A few blocks from my suburban New Jersey apartment there’s an eye-catching display of hundreds of pink and purple hearts dangling from a fence.
Each heart carries a message, and even though I’ve walked by it almost every day since I moved into my new tiny digs, I’ve never stopped to read them.
This past weekend, I decided to change all that.
Quickly, I realized the Wall of Love was constructed in response to a certain president’s logical and compassionate desire to build a wall between the U.S. and Mexico.
Reading each of the hearts, I couldn’t help but think of a recent revelation. For most of my life I’ve considered success in love to mean having a perfect, romantic love. Single? Rocky marriage? Divorce? Dry spell? Unrequited love?
FAILURE.
But.
*record scratch*
That’s f*#%&@ bonkers!
Being lucky in love isn’t about partnering up with Prince Charming Harry (although you go, Meghan Markle) or never experiencing heartbreak. Being lucky in love isn’t about romantic love at all! It’s about an abundance of love, period.
And guess what? We can all have that.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Chipmunks. I love you!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to Googling “Meghan Markle’s new hat collection.”
Last fall I lost my mind and decided to go back to school. I’m now halfway through my Masters degree in Humane Education a.k.a. Learnin’ How to Save the Planet.
Of course, we all know I really just want some more of those fancy letters to add to my work signature.
Over the past year, I’ve struggled to find humor while bearing witness to the countless atrocities detailed in the coursework. I even considered throwing in the towel on higher learnin’ altogether. But speaking of towels (wait for it) – there’s still hope! On top of the recent move to tiny living, here are some of my favorite ways of ensuring the world’s chipmunks will have many, many years left to thrive:
1. (S)wipe Left on Paper Products
No, no, no. I’m not asking you to trade your TP for twigs. But getting into the habit of using dishtowels as napkins is the gift that keeps on giving! Who wants to dry their hands with 18 pieces of tissue paper anyway?
WHAT ARE YOU MADE OUT OF?? Necco wafers and sadness???
I love using soft, fluffy hand towels as much as…
2. Bag Lady
I’m obsessed with my reusable bags. Remember this?
No more once you switch to sturdy, waterproof bags!
This is 1/4 of my collection. I may have a problem.
3. From K-Cups to More-than-OK-Cups
Not only do they make gobs of compostable products for any coffee machine, they also sell reusable Keurig K-Cup pods that you can fill with your own coffee, then compost the grinds, for a totally waste-free caffienating experience.
This is New Jersey. We drink cawfee.
4. Got milk? Yeah, and it’s nuts!
Swapping out any one dairy (or meat) item at any one meal for a plant-based option instead is a HUGE win for woodland critters and humans alike. I know, I know. “BUT CHEESE,” you’re thinking. Thankfully, the plant-based options for milk and cheese are becoming more convincing than ever – check out Chao cheese if you don’t believe me. (For more on the implications of eating dairy, which I know can be confusing – shoot me a note. And here’s a great article with lots of cool charts emphasizing the impact of small dietary changes.)
Then you too can search “nut milk bag” without hesitation at work.
Since then, I’ve upgraded to an item that’s marketed as “the most beautiful composter in the world.” By tossing all of my raw produce, coffee grinds and compostable packaging in there, these bad boys have cut down my garbage by a whopping 75%!
So beautiful, no?
6. It’s the Little Things that Count
Plastic straws, paper receipts, those little stickers on your fruits and vegetables – they really add up! Say “no thanks” when you can and hopefully these items, much like Scott Baio, will soon become a thing of the past.
“Global warming” – chyeah right! He doesn’t even need pants! Photo credit
7. This is Us. Not Buying New Sh*t.
Learning about the materials and energy required to produce every single new consumer good was enough for me to reconsider buying that battery operated armpit hair braider. Even recycling itself -turning those plastic Sprite bottles into a rug, for example- can demand intensive resources. Choosing refurbished or borrowed items will make you the Kevin to Mother Nature’s Kate.
I hope you’re not using those wafer napkins to dry your tears. Photo credit
8. Do you have your permission slip?
Because it’s field trip time! Visit your local farm sanctuary and be amazed by the animals’ stories. Did you know chickens experience REM sleep and teach calls to their babies before they’re born? They even purr! So cool!
