What…what are you waiting for? Go set your DVR! (I say “set your DVR” because I assume that, like me, you a) go to bed at 8:30pm, and b) with great pain, deleted a high-def version of Sharknad0, and now have room on your DVR.)
What TV characters from your youth would you poop a brick to see brought back to life on a late night talk show?
While I hadn’t given it much thought until last week, it seems obvious now: If you fine Chipmunks got to pick between Adam Levine and your beloved blog hero, The Byronic Man, obviously The B Man would win [the title of Third Husband]. By a landslide.
In a way, it makes perfect sense.
The Byronic Man and I are so associated in the collective bloggy unconscious that on numerous occasions, I’ve had people email me messages intended for The Byronic Man. People have left me comments on his blog.
As many of you Chipmunks know, I have a long-standing polyandrous situation in my house. Sure, First Husband, Peppermeister, is great, but…Scrabble…is more fun with extra players. Cue Second Husband, Darren Criss (of Glee fame).
Things have been grand over the past year, but our bed is really, really big. So.
Enough chatter. I’m cold.
Let’s review the candidates…
#1 – My BFF, Jenn
My dearest wife Jules,
After all these years, I know it’s obvious to you I was born to be your third and only (hmmm, we’ll have to work on that – we have time). But perhaps your readers, like the majority of state legislatures in our fair nation, need a pinch of persuasion. After all, they haven’t:
fled to the arms of another man from dated YOUR brother
taken a kick ass road trip with me
nearly died with me
Okay, those last two are really the same thing, but I’ll make it count for two.
Jules, I was born to be your Third Husband, because let’s face it. I got this vow shizz locked up like a three-peat offender. In good times and in bad? How much better can it get than our impending wedding date in the banquet hall of a Greek restaurant in Texas that rents its second floor as apartments? (B-T-Dubs, my first guest post as Hub3 – just sayin’.)
And bad times? Let’s be honest, we’ve already hit rock bottom together. Amazingly, I’m not even talking about vodka here. On our road trip [from New Jersey to Georgia in 2002], you lost your wallet, like, 27 minutes in. We were checked into the Blue Ridge Motor Lodge (I could stop here) by a heavily bleeding sexagenarian who begged us to take a plunge in his toad-infested pool (he really did have a surprisingly strong grasp on metaphor). Then our friend couldn’t meet up with us in Atlanta as planned because he was… oh, that’s right… IN JAIL. And to top it all off, we nearly died. On a cliff. We nearly went over a cliff together. Can’t you just see the Thelma and Louise motif on our engraved invitations?
When we I backed up on the freshly wet gravel, smack into the electrified fence that was then the only thing between my back tires and the plummet, and the passenger door was pinned shut by the… voltage, didn’t I demand that you climb over me to safety? Wriggle between my body and the steering wheel, out the driver’s door, before I even THOUGHT about escaping myself?
And when the farmer in denim overalls, sans shirt or underwear, came strolling out to look at my handiwork with his fence… and you asked him where exactly we were…. when he removed the hay from both his teeth to reply: “Girly, you’re in the middle of nowhere…” Well, girly, he couldn’t have been more wrong. We could never be lost as long as we’re together.
So, in conclusion:
I, BFF, take you, GJG, to be my unlawfully wedded wife, to have (mercy) and hold (your hair back), from this day forward. For better (see above) and worse (ditto), for richer (I’m not worried) and poorer (we got this), in sickness (check) and health (too late), until Blue Ridge Mountain death do us part.
#2 – Adam Levine
You know what they say about guys with tattoos…
P.S. – I do yoga.
#3 – Justin Timberlake
I’ve wracked my brain abs for a way to properly thank you for convincing me to finally bring sexy back. Are you enjoying my new album, The 20/20 Experience, which dropped March 19th? Oh wait, this isn’t about me. It’s about you. And how I plan to repay you…
Hugs and Harmonies (and more?),
#4 – Bacon
#5 – ?
That’s right, Chipmunks. Here’s your chance to nominate someone else, or throw your teeny, tiny, adorable hat in the ring. And take it from Jenn: I’m very open-minded…
Submit your 5th candidate ideas [in the comments section below] by NOON EST Wednesday, March 27th. Polls will open Thursday, March 28th at 6am EST!
I’m not sure you’ll recognize that today is special, when we shower you with gourmet, organic treats, long walks and hour-long massages. Or when we coo over and over again, ‘He’s a good man. That’s a good man. Who’s the best man?’
But it’s true!
Today’s your 3rd birthday!
