever seen. She even has the color 
that was deemed "unsafe" to eat off of in the fifties. Some kind of toxic red 
that will melt your lips right off, I guess. I'd warn you to steer clear of that 
one service, I suppose, but it wouldn't matter. She won't let you eat off of it, 
but you know it's there...in the hutch...to complete the set. Her vice was 
present even at a young age as she was the hostess of many a tea party, complete 
with the appropriate tea-set for her company. I can just hear her syrupy, 
Oklahoma voice oozing out of her blonde, little head. "Way-uhl, let's see. 
Scaw-uht, Terry, and Sharon wee-uhl be hee-yuhr, so Ah wee-uhl lackly use the 
Row-yee Rogers say-uht. Now, if Cay-uthey and Creesty wuhr to suhr-praz us 
wee-uth a veezit, Ahl jes' sweetch to mah flow-ruhl say-uht, seence it serves 
see-ux to eight." Oh, Mama. What a lady. Side note: She teaches Spanish, and 
when she speaks it, native speakers think she is one of their own. And...she 
enunciates Spanish words when speaking English within an inch of their lives. It 
used to crack Jill and me up when we'd go to Taco Bell and hear Mama's drawl 
become a Southern/Castillian hybrid. Into the drive-through's intercom Mama 
would shout, "Yay-us, Ah need a Nacho Bell Grrrrrrrande and wuhn beef 
burrrrrrrrrrrito." Anyway- She's not "impulse buying" when she feels homesick 
for us and she's really trying to watch "stopping by" T.J. Maxx "way-uhr they 
jes' hay-uhv the bay-est barguhnz." Bless her heart. Most of the time she buys 
anything, it's for one of her two daughters...she just wants to give, give, 
give. Either that, or she has to give what she buys to one of us because her 
house will pop if she tries to squeeze one more thing into it. However, I think 
I got through to her over the holidays when I said that if she just saved all 
the money she would have spent throughout the year on whatchamacallits and 
thingamabobs, we'd have enough to take a trip to Spain. That seemed to do it. 
Terry even suggested she write "Spain" on her checkbook as a little aversion 
therapy. I hope it works! I'd love nothing more to spend some time with my 
little Mama (hopefully, we can convince "Jee-uhl" to come, too) in the country 
she encourages all of her students to visit, despite never having gone there 
herself. I can just hear it. "Oh Mah Gawd, Joowah-lee! Wee-urh in 
Barrrrrrr-THEH-lona!" 
----- -------- TITLE: Headgames AUTHOR: julie DATE: 2/04/2004 10:18:36 AM ----- 
BODY: 
You know what's not so great? Headaches. I went to the gym after a "I'm sick a/o 
recovering" hiatus on Monday night and kicked some ass. Mostly, my own. 45 
minutes of kickboxing, a 15 minute ab class, and then walked a little less than 
halfway home. I was fine before and during the workout, and then, on the subway, 
it started. The all too familiar pain planting itself on the top of my head, 
crawling down my face and neck. The kind of pain that makes you actually want to 
cry, but see...you can't...because then, you hurt worse. Took something, but 
seriously, it takes a while for over the counter medications to kick in for me. 
Thought a shower would help. It didn't. Maybe if I ate something. Nope. Then, I 
was just full and in pain at the same time. Went right to bed and closed my 
eyes, but couldn't sleep because you cannot get comfortable when you have a 
migraine. I say migraine, but while doing research yesterday, it could have been 
a cluster headache. Those can be just as bad, from what I read. The causes of 
either are about the same. I could have overdone it at the gym, not eaten enough 
before the workout (which is possible...I ate a both a healthy breakfast and 
lunch, but several hours past before I went to the gym), hormonal changes, lack 
of/too much sleep... The list goes on. Basically, I figure I pushed a piano out 
a window onto someone's head in a past life, and this is karma slapping my hand. 
The next day, I tried everything. Ice packs, more meds, bath, whathaveyou. 
