I’ve always been a blonde at heart, even after I had to start dying my hair to maintain the golden hue on the outside. I can’t tell left from right, Clueless is my favorite movie, and I truly believe stuffed animals can talk.
The thing is, up until this past week, I considered myself a very high-functioning blonde. I can walk and chew gum at the same time, and even figure out how much to tip my girl crush colorist.
This week, things took a nosedive.
Exhibit A-lzheimer’s
It started on Tuesday, when I wrote out a GoGuiltyPleasures slap bracelet letter for The Mad Queen (I try to make every handwritten letter completely unique, because I can’t remember what I wrote the last time so you are not only getting the hottest fashion accessory, but a little piece of my soul. It’s the least I can do for my Chipmunks), and I felt a strong sense of déjà vu. My jokes about the meaning of life seemed so overdone. I shook off the feeling, and mailed out her letter with a few others.
I'm smiling because I'm confused.
When I got home from the post office, I had an email from The Mad Queen, thanking me for her brand new slap bracelets, which had just arrived. Because I’d already sent them. Four days earlier.
“You will never believe this…” began my immediate response. “Oh god. I should really stop drinking,” I concluded. (The Mad Queen told me to do nothing of the sort, solidifying her chipmunkitude.)
Exhibit B-E More Aware of Obvious Facts
On Wednesday, I went shopping on my lunch break for a baby shower gift for a co-worker. Her surprise shower was at 2pm, so I set out for one of the many nearby malls (let’s hear it for Jersey!). I almost doubled-back to my desk to check the invite, to see if she was having a boy or a girl. “Screw it,” I decided, since I was only getting a gift card.
For a blonde, I had a surprising amount of difficulty navigating the mall. The mall is our motherland. I couldn’t find the store I was looking for, and wound up at Hallmark instead. They actually sold some baby clothes, including hilarious gender-neutral onesies, so I got one of those (for baby), and some equally funny chocolate bars (for mom). I scooped up a card and gift wrap, feeling smug that I wouldn’t be a part of the ‘group gift’ (er, because I missed the deadline to contribute).
I got back to work and showed our administrative assistant what I’d gotten. “I don’t really know [this person], so I didn’t get her anything,” was her response. We have a very large department, not all located in the same building (or state, for that matter), so this isn’t unusual to hear. I answered, “We went to boot camp together, and have gone to lunch, so I thought I should get her something. She’s really nice.”
I decided to check the online invite before I wrote out the card, so I could congratulate my colleague on her little ‘boy’ or ‘girl.’ I opened the invite and my jaw dropped:
No wonder she looks so thin.
Do you have any memorable blonde moments (or have you forgotten what they were?)?
Last week, Peppermeister (my husband) pointed out that Comcast cable’s OnDemand feature (where you can watch movies and TV shows, well, on demand) added something called XFINITY Streampix. Under that category, they added the first two seasons of Dawson’s Creek.
Remember Dawson’s Creek? “I don’t wanna wait…”, the Joey-Dawson-Pacey love triangle, the intense vocabulary, and the dad in jail? Right. That’s the one.
When I was 16, I was obsessed with Dawson’s Creek. They filmed it in Wilmington, North Carolina, about a 12-hour drive from where I grew up in northern(ish) New Jersey. Thanks to my habit of trolling America Online chat rooms, I found out how to contact the casting agency and become an extra.
In case you don’t know – anyone can be an extra. I mean, anyone. Even nerdy 16-year-olds with zero acting experience or ability. Especially when it’s a show’s first season and they film in a quiet town in North Carolina (though it’s worth noting that Wilmington is home to Screen Gems Studios, the largest domestic television and movie production facility outside of California).
Babs (my mom), the woman who taught me everything I know about guilty pleasures, agreed to take a 5-day trip down to Wilmington in September of 1998, and I experienced life as an extra for the first time. Though it’s mostly downtime with a bizarre subculture of working ‘background actors,’ we had so much fun that we made the same trip several more times over the next two years. During what should have been my first semester of college, I worked as a full-time extra. (I was going to be a screenwriter. To heck with higher education!)
