Oh chipmunks. Do you remember those days when I used to give away slap bracelets, shake hands with babies, and make rainbows out of rain?
I miss those days.
But wait! Thanks to the Simon & Schuster publishing house, we’re getting old school up in here!
That’s right – another giveaway! I’ve cleared the cobwebs, opened the Franzia, and invite you all to vie for a chance to win a copy of…
“I Know What I’m Doing and Other Lies I Tell Myself” by Jen KirkMAN!
I don’t know why Simon & Schuster contacted me. Jen Kirkman is a hilarious, divorced, comedy writer with an empty refrigerator and flawless fashion sense.
Jen is also stand-up comedian, best-selling author, and occasional cradle robber. If you’ve seen her Netflix comedy special, I’m Gonna Die Alone (And I Feel Fine), you know this gal is the real deal.
I could give you a book synopsis, but I’d rather share my favorite quote:
“I looked at the second cheese board and lost my appetite. I was happy talking to Allison. I felt like myself again. I was happy. And when I’m happy I don’t abuse cheese. Cheese is a privilege.”
HOW TO ENTER
Simply leave a comment describing some of the worst advice you’ve ever given or been given (or observed being given). I’ll let the magnanimous Babs (mother extraordinaire) choose a winner, announced the week of May 1, 2016.
ENTER BY MIDNIGHT EST ON MY BIRTHDAY!!!! SATURDAY, APRIL 30, 2016 TO WIN!
P.S. – I’ve never stopped loving you. I’ve just been really busy. Reading this awesome book. And worrying about the apple slice I dropped between the driver’s seat and middle console of my car last week.
Byronic Man, no stranger to excellent stand-up comedy himself, went on to explain that Live wasn’t supposed to be an album, Notaro was just performing in a club at an open mic/showcase. A couple days earlier, she’d found out she had cancer in both breasts. “She just starts talking about it,” he told me. “It’s incredibly funny and raw and moving. There’s no polish – she repeats herself, there’s long pauses, she tries to change the subject. It’s like what humor can be in the darkest of times.”
As soon as I heard her voice, I recognized it. Notaro first appeared on the scene in Last Comic Standing in 2006. Since then, she’s been everywhere from late night talk shows to The Office to the stand-up circuit. She’s like the female James Rebhorn of comedy. You know. “That guy/gal! In, like, every movie I’ve ever seen! …What’s his/her name?” She’s also got Louis C.K. on her side – he’s the one who pushed to turn the Live show into an album.
What made Live so powerful wasn’t just the complete and utter sincerity. It’s what Notaro infers when she says she just can’t bring herself to tell the old jokes. Or even the ones she prepared for that night.
“It’s weird because with humor, the equation is tragedy plus time equals comedy,” Notaro says early on, with a sardonic edge. “I…am…just at tragedy. Right now.”
Reality had taken over, and she just needed to speak from the heart. No filter. And guess what? It was still one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard. In fact, it was this very ‘in the moment’ quality that made it so. So much of the comedy we see is rehearsed, the timing perfected.
“It’s okay,” she lightly reassures an audience member who’s nearly in tears on Notaro’s behalf. “It’s going to be okay. It might not be okay. But I’m just saying. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
At the risk of demeaning Notaro’s very heartbreaking situation and profound performance, I think what happened to her that night happens to every comedian, or every person for that matter. There comes a day when the old methods don’t work. But often times, very unlike Notaro, we’re too scared to try new ones.
On a far more superficial level, when I changed the name of this blog from GoGuiltyPleasures! to Go Jules Go last year, I was preparing for a broader bloggy life. Humorous writing beyond my love of guilty pleasures. I never thought I’d get tired of chipmunks or ‘stache glasses. And I promise, on many levels, I never will. But sometimes it’s really, really hard to tell the old jokes.