Still, no relief. But... you know what's nice? Having the kind of boyfriend who 
totally takes care of you when you feel like you are going to die, but are 
afraid you won't. Last night Spence walked to my apartment in the rain and cold 
to pick me up and take me over to his apartment so he could take care of me. He 
then went to the pharmacy and picked up the drug my dad prescribed (again...in 
the rain and cold), made me dinner, rubbed my head, and left me the hell alone 
when he knew I needed it all the while being as quiet as humanly possible, and 
more importantly, letting me turn off all the lights. He must read lips, because 
I couldn't even hear the T.V. in the next room, yet knew he was watching. In 
truth...I could have stayed home. I would have gone to bed while Jen did her 
best to keep her nightly at-home activities as quiet as possible. But, if you 
had the choice between being holed up in your room fighting sleeplessness and 
the helmet of hurt on your head...alone, or having someone cater to your every 
need and sympathetically calling you "baby" while he does it, which would you 
choose? Exactly. Still fighting a bit of a headache, though. Not as bad as 
yesterday, but I am ready to be pain free. May have to take another solid gold 
(not really, but may as well be...they cost $20 each!) pill when I get home. 
Ugh. 
----- -------- TITLE: It's time for the Magic Mirror! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 
1/29/2004 05:04:58 PM ----- BODY: 
Who are the people that have visited my virtual Romper Room? I am new to this 
whole online community and I don't really want to invest in a counter or 
anything. Frankly, I don't know how to do it, anything related to seeing who it 
is that visits. I've read other writers who know how people got to their sites, 
their ISPs, their preferred brand of toothpaste... So...leave me a comment or 
something. Tell me, how did you get here? I noticed that 600 people have let 
their peepers wander to this little page. That's all the information that I 
have, though. Now, I want to know hows comes? I say that I want to know, but I 
bet when I look through the magic mirror I'll hear myself say, "I see...my 
mother, and roommate, and oh look, Donald Trump." (You just know he Googles his 
own name every now and then, doncha?) 
----- -------- TITLE: 1 Degree of Separation AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/29/2004 
10:40:30 AM ----- BODY: 
So, yeah. Kevin, Kyra, and I were waiting for the "B" train together this 
morning. Bacon. Sedgwick. Moi. It's so funny seeing celebrities in New York. I 
mean, I have never gotten overly starstruck when I meet people I've seen on the 
big screen...never gushed over anyone. Furthermore, I have never SEEN a mob of 
people swarming the celebs when I do see them. Not once. Maybe it's because of 
their "incognito" attire which is anything but. Kevin was wearing a crocheted 
hat and huge Jackie O sunglasses, and Kyra was wearing a cute hooded plaid 
jacket and they were both in jeans. Which, of course, they should be able to 
wear in cuteness and in peace. But, come on. Crocheted hat? He's what? 40ish? 
And...a man. Of course we're going to look. Anyway, they were all coupley and 
sweet. Kyra shrugged when Kevin asked her if she wanted to go out tonight. They 
said something about their daughter...before they got on the subway. The SUBWAY. 
That's cool in and of itself. Riding the tube with the plain folk. Just fun, 
though. I sooo wanted them to say, "excuse me" when they squeezed through the 
train's doors just so I could fold my close my magazine and let out a big, 
exasperated sigh, look up and say, "Please! Can I just read in peace for ONCE?!" 
Kyra would have chuckled a little and Kevin would have appreciated the joke. 
We'd go have coffee together and become best friends. Me, Kev, and Ky Ky. Then, 
all of YOU could be like, 2 degrees away! The next time you play that game with 
your friends you could say, "Hmmmm. Let's see. Do me! I went to school/am 
related to/went to a party with Julie and she is practically in their family, 
they are so close." Or you could just tell the truth and say we ride on the same 
train. Whichever way you want to go. 
----- -------- TITLE: We need to talk... AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/23/2004 01:36:17 
PM ----- BODY: 
I haven't intended to ingore you, baby. It's just that, you know, some stuff has 
been happening. Mucus thickening. Temperature rising. Unless you want to hear 
about my raw nostrils, red, watery eyes, and overall fogginess, there's nothing 
to say right now. I'm not breaking up with you, baby. I just thought we should 
take a break...from each other. Let the air clear a bit. I'm just going through 
some changes right now, most notably, in the "phlegm accumulation" part of my 
life. I need space...to breathe...through my mouth...with chapped lips. It's 
better this way for you...for the both of us. I'll be right back...after the 
weekend, baby. Then we can start over. I'll really try to be better for you by 
then. It'll be beautiful, baby. Just like you. 
