Author: Go Jules Go

I heard you like to laugh. At my expense. Sounds like you're ready to take our friendship to the next level. You won't be disappointed. I swear on teeny, tiny baby chipmunks.
Just For Fun, Uncategorized

You Say Tomato, I Say Thank You

Go Jules Go

So, in the days since I posted that I had green hair from swimming, I’ve imagined that you’ve spent many sleepless nights wondering how I’ve coped with my follicle foible. (Have I ever told you alliterations are a gargantuan guilty pleasure for gojulesgo?)

Well, I gave Mr. Heinz another go, this time on dry hair for a longer period (almost a full hour), and that, combined with a fresh dose of Clairol’s finest, seems to have done the trick.

I’m so overjoyed. My emotions, coupled with the extreme guilty pleasure pride I take in being a bottled blonde, have led me to celebrate the only way I know how.

With Hanson.

P.S. – Deb Bryan, I think we’re even now. 😉

Food, Marriage, Uncategorized

One Steamy Relationship, Coming Up!

Go Jules Go
Photo credit (before amazing annotation): geekisland.com

“You are trying to kill me.”

This is the quote [of mine] that Hubster, the one and only Peppermeister, used for his latest blog post*. The other night he made guacamole and salsa containing twelve Serrano peppers and one lethal jalapeno. I don’t know where these jalepenos come from (oh, who am I kidding? I’m married to the Peppermeister – they’re called Biker Billy jalapenos and the plant came from Cross Country Nurseries), but let me assure you they throw the whole Scoville scale off. They’re the hottest mother loving thing I’ve ever eaten. One seedless, spineless, centimeter-long sliver has me researching ways to exact my revenge chugging milk.

The perfect accomplice.

I’m tentatively willing to let this one slide, because otherwise I’ll get stuck on dinner duty. My husband is a great cook, and takes no small amount of guilty pleasure pride in measuring his peppers, insisting I take daily tours of his organic pepper garden, and trolling pepper-related websites. He’s helped me build an impressive heat tolerance, but on Sunday night, he went too far.

If I suddenly stop blogging, please alert the Spice Authorities. I’m pretty sure they can still be reached at 1-800-DIE-WIFE.

*If it seems like I’m shamelessly promoting my spouse’s new-ish blog even though he just tried to snuff me, I’m sorry. On a totally unrelated note, I have really high hopes for my Christmas present this year.

Just For Fun, Uncategorized

Let’s Go…Glamping!!!

Go Jules Go
"Hey guys and gals, it's time to ditch this lame-ass scene!" Photo credit: stuff-and-nonsense.net

Are you tired of sleeping under the stars, of being totally at one with nature? Are you feeling a little too granola-y after a night on the ground? Or perhaps you have a few thousand dollars you don’t know what to do with? Well, have I ever got the answer for you!

Glamorous + Camping = GLAMPING!!!

Yeah, that’s right! 5 star wilderness retreats! A real bed! Plumbing! Classy meals! A butler! …Wait, you’re thinking, this sounds kind of like staying at an actual hotel. Nay, friends. Look, you’re still kind of in a tent:

Photo credit: Trendhunter

And you’re still kind of in nature:

Photo credit: goglamourcamping.com

And there are still meals around the fire…kind of:

Photo credit: pawsup.com

You didn’t really want to chop your own firewood and roast your own marshmallows anyway, did you?

For anything ranging from (cough, choke, sputter) $200-$2,000 a night (…per person…) one of these glamorous tents could be your own. The glamping trend is rapidly catching amongst the conflicted elite, and you can now find glamping resorts on nearly every continent.

So, what do you think? Are you having the maid tell your assistant to call your travel agent to book your trip right now?

P.S. – Okay, you caught me. I’d totally go glamping if I didn’t have to pay for it. (Especially here.)

Animals, Booze, Chipmunks Forever, Just For Fun, Uncategorized

This One’s For You. Yeah, YOU!

Go Jules Go

Oh you, my darling Guilty Pleasure chipmunk*, let’s talk. Grab a chair drink. Can I just tell you something? I’ve been struggling with whether or not I should’ve emailed you at your personal email address when you subscribed to my blog. I wanna write and say, “Thank you. You’ve totally validated my existence and if you’re ever in Jersey I’ll be glad to make you dinner and let my dog lick your face raw,” but it seems like that might be a bit too intrusive. (In case I’ve worried anyone, if you’ve written me to thank me for subscribing to your blog, I was thrilled.)

Related to this, I wrote a very silly post back in April (2 months after I started this blog) which I intended to post should I ever catch that rare, Freshly Pressed unicorn (i.e., get featured on the home page of wordpress.com). Well, shockingly, I did wrangle the majestic, one-horned beast this week -when I least expected it, natch, and had long given up caring too much about it- but the post was sarcastic and clouded the true gratitude and humility I felt in responding to the exciting flurry of sweet comments.