I don’t own Dawson’s Creek on DVD, so Peppermeister had never seen my network TV debut. For the first time in 10 years, thanks to Comcast, we sat down this weekend and watched my key scenes.
In the one you’re about to see, I had to diligently prepare; I had finally scored a coveted classroom seat, and would be pretending to take a driver’s permit exam. Pacey (Joshua Jackson) was on edge, having just gotten into another argument with his insensitive cop father. He’d already failed this test once. Not to mention his girlfriend, Andie, who was in the nuthouse and still hadn’t called. My character, on the other hand, felt adequately prepared for the exam, but was also preoccupied – I’d recently caught my father cheating on my mother, who certainly didn’t deserve it after 15 years of working the late shift at the Snakeskin diner. I hadn’t told anyone, not even my best friend, Ashley Katsopolis. Can you sense the angst?
Did I just blow your mind? And guess what? After carefully tallying up all of my shining onscreen moments, I still have 14 minutes and 23 seconds of fame left!
Sweet!
Have you had your 15 minutes of fame? Close encounters of the celebrity kind? I can’t wait to hear. I live for this shiz.
***WORDPRESSURE ALERT***
If you have unseen GoGuiltyPleasures slap bracelet pictures kicking around, NOW IS THE TIME to send them in! I’m getting prepped for the next installment, and I’d love to give/your blog/your pictures the loving attention they deserve.
For a supposed guilty pleasure blogger, I don’t think I talk nearly enough about one of the most mind-frenchingly awesome pairings the world has ever known. No no, not Brad Pitt and Gwyneth PaltrowAngelina Jolie Jennifer Aniston. I’m talking:
Peanut Butter and Chocolate.
The master of this holy union, the mother of this ship, the queen bee to this hive, is, of course, none other than the:
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup
Let us have a moment of silence to pay our respects to dairy farmer H.B. Reese (who invented this wonder in 1923), shall we?
…Much obliged. So, if you’re like me, you probably can’t recall the first time you tasted a Reese’s peanut butter cup, but they’ve always been your Numero Uno. Remember Halloween? What would it take to trade one of your Reese’s cups? That’s right. It would take nothing. Because ain’t nobody laying a finger on your Butterfinger Reese’s.
There’s a noticeable passion associated with Reese’s peanut butter cups. We don’t just like them. We love them. We don’t just nibble on a mini one and call it a day. Even those so-called ‘gourmet’ peanut butter cups never seem to stack up to the original.
When bigger is better. So, so, so much better.
Reese’s peanut butter cups are an intrinsic part of American culture. They’ve come up with plenty of variations over the last 20 years, and there’s a cup for what seems like every holiday. (Whether or not you just celebrated Easter, I hope you picked up some Reese’s eggs – it’s the perfect chocolate to peanut butter ratio.) There are t-shirts, magnets, even peanut butter cup-flavored lip balm stamped with the iconic Reese’s logo.
An internet search on Reese’s peanut butter cups brings up the corporate
A little slice of heaven. No. Seriously. This is my heaven. Photo credit: http://blogchef.net.
website, and then hundreds of recipes. To me this is a simple sign that peanut butter and chocolate are welcome in any home, for any occasion. If that Reese’s pie didn’t win over your girlfriend’s parents? Heck, you didn’t want to be a part of that family anyway.
The evolution of the Reese’s peanut butter cup slogan is also indicative of their influence – and I can’t argue with any of them:
1970s-1980s: Two great tastes that taste great together.
1990s: There’s no wrong way to eat a Reese’s.
2000s: Perfect.