----- -------- TITLE: Trumped Up AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/16/2004 04:03:59 PM ----- 
BODY: 
Say what you want. Think that I am the most pathetic dork evah, I don't care. I 
yam what I yam and that's all that I yam, etc. I watched "The Apprentice" last 
night. I'll wait for the hail of stones to slow down before I continue. 
Finished? Good. What can I say? I watch Must See TV Thursday. I HAVE watched 
Must See TV Thursday since it started. I scheduled one of my jobs in college 
AROUND the Must See TV Thursday lineup. Last night was no exception. For the 
record (of stupid crap that no one cares about): I loathe "reality" TV. You like 
it? Fine. You know who married who made out with who voted who off who did 
whatever? If that's your thing, great. I don't like it much. Watched a bit of 
the first "Survivor" when it came out...until they started eating bugs and 
rodentia. Once crazy things were ingested, I quit watching. But leave it to the 
kids at NBC to squeeze a "reality" show in between "Friends" and "Will & Grace." 
I'm not made of stone, y'all. What was I supposed to turn it to? I don't even 
know what's on other stations on Thursday nights. I know after this season, I'll 
have to learn, but let's not discuss it until it's time. Anyway- For those of 
you who have more exciting lives than me, here's a blurb about the show from 
NBC's website: In a bold new reality series that tests competitors’ survival 
techniques in New York City’s corporate jungle, NBC and executive producer 
Mark Burnett (“Survivor”) will team up for “The Apprentice,” a 
15-episode series in which candidates vie for the chance to become an 
“apprentice” to a “master.” During the first season of “The 
Apprentice,” legendary business tycoon Donald Trump will serve as the 
“master” and his business empire, The Trump Organization, will be the hub of 
the competition. In the series’ concept, approximately 16 candidates from all 
walks of life, including both Ivy League MBA graduates and street entrepreneurs 
with no college education, will endure rigorous selection as they are tested for 
their intelligence, chutzpah and street-smarts. They will face the challenges of 
living together in close quarters, must complete sometimes humorous but always 
difficult job assignments and will be forced to think outside the box in order 
to outshine each other to get to the top. End blurb. Ok. So... Whoa. Donald 
Trump's hair is cause enough to watch the show. How? On so many levels, man. 
How...does it do that? How...can he think that looks good? How...has not one 
person in this man's army of assistants insisted something be done about this 
man's hair? What "assistance" could be more important? "I'm bankrupt? I can 
deal." "Ivana is getting everything? She deserves it." "Marla isn't the bunny I 
thought she was? No problem." "My hair makes Don King look like a Pantene ad? 
WHY THE HELL DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME?" You and I both know that's how it would go. 
Anyway, I got sucked in and I have to say, I was intrigued...because I think I 
would win this mofo. Sure, you say. Huggamajillions of people think they would 
win any or all of those shows. Watching the 
edited/spliced/see-what-they-want-ya-to-see version, everyone says, "Oooh, I'd 
know juuuuust the way to outsmart everyone and win the big bucks!" Before you 
scoff, suck on a scoff-drop and let me tell you why I think I would win, so you 
will have proof of my genius. Last night, both teams (men vs. women) were asked 
to "create impactful print and on-air campaigns for the Marquis Jet Card. The 
jet card allows its users to buy hourly jet time. The teams would have complete 
access to all of the agency's resources including photographers, editors and 
camera crews. Donny also advised the teams to 'think outside the box' and to 
'swing for the fences.' Failure, he said, was not an option." -NBC.com Ok. Let 
me just tell you that I had a campaign within 30 seconds. You may want to read 
the description of the Marquis Jet Card again before you read my idea in order 
to assure you of my amazingness. Campaign: Show a hooker, I dunno, appplying lip 
gloss as she closes a hotel room door, counting her money and tucking it into 
her bustier as she walks to the elevator. Now cut to some snazzy businessy 
people carrying brief cases and walking up the stairs to a Marquis Jet, the last 
one handing the attendant the Marquis Jet Card. Tag line: Finally! An hourly 
service you can put on your card without a worry. Damn brilliant and classy to 
boot. Hookers and Planes and Trump, oh my! They'd already have my business cards 
made up by now. 
