humor, Kvetching

Scenes From A Weird-Ass Week

DAY 1 – BED, BATH & BEYOND – EVENING

CASHIER

Hi! How are you doing?

JULES

Good, thanks.

CASHIER

What nationality are you?

JULES

Uhhh… German, Irish. And…English…

CASHIER

Oh yeah, ’cause your accent is just great.

JULES

Thank…you.

How I Think I Sound:

How THEY Think I Sound:

BBB

DAY 2 – JULES’ CAR – NIGHT

JULES

Are those flashing lights? Are we being pulled over?

PEPPERMEISTER (HUSBAND #1)

Yes. Calm down!

POLICE OFFICER

Do you know why I pulled you over?

PEPPERMEISTER

No.

POLICE OFFICER

Both of your headlights are out. Both of them. Both…of…them. You only have one fog light on.

DAY 3 – JULES’ HOUSE – BATHROOM – MORNING

JULES

(stepping on scale)

LIES!!!!!!

JULES picks up PHONE and dials PEPPERMEISTER.

JULES (CON’T)

I need you to find kale. Like yesterday.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

DAY 4 – JULES’ HOUSE – KITCHEN – LATE AFTERNOON

PEPPERMEISTER (HUSBAND #1)

My mom would like a dark chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting for her birthday.

JULES

I’m on it. I shall prepare everything from scratch, just as I’ve done since I was 9. In fact, I have the perfect recipe! I normally use it for cupcakes, but no matter! What could go wrong?

30 MINUTES LATER…

All the cream cheese frosting in the world couldn't make this right.
All the cream cheese frosting in the world can’t make this right.

DAY 5 – JULES’ HOUSE – BEDROOM – EVENING

JULES

(cleaning)

Oh, what’s this under the side table? An old fortune! Well whatever it says, it’s going to shed some light on my life and tell me what I should do next, I just know it!

Todays-Fortune

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

Did you have any ‘off’ experiences this week?

Pssst…next week is my 2-year blog-o-versary! I’m not even sure you’re prepared for what I have in store. Here’s a sneak peek:

Kvetching

The Outfit That Fits Today

Isn't she sassy?
Isn’t she sassy?

I’ve always had a beef with New Year’s. Always. There’s that damn depressing song, for starters. It’s so bittersweet. As if you’re supposed to reflect on the could have beens, instead of the thank god there was’s. And then the expectations. Oh, the expectations!

This weekend, I took my $150 Christmas cash and went shopping at one of New Jersey’s many outlet malls. It was snowing, and the drive took longer than the shopping itself.

I didn’t need anything, but of course that wasn’t the point. One of my favorite stores was having a “70% off everything in the store!” sale.

When I finally got to the snow-covered outlet village, I shuffled into the store, knocking my boots on the black mat inside the doorway, trying to avoid the sales clerks’ glares, and the furtive glance of a boyfriend, who was hanging from his girlfriend’s arm while she chatted on her phone.

It wasn’t long before I realized that none of the pants I chose fit. I tried on a red dress two sizes too small and stared in the mirror.

Well, Babs [my mom] was right. Red really is my color. I guess it’s kind of tight, but, it’s still hot. I could wear this. Yeah! …Or maybe…maybe for my birthday in April it’ll fit…

And that’s when I closed my eyes.

Stop! Just… stop.

There’s some insistent force that tells us buying our goal weight outfit will make us feel better, when in fact all it does is make us feel like a pile of crumbled up rice cakes and diet seltzer.

I was 30 years old, and there was a lesson I needed to finally take to heart.

Dress for the body you have today.

I carefully lined up the five pairs of pants, one dress, and three tops that didn’t fit. In another pile, I placed the one top and one dress that did. I took a deep breath and headed for the register. With only two items.

And yet, in 2013, I want to lose 30 pounds, instead of celebrating the thousand (this might be a slight exaggeration) I’ve already lost. In 2013, I want to finish my memoir, instead of fostering the blog that really inspires me. In 2013, I want to tell myself it’s all too hard, instead of recognizing I’ve done some of the scary work already.

So I’ve got this radical idea. Maybe instead of starting all over, we Just. Keep. Going. Sound good?

How do you fare on New Year’s, and with resolutions?

Just For Fun, Kvetching, Uncategorized, Wipe the Drool

Oh, Please, No. MY Childhood Relived?!

Oh sure. This looks like a precious baby book to YOU. But what’s inside would make Stephen King cry.

Okay. We all know I have a great family, yadda yadda, and things couldn’t have been that bad growing up if I was on a swim team and had the language skills to say “Oh! Bless you!” after I heard someone cut the cheese when I was 2, blah blah blah…

Oh yeah. It’s all fine and dandy in the beginning.

…but there’s a dark side to my childhood.

I’m lulling you into a false sense of security with my sparse ‘cute’ pictures.

I’m revealing the horror thanks to an exceptional blog called Childhood Relived. At Childhood Relived, Angie Z. focuses on growing up in the 80s, which I think we can all agree is inherently funny. But her quick-wit and memory to match make this blog a non-stop Giggle Fest. I can tell you from corresponding with Angie via email that she is an extremely talented writer, both in and outside of the blogosphere.