Photo credit: pittnews.com
This year Reese’s peanut butter cups were the sponsor of NCAA’s March Madness basketball tournament. They’ve already been an official sponsor of the NCAA for 4 years running. You couldn’t get me to watch 2 minutes of the college basketball that was on a continuous loop in my house last month, but even I noticed the giant Reese’s logo on the court floor (and subsequently started salivating). I wondered how the players kept focus. Or maybe it was the perfect motivator.
On this historic day, otherwise known as Wednesday, 19 of your favorite humor bloggers are staging a WordPress coup. We have banded together to address the important topic, Better Living Through Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Yes, you read that right. Your eyes are fine. Well, they may not be fine – I really don’t know. But it does say “19 of your favorite humor bloggers” (or who SHOULD be your favorite bloggers). We are all presenting the same topic, each from his or her particularly unique perspective.
Why this topic? Why now?
Why not?
Click on the bloggers’ links below to gobble up the entire, yummy bag of 19 posts.
I’m sure I can’t be the only one this has happened to. Have you ever, belly full of MSG sesame chicken, dumplings and egg rolls, gone to open that waxy looking folded cookie, and then seen…
Avoid compulsively making things worse.
I took that as a clear sign to put the leftovers away before I had to loosen my belt and unzip my pants.
The next fortune lulled me into a false sense of security with its normal, zen-like reassurance:
Silence is a virtual. Especially Dinner time, from telemarketers.
Well, I guess the cookie has a point – silence is virtual (virtually unheard of) when it comes to telemarketers.
I don’t even eat the cookies (you are not a cookie, fortune cookie! For the love of Samoas, go talk to some Girl Scouts!), but at this point I had to keep going. And then it came. The fortune that’s making me lose sleep at night:
You can’t possibly live long enough to make all of them yourself.
All of what?! What am I supposed to be making? Oh god. This has something to do with turning 30 later this month, doesn’t it? I’m supposed to be making something, something only people in their 30s know about. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. What’s going to happen? Will I be allowed to live long enough to try?
It’s been a while since I’ve updated you on the whereabouts of my life coaches, Zest and Zeal.
You might recall their infamous post-Christmas shenanigans. I’ve since moved the vodka to a higher shelf in the freezer, and confiscated the handcuffs. Nevertheless, old habits die hard…
In fact, it would appear they’ve even started having secret meetings. I fear a cult is forming, and these young recruits will soon do their bidding.
This can't be good.Nothing to see here, Jules...For Champagne's sake, Zest and Zeal, not the children, too!
Despite their unsavory reputation, I find myself turning to Zest and Zeal for advice. You see, something terrible is about to happen. And I can’t stop it. It’s almost as terrible as when someone tells you “you have a pretty face” or when I learned you can’t legally buy Kinder Surprise eggs in the United States.
I’m about to…
…Well, you see…
It’s just that…
Dangnabbit. I’m turning 30 in 3 weeks!!! And I don’t like it one bit. So, with an old, decrepit and heavy heart, I sought out Zest and Zeal last night. The conversation went a little something like this:
Me: Guys, I just don’t know what I’m doing with my life.
Zeal: Here, have another drink.
Me: F&*%. How’d you get my vodka?
Zest (glancing nervously at Zeal): You know, Jules, you’d look really good with green hair.
Me: Ha ha. Thanks for bringing that up. Thanks a lot. You’re supposed to be making me feel better.
Zest: Um…Second Husband? Glee? Champagne? Cats dressed like Easter bunnies? Titanic in 3D?
Me (starting to smile, then frowning): But won’t I be too old for all of that? 30-year-old women aren’t supposed to eat animal crackers just because they come in a cute little box with a string. And I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have a Jersey Shore wall calendar in the kitchen. And, oh god. I bet the next time I go to the MAC make-up counter they’re going to call me ma’am.
Zeal (hiding the vodka behind his back): Jules. Jules, Jules, Jules… On the road of life, there are many winding, um… roads.
Me: Shut up.
Zeal: I wasn’t finished. (takes deep breath) There are many winding roads, and you need to learn to…um…put on the brakes and stop and smell the…deer…poop.