----- -------- TITLE: Outlook Not So Good AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/16/2004 10:49:05 
AM ----- BODY: 
"Insomnia has made a New Year's Resolution not to quit bothering me." - Jeremy 
Broomfield a.k.a. Universal Donor Tell it, brother. After only geting 2.3 hours 
of sleep last night due to nothing else but restlessness, I have had an ever so 
crappish day. Bluuuhh. Nothing catostrophic has happened or anything, but ick. I 
am so ready to slide down the brontosaurus's tail and go home to Dino. Things I 
realized I dislike even more than usual after today: 1) my contact lens shifting 
every 7 seconds, blurring my already highly impaired vision. 2) using the 
ladies' room at work and discovering there is not even the acidic Barbie-pink 
soap in any of the dispensers...during FLU season. 3) gum-smacking (It's not 
even smacking. It is beyond smacking. It's like smieeeechissssslarcking.) by 
dumb, oblivious girls sitting beside me on the bus or standing behind me in line 
for lunch. Is Hubba Bubba really that succulent? Jee. Zuz. 4) people coming up 
to me and saying, "your hair looks darker." That's it. No compliment. Just a 
statement. Um. Really? Thanks for the...observation. Here's one for you. Your 
face looks fatter. Moral? Don't make a statement about someone's appearance 
unless you plan on following it with some sort of accolade. 5) I'd mention some 
more, but I am already tired and cranky enough. Get off my back. Who can I pray 
to for some rest tonight? Who is the Patron Saint of sleep? Why did I quit going 
to Mass? If I knew something like this would come up, I wouldn't have, I swear 
to God. Wait. No. I don't swear to God. That's bad. Oh, whatever. Will I catch 
some z's tonight, Saint...um...Magic 8 ball? Signs point to yes? Yay! Thank you 
Saint Nytol. Thank you. 
----- -------- TITLE: This is your brain. This is your brain on html. AUTHOR: 
julie DATE: 1/09/2004 10:29:02 AM ----- BODY: 
Still trying to find appropriate icons for the site. I am dead set on everything 
looking uniform and clean...and am finding NADA that I like. Cartoons of wittle 
bunny wabbits wit dwait big eyes doesn't seem like the kind of icon I (or Dana, 
rather) would slap on the site. I hate hate hate that I don't know how to do 
this. Learning about this website stuff is like trying to sprint through 
quicksand. I am so impatient and have a vision in my head that isn't coming out 
on the screen. Argh! This would be a great PSA topic for college grads that 
didn't take enough computer classes. Kelsey Grammar or somebody like that would 
be standing on a black stage wearing a turtleneck, hands in the pockets of tweed 
pants saying something like, "Teaching yourself hypertext code is a slow 
process. Don't you wish you minored in Computer Science rather than Latin 
American Studies? Think about it." Bing bing bong bing. "The more you know" 
shooting star. 
----- -------- TITLE: Goonies never say die! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 1/08/2004 
04:28:54 PM ----- BODY: 
Up until about 2 hours ago I felt like Sloth from "The Goonies." The only 
difference was that I (technically) was never chained to a chair watching swash 
buckling pirate movies. Ok. Sure, I don't like Baby Ruth candy bars. Well, no. 
To my knowledge, I have never told someone named Chunk that I love him. Fine. 
Maybe I was more like Chunk. I really did feel like I could have done the 
truffle shuffle. Hmmm. But, no. I never glued my uncle's toupee to my face while 
playing Moses in a school play, nor did I claim Michael Jackson, or even his 
sister used the bathroom at my house. Whatever. You're missing the point. I ate 
and drank whatever my happy ass wanted to during the holidays, and even 
considering my sassy new 'do and higher regard for oral hygiene, I felt like 
Sloth and I were kin. That was UNTIL I met with Edward, or as I like to call 
him, Kung Pao Pain (You down wit' KPP? Yeah, you know me!) at 2:00 this 
afternoon. Hoo, boy! I can barely type this piddly, little entry because in 
addition to sucking my will to live, KPP sapped all the strength from my body. 