Remember how Cabbage Patch dolls came with those nifty adoption papers? There’s a lot to be said for adoption – skip the breeders and pet stores and scoop up a rescue.
I don’t know why you assumed I DIDN’T have this photo.
10. Fork You
Switching to reusable utensils (and dishware) was a “sacrifice” that played in my favor! I dine like a queen at work:
What’s with the bubbly, you ask? It’s Tuesday!
11. Warm Fuzzies
The best thing you can do for chipmunks? Love. Love them, love yourself, and love the land we share.
The title of this post implies that I’ve gone off to do something I don’t normally do. Ha ha. Well. Let’s go with it.
That’s right. I’m going fishing drinking.
Peppermeister and I celebrate our 4th anniversary today, and we’re headed to Long Island ’til Sunday. My extended family has a little house by a bay where I haven’t visited in 10 years, so I’m pretty excited to return. Even if the weather is crap.
This piece of Schmetz is my anniversary present. …What? The artist’s name is Schmetz!
The house doesn’t have internet access, which I’m nervousdepressedconfused about okay with. We’ll have, um, cruiser bikes…and bocce ball…and love. So that’s something.
I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Chipmunks.
I’m losing it. (Louise, expect a call any day now.)
Help me.
The proof is in this post, a.k.a., The Worst Post Ever.
Last night, I got a magical email from someone regarding evidence that a Mini Me exists in this otherwise colorless, desolate, mustache-deprived world.
For the first time since I saw this, I felt complete.
And yet.
Somehow.
I don’t know how it happened, except I think I do, and it involves vodka-soaked cherries.
I deleted the email! Or I must have, because it’s no where to be found. (Thank my lucky Chipmunks Peppermeister saw it before it disappeared, otherwise I would think I made the whole thing up.) I checked every folder, and my phone, then every folder again, then wept into my coffee, then wrote this post, to:
1) Ask the mother of the most awesome child in the universe if she can kindly resend the email to the biggest nincompoop on the planet, and,
But then there is the more fun.
2) Warn you. Everything they say about blondes is true, especially Clairol-enhanced blondes like me. Expect posts about purses that double as dog carriers and/or alien abductions any day now.
Don’t be a cotton-headed ninnymuggins like me and forget to enter the latest mustache glasses giveaway (deadline: Thursday, July 19, 2012, 12pm EST)!
P.S. – You guys are seriously like adorable, little, chubby-cheeked miracles. My comments and inbox are alight with your splendor. So much so that I think I must launch a weekly feature for the rest of the summer to prove it. Stay tuned. Heck, it can only go up from here.
If you’re interested, entering is as easy as falling in love with a second spouse:
In the comments section below, tell me what one famous person, dead or alive, you’d like trapped on a deserted island with you (and why).
I’ll choose a favorite and make their wildest dreams come true on Friday, July 20, 2012. This winner can pick a pair of ‘stache glasses (by browsing here), and I’ll have them shipped as a gift, from my guilty pleasure-full heart to theirs.
“I am now happily communing with the chipmunks! Sometimes it helps to go incognito. All the chirping and twitching can make me feel a little NUTS.”
I know. She’s great.
Deadline: 12pm noon EST, Thursday, July 19, 2012.
Print that’s as fine as some people think Channing Tatum is, but, really? What kind of relationship could you possibly have? Especially if he’s at the gym all day? And can he play the guitar or sing? I don’t think so! Get off my deserted island, Abs McIsActingReallyYourCalling! (Please refer to Second Husband and his nerdy tweets to understand my trapped-on-a-deserted-island tastes.)
Oh right, the Fine Print: This giveaway is open to anyone who is willing and able to enter, and to email me their address in the event that they’re the winner. If you have any trouble leaving a comment in the comments section below, you can enter via email: Julie(dot)Davidoski(at)yahoo(dot)com. One submission per person.
As a reminder, I am no way affiliated with this company (SunStaches). I’m just a giveaway junkie. Hey now. You just leave the judging to me.
You Chipmunks are so clever. That’s why I do these things.
And you’re no fools, either. Most of you wisely appealed to my vanity and/or fantasy life with your amazing ‘win a pair of mustache glasses‘ entries, in which I asked you to submit a juicy, probing question.
As promised, I have picked a favorite question and am answering it here. This particular entry really stuck with me; much like scorpion paperweights, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, even when I wanted to.