Me: I hate you.
Zeal: Why don’t we just SHOW you how good life after 30 can be?
Me (narrowing eyes): The last time you said you wanted to show me something, it involved a bb gun and Kate Gosselin wigs.
Zeal: You said you liked it!
Me: I was…just trying to be…polite…
Zeal: Listen. Do you want our help or not?
Zest: Isn’t he as cute as a peanut when he’s frustrated?
Me (muttering): …I’m going to regret this, but… Fine. Show me.
Zest: There's always retail therapy. DSW Shoe Warehouse doesn't care HOW old you are. They'll still take your money. Trust me. I know. I've taken your money there lots of times.Zeal: You're old enough now that you can drink vast quantities, I mean, higher qualities, without winding up here. And when your friends' kids get married? Oh boy. They'll be disappointed if you don't sidle up to the open bar and then insist on dancing with all their friends.Zest: I'm PRETTY sure by the time you're 40, polygamous relationships will be legal in New Jersey.Zeal: That reminds me, I think in another 10 years, you'll be able to grow a lot more than soy beans in this windowsill...Zest and Zeal: Plenty of things get better with age, Jules. Including you.
Me: Gosh. Thanks, guys. I actually do feel better now. …Zest? Zeal? Where’d you go? Aw, crud. I’m getting too old for this sh*t.
Have you ever gotten any good (or bad) advice about getting older? How do you cope with the aging process?
I have a confession to make. I don’t read a lot (blogs excluded).
But I used to.
In fact, one of my earliest guilty pleasures was indulging in the Baby-Sitter’s Club “junior” series spin-off, the Little Sister series. By 9-years-old, I knew I was way too mature for these beginner chapter books about 7-year-old
An early guilty pleasure.
Karen Brewer, but I devoured every single one I could get my hands on. My best friends, “The Twins,” and I would sometimes sit on the floor of their small bedroom and each read an entire book. For years, I read a new book every single day. Friends’ parents would always ask, “What are you reading now?” when I came over.
When I was 13, they made the Baby-Sitter’s Club into a movie. I called up my oldest childhood friend, and slightly shame-faced but excited, we met at the mall to see it. By then we were way too old for that stuff, even though the baby-sitters in the movie were our age. We loved it.
By 13, I was definitely aware that you were ‘supposed’ to read the books first, and felt superior every time I fell into that category. Books were for smart people and movies were for…less smart people. Right?
As I got older, and books appropriate for my age became more and more dull to me, I rarely read anything. I worked at a book store in my late teens, and when people asked for recommendations, I pointed them to Oprah’s book club list and fed them lines from other customers. I hadn’t read any of the books on the counter, and I was constantly ashamed. Reading was suddenly a chore, something I’d need to do to prove I was smart, or worthy of intellectual conversation.
Then, of course, HE happened. I’m talking Harry Potter. Then David Sedaris. Bill Bryson. Twilight. Percy Jackson. It became easier and easier to allow myself to read what I wanted to read, just as I had done when I was 9-years-old. If it was popular, unpopular, meant for teenagers, I didn’t care. I naturally gravitated towards fantasy and humorous memoirs, and I gave myself permission to give up on a book whenever I wanted to if it wasn’t gripping. Oh, the freedom! I read more, but only when I wanted to, just as I do today.
Two weeks ago, I saw The Hunger Games and I loved it. I’ve never read any of the books. And guess what? I was GLAD I didn’t know what was going to happen. It was exactly what a movie-going experience should be; I was emotionally invested within the first 5 minutes, even though I had only just met Katniss and her younger sister.
I carry it with me everywhere.
I think both mediums, books and film, can produce magic. There are plenty of movies that inspired me to go back and read the book (and vice versa), and I’ve enjoyed them both for completely different reasons (The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll is a perfect example).
But I’ll be honest. I still carry a little of that old ‘The Book Is Best’ prejudice. Right now I’m reading The Help, and am enthralled. I won’t let myself see the movie until I finish.
