humor

Dear Camelback Mountain Resort: YOU SLEEP ON A BED OF LIES.

Attn: All personnel including Irene

Camelback Mountain Resort

301 Resort Dr.

Tannersville, PA 18372

I humbly write to you today, one month, one week, and one day after “experiencing” your establishment on the occasion of my twin niece and nephew’s Sweet 16. Yes, some time has passed since we became acquainted, yet the memory of your commitment to serving fresh hell wafts through my dreams nightmares as though t’were yesterday.

I shan’t soon forget how you forced me into a serpentine line as long and disturbing as John Mayer’s dating history in order to acquire what you casually referred to as “wrist bands,” but what I soon came to learn were our room keys. A room key in plastic! Upon my wrist! Beneath which untold germs, mold, and general discomfort could mightily persist!

A wrist band or a cesspool of regret? Photo credit

My shock had yet truly taken hold, for soon I entered the chamber with which my wrist band provided access. You call this a “queen” bed? A queen of what land? Methinks you would make a killing in the fairytale business.

“Suite equipped with dining table for 6!” your website also proclaimed.

I can scarcely speak of what happened next. Surely -surely- your founders grasped math and commerce’s fundamental principles when devising your arcade ticketing system. I’ve no doubt the Laser Tag council spent long hours debating the most reasonable fee for 127 seconds of disappointment. Yet, when I completed this “game,” along with my sister, niece, nephew and three of their dear friends, why, I realized we’d spent $87.19!

My sister had to get a second job to pay for this “Escape Cube.”

We tried not to let this phase us, nor did we let the ghastly humidity levels of your indoor water park overcome our senses, because we had a grand feast ahead. A hand-delivered smorgasbord of pizza and cake! Why, what better way to celebrate the birth of two 16-year-olds who successfully emerged from my sister’s womb with minimal physical and only slightly staggering emotional damage?

“I had you both at once so I’d never have to go through this again.”

Imagine our surprise when, 45 minutes past the scheduled arrival time, Irene wheeled a rickety cart into our “suite,” rasping, “WHOSE BIRTHDAY IS IT? YOURS? SORRY WE DON’T HAVE ANY CANDLES. NOT ALLOWED.”

As usual, I did my very best to try to save the day.

The teenage contingent bravely sampled the “pizza” and we mustered as much enthusiasm as we possibly could in front of the dim, lifeless “birthday” cake. We flicked the switch on the “fireplace” and stared at the snowless “mountains” just outside our window. “Can one snow tube without snow?” we wondered.

When the clock struck 10:30pm, my sister and I rocked each other to sleep. Not for comfort, of course. There was simply no other way we’d both fit on the bed.

Ugh. Double ugh.

Kind Regards,

Go Jules Go

humor

Your New Life Has Arrived! (some assembly required)

I instinctively lifted my foot off the gas pedal and gripped the steeling wheel. My car slid backwards as I stared in the rearview mirror, wondering when the pick-up truck behind me would realize what was happening. Before or after we collided?

I can’t believe this. I cannot believe this.

The truck narrowly missed me, charging up the steep hill while I reached a trembling hand toward my hazard lights. As if it was my poor, low-riding, two-wheel drive Acura’s fault for not being able to overcome central Oregon’s lack of snow management.

F$&@%. What am I going to do?

No. Just…no.

Meet Suba-Ruby. SHE EATS CRAPPILY MANAGED ROADS FOR BREAKFAST!

Over the coming days, I moved countless boxes over icy sidewalks, painted walls and ceilings that felt like sandpaper, and waited for my couch to arrive so I could collapse at the end of each long day in anything other than a cold, metal camp chair.

I want my mommy.

And my couch did arrive. …Three weeks later.

F@&% you, Ashley Furniture!!! …No! No, wait! I’m just kidding. I love you. Come in. Do you want water? Cookies? Marijuana-infused soda (apparently that’s a thing here)?

I also checked my inbox repeatedly for any updates on a job offer I’d accepted earlier in the month. By the second week of December, with the apartment still in partial chaos and no news on the job, I flew to New Jersey for my twin niece and nephew’s Sweet 16, a.k.a. A New Circle of Hell that Requires Its Own Blog Post.

I now know what it feels like to be Leonardo DiCaprio in the face of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences circa 1993-2015: totally invisible. I had to sneak this photo before they kicked me out. I THOUGHT I WAS THE COOL AUNT. I THOUGHT I WAS THE COOL AUNT!!!!

Throughout the last few scattered and uncertain weeks, I kept myself sane by continuing my marathon training and French lessons, binge watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and creating the greatest calendar the world has ever known.

I know. I KNOW.

I also became an expert in cheap furniture assembly…

…Are there supposed to be this many leftover pieces?