So, lest there be ANY doubt how I feel about you, and by you I mean those who’ve ever read, and/or continue to read, my little blog, and share your lovely, hilarious thoughts (so yeah, this means YOU! Right now! You!):

*I love chipmunks. So much. This is the greatest compliment I know how to give. Besides sharing my Reese’s peanut butter cups. Or my vodka. No, no. Sorry. I got carried away. Paws off the Smirnoff.

Just For Fun, Uncategorized

Like Work Isn’t Scary Enough

Go Jules Go

On Fridays, especially in the summer, it’s completely dead (or undead…see below) where I work. People are either on vacation, teleworking or taking advantage of summer hours (where they can work an extra hour Mon-Thurs, and then take Friday afternoon off).

Therefore, today seemed like the perfect day to share a couple things around the office that amuse me. (Click on the pictures to enlarge.)

I’ll Be Out of the Office…Indefinitely

In this economy, it should come as no surprise that I sometimes see automated out of office e-mail replies telling me a former colleague has left the company [unwillingly]. What I don’t expect to see are words like “infinity” and allusions to becoming a ghost. I’ve been dying (ahem) to add to my Out of Office Wall of Fame, but so far I’ve only got these two. Do you have any?

I'm pretty sure he came back as a poltergeist. No rattling chains -yet- but why else can't I make it out of the ladies room without a wet-sink-stripe across my thighs?

House of Gaud

Recently, an empty office’s sign was covered up with this. Somehow, it doesn’t instill much faith in me. I mean, if whoever made this sign puts a similar amount of effort into their prayer, it almost seems like why bother? I guess it could have been worse. They could’ve used Comic Sans.

This makes me want to pray, but for different reasons.

HAPPY FRIDAY!

Just For Fun, Kvetching, Lists, Uncategorized

Thanks a Lot, Phil

Go Jules Go

Isn’t it weird how one person can ruin a perfectly good name for you forever? Like, you’d sooner sit on the surface of the sun than name one of your kids after that person. This is such a universal feeling that it makes me laugh. (As universal as the idea that you need at least 3 snacks and 5 bottles of water for a 45-minute-long car ride.)

Here are just a few names that are ruined for me for all of eternity.

Clara

Oh Clara, Clara, Clara. I will never forget you, scary girl in one of my college creative writing workshops. You would tear down every word of every piece I ever wrote for that class. No one else did this, to me or anyone else, in any other workshop.

Clara was one of these angry people who hated me on sight, for no reason I could ever determine, except maybe that I smiled a lot. There’s a good chance that wherever she is now, she’s either 1) telling children Santa Claus doesn’t exist, 2) stealing ice cream from a toddler, or 3) pulling the wings off a butterfly.

Mike

I should probably let my hot-ass sister (seriously – any sexy, rich, single guys out there?) explain this one. Suffice it to say, she has one or two ex-boyfriends named Mike.

Phil

When I was in 7th grade, the slang term phat came out, meaning what today we (and by we I mean me) might call amazeballs. I will never forget the day a delinquent in my Social Studies class wrote “Julie is phat” on his desk, and proceeded to tell everyone it was because I was actually f-a-t. Hilarious, Phil. How’s jail treating you these days?

So, who’s ruined a name for you??

Just For Fun, Uncategorized

Wanna Name My Car?

Go Jules Go

I’ve named every car I’ve ever had. My first car, a hand-me-down maroon 1987 Crystler Le Baron was The Toaster. Because, well, it felt like you were riding in a little tin toaster. I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for The Toaster. Not just ’cause she was my first, but because she was healthy as a horse until her dying day, when she just wouldn’t start. True to guilty pleasure form, I even adorned her dash with 5 hunky passengers who always seemed to agree with me:

I was so sad when The Toaster went bye, bye, bye.

My second car, another hand-me-down, was a silver 1991 Geo Prism named Toasty. Toasty was a love child of The Toaster, and took after her in many toaster-y ways. This isn’t Toasty, but she looked a lot like this:

Photo credit: cargurus.com

I named my last car, a shiny new, baby blue 2005 VW Beetle convertible, Nudge, because anytime you left the door open or didn’t have your seatbelt on, she’d let you know about it in the most obnoxious way possible:

I know. I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie wo-orld...

Two years ago, I sold Nudge, knowing it was time to buy a 4-door, grown-up car that I could actually see out of (Nudge sure was cute, but the visibility? Yeesh). I had to emotionally check out, knowing it was unlikely my next new-to-me car was going to make me smile on sight. I paid cash for my current car, a used blue 2006 Hyundai Sonata. The Sonata’s been very good to me, and I’m starting to feel guilty for not naming her.

A Hyundai by any other name...would still smell like a homeless person.