So please, raise your tiny, adorable, chipmunk paws and give a warm round of applause to…
If you and [your mom] Babs had a cage fight, who would win and how?
Louise, needless to say, it got really, really ugly between Babs and me. Before I reveal the winner of the cage fight, let me take you back in time, to how it all started…
Babs and I were spending another typical Saturday out shopping, me shielding her from mom jeans, her encouraging me to spend actual money. Of course we were ultimately killing time until booze o’clock. We figured we could make it until at least noon.
12:01pm.
A few [dozen] Long Island Iced Teas in, Babs decided she couldn’t stay away from Talbots any longer.
“If you do this, Babs, we’re through,” I threatened. Had she forgotten so soon? This was the very same clothing store that suggested, just one year ago, I try their curvy line of pants.
“Just five minutes,” she pleaded. I watched her pass through the wretched red doors in disbelief.
She emerged, as promised, five minutes later, wearing pleated khaki pants, a braided leather belt, white mock turtleneck and navy sweater vest with apples and pears stitched on it.
“I can’t even look at you,” I muttered.
“Listen, Chipmunk-san, do you want to take this to the cage?”
I considered her for a long moment. In that get-up, she wasn’t my mother. She was the enemy.
“You’re on!” I cried.
A Talbots saleswoman in a referee jersey appeared, and pretty soon we were pulling out our best roundhouse kicks and other things that people may or may not do while cage fighting.
“I loved you too much, was that the problem?” Babs cried, shielding herself from my [cute yet affordable] high-heeled kicks.
“You never bought me that American Girl doll!” I hollered back. “Samantha was all class, all the time! I had to learn how to eat petit fours by myself! What did you think was going to happen?”
“You never comment on my Facebook pictures,” she continued in the same martyred voice.
“Tap shoes! I said. “Remember those? Of course you don’t! I don’t either!” I ducked before she could ruin my make-up.
“And we never talk about ‘NSync anymore. Remember when you bedazzled that striped fleece shirt to say ‘Justin’ for the one concert?”
I narrowed my eyes, “Just for that, I’m never having kids.”
Babs paused, her fist in the air. She lowered her arm and replied, “Good. I don’t even like your dog.”
My jaw dropped. While I tried to gather myself, she clocked me right where it counts – in the heart.
And so, unsurprisingly, the winner of the cage fight is:
Babs.
She fights dirty.
Congrats, Louise! Email me your address and your ‘stache glasses of choice, and get ready to become the most illin’ chipmunk on the block!
Didja have fun? Should I make this a recurring contest? (With a new topic each time?)
As I explain in my updated About page, the reason for saying goodbye to the “Go Guilty Pleasures” blog name can be boiled down to: I got tired of search engines sending people here after they sought ‘naked gypsy girls’ and ‘strippers covered in ketchup.’
Other than that, you’re gonna find the same ol’ side pony-sportin’ Jules with the same ol’ stories about the guilty pleasure-ful life. Except better. Because I have so many hilarious tales that don’t involve guilty pleasures. …That may be a lie. I’m pretty sure every story I have involves a guilty pleasure of some kind. And I haven’t even realized it yet.
Maybe I’ve made a huge mistake here.
A Few Notes:
A big thank you to anyone who’s ever mentioned my blog on your site. I still own goguiltypleasures.com, so folks using the old link will be redirected here.
I am retiring my fledgling GoGuiltyPleasures Facebook account and focusing my attention on Chipmunks-4-President this exceptional blog and Twitter (@JulieDavidoski). For now.
I have some ideas about how to upgrade your GoGuiltyPleasures slap bracelets to version 2.0 slap bracelets. Because I’m a visionary like that. Stay tuned.
A question to bloggers – have you made any tough blog-related decisions? Do you think you have a ‘brand’? To non-bloggers – if you had a blog, what would it be about?
Well, fashion-forward Chipmunks. The time has come. I’ve given away nearly 200 slap bracelets since December, and your response has made my guilty pleasure heart soar.
I think we’ve done it. We’ve brought them back. A quick Google search of “slap bracelets” proves this. They’re everywhere. (Add “chipmunks” to that search and see what happens!)
Congratulations to you for being so awesome.