…learned how to paint ceilings in high heels…

Because there was No. Way! I was going back to Home Depot for a pole extender.

…spent my first Christmas without my family…

…learned I can no longer party like it’s 1999…

…and attended my first drum circle, along with 66 other women.

You would have loved it, Jenn. (Photo taken from our 2019 Kristmas Krafty Korner – YES! We’ve kept the tradition going every year SINCE FIRST DOCUMENTED IN 2011 ON THIS VERY BLOG! …Not sure about our crafts, but both my camera and Jenn’s cocktail recipes have markedly improved.)

Though life kept marching onward, a familiar soundtrack accompanied every moment. Am I doing the right thing? Will I like this new job? Is this really the proper place and time to spend all of my savings on furniture plant roots? Will I ever find TRUE love? Why is Uncle Jesse looking at me like that? 

It seems I forgot to read the fine print on the “Live Your Dream Life!” manual.

I also went temporarily color blind when picking the bathroom paint color.

Despite taking a series of ballsy actions over the past year (like quitting a steady corporate job, selling all of my stuff, and moving across the country), building my dream life has felt a bit like parasailing. You experience the thrill of soaring freely through the air, all the while still tethered to whatever beliefs, constraints, and values you had before. Crippling insecurities, societal expectations, questionable past decisions… they don’t go away the minute you decide to spread your wings. 

Thankfully we are not tethered to paint colors. Ahhh. Much better.

Now, from the comfort of my new couch, Suba-Ruby sleeping soundly in the parking lot, I feel my pulse finally beginning to settle. Though the past six months have brought wave after wave of change, and though I cried at my friend’s Thanksgiving table when talking about having to sell my old car often think I might capsize beneath it all, I know I’m home. Because that boat I’m tethered to isn’t my shortcomings or my past or my fears – it’s my heart. No matter where I go, I can’t be anywhere BUT home.

~*~*~*~*~

What are you hoping 2020 will bring? (Psst, I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I’VE MISSED YOU EVERY DAY.)

~*~*~*~*~

humor

I Haven’t the Foggiest…No Wait. I Have.

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Oh dear god no.

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Not today, Satan.

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I gripped the steering wheel and navigated countless potholes with the dexterity of a drunk toddler. I massaged my jaw. My ears were popping. Why were my ears popping?

Oh my f$^*&@ god. Is that snow?

I hadn’t seen another soul in at least a half an hour. I turned my phone off. Not like I had service anyway; might as well keep the battery fully loaded.

26 miles to go. A marathon. Well, at least I know I can walk it if I have to.

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It’s a thing I do because I never really loved myself.

I went over my emergency plan for the twentieth time. I had my winter jacket, gloves, plenty of food and water, and a half a tank of gas. If my car decided to crawl into one of these cavernous potholes and never come out (I have a history with potholes), I’d probably survive. Maybe. I mean, I think so. I glanced at my temperature gauge.

I should have known this road trip wasn’t going to end well.

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Did I mention I have a history with potholes?

After an hour of navigating treacherous national forest roads between Packwood and White Salmon, Washington, I was never happier to see pavement. I’d been on the road for nine days ogling the Pacific Northwest.

With promising job prospects on the horizon, I figured it might be the last opportunity for a while for this Jersey girl to freely explore the terrain outside of Bend, Oregon (my new hometown).

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Not that the Bend sights deserve straying from.

From Mendocino, California to Cannon Beach, Oregon, most of the trip was fog-filled.

I began to wonder if it was a metaphor. (With no one but Uncle Jesse to keep me company, I had plenty of time to work on Deep Thoughts with Go Jules Go.)  Even though it felt like my life was finally headed in the right direction, was I still not seeing things clearly? Was this a reminder to keep moving forward, even if I couldn’t make out what was ahead?

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That’s not the “portrait” camera effect. That’s fog, I swear. Okay, it’s portrait view AND fog.

By the time I got to “NF-23” in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest, nine days in, I was ready for sunshine.

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And wine. So much wine.

Thankfully, I got just that as I neared the Columbia River Gorge. Squinting, I pulled down my car’s visor and decided to do a quick loop to check out The Dalles and Hood River before settling into my AirBNB in White Salmon, WA. As I approached The Dalles, a white SUV zoomed past me and suddenly did a U-turn.

Oh my god. Are those…am I…being pulled over?

“Ma’am, I clocked you going 68 in a 55.”

Seriously? 55? On a highway going downhill?

“I’m so sorry. I’ve never been here before.”

I’ve only ever gotten one speeding ticket…when was that…14 years ago? God, I’m old.

With trembling hands, I forked over my license and registration, Uncle Jesse letting loose a series of piercing warning barks. When the officer returned a few minutes later, I was sure the paper in his hands was my big, fat ticket.