I’m dying to know, where do you fall on the book vs. the movie argument?
Sometimes...it depends on what the meaning of 'is' is.
I’ve been moved, Chipmunks. Moved to go where this blog has never gone before.
Into the depths of my big, beautiful brain.
Who have we to thank? Well, we could call her Siri, but I prefer Annie Leibovitz, because my new phone takes such beautiful pictures. That, ultimately, is why I got her.
Meet A-Leib.
Come, let us look at all of the profound musings A-Leib has inspired since coming into my life last Friday…
If cars ran on hay, and horses ran on gas, I’d be okay with us running out of gas.
Is there anything hot glue, a ball of twine, and an intense desire to mask inner turmoil with superficial beauty can’t do?
Sometimes, as the sun goes down, I wonder why all them “Twilight” haters hate. The protagonist is the epitome of quiet, selfless inner strength. She’s also a pretty good cook.
Man’s best friend can help us cherish simplicity: fresh air, open fields and sunny skies. And all the deer poop you can eat.
When one looks for signs to lead them down the right path, one often finds pebbles in one’s shoe.
I believe inner peace can be found in the most unexpected places. Like someone else’s backyard. …Or jail.
Happy Thursday! What’s been on your dead sexy mind lately?
P.S. – In case you were wondering, they’ve put in new trailheads on our street, and the trails lead to some pretty spectacular views. Yeah, man! This is Jersey!
Whoever said bloggers were lame, basement-dwellers who lack the talent of ‘real’ writers has never met the awesome array of bloggers I have via WordPress. I’m continually amazed by the gifts and goodness they possess.
So I guess in some ways I wasn’t surprised to receive this text from JM Randolph (Accidental Stepmom) last Thursday morning:
Totally last minute. CC can’t come to my opening nite show. I only got 1 ticket- do you want it? 6:45 curtain.
The show JM was referring to was Jesus Christ Superstar, which opened on Broadway March 22nd. Thanks to JM’s gig doing sound for theater, I just scored an invite to opening night – on Broadway! I responded accordingly:
Hi JM! I just saw this! Is it too late to say hell yes!?
And so it was. We agreed to meet at 6:30 in front of the theater. I went to Kohl’s on my lunch break and picked up two new blazers because, of course, nothing in my closet was right. I settled on all black: black stretch pants, black calf-high boots, a black high-necked shirt with a sheer overlay on front, and a black blazer with similar sheer trim along the bottom.
I lightened things up with my wedding-day earrings, which are getting a lot of play lately:
Bling-tastic
I boarded the 4:23 NJ Transit train, excited as could be. JM and I met for the first time in January, before I saw another Broadway show, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. I was really looking forward to seeing her again. From reading JM’s blog, it’s obvious she’s smart, witty and completely badass. I expected to meet a tough, somewhat no-nonsense chick. Which intimidated the hell out of me. Oh, how wrong I was! JM is warm, welcoming and lovely. And gorgeous! Not I’m going to wear leather pants to kick your butt gorgeous, but Princess Bride gorgeous.
Our first meeting in January.
It was only on the train, nearly to Penn Station, that I saw an earlier text from JM (I’d been having battery issues with my phone all day):
oh and dress semi-fab. you will need a pic of yourself on the red carpet.
Red carpet?! Moi?! My honest-to-goodness first thought was: I think my stretch pants are see-through! I was willing to accept that any pictures of me would be less than flattering, but transparent pants was where I drew the line. It was akin to stepping out of a limo with no underwear.
We've all seen it happen. Photo credit: fashion.about.com
I quickly texted JM:
Oh holy shoot. For some reason I just saw your text about the red carpet. I did buy a new cute blazer on my lunch break BC that’s how I roll LOL but I don’t think it qualifies as fab?!?!?!?!
JM assured me it was no big deal, and that at least one person would be in sweatpants. I couldn’t tell if I’d just gotten myself out of it.