So while, in my lucky, privileged world, I occasionally push the boundaries of this little blog that changed my life, I really hope you’ll take thirty minutes to listen to Live. You know. If you think you’re ready for it.
Bloggers: Do you ever feel like you’re ‘faking it’ on your blog? Bloggers/All: Who are your favorite comedians and why?
Cherubic chipmunks, today is the most magical day ever. It’s:
What, you mean you don’t always make a wish every time the clock hits 11:11? And your favorite actor‘s birthday isn’t today? …Hmm. Okay. If you don’t think today is special, maybe we should talk about other special things. Things for which you will not be able to deny their specialness.
On this most bewitching day, I’d like to introduce you to [some of] the people I hold nearest and dearest. Also known as…
Babs is the Mommasita extraordinaire. She taught me everything I know about guilty pleasures, namely, how to harmlessly stalk celebrities. Babs also showed me the way around a Long Island Iced Tea (or seven) and how to write a proper greeting card. Sometimes I don’t even know why I bothered with school.
Babs is special because she agreed to have a third child when she only wanted two. Also because she makes people feel good just by being around, and she doesn’t even know it.
My hubster, the one and only Peppermeister, taught me how to embrace guilty pleasures that I might have otherwise been too embarassed to share (er, like this one). He’s also the person who convinced me to start a blog, and is there any greater guilty pleasure than blogging about guilty pleasures (as I’ve mentioned before, it’s like trying to stare at the sun)?
Peppermeister is special because he once told a college english class -before we were dating- that I was “appropriately feminine.” Also because he’s the funniest, most selfless person I’ve ever met.
My Big Sis (actually, not-so-big – homegirl has lost almost 100 lbs. in the past year!) knows a thing or two about guilty pleasures. What she does with Pilsbury crescent rolls could blow your mind. She’s an inspiration!
Bee-atch is special because she lets me live vicariously through her dating life and is super-fun when she’s drunk. Also because she’s the only person I know who can dish it out as well as she can take it.
Some of you know Bestie, a.k.a. Jenn, from our stellar interview on JM Randolph’s blog. More than 11 years ago, Bestie rescued me from the depths of bad poetry despair and told me to have some g.d. fun! From animals dressed as other animals to vodka to hilarious Hallmark cards, she gets it.
Bestie is special because she thinks it’s funny when I’m angry. Also because she’s one of the smartest, most talented chicks on the planet. (Let’s see if I can convince her to introduce her music to the blogosphere…)
SIL (sister-in-law) helped me write an entire blog post, and in fact it’s one of the most popular to this day. If that isn’t guilty pleasure inspiration, I don’t know what is!
SIL is special because she remembers more things about my life than I do. Also because she welcomes people into her heart and home even when they’re trying to secretly date her only sibling.
Duh! You are totally special, too! I mean for starters, you have impeccable taste. You are also overwhelmingly attractive, and that counts for a lot everything.
You are special because you knew me when I was just an awesome blogger. Also because you take the time out of your busy day to encourage your fellow writers.
P.S. – If you’d like to repay me for all the compliments, please email me the secret(s) to levitation.
I was raised 20 miles southwest of New York City, in a suburban New Jersey town where today city commuters still reign supreme and real estate is precious. I grew up thinking anyone with more than half an acre of land was a millionaire. Or crazy. I hated country music, horseback riding and wide open spaces. At 20, I transferred to college in Manhattan and became one of those commuters myself. I was sure I’d grow up to be an urban-dwelling writer/cat lady. Gladly so.
Now look at me. 29. Married. Project Manager. Labradoodle. Barn.
I have a barn. What the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is a girl like me supposed to do with a barn? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately from a guilty pleasure perspective (duh, what other perspective is there?) and I have some ideas. I’m not dead-set on any, so I’d really appreciate your suggestions. (I know how creative you are when you’re supposed to be doing boring serious things. ;))
There’s the obvious:
Animals Dressed as Other Animals: An Aww-Inspiring Exhibit.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?