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Well, at least I got to see this (at a bookshop in Mendocino, CA) before I went to jail.

“I’m going to let you off with just a warning this time. You take care of yourself.”

“Thank you so much,” I breathed, shocked. “I’m so sorry.”

I drove off checking my speedometer every .00009 seconds. When I finally made it back to the AirBNB, I knew exactly what would calm my nerves: Korbel’s finest and the latest episode of Counting On. (You do know this blog’s original name was Go Guilty Pleasures, right?)

I pulled up the wifi network and entered the password.

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Fog or no fog, one thing was clear: It was time to go home and see what was around the next bend.

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So long, NF-23.

~*~*~*~*~*~

How do you fare on the road and with The Great Unknown? Any advice?

~*~*~*~*~*~

humor

Letting Your Guard Rails Down

Go Jules Go Title Graphic Letting Your Guard Rails Down_13NOV2019

Not as nice as Bend, not as nice as Bend…

Sights whirred past as I tried my damndest not to go over 80 MPH. A giant, snow-capped mountain greeted me in the distance.

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Not bad. Not as nice as the Cascades…

When I reached my destination, the little mountain town of Mt. Shasta, California, I parked the car and let Uncle Jesse stretch his legs.

Every passerby -not that there were many- smiled and said hello. While my new home in Bend, Oregon seemed to have ruined me for any other town, there was one consistent theme along the west coast thus far.

The people.

Also the hats. A lot of hats out here.

“I’m Georgie, by the way!” the adorable receptionist-slash-barista said as she extended a slender hand. By now I was checking out of my hip Mt. Shasta motel and we’d spent the past ten minutes chit-chatting.

“If you and your husband are ever in Bend, you have my name and I have a second bedroom!” I said as I waved goodbye.

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Assuming you don’t mind sharing a bed.

Earlier in the week, I had decided to tick a few more west coast cities off my bucket list, and was pleasantly surprised when I found I could greet strangers like old friends as I wound my way from central Oregon to northern California. This whole…trusting…thing was kinda…nice.

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Almost as nice as the tap water.

During a recent trip back to New Jersey, my home state, I was startled to realize just how far I’d already let my guard down. After only four months in Bend, I’d forgotten how to avoid eye contact. To jump to the worst possible conclusion. To regard every kind act with suspicion.

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Oh, the landlord planted flowers? OVER WHOSE DEAD BODY?

I used to wear my cynicism, like most east coasters, as a badge of honor. You’re handing me a flier? Asking me how my day is? Hah! Go scratch, pal! I’ve got things to do! Places to be! Scowls to perfect!

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Vodka to drink!

But after just one week in Bend, I’d made a dozen friends and felt the reassuring hand of something I never knew I’d been missing: Community. Suddenly, I wasn’t afraid to ask for -or offer- help. A ride to the airport, some extra boxes, paint supplies, you name it. My new hometown’s selfless generosity was infectious.

Here I am getting free metalsmithing lessons from the one and only Jim Dailing!

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Oh! And here’s a recent haul of free groceries from friends who just streamlined their diet! (Not pictured: The free wine some other friends dropped off just days before. …Yes, my reputation as the unhealthiest most fun vegan in Oregon precedes me.)

And sure, you’re gonna have to steal my sarcasm and pizza standards from my cold, dead hands (which I hope are buried under some beautiful flowers), but this whole neighborly love thing?

Bring it on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Did you grow up in a don’t-make-eye-contact kind of environment, or a here’s-a-cup-of-sugar-you-didn’t-even-ask for place? Do you prefer one over the other?

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Blogging

A Slice of Life Pie

Go Jules Go Title Graphic A Slice of Life Pie_5NOV2019

Oh man, chipmunks.

I am STUFFED.

How long has it been since we talked? …Three weeks?!

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Well, this is awkward…

I’m so sorry. My pie plate hath spilleth over lately.

Go Jules Go Life Pie

Between training for a half marathon, flying to NJ to surprise Babs for her birthday, dating, job interviews (…hang on, are those last two redundant?), helping throw Bend’s first Vegan Holiday Bazaar, filming for The Vegan Dollar, and getting ready to move to a new apartment…

…this poor little blog has been left to collect dust.

And after all we’ve been through…

This flurry of recent activity has me thinking about that third date where, instead of kissing me, he gave me part of a giant zucchini to take home “life’s inflection points,” as one of my friends calls it. Those crossroads we all hit and know -sometimes with certainty, oftentimes not- our next move could change the course of our entire lives.

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Know what I’m saying?

Six years ago, almost exactly, I made the painful decision to get a divorce from the only man I’d ever dated. At the same time, I was laid off and selling my home; everything I thought I wanted dissolved seemingly overnight. What I couldn’t know at the time was that that difficult choice laid the foundation for a life filled with authenticity, genuine connections, and endless compassion.