It was a gorgeous day for March, 75 degrees and sunny, and Manhattan was absolutely packed. It took me 40 minutes to work my way through the throngs of people to Neil Simon Theatre (I always prefer to walk to the theater district versus taking the subway or a cab from Penn Station, even though it’s at least a mile). I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Times Square so jammed up.
There was also a huge crowd in front of the theater, though I couldn’t see who was on the red carpet. Several skeletal women passed by me in bright, silk dresses; it was clear they’d spent the entire day getting ready. My heart was in my throat at the prospect of sharing any kind of floor space with Broadway elite. I didn’t know the names of these producers and directors. I wouldn’t know Edward Albee if I tripped over him (just to make this reference I had to Google ‘living playwrights’).
When JM met me outside and handed me a ticket, I followed her lead. Okay, good, we weren’t headed towards the flash bulbs and cheers. Instead, we walked in through a side door. Hallelujah, I was spared! Under different circumstances, I would have been disappointed. But not that night. Not in see-through pants.
JM showed me to her motherboard, which was on a platform at the back of the orchestra section. She introduced me to some of her colleagues and it was clear they all adored her (and vice versa). Being part of the in crowd really is all it’s cracked up to be, Chipmunks.
Darn phone. This is a picture of a picture. Yes. I have a new phone now.
I told JM I was learning about the inner workings of Broadway from one of my new favorite shows, Smash. She said they do actually do workshops like the one currently depicted on the show, confirming my suspicion that I can learn everything I need to know from TV. She paused.
“You do have crazy eyes.”
I laughed. I recently wrote a post about my crazy eyes; in it I described my giant pupils. Being in a dark theater surely made them noteworthy.
“I know,” I replied. “Everyone thinks I’m high all the time. …I wish.”
“Do they even need to dilate your pupils when you go to the eye doctor?” she asked with a good-natured smile.
Can I have some of your toe nail clippings for my collection?
Because the show was soon starting, I bid a temporary goodbye to JM and found my seat in the center of the balcony section. I smiled to myself when I saw the skinny-minnie-silk-dress girls in seats right by me. Ah, opening night on Broadway, what a great equalizer you are! I felt smug until I realized my see-through-panted butt could still barely fit in the wee Broadway seats (despite, and let me pause to brag for the first time here, a significant weight loss in the past year).
The audience was extremely enthusiastic, and while I’d never seen the play before, I was blown away by the production value and, most of all, the voices of the cast. (I bet some of that can be attributed to JM!) Andrew Lloyd Webber came out during the curtain call, and the standing ovation was the longest I’d ever taken part in.
I didn’t linger because I had to catch my train home, but hoped I managed to convey my gratitude and enthusiasm to JM before dashing. (In the end, I missed my connecting train -for the first time in my life- because I was too busy texting about my fun night out!)
Hey, we can still pretend I shared the spotlight with the likes of Megan Hilty (from Smash) and Andrew Lloyd Webber:
Hey, wait a second, Lisa Lampanelli…
…That dress looks familiar…
My surprise bridal shower, May 2008.
I’m so ahead of my time*! Maybe see-through pants will be in four years from now! Damn. I guess I should have walked that carpet.
*I bought this dress for $25 from Target 4 years ago. I cannot believe it’s on the red carpet right now.
Photo credit (marquis and red carpet pictures): broadwayworld.com.
It's what bacon is to breakfast, what Neil Patrick Harris is to TV, and what you need in your library.
I own this book. I love this book. My first job was at an independent book store, and when I got wind of this bad boy in 1999, I had to have it. I may have even paid full price: $24.95.
Now?
New copies on Amazon start at $143.36. Hot diggity! While this surprised me, it’s probably only because I never thought about it. Of course this book is costly, if it’s in short supply. Sometimes the world makes sense.
It’s the best coffee table book ever made. Just look:
Get that drill out of my face, you g.d. sadist! Dentophobia.