Angie has an ongoing Dynomite! contest in which readers submit their most embarrassing childhood pictures.

I don’t know what possessed me to enter.

Because what began as this:

I wish that t-shirt still fit.

Somehow turned into, well, click here to find out.

***SUPER IMPORTANT ALERT THAT YOUR HAPPINESS PROBABLY DEPENDS ON: I’m wrapping up the Go Guilty Pleasures slap bracelet extravaganza, so if you have any unseen slap bracelet pictures, I hope you’ll send them to me at Julie.Davidoski@yahoo.com. Oh and I think you’re swell. Even if you don’t have a slap bracelet.***

Kvetching, Project Management, Uncategorized

It’s All in My Noodle, Right?

No no. This isn’t an Italian recipe post. It’s a post about a humiliating team-building exercise involving pasta. Obviously.

As some of you know, I spend my days working as a certified Project Management Professional in the pharmaceutical industry. Because what else would a gal with a Creative Writing degree and an aversion to doctors do? Don’t get me wrong – it’s a good job for many reasons, and I’m grateful to have it. The people I work with aren’t even nincompoops.

But there’s one thing I hate.

And that’s Team-Building Exercises.

No matter how well we know each other, or how team-y we’ve become, they won’t give it a rest. On Thursday, we had yet another staff meeting, featuring yet another mysterious team-building exercise. After seeing the draft agenda, I immediately tried to devise ways to get out early, before the game show questions or trust falls could begin. I still had 20 of those heroin cough suppressants; maybe I would O.D.

In the end, because I have a tendency to think one false move will get me canned, I went along with it. Again. This time the team-building exercise was a spin on the show Minute to Win It. They divided us into 4 teams, and we played 10 rounds. In each round, a single team member from the 4 teams had to complete a task in 60 seconds or less. Every time you did, you earned a point for your team. The winning team members all got $10 iTunes gift cards.

Not bad. And you know what? It was -I can’t believe I’m about to say this- fun.

Watching coworkers try to unravel rolls of streamers by flapping their arms like deranged flamingos (or in one man’s case, a flag squad champion), and others try to get a cookie from their forehead to their mouth without touching it, was breathtaking. In the good way.

Oh yes. I yucked it up.

Until my turn.

But my task didn’t look too hard.

I had to put an uncooked piece of spaghetti in my mouth, and try to ‘string’ 5 small pieces of penne on it – without using my hands. I put the spaghetti strand in my mouth and knelt on the ground in front of the table holding the penne, trying to ignore the fact that multiple people had their cameras out.

The timer started and the pasta wobbled between my teeth like Lindsay Lohan on the set of Glee. The circumference of the penne now looked like a pinhole. I somehow managed to get the first piece of penne on the spaghetti, then almost dropped it. “Aw, she’s shaking,” one team member called out, while another added, “You can do it! Don’t worry! Don’t look at the clock!” With 10 seconds left, and nearly a dozen people hovering over me, I had only gotten two of the five pieces of penne on the spaghetti. I was a pasta-stringing failure. How had I made it this far in life?

My teammates graciously applauded me, and I, red-faced and sweaty, tried to shrink into the background. I was 30 years old, for the love of all that’s vodka, and this was just a silly game. So why did it take a half an hour before I stopped wanting to cry?

Does this happen to you? Do you get freaked out in ‘public’ situations like this? How do you feel about team-building exercises?

P.S. – In case you were wondering, we came in second place.

P.P.S. – Screw you, team-building exercises. I never liked you.

***SUPER IMPORTANT ALERT THAT YOUR HAPPINESS PROBABLY DEPENDS ON: I’m wrapping up the Go Guilty Pleasures slap bracelet extravaganza, so if you have any unseen slap bracelet pictures, I hope you’ll send them to me at Julie.Davidoski@yahoo.com. Oh and I think you’re swell. Even if you don’t have a slap bracelet.***

Kvetching, Uncategorized, Wipe the Drool

Dear Justin, Please Bring Sexy Back. It’s, Like, My Christmas Wish.

Sexy like this, Justin.

Dear Justin Timberlake,

Think of all the poor little children without denim in 2001.

I forgave you for the denim suit you wore to the American Music Awards in 2001. I forgave you for the cornrows you wore to…lots of places. But when you stopped going on tour and took up acting? Well, that one still smarts.

You’re a top-notch performer, J.T. We can all appreciate that (even the macho-macho-men). But that’s not acting.

Look at them! They're so straight and...teeth-y.

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry because I love you. You have beautiful teeth.

Please remember that as I tell you I’ve finally figured out why you can’t act (something I’ve been pondering ever since I saw Model Behavior on ABC):

I wanted to like it. I really did.

You’re too confident and famous.

You have NO idea what it’s like to be normal. That’s not an insult. You just don’t. Why would you? It’s kind of like the way I don’t know how to be cool, or how to end an awkward conversation.

When you act, you try to pretend you’re the nice guy who finishes last, but it’s just pretend. I think you think by using your ‘breathy voice’ that you’re conveying vulnerability, but you’re not.

Oh. I feel so bad saying this. Did I mention I love you? You’re the only one who can bring sexy back.