Doing something that went against the grain awoke the fiercely independent thinker I didn’t realize had been lulled into complacency. Over the following years, I made dozens of other eyebrow-raising decisions, each one uncovering The Real Jules.

Six years ago, I never could have imagined that that one tough decision would ultimately lead to living my dream life – a life designed by listening to that oh-so-quiet, but ever persistent, inner nudging that says, “Remember who you are.”

Now who’s ready for some pie?!

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Just like in life, first you gotta do the dirty work.

~*~*~*~*~*~

What would you consider your “life’s inflection points”? Did you recognize them at the time?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Food, PSAs

This Year’s Must See Movie: The Game Changers

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What would you do if you found out there was an action you could take, this very second, that would:

  • Reduce inflammation
  • Improve boners circulation
  • Drastically cut your carbon footprint
  • Save lives
  • Make me very happy?

The Game Changers, a much-anticipated documentary brought to you by some guy you might have heard of, James Cameron, masterfully illustrates just how much a plant-based diet can improve your health – and the health of the planet we share.

Starting today, you can watch this life-altering documentary on Netflix.

 

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Photo credit

Someone asked me, ‘How can you get as strong as an ox without eating any meat?’ And my answer was, ‘Have you ever seen an ox eat meat?'” -Patrik Baboumian, Germany’s strongest man

I was fortunate enough to catch the world premiere of The Game Changers here in Bend, Oregon last month, along with two friends and wonderful humans who worked on the film and live locally. There isn’t a single soul to whom I wouldn’t recommend this movie. It’s entertaining, funny, and chock full of information that will change your life, and our collective future, for the better.

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When I went plant-based back in 2016, not only did my health and recovery time [in athletic pursuits] improve, so did my entire outlook on life.

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Taking actions that align with your values can have that handy little side effect. (After a very serious 10-mile run at Smith Rock State Park last month.)

In fact, I was so moved by what I was learning that I went back to school for a Masters degree in Humane Education, which helped me focus on developing solutions to address human rights, animal rights, and environmental protection.

Excitingly, The Game Changers launch coincides with the continuation of my thesis project, The Vegan Dollar. Now that I’m done with school and settled in my new home, I’m doubling down on my ‘vegan food hack’ video series.

Once James Cameron and Ahhhh-nold have you stoked about your new lifestyle, I hope you’ll come check out some cheap, easy recipes that’ll make plant-based eating a breeze!

~*~*~*~*~*~

Have you seen The Game Changers? What do you think?

~*~*~*~*~*~

humor, PSAs

The (Oregon) Transformation is Complete

Go Jules Go title graphic the Oregon Transformation is Complete_2OCT2019

The following entries have been recovered from the diaries of beloved blogger and former Jersey girl, Go Jules Go. Her current whereabouts are unknown. Presumably because, according to her new neighbors, “The service here sucks.”

Day 1: Arrive in Bend, Oregon. Apartment appears well-appointed, though several disturbing items were left on the counter. “Gifts,” the landlord claims. I remain suspicious.

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Day 2: Attend first social gathering under the guise of celebrating someone’s birth. I do not trust these people. Why do they look so…happy?

Day 6: Forced to attend nudist retreat. My plans to go unnoticed thwarted by bathing suit, yet how else do I protect myself amidst the steaming pools of hippie tears hot springs? Must not show nipples weakness.

Day 9: Have risen at 6am for three days straight to engage in something called “trail running.” Zero alcohol remains in my system, yet I suspect they’ve slipped something into my kombucha. I feel…well.

Day 12: Small children and classical music-listening puppies surround me. I fear I am beginning to crack.

Day 21: Ford raging river and sustain 923 bug bites. My survival skills have improved markedly.

Day 30: Discover Trivia Night’s discount beer and tots. They are on to me.

Day 37: Have begun making strange hand gestures following outdoor pursuits. The situation is becoming increasingly dire.

Day 44: Learn the art of metalsmithing from a man who would not accept compensation. What drives the human spirit in this land of zero expectation?

Day 57: The hand gestures have become second nature; I can no longer fight it.

Day 63: Have accepted that I will never know real pizza again.

Day 70: Complete something called a “10k race”… “for charity.” Would have been charitable to not force feed participants hard cider 30 seconds following this strange event.

Day 71: Witness skinny dippers in a frigid lake. Oregonians must fear clothing the way I fear I’ll never stop watching The Hills on Amazon Prime.

Day 80: Trucker hat and race “tech” shirt. Uncle Jesse no longer recognizes me.

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Day 90: Socks with sandals. All hope is lost.

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This is the last known recording from Go Jules Go. If you have any information, please contact 1-800-CRY4HLP.

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What transformations have you undergone?

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