I saw Buried. No thank you. Not even with you, Ryan Reynolds. Necrophobia.I'm not really afraid of heights, but even my knees are wobbling with this one. Acrophobia.Er, um, the three agencies of government I would like to eliminate are, ahhhh, um...STOP STARING AT ME LIKE THAT!!! Glossophobia.Ah, everyone's favorite fear. Claustrophobia.
If you’re not busy calling your therapist right now, you can see even more heart-stopping pop-ups by getting this book used for a good price! Don’t make me say “I told you so” in another 13 years.
Do you have any irrational fears? (Reactions to my last post suggest a strong aversion to sloths.)
Here's mine. Creepy crawlies. Eeeeesh.
Photo credit disclaimer: While I took these photos, I do not own the content of this book, which was created and written by Gary Greenberg, illustrated by Balvis Rubess, pop-ups by Matthew Reinhart, published by Rob Weisback Books, and produced by Melcher Media, Inc.
Yesterday, while on my lunch break, I headed to the nearby liquor store to take advantage of their competitive Korbel champagne prices. (What’s it called when you have beer taste on a beer budget?) I wanted to celebrate the positive 2011 performance review I had just earned when I got home that evening. Suddenly, I started laughing. I knew what my next blog post would be about.
You Know You’re a Guilty Pleasure Enthusiast When…
1.) You Start Embellishing Life Events to Make Them a Cause for Celebration, i.e., Champagne
It's THURSDAY! Er, CHEERS!
As it is, I toast to myself every Friday night for making it through another work week, but lately I’ve come up with reasons, mid-week, to celebrate. Last week, it was reaching a significant milestone in a project. The week before that, I celebrated finding delicious, cheap champagne at Trader Joe’s by drinking said champagne.
Next week, I suspect matching socks will earn me some of this liquid happy.
2.) You Have to Give Up Vampire Diaries on Your DVR to Make Room For 30 Rock, Parks and Recreation and American Idol
This was a tough one for me to give up on the DVR, which only allows me to record two shows at once. Unlike my early dismissal of MTV’s Teen Wolf, I’ve been holding out hope for CW’s The Vampire Diaries. Believe it or not, it wasn’t the brooding vampire brothers, but rather side character, Caroline, who really won me over. She’s got layers, people.
Oh Thursday nights, why are you such a cornacopia of television goodness?
3.) Your Co-Workers Laugh at Your Breakfast
I see nothing wrong with the two giant slices of leftover pizza on my desk, thank you very much. Keep it up and tomorrow it will be egg salad.
Something Borrowed. I am completely obsessed. It’s on HBO OnDemand right now, through April 30th (which, incidentally, is my 30th birthday. This movie happens to open with the lead character’s 30th birthday. …I’m seriously starting to see cosmic signs in this. It’s not good. I even downloaded songs from the soundtrack. Intervention? Anyone?).
I’ve bawled my eyes out for a week over this movie. I’m still not sure how I want it to end; somehow the happy ending is also the bittersweet one. To me, it takes the road less traveled, as far as romantic comedies go, and despite its inherent cheesiness, there is something so genuine about the relationships. Kate Hudson executes her female d-bag role perfectly, and Goodwin’s sweetie-pie persona is irresistible. Oh! Oh! They even have a whole bit about a chipmunk (chipmunks are kind of my thing, in case you’re new here)! See what I’m saying about cosmic signs?
And I haven’t even gotten to John Krasinski yet. Suffice it to say, he’s as perfect as a chipmunk eating Dunkaroos.
Like this. Side note: if you search for "chipmunk dunkaroos" on Google image search, my blog is the first thing that pops up. My work here is done.
It’s been there since Christmas. (The slap bracelet, not the champagne. Champagne, as I’m sure you guessed from #1 on this list, has a two-hour lifespan around these parts.)
Are you living the guilty pleasure-ful life? How so? If you’re not sure, would you be willing to try some Dunkaroos?
Go Jules Go 