Even the muscles in the tippy tips of my fingers are sore. Well, not really, but 
you get the idea. KPP is a "trainer" (read: ass-whooper) at my gym. As a new 
member, I was entitled to a "free" initial training session. Yawn. I did this at 
my gym in Austin. They weigh you, measure body fat, test your resting heart 
rate, blahbeddy bloo, but basically all they say at the end of your "assessment" 
is: "Well, after evaluating your goals and fitness level, I have come up with a 
customized plan, tailored for your specific needs. You really need to (Say it 
with me, kids!) eat right and exercise." Thanks, chief. If it wasn't for you and 
"tell-it-like-it-is-Dr.-Phil," I'd still think scotch and doughnuts was the 
breakfast of champions! I feel like I am on the banks of the Jordan! I'm saved! 
I'm saved! Needless to say, I was less than eager to return Edward's (this was 
before I knew his true identity, KPP) call to set up an appointment. I mean, I 
joined the gym in October. You're supposed to do this dealie within your first 
month or something. But, I finally quit procrastinating and called him back. 
This was pretty much the conversation: "Hello?" "Hi, Edward?" "Yes." "This is 
Julie returning your call about the PFW." (Personal Fitness Workout. Everyone 
cool at the gym speaks in acronyms.) "Sure, Julie! Hi!" "Hi. Yeah. Anyway...I 
know the layout of the gyms, how to use the machines, that a routine of both 
cardio and strength training gets the best results, a whopper with extra lettuce 
doesn't count as a diet burger, and all that jazz. So...what will this initial 
PWF accomplish?" "Well, Julie...let's set up an appointment, and I'll have a 
routine set up for you, since I can tell you're not an amateur." Stop right 
there. For the record. Me? Amateur. In almost everything physical. I just got 
back from our session and all my muscles are now quivering with fatigue. I feel 
like Jell-o. In a good way. And without anything to do with Bill Cosby. Yup. I 
rock. And so does KPP. Although...maybe he's more like Data from "The Goonies." 
Little, Asian, and with a boxing glove inside his trenchcoat rigged up to knock 
me on my ass. Except the boxing glove is a workout, the trenchcoat is his 
clipboard, but my ass is still my ass. Ok. Not so good with analogies. Still--- 
Down here, it's our time. It's our time down here. That's all over the second we 
ride up Troy's bucket. That didn't really fit, but don't you just love that 
movie? 
----- -------- TITLE: Where the lovelight gleams...lovelight? AUTHOR: julie 
DATE: 1/06/2004 12:47:45 PM ----- BODY: 
In typical Julie fashion, I managed to stretch my holiday break (Christmas Tour 
2003!) into almost 3 weeks of much needed family time, and I must say, I am 
thrilled that I did so. In addition to traditional Christmas cheer, I also 
scratched my organizational itch by clean-sweeping Mama's garage. (Cue "Sanford 
and Son" theme.) Bless her heart. You would never know to look at this 
meticulously put-together hot mama and the abode in which she lives that her 
garage is where function goes to die. After 2 days in cahoots with my aunt, 
Terry and brother-in-law, Jim, I leaned on my broom a la the cartoon of Carol 
Burnett watching the credits at the end of her show (except she leaned on a 
mop...and scratched her bee-hind) and marveled at the labeled Rubbermaid bins 
and sparkling floors. (Well...not sparkling...it IS a garage. Maybe it was my 
tears of pride that gave the illusion of gleaming surfaces.) Pristine garages 
aside, what makes any holiday season magical? Well... I got to see both sets of 
parents, both sisters, both grandmothers, two sets of aunts and uncles, a family 
of cousins, my brother-in-law, my adorable nephew (with whom I am utterly in 
love), my drama mama and her beautiful family, my best friend in the universe, 
and a partridge in a pear tree. Oh, and I totally fooled Santa again and almost 
had to pay an extra 80 bucks to check the additional duffel bag of loot onto my 
airplane. (Cue Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American.") Man oh man, my family 
loves me, and therefore, the economy loves them. I ate big. When they say 
everything is bigger in Texas, they're not just talking about Cowboy hats and 
cattle ranches. I'd say portion sizes and (Ahem) the corresponding belly girth 
inherent to all that deep fried goodness could have prompted the slogan as well. 
