Monthly Archives: April 2013

Did I mention that I’m pregnant with Brian Williams’ triplets?

It’s the first day of school/ work/ prison therapy group and EVERY TIME the teacher / HR rep / psychologist does the SAME DAMN THING. “Let’s go around the room and have everyone introduce themselves,” they say.

I have always hated these kinds of introductions.

“Oh, and tell us something about yourself,” they add.

“Go sit on a zucchini filled with razor blades,” I reply.

I don’t actually reply that, for the record. But I do actually hate that whole open-ended “explain how fascinating you are” junk. For some reason, these free-form questions do absolutely nothing for my creativity. I find them weirdly stifling. Tell you something interesting about myself? That’s impossible, sir. I have nothing to say. I am the most boring girl in the world.

Put on the spot like that, I freeze. I’ve resorted to a few stock answers in the past: I once bit my tongue so hard part of it needed to be sewn back together (a lovely visual, I know). My great-uncle played for the Yankees (a pretty cool fact, but it has nothing to do with me). Or….

See? I can’t even think of another one, even a lame one.

The same freezing-up often occurs when I am asked the innocuous “how was your day?” or “How have you been?” I literally could have just returned from a month of backpacking through Tibet and answer that question “Oh, ya know. Good.” or “Same ol’, same ol’!”

And then, three hours later, I remember wait I did save that baby from a fire this morning but by that time the question’s been asked and answered and the statute of limitations of response-embellishment has long since expired.

I’ve never saved a baby from a fire, for the record. But I have often unintentionally glossed over some VERY IMPORTANT details that would better answer those types of questions. “How was work?” I was once asked, on the day that some nutso called and threatened to blow up our place of work and we called the police on him, et cetera, et cetera.

“Oh, kinda slow,” was my response.

Or “How was your summer?” after I’d had several agonizing oral surgeries to remove, like, a million teeth over the course of a few months.

“Pretty standard,” I replied.

The thing that really gets me here is that sometimes, while this super-interesting thing is happening to me, I am actually thinking OH MY GOSH I CAN’T WAIT TO TELL SOMEONE ABOUT THIS.

Yesterday, I did something I was super-proud of. “Oh, man, I can wait to tell Schmoop*!” I thought at the time. And later, when he asked me how my day was, I had nothin’. “What did I do all day?” I LITERALLY ASKED THIS QUESTION OUT LOUD TO MYSELF.



*I don’t know where this came from, but I started calling Boyfriend “Schmoopie” as sort of the ultimate sappy-cheesy-stupid-over-the-top nickname, because we have the least sappy-cheesy-stupid-over-the-top relationship ever. Schmoopie has too many syllables, apparently, so it’s since been shortened.





Come off it, you twwwit.

At any given point, I have several half-started posts at my disposal. This means I have no excuse for posting regularly.

Ha! What a jokester I am!

Anyway, I was going through those posts and I found a particularly curious one. I have copy-and-pasted this half-finished thought below:






Mm-hmmm. That’s it.

I am baffled; I’ve no clue how I was planning to finish this word (sound?), much less the entire entry. I can only assume it was going to be absolutely brilliant. Like – if they gave Pulitzers for blogging, this shit was it.

Or not. It could go either way.

In other, completely unrelated news:

Does that seem like a random number to anyone else, or is it just me?

34 plates? Does that seem like a random number to anyone else, or is it just me?


If you need me, I’ll be weeping into my yarn.

Hey, you guys?

You guys?



Remind me next time I see something and say “Wow, that would make a nice gift for so-and-so” to WRITE THAT SHIT DOWN. Or, hell, just buy it / make it / steal it right then and there. Because do you know what will happen otherwise?

It’ll be the day before my boyfriend’s birthday and I won’t have anything for him.

Heh, heh. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

OR (also hypothetically speaking) – in the case of “hey I could totally make that for so-and-so” you guys NEED to be like “Okay, Julie. START MAKING IT RIGHT THIS SECOND.” Because otherwise I’ll get to two days out and my brain goes into Magical Thinking mode and I’m all like “no sweat, I can crochet a bedspread in a few hours” or “Those 4 dozen intricately-decorate cupcakes? That’s a one-hour project, tops.”

And then I will get to work on the blanket or the baked goods and I will realize the shit creek I’m up and I will weep.

Oh, the weeping.

In the grand scheme of things does it really matter that the gift comes a day…or two…or three…late? I guess not. But what if the recipient is hit by a bus or mauled to death by armadillos while he’s waiting for his birthday gift? What a way to go – terrified and in pain and without knowing what the hell present was so good I made him wait so fucking long for it.


EDIT: I am now realizing the irony of wasting time typing up a blog post in which I complain that I have no time to finish up a present by tomorrow. I truly did not put that together until just now, I swear.

textersations with Juanita.

Juanita is militantly, wonderfully, super-Catholically, stereotypically-Saint Louis-ly Irish.  If you cut her,* she probably bleeds green. Anyway, I saw a picture in the local paper today of a woman with the same surname as some of Juanita’s 90-bajillion cousins.

Me: Are you related to ——  —— ? There’s enough of them I figured it might be a cousin’s kid?

Juanita: Maybe… I’d have to ask [one of Juanita’s sisters]. Why?

Me: Just saw someone in the paper named that.

Juanita: Bank robber?

Juanita: Hooker?



*This is not an invitation. You best stay the hell away from my Momma. If you cut her, I cut you. Across the throat.

…he DOES, AND he uses toilet paper!

While doing some online browsing for the most awesome catalog ever, I came across this:



A bear.
In the woods…
…On a shower curtain.

(Also, a moose apparently having his way with himself?).

Wait – it gets better.

Because there are matching bath accessories:




On closer inspection, maybe he’s also just making a twosie?


That’s all I got.