Oh and a final tip before we view some FLIPPIN’ FANTASTIC PHOTOS – I’ve noticed my few remaining slap bracelets are suffering from lackluster snappiness. Perhaps it’s the gawd-awful Jersey humidity. Anyhoo, it seems they like being stored rolled up, instead of flat. Here’s a helpful illustration:
And now – onto the final pictures (posted, as always, in the order in which they were received)! If you’d like to see past slap bracelet pictures, or Go Guilty Pleasures slap bracelets across the blogosphere, scurry over to my Slap Bracelets page. And of course,if any other photos roll in, you know I’ll be thrilled to brag about post them.
A.J.’s Mom and I bonded over the gloriousness that is guilty pleasure gift basket giveaways. Her submission [to win the basket] was wonderful (and earned her an Honorable Mention). I’m very excited to post her pictures and introduce any newcomers to her blog! I mean, just look at her annotations! You do me proud, A.J.’s Mom.
Chipmunks, I don’t even know where to start here. Peppermeister (Husband #1) just told me that I was talking in my sleep the other night (I blame the heroin cough suppressants); apparently I said the name “Angie” as I was chattering away incoherently. When he asked who I was talking to, I sleep-responded, “My bud, Angie, from Go Guilty Pleasures!” (I’m absolutely certain I used my own blog name so he would understand.)
Angie, I’m sorry if that creeps you out, but I really just love you a lot. You even got me to share my horrifying kid pics. If people don’t understand why I feel this way, all they need to do is read this slap bracelet letter and see the accompany photos, which take us back to a simpler time, when slap bracelets weren’t yet shanks.
Dear Jules,
I received my snap bracelets in the mail and couldn’t be happier. They are everything I ever wanted in vinyl wrist accessories.
In fact, what I would’ve given to have them years ago. (I could’ve been the coolest girl in high school.) What I would’ve given to have them in the summer of ’93, just in time for my senior year photo shoot.
Can you believe we’re seniors? It’s gone so fast!
After giving it some thought, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands — quite literally. Because who says you can’t reinvent the past?
That’s right — with my very own snap bracelets, I decided to recreate my senior pictures. I happen to have some of my old clothes even — the early ’90s certainly paved the way in high fashion. I think you’ll agree that we gave up the hair bump far too soon.
I’ll always remember the homecoming party at T-Bone’s house when we karaoked to Ace of Base. I’ll always remember how you proposed marriage to Mark Calderon from Color Me Badd. I’ll always remember how we ruled the school in our band uniforms. My memory is a little fuzzy on that last one.
Stay cool, never change, and never stop wearing your velvet choker,
Angie
P.S. Why does my old letter jacket stink like Cool Ranch Doritos?
In a short time, L has become one of my favorite favourite Canadians. First of all, she makes delicious food for a living and has great stories, and second of all, she’s very funny. Her blog focuses on her effort to lose weight, and while she needs no help from me, I keep offering to take those croissants off her hands.
I just sent L’s bracelet out on Tuesday, so she neither confirms nor denies the authenticity of THIS photo:
I can’t even tell you how stoked bloody delighted I am to have another Brit in my corner. Kate has a great sense of humor, which complements her green thumb, and probably means I should never introduce her to Peppermeister. It would be love at first sapling.
She’s so thoughtful, she even brought the Jubilee to me!
Ashley gave me a right scare this week when she said her slap bracelets STILL hadn’t made it to Dubai after several weeks. I would have had to take down my ‘Number of Slap Bracelet Incidents: 0’ board that I keep next to my Second Husband shrine.
Luckily, there was just a little mix-up at the office, and they showed up on Wednesday, just in time for Ashley to snap some amazing pictures of…
The slap bracelet letter…
Her handbag, which didn’t think it could get any hotter, until…
Alfred, who recently graduated and is allegedly quite the braggart, never taking off his graduation cap…
Alfred’s pal, Creamy, who wanted to join the fun, but you can just imagine what Alfred had to say about that. Snob.
“Creamy, you’re bear-y nice. You’re just not cut out for this kind of pressure.”
Pictures in Dubai – the famous Emirates towers…
…And the world’s tallest tower, Burj Khalifa…
And last, but certainly not least, 3 of Ashley’s guilty pleasures: The Post-Its in her room…
Her books…
And her all-time favorite, her love dices (now THAT’S what I call well played)…
Sprinkles is one of my oldest and most cherished blog buddies. I ADORE Sprinkles, the way some people adore, well, sprinkles. She just gets it, you know? I mean, just ask her about any of TLC’s latest offerings.