But, boy howdy, I lapped it up! Literally. I also had no problem lapping up 
beverages of the adult variety. Daddy's new house has a well stocked, spacious 
bar that is all too conducive to taste-testing and concocting new recipes. The 
furniture-less (as-of-yet) bar is also seemingly very prone to broken martini 
glasses and slurred rants (Blush) about God-only-knows what. Hmmm. Probably the 
lighting design or something. That or the lingering spirit of some of Daddy's 
catch phrases, "Go big or go home" and "Work hard, play hard" being whispered in 
my psyche. Regardless of the reason, I imbibed and was merry...at least from 
what I remember. (Hiccup.) You know, when Hollywood depicts families getting 
together over the holidays, it's nothing but chaos and tumult. Now, let it be 
said that my nose would grow a foot and a half if I said my clan was ever a 
finalist in the "Norman Rockwell Family Model" competition. I mean, we're not 
carved from cream cheese like the Cleavers, but we're also a very far cry from 
the freak producing Jacksons. Our family resides somewhere in the middle, I 
guess. Probably where yours is, only cuter and sometimes with a drawl. (Hee!) 
Anyway---I am happy to report that nary a dagger was thrown. Besides some slight 
altercations that should just be filed in the "sibling: nerve stampeding" folder 
(mea culpa more often than I'd like to admit), and some wine and vodka induced 
tears over an innocuous comment over dinner (what am I supposed to do? BREAK 
TRADITION?), everything was loverly. During the Jefferson City leg, Mama 
pampered me like crazy, as usual. That woman is maternal nurturing at its very 
best. Plus she always has 3 cartons of eggnog waiting for us when we arrive. 
Eggnog is good for whatever ails ya, of that I am sure. (We missed you, 
Detrick!) I went to see Gara, my drama mama, and her two daughters that I used 
to push in a swing while they were sitting together. Now they are both taller 
than I am. Gara got me updated on all the latest Jeff. City news. She was sick 
as a dog, though, and despite her insatiable Emily Post-ishness, I knew the lady 
needed to rest. Terry brought her guitar all the way from Colorado, and I don't 
think there are many Christmas memories better than her, Mama, and me (she, 
Mama, and I??? Which is grammatically correct?) singing "Silent Night" in 
three-part harmony. That could have been Rockwell-ian, if I had not whispered, 
"shit, I went flat," after the first "slee-eep in heavenly peace." I finally met 
Dana (the designer of this here website)! She's a gem and assimilated to our 
crazy ways beautifully. Seeing my 94-year-old Granny was a treat. I have to say, 
I about spit out my nog when Mama corrected her soft-spoken question, "How old 
am I...66?" "No, honey. You're 94." She SHOUTED in disbelief,"94!?!?!?!" You're 
probably not laughing, but damn...that was funny. Speaking of funny, Jill made 
me laugh so hard, I cried at least 3 times. I won't tell the stories because you 
won't laugh. Sometimes the "you're not my sister so you won't understand why 
that was funny" card has to be played. What can I say? I was also beyond 
relieved when she quickly forgave me after she arrived home to find her beloved 
16-month-old with a fat lip and shiner, both obtained on Aunt Julie's watch. 
"Don't worry, Julie. That's just part of being a boy. They fall down." Great. 
The one thing Oliver inherited from me. Sorry, baby boy. Oliver was the 
highlight of my trip. His yearling vocabulary and determined expressions were 
out-cuted only by his spontaneous bursts of laughter and his incessant affection 
for his boxer, Stella. If you're ever looking for me and can't find me, check 
around his pinky. Jim drove, hopped up on Red Bull a total of almost 30 hours (I 
guess...zzzzzzzzzz) from Jefferson City to Houston and back and was his typical, 
positive self the entire way. Jill and I are convinced our family likes Jim more 
than us. Not that we can blame them. Marilyn played hostess to 12 for 2 nights 
in a not yet fully furnished house. That takes guts. I think she'd raise a glass 
when I say, "thank goodness for bourbon punch." Daddy was...well, Joe Ed at his 
finest. He was all puffed up about his new casa, and rightfully so. The fact 
that the whole fam damily settled into his digs for the festivities was icing on 
their inaugural week's cake, I am sure. He cooked up a storm and provided me 
with a volume of new Joe-Ediqutte. I think the neatest thing was when his big 
voice, strong even when saying grace, buckled with sentiment over the bowed 
heads and joined hands of the first extended family dinner in his new home. 