But the thespian thing, it’s just not working out. I mean, you’ve been in some REALLY good movies. You’re tall and handsome. But I still don’t believe you. You’re not a superhero or the guy next door or the smarmy entrepreneur.

You’re Justin Timberlake. And you bring the sexy.

Please, Justin. Please. Bring sexy back.

Snuggles and Slap Bracelets*,

gojulesgo

*don’t forget about my Slap Bracelet Giveaway!!!

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

Photo Credits

#1: ivillage.com

#2: askmen.com

#3: amazon.com

#4: content.hollywire.com

Animals, Chipmunks Forever, Just For Fun, Kvetching, New Jersey is breathtaking, Uncle Jesse

And on the 7th day, there was light (…and labradoodles in costume).

When Seasons Collide.

Once upon a time, Mother Nature had a stroke and decided New Jersey was getting off too easy. Sure, sure, there’s tolls on the highways and you can’t bring beer on the beach, but…no scorpions! So, she threw us a heaping scoop of hurricane with a sprinkling of tornado. Nah, she thought, still not cutting it. I know! Earthquake! That seemed to satisfy her for a while, but when October 29th rolled around, she was restless again.

Mother Nature decided she’d start with a smattering of snow. Odd, I thought, but pretty.

Who doesn't like a Christmas tree farm dusted with snow?

Then…BAM!

FULL-ON SNOW STORM!

By the way, that ‘bam’ was the sound of every tree in New Jersey falling on every power line. As the most densely populated state in the U.S., that’s a lot of power lines. The snow was too heavy and the leaves too plentiful; giant branches bowed and then broke.

We weren’t anticipating a true storm (there’s no storm like it on record [for October] since the Civil War), so when it really started coming down and we lost power at 1 o’clock last Saturday afternoon, we headed out in search of a generator and bottled water (we have a well that doesn’t work when we lose power).

We encountered 5 power lines down in under an hour...which is how long it took us to go 6 miles.

We got the last generator, and it was enough to power the fridge. Not the heat or the water. So we waited in the dark. And waited and waited. We blanched at the news that 95% of New Jersey Central Power and Light’s customers would have power restored by the following Thursday, the remaining 5% on Friday. By Thursday?! That was 6 full days away! We had needs! …Like showering for work.

Guess who was in the 5%? Yup. That’s right. 7 days of flushing the toilet with melted snow and creek water later…

I’M BACK!

Of course, I have to return with a bang, so for your viewing pleasure…

Uncle Jesse in costume!!!

I'm not sure he grasps what a privilege it is to be a chipmunk.

There are many like-minded souls out there, which fills my guilty pleasure heart to the brim. For example, I discovered via Twitter that last Halloween Second Husband bought a squirrel costume from Target for his brother’s dog:

He's carrying an acorn! OMG. (Click on picture for photo credit, but only if you dare.)

Annnnnd this is why Second Husband is about to get upgraded to Soul Mate status. I mean, a squirrel is almost a chipmunk. Does anyone else see interwoven destiny here? …No? Pssh. See if I try to pawn off my leftover candy corn on you this year.

Just For Fun, Kvetching, Lists, Uncategorized

Thanks a Lot, Phil

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, Kvetching, Uncategorized

Me + Irene + Justin Bieber

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:

Food, Kvetching

You Say Tomato, I Say Desperation

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!

Kvetching, Uncategorized

Oh No She Didn’t!!! I MEAN YOU, TALBOTS.

Photo credit (before annotation): us.zeereport.com

Okay. Okay. I need to take a few deep breaths before writing this post.

Ladies, you are not going to believe this (and Gents, you really should stay tuned, too, especially if you’re having trouble in the dating world and don’t know why).

I went to Talbots* today, with Babs. Not because I love Talbots, or even because I needed clothes, but because I wanted to go shopping, and Babs loves Talbots. I was wearing a lovely, feminine, new pink top that Babs bought me from the Gap, and I was feeling quite delicate and spiffy.

As we roamed the racks, I loaded my arm with a few articles of clothing. A female sales clerk, about my age (29), wandered over and asked the typical, “Can I start a dressing room for you?”

“Yes, thanks, that would be great,” I replied, also in typical fashion. I transferred my findings to her and continued to sort through the on-sale pants.

Then…

Then!

Then!!!

She says, “I can see we’re about the same size. I have trouble fitting in those [pants you really like and were planning on trying on, and perhaps even spending your hard-earned money on]. We have a promotion now on our curvy line. Let me grab you a pair. …I don’t mean to deter you or anything.”

Wha…

Huh??

Who…are…

AHHHHHH!!!!!!

No. No no no. This is NOT okay!!!! Her Girl Card should be revoked IMMEDIATELY. Men, if you’ve hung on this long, you’re tops. Also, don’t EVER talk about a girl’s size, or compare her to anyone else! This is like…I can’t even…

Oh. I’m so sad.

*Talbots, in case you don’t already know, is an obnoxiously boring, stuffy “clothing” store where they only sell things that dated, snotty, meanie-heads would wear. (Sorry, Babs. But I’ve been trying to tell you. For, like, 15 years.)