I need your help. Write-ins are MOST appreciated (please be sure to comment below for any write-ins; the poll ones don’t seem to appear!), otherwise, I’ve created a poll where you can vote below! Before doing so, though, here’s a few things you should know about the Sonata:

  • She has over 100,000 miles on her

  • When I say she’s blue, I mean she’s more of a garish, turquoise-y blue

  • She reeked of cigarette smoke when I bought her

  • When I turn on the vents, it smells like a homeless person for a few minutes

  • Her trunk is huge, and, it’s full of crap (so, you know, she has junk in her trunk)

  • According to the CarFax report, she was in not 1, not 2, but 3 accidents before I inherited her

Just For Fun, Kvetching, Uncategorized

Me + Irene + Justin Bieber

Go Jules Go

First off, I hope my fellow east coasters are okay! Or, to put it another way, I hope your Hurricane Irene experience was as disappointing ho-hum as last week’s earthquake.

Hurricanes are a real thrill-a-minute, though. I mean, just look:

While vodka, bottled water, books and solitaire by candlelight may sound like a good time, last night I was actually just pretending I was watching True Blood, the VMAs and Jersey Shore on that sweet, sweet TV.

Yeah, it sucked, big, boring Gobstoppers. Here’s an actual hurricane conversation in the kitchen with my husband on Saturday night:

Me (proudly): I’ve been drinking a glass of water for every [alcoholic] beverage I’ve had tonight.

Ed: Oh yeah?

Me: Yeah. I’ve had a lot of water.

The good news is, everyone we know is all right and there’s no water in the house, the bad news is: no power since Saturday night. It’s Monday now and I’m at my parents’ house, with very little hope that my power will be restored anytime soon, given that two poles are down and no one’s working on them yet. At our house, we don’t have running water without power. Rotten food party, anyone?

Just one of the trees on one of the power lines by our house.

If I didn’t come here to my parents’ house, though, I wouldn’t have seen this on my niece and nephew’s toys:

Just For Fun, TV Junkie, Uncategorized

Dear Ryan Murphy

Go Jules Go

Dear Ryan Murphy,

Can you blame me? Photo credit: kfcplainfield.com

I don’t usually do this (except the one time I did, when I was 9 and in love with Neil Patrick Harris. And by the way, he totally sent an autographed black-and-white headshot in return. And I still kind of love him. A lot. I wish I knew where that picture was. I hope I didn’t throw it out when Elijah Wood stole my heart), but I had to tell you how I feel.

You used to scare me, Ryan Murphy. You’re very intimidating, and I’m very not. I thought you might be another Simon Cowell, except without the creepy winking, deep V’s and fondness for female models. But now “The Glee Project” is over and I find myself empty inside. You really cared about those kids; heck, you even let most of them win. What’s more, you recently told Perez

I see through this prickly exterior, Ryan Murphy, right into your little gummy bear heart. Photo credit: movieline.com

Hilton you’d write him into an episode “Glee” whenever he wanted. These are not the actions of a scary writer/television producer.

These contestants touched you. I saw it when you’d let a smile pass your lips; your eyes would

definitely twinkle a little. I liked the way you talked about who you could write for and why. I want to hear more. I want to know you, Ryan Murphy.

Also, if you could please tell Darren Criss there’s a 29-year-old, married project manager from New Jersey who may or may not have green hair who’s wondering why he hasn’t returned any of her calls, that would be great. Thanks, Ryan.

Sincerely,

gojulesgo

Food, Kvetching

You Say Tomato, I Say Desperation

Go Jules Go
Photo credit: wheredmyjobgo.blogspot.com

Right now* my head is covered in ketchup. Literally. (Would anyone ever say that figuratively?)

A summer of swimming has left my blonde hair green, and even the supposed miracle swimmer’s shampoo (which I consistently use immediately after each dip) has done jack-all, despite its horrifying sticker price.

If you try to do an internet search on any variation of “HELP I HAVE GREEN F*#$ING HAIR!!!”, you’ll find a lively debate raging on about the true cause of this affliction. The top two theories are copper pipes and chlorine. Since there’s not much I can do about either of those, I began searching for alternative methods to rid the punk rocker hue in my hair (though obviously not before researching local garage bands in need of a 29-year-old project manager who plays a mean triangle).

If I could pull it off like this I might have thought twice about the ketchup. Photo credit: e90post.com

Which is what brings me here, to this slimy, vinegar-scented moment. Hearing about any or all of your hair disasters would probably make me feel a whole lot better… 🙂

*Not actually right now, of course, because I’m at work and that would just be weird. But I wrote this last night. And yeah, it’s still green. Thanks for asking. I feel great about being at work with green hair.

Psst…Are you dying to know what happens? It’s a real cliff-hanger, isn’t it? I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. Click here for the follow-up post!