Uncle Gene and Aunt Helen were in fine form. They are the perfect mix of "good 
to the core" and "full of piss and vinegar." They are salt of the earth. Can I 
think of any more cliched phrases? Anyway, they are simply the best, better than 
all the rest. (Which is dorkier? Cliches or Tina Turner lyrics?) My cousin, Kirk 
and his family came down as well. His two little girls were more fun than a 
barrel of monkeys. (There I go, again.) I thought his 9-year-old was a little 
slice of heaven when she simply would not believe that I was 26. "I thought you 
were 18," she said. I was secretly singing the praises of my new moisturizer 
when she finished her thought with, "…because you're not married or anything." 
Doh! I went from cool, hip cousin to crotchety spinster in 2 seconds, flat. Oh 
well. They were a blast, regardless. Then, there is my Grandma. I always enjoy 
the time I spend with her. She teases me as much as I kid her, so our 
relationship is very simpatico. One day I will get her to admit out loud that I 
am her favorite. Until then, our unspoken agreement will have to do. Lindsey 
made it to the Dayton Bayou from Austin about 7 minutes before midnight New 
Year's Eve. What's the legend about who you're with at midnight? That you'll be 
with them for the next year at least? Well...duh. We haven't signed the papers, 
but I think it's safe to say she's long since been adopted into my family. We 
giggled well into the night about nothing. You know you have a good friend when 
you're 26 and still act like two kids in church, stifling your guffaws as to not 
wake up the house. You also know how close you are to a person when her 
Christmas gift to you (that you previously raved on and on about and practically 
squealed over when you opened it) is concealer...to cover blemishes and the 
deathwalk of age down your face. THAT is a friend, I tell you. I search the 
classifieds every day for the perfect job and apartment for her in NYC. I missed 
Leslie. I only got to see her for what? Two days? I blinked and she was gone. 
Not enough, I say! The campaign for her to spend some time in the city with her 
fabulous big sister is on! What do I have to do? Build a baseball diamond in a 
cornfield? Do they even have cornfields in Central Park? I missed Spencer 
something awful. And let him know it. Of course, I also let him know that it 
would take almost no effort from him at all to leave work and family for a 
spontaneous 3 hour flight to and from Houston to cater to my whim and prove to 
everyone how much he loves me. You'd think I'd have left those melodramatic, 
phone-fight inducing ways back in my freshman year of college where they belong. 
Oh no. I am still very much the 
smother-you-with-love-if-you-give-me-what-I-want-when-I-want-it Julie you know 
and hopefully, love. I found out that crap flies even less with a 32-year-old 
man than it does with an 18-year-old boy. Huh. Go figure. I am nothing if not a 
work in progress. I ate a slight portion of crow politely, and fortunately was 
surprised in La Guardia's baggage claim at 11:00 last night by my favorite 
Yankee moseying up to me saying, "Howdy, Tex." Awwww. 2004 is looking purdy good 
so far. I have lots to do and am eager to get started! And if you know me, you 
know how much I loooove clean slates. (You would, too, if you were me.) As much 
as I loved going to Missouri and Texas for the holidays, I'm glad to be home. My 
new home, that is. I feel awfully blessed knowing that I have lots of places to 
bask in the gleaming lovelight, whatever that is. 