Already you’ve been with us for 2 years, 9 months and 28 days. Now’s not the time to talk of my guilt over your silver-spooned upbringing, but rather to praise your genetic superiority and extremely reputable entry into this world thanks to your mother’s tireless research and your father’s stubborn allergies.
We named you after John Stamos’ character on Full House because we knew you were destined to be the cool one. And have great hair.
Here are just a few of the things we love about you, Uncle Jesse:
You fetch your Hot Pocket toy when we sing the jingle (“Ho-ot Pocket!”).
You dry your tongue on our pants after you take a drink.
You have access to your kibble all day, every day, and only eat it when we sit down to dinner; then you nosh lying down.
You help Dad tune the guitar when he gets to the 4th string, every time.
You learned how to do Full House-themed tricks at 9 1/2 weeks old.
(If people don’t believe the last two, they should play thE video!)
If you disapprove of someone’s petting methods, you lick them aggressively to correct the faux paw pas. They mistake this for affection. I’m sorry we blew up your spot, but you do it to us, too, you ungrateful bastard well-bred specimen.
Your legs are super long and your paws are incredibly fancy, especially when you tuck them under, or cross them just so.
You’re convinced the bedroom ceiling fan is possessed and/or omnipotent. If it’s been too quiet for too long, or something is otherwise amiss, we catch you staring at it dubiously.
I hope you enjoy this birthday tribute video I made especially for you:
Your doting and equally adorable mother
So what do you get for the Australian Labradoodle who has everything? Well, you can make like a Shel Silverstein tree, and give. Please join me in helping friend and fellow blogger, Valerie from Nikitaland:
Note: The ad below the Pledge for Pets button is not part of this post.
Which is not something I usually get to say. Trust me. I work as a project manager for a pharmaceutical company.
Monday traffic and meeting madness aside, things were looking pretty perky by 9am. Because by 9am, I was staring at someone’s boobs.
Let me back that thing up.
I was meeting a brand spanking (ahem) new colleague to explain how great the department was, what kinds of things she could work on, and the dress code what to expect in the coming months.
The woman was in her 30s, attractive and friendly. The conversation started in the usual way: “How long were you without power [because of Hurricane Sandy]?”
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something unusual. Something not quite right. No, no, it can’t be, I thought to myself. I let my eyes dart down.
Yup. Yup. Oh my god. Black. Lace. Push-up bra. Cleavage many would pay to see. I felt my ears turn as crimson as her blouse. Of all the buttons to pop when she sat down…
I had known this woman for five minutes. How could I tell her we’d already taken things to the next level? But could I make it through the rest of the meeting without saying something, and then hope she’d use the restroom? No, that was just cruel.
“I’m sorry I’d want someone to say something if it was me,” I blurted in one breath, “I think one of your buttons came undone.”
“Oh no, it’s just this shirt,” she said, swinging the droopy silk collar that dangled over her va-va-voom.
I said nothing and waited for her to look down.
“Oh jeez,” she cringed once she realized what I talking about, and quickly fastened the rogue button. She thanked me for telling her and carried on with her earlier point.
Just like that. I had to give her credit. A little while later, she bid goodbye,
“I’m off to meet with [Mr. Big Boss] now.”
“Great – it was wonderful meeting you!” I replied smoothly, wondering how disappointed the Big Boss would have been if he’d known what he missed out on.
Later that morning, I had time to giggle reflect. I gasped, remembering: This wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone’s bra at work!
My very first year on the job, a middle-aged woman I’d only just met grabbed me and pulled me into the ladies room.
“I need help! My bra!” she whispered, eyes wild.
I watched, stunned, as she freed one arm from her forest green turtleneck. I tried to figure out what was going on. Everything seemed normal. Except for all the parts that were totally fudged up.
I soon realized what she needed me to do. I reached down her shirt, grazing her moist, freckled back, fished out the dangling shoulder strap and re-hooked it to the front of her bra.
I left the bathroom in a daze. Twitter didn’t exist yet, so I saved the story for my sister-in-law-slash-coworker, who still fondly recalls Bra Lady.
You probably think this is the end of it. Oh-ho no. Peppermeister (Husband #1) read this draft post and reminded me of the crème de la crème.
A couple years ago, a coworker in her mid-30s returned from vacation in the Bahamas, eager to show me pictures from her trip. Call me crazy, but I’ve always been fond of vacation photos. Anything to escape the drab, gray cubicle walls.
I walked over to her desk and she pulled out a manila envelope.