Meet Sophie, whose guilty pleasure is bubble watching (I could watch this all day):
And here is Sprinkles’ new(ish) tattoo, designed by her oldest daughter – how amazing is that?
Thanks again, Chipmunks. I really believe you are special. And not special like you can’t eat cereal without spilling milk down your shirt. Special like I’d totally watch your stand-up comedy even if you used props like Bob the Snake.
Renée, please consider this your open invitation to guest post on my blog any time; I know the below submission is only the tip of your guilty pleasure iceberg.
Renée’s Entry:
Okay, you know I love to break into dance. But that’s the small stuff. Another guilty pleasure?
*whispering*
I sometimes sunbathe topless in my backyard.
And there is a middle school in my backyard.
True. You cannot make this stuff up.
If you’re feeling a little sore from Renée’s victory, perhaps this picture will help.
Zeal has never been happier.
After Renée submitted her scintillating entry, I tried to Google Earth her house*. Here’s what came up:
Can you tell which house is Renée's?
That’s right, Renée, all of this is YOURS! ALL YOURS!
*If you’re feeling stalky after seeing that bikini pic, please don’t waste your time haunting the above neighborhood. That isn’t where Renée lives. And duh. Just email me for her address.
My guilty pleasure might surprise you. There’s nothing I like more than spending a quiet evening playing my favorite game: Go Guilty Pleasures, the home edition.
~*~
First I obsessively click on your blog. If I’ve left a comment, I see if you’ve responded to my comment. Then I go click on the Recommended Humor Blogs WordPress page to see if I’m still on there. Then back to your blog to see if anyone has responded either to my original comment or your response to my comment. Back to the Humor page to see if anybody else I know is cycling through the list more often than me. Back to your blog. I leave a follow-up comment if necessary. Then I rate all the other comments and compare their cleverness-quotient to my comment. If anyone else’s score even approaches mine, I spend some time worrying about that. Finish up with just one, teensy-weensy peek back at the Humor page (with my stopwatch to catalogue relative hang-times.)
~*~
Next comes the best part of the game. I BECOME you. I put on the Side Pony of Super Fun-ness. I put my custom-crafted Uncle Jesse mask on my cat, Beeby (this part isn’t as easy as it might sound). I line up some champagne (actually Asti – I’m on a budget) and break out the bacon candy bars and Reeses for snacking. I use mice instead of chipmunks as my life coaches because they’re a lot easier to catch around my house. That may be why they don’t really give me any advice, no matter how many times I ask. But I pretend they do while I make funny, fun faces. I get lots and lots of guilty pleasure from taking lots and lots of pictures of myself being blondly side-ponied and fun. A lot.
~*~
Yup, for my family, there’s no more relaxing way to spend the evening than playing Go Guilty Pleasures. As my hubby said to me just the other night, “Why do you keep calling me Peppermeister? Who the hell is that??”
~*~
Happy Birthday to us!!
I told Peg I was jealous of her side-pony, because it's longer than mine, and probably curls like a dream.
I voted at that link you posted, posted to facebook (i’m not sure how i will prove this with my security settings) and my blog. I have twitter but don’t use it (that’s a story for another time if you get bored) and i got the tattoo and performed the ritual sacrifice.
I emailed you this pic but incase it comes down to bloggers voting in the contest, here is the link (see below for picture).
Now for the guilty pleasures:
I sing to my cat Alex every day when i come home. I even sing as alex sometimes. I am not a good singer so he’s probably embarrassed.
Speaking of bad singing i also am a big harry potter nerd and i used to be a part of an online Hogwarts website where you took classes and met other nerds. You would think that would be a guilty enough pleasure right there as it’s terribly embarrassing but i used to compete in a yearly singing contest there called HOL idol and i would actually record myself singing and enter the contest. 0________0 SO EMBARRASSING. I wrote bad fanfic too.
As perfect as a guilty pleasure can get. Did you see the tattoo on her hand??
I eat entire pints of coffee Haagen Dazs in the car as I drive alone in the car. No spoon. No napkin. By the time I’m finished, both the steering wheel and I are covered with ice cream. Yum.
Go Jules Go 