----- -------- TITLE: Saddam, right! AUTHOR: julie DATE: 12/15/2003 03:22:30 PM 
----- BODY: 
Was everyone as awestruck as I was yesterday morning? I was flipping through the 
channels, coffee cup in hand, ready for my weekly "Sunday Morning" date, and 
instead of Charles Osgood's familiar mug and soothing narration easing me into 
my Sunday state of mind, I happened across a soldier sticking a tongue depressor 
in the mouth of...ohmigosh...is that Saddam Hussein? Now, my contacts were still 
adjusting, and I had the volume turned way down, but once I blinked a few times 
I was able to read the caption along the bottom of the screen. I felt like 
Yosemite Sam. "Guh-hawlly! That IS that flea-pickin' varmint, Saddam!" I didn't 
kick up my heels and mime the celebratory gunshots like my brother-in-law, Jim 
does, but I felt just as enthused. Come to think about it, considering who our 
president is, I bet that was a typical American response. I know everyone is 
saying the same thing...I don't remember where I read it (sorry!), but I 
remember feeling a bond with the people around my age talking about watching the 
Challenger ordeal. I, too, can only remember a few times being so transfixed by 
what was happening on the TV screen. The first was watching Challenger's launch 
and demise in Mrs. Ponder's third grade classroom, and the second was that clear 
Tuesday morning in September. Although yesterday my sentiments were entirely 
different from those on the 11th, I remember one, common, overwhelming feeling, 
one that probably lots of people felt...things will be different from now on. 
Whether or not you agree with the United States' presence in Iraq, whether or 
not you voted for this administration, whether or not you support another 
party...you have to realize the significance of Hussein's capture. You do. No, 
seriously...you must. I just keep thinking about what information he could 
provide about Al Qaeda. What kinds of weapons of mass destuction does he have, 
if any? Will he ever tell us where they are? Will we let him live long enough to 
get that information? Will sentencing him to the death penalty make him a 
martyr? What kind of terror by loyalists and rebel cells will his capture and 
possible execution prompt? I know very little about politics. I know even less 
about warfare. I don't know what the consequences will be for Hussein or for the 
United States of America. I have a hunch that I am not the only person who 
hooted and hollered, Yosemite Sam style, when they found out about Saddam's 
capture. In fact, I know I'm not. I read somewhere (nice, credible citing, 
doncha think?) regarding what lies ahead for Saddam, former CIA director James 
Woolsey offered, "as they say in the Old West, they should give him a fair 
trial, and then hang 'em." 
----- -------- TITLE: Christened AUTHOR: julie DATE: 12/12/2003 02:26:32 PM 
----- BODY: 
Break a champagne bottle over my noggin. I've been launched! It is/was a 
priority to construct a website before I replace my 2003 calendar with a shiny, 
new one for 2004. I want to solidify a presence on the web however, my goals for 
a personal site have changed. Those whom I trust are "in the know" in my 
industry say that web-based marketing in this biz-nezz is an exercise in 
futility, and it seems pretty narcissistic to brandish my resume and photos 
"just in case". I am already a performer and lap up the attention inherent to 
the trade, but to publish all of my credentials and experience feels like a 
cyber-audition...like I am doing my darndest to get noticed at a cattle 
call...via the internet? wha? I feel like I am jumping up and down like the 
tourists who clamor around Rockefeller Center when they are filming "Today" 
yelling, "Pick me! Pick me!" All fine and good, if that's what you want. I just 
keep thinking that even if a casting director decides to check the site out, 
that's what I'll look like…someone who is hell-bent on getting attention, but 
only has something like, "Um...it's my sister-in-law's birthday and we flew in 
from Des Moines! Woo Hoo!" to say. If that's the case, then the C.D. will be the 
equivalent of *Al Roker. Not necessarily the man holding the reigns, you know? I 
could be wrong, though. It has been known to happen. I still don't know exactly 
what I fancy. A forum, perhaps? If you're reading this, you know me, and are all 
to familiar with my need to pontificate, wax nostalgic, or question 
issues...although I do that in select company now and am less likely to request 
the conch as loudly or as frequently as I used to. Nevertheless, I am always 
eager to create and I want my friends and family to stay updated on my 
happenings. I just haphazardly name this "JuBlog" because my older sister, Jill 
calles me "JuBug." JuBug. JuBlog. Get it? That's it. Nothing clever or witty. I 
was trying to think of something to name my site, too. I just know that I'd 
think something was a hilarious and genius word-play today, and then hate it 
next week. So...boring ol' juliesutton.com, (I figure I won't get tired of that) 
and for the personal stuff, a name that's a bit of a shout out to my crazy, 
sexy, cool family. I don't know how this will go. If it even will. Stick around 
and see. *Rosalie Joseph, if you stumbled across this site, I am NOT calling you 
Al Roker. *Al Roker, if you stumbled across this site, I love you! Hope 
everything is dandy in your neck of the woods!
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