“I hired someone to take these pictures while we were there,” she said, shy yet excited. “He said I could be a model.”
Each 8 x 10 photo featured her bikini-clad bod on the beach.
“You look amazing!” I gushed, admiring her toned figure.
She looked up and down the hall and then whispered, “I have to be careful about some of these.”
She flipped to the next few photographs.
And there she was.
It’s been two years, and I still don’t have the words.
Anyway. Today I’m bringing a wallet full of singles to work. Just in case.
Have you ever felt like a boob at work? Any good wardrobe malfunction stories?
***Hurricane Sandy Update: We finally got power back on Sunday night! My mood’s as boosted my coworkers’ chests! Thank you again for all of your well wishes! …Annnnd just kidding. Power went out again at 5am today (Tuesday).***
Something old: Well, not that old, but never you mind. Kate runs a very fun ‘Scribble Challenge’ on her blog. This weekly writing prompt encourages you to hush your inner critic because you’re on a time crunch – you only have 15 minutes. Let your creativity wander in whatever wacky and wonderful direction it chooses!
Something new: Kate’s blog design! Go ogle. Go compliment. It’s snazzy.
Something true: Kate’s a med school student, an avid reader and apparently a cartoonist. If she tells me she models in her spare time, I’m going to jump off a bridge. Look what she drew for me us! (Kate, please tell me where I can send you some complimentary ‘stache glasses and slap bracelets.)
After a year and a half of bloggy friendship and two NYC meet-ups, JM and I have officially crossed over. Get ready for raging jealousy: I met #5! The infamous, hilarious, bacon-loving #5! He showed me his fort!
In case you’re confused, JM numbered her stepkids 1-5; number 5 is the youngest, and only boy. He’s almost 10. (I was put to the test on Sunday night, trying to keep the names of 2 adults, 5 kids, 2 dogs and one AWESOME 1966 Mustang straight. I think I’ve got it.) I met nos. 1-4, too, and they were all sweet, social and funny. And seriously handy when it came to housework.
#5 (putting leftover steak in a large Ziploc bag and getting some ‘juice’ on the tablecloth): It’s okay. It only cost $12.
I can’t think of any stronger endorsement for JM than the truth: Thanks to this Freshly Pressed post, hers was one of the very first blogs I read and fell in love with. My best friend, Jenn, a talented writer herself, will tell you the same. JM’s not only a wonderful person, but an extremely gifted writer.
Nothing says ‘fun’ like Renee. (Exhibit A: Her winning ‘guilty pleasure gift basket giveaway’ entry.) I had the pleasure of talking to Renee on the phone for the first time recently, and we had so much to say, I killed her car! For reals. Her cell phone was plugged into her car and both batteries died.
But Renee’s internal battery never dies (eh? Like that?) – she’s full of positive energy and humor, just like her blog. If you’re not already reading, please head over there and say hello. I’m a huge fan of her direct (yet often poetic), funny and heartfelt writing, and she’s got something for everyone (that’s what she said).
And guess what? Even though Renee just had to splurge on a new car battery because of me, she still sent this!
Thanks, Renee! Too bad it’s just going to collect dust since everyone knows I don’t drink!
Editor’s Note: Your favorite blogger (ahem) did an ongoing slap bracelet giveaway this year, but the bracelets feature my old blog name, “GoGuiltyPleasures!”. For a full listing of all Slap Bracelet pictures and posts, please see my Slap Bracelets page.
Lily is a relatively new blogger and a fellow Jersey girl, and I could tell you how sweet, supportive and fun she is. I should do that. Right now. But you’re not going to believe me once you see how f&@#$% hot she is in one of my slap bracelets.
I should charge you to view these. But why don’t you pay Lily instead, in compliments (in the comments section below)?
Love & Lunchmeat is badass. There’s really no other way to put it. Both she and her blog are fresh and funny – as if you couldn’t tell by the name. She claims to have a favorite kid and has been skydiving, for starters.
She was also recently Freshly Pressed (i.e., featured on the homepage of WordPress.com)! And more importantly, Babs (my mom) likes her.
Here’s a sneak peek of what Love & Lunchmeat orchestrated all in the name of slap bracelets! Click the picture to see the rest. (I mean, the blog post title is “Because Bacon is Sexy.” C’mon.)
That Fun and Quirky Last Page of Every Magazine – Erin from Catstache
Her chipmunkitude so does not stop there. She’s a very talented photographer (I’m especially fond of these pictures), and she just, you know, gets me. I mean, she recently gave this Pot Head something to really geek out over.