Tag: comedy

Marriage, Uncategorized

Royally Screwed

Go Jules Go
"Just keep smiling, Crumpet, or the Queen will poison you."

There ain’t no guilty pleasure party like a guilty pleasure party ensconced in quail eggs and corsets. But is marrying a prince really all it’s cracked up to be? If only I could get Kate Middleton in a room for five minutes.

"I am so very glad we're not the real royals. You should have seen the bong rip I just took in my trailer."

Kate, is the recently-aired Lifetime movie “William & Kate” remotely accurate, especially the part where you jump out of the row boat and swim up to meet William, who has finally come to beg your forgiveness for being such a whorish d-bag?

Is it true the Windsors take the phrase ‘stiff upper lip’ so seriously that you were not permitted to move your top lip while speaking to ITV News about your engagement, or did you suffer a minor stress stroke that day?

Why did you invite the convenience store owners from your home town of Bucklebury to your wedding? Don’t you already get free Cadburys and crisps just by being the future queen of England? And won’t you get crumbs on the throne?

Could you please settle a debate and confirm for my husband that the monarchy still carries great influence, and though it might not seem like it, you will be the direct link to the passing of the law that allows same-sex marriage?

My ivory tower.

How many royal jewels and/or hats are you permitted to wear at any given time, and can I have the ones you’re not using?

Is realizing you’re going to live in Buckingham Palace like realizing you’re going to live in a bi-level with a spiral staircase? If so, then I can totally relate.

100% Pure Inspiration.

What was your initial reaction to seeing this coin? Would you be impressed if I told you I have not one, but two draft blogs inspired by it? How many of these things would it take to hire a hitman to kill the guy who designed it?

…Because of the nature of [and likely answers to] these questions, along with many other reasons (e.g., curtseying, caviar, polo and having to find a tactful way to tell the queen piss off), I’ve come to conclude that I feel very sorry for Kate Middleton. She’s gone from Waity Katie to just plain screwed.

Project Management, Uncategorized

Change Mismanagement

Go Jules Go

Change management, much like project management, is big these days. With companies going under or being bought by other companies, a lot of people feel like they’re up a creek without a paddle. Or, they’re not sure if they’re even in a creek, but they have a paddle and they’re using it to hit themselves over the head.

To see if you work in a place of constant churn, ask yourself if you’ve heard any of these things in the last week (also I encourage you to play B.S. Bingo at your next meeting):

“It’s like the blind leading the blind.”

“Well I can tell you how we USED to do things.”

“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m your new boss.”

“Hold off on that until we know more.”

That’s what I thought. Well, I’m here to help you. I’m here to share what I learned recently in change management training (by the way, there’s good money to be made in this field, if you don’t mind tears, hysteria and people being escorted from buildings by security).

Change Management training tells you the following:

People Are Like Sponges.

Everyone Has A Maximum Saturation Point.

Some People Reject Change Passively, Others Let You Know How They Feel About It.

Some People Simply Cannot Accept Change.

If you’re dealing with the last issue, there seems to be only one solution. And that solution is something I learned a long time ago from despair.com, so we might have all just wasted our time here. I’m sorry. I’ll let us both get back to Googling “how to find Darren Criss‘s cell phone number” now.

Uncategorized

Straight Men Click Here and I’ll Make It Worth Your While

Go Jules Go

I worry, sexy hetero men, that I may have alienated you with my proclamations of, “Let Your Gleek Flag Fly!” and “I saw Daniel Radcliffe’s Naughty Bits!”

I never meant to shun you, studly man muffins. Look, I even wrote a post about farts just for you. Here’s one where I talk about the crazy stuff people have said to me. I know you’ll like that one.

I can be brunette, too. Baby, I can be anything you want me to be.

Don’t make me think about how I always lose the “who’s funnier, men or women?” argument with my husband (I see no reason why this has to happen, just because he is, in fact, funnier than me), or that you will only ever like male singers, male comedians, and male talk show hosts.

You should know that my favorite authors are predominantly male (Bill Bryson), if not straight (David Sedaris, Augusten Burroughs), and I think that you look very cute in your mismatched socks and 5 o’clock shadow.

Remind yourself that so many guilty pleasures are universal, as is exceptional writing.

I am open to your suggestions, Beefcakes, so please let me know what you’d like to see on this blog. I normally wouldn’t put any restrictions on this invitation, but just remember that I’m trying to get Freshly Pressed (i.e., on the home page of wordpress.com), and for some strange reason they don’t seem to support nudity, nor does my husband.

Toodle-loo, boys.

Booze, Lists

The #1 Reason I Own A Monogrammed Flask…And It’s All Your Fault

Go Jules Go

The Good Greatsby‘s post about children’s birthday parties inspired me to write this latest post about my favorite possession, my monogrammed flask. I’m sure you can understand the thought progression [from ‘crying, screaming, cake-smeared child’ to ‘clandestine alcohol consumption’], so I won’t bore you with the obvious.

Kept in its original box when not in use.

As you can see, it’s a first-rate flask, its single flaw being that it is much too small. It was given to me by perhaps the only person in this world who really gets me, the lovely woman who for three years I was fortunate enough to call my Work Wife (sadly, she has moved on to greener pastures, and I find I need the flask just that much more). I dedicate this post to her, and all the things we share in common (including, but not limited to, a deep understanding and appreciation of Michael Bublé lyrics and someecards.com).

I’d like to say that that leads nicely into the #1 reason I need a flask: Work. But, I should be clear in that I’ve yet to find the nerve to bring a flask to work, and somehow just barely manage to make it through the front door each week day before letting my Grey Goose loose.

No, remarkably, it’s not work.

The #1 Reason I Own a Monogrammed Flask is:

Your Showers (Baby or Bridal and dear god don’t tell me there’s any other kind).

I don’t even know where to start, but I do know the rest of this post is going to write itself.

If I have to play Bridal Bingo or see an infant clothesline one more time, I’m going Into the Wild. Women Lose. Their. Minds. at these things. The little prizes from the dollar store might as well be Robert Pattinson‘s used napkin. It’s like being in Oprah‘s audience, except the most any of us are going home with is a hydrangea-scented memo pad (and, in my case, a migraine).

Don’t even get me started on those women who write recite a touching poem that no one can hear over the continuous cries of alleged Bingo, or the ones who are utterly convinced that they’re the first person in the world to think of melting chocolate in a diaper. And if you’re one of the women who encourages these other types (“Oh, Betsy, you are SO creative!”), you’re on my Poop List, too.

The worst is when I’m put at a table full of strangers whose fanatical expressions remind me that there is absolutely no chance of finding a like-minded soul at this shindig, and also that I must be evil (and may in fact not even have a soul, despite my willingness to wear pastel and a convincing grin), because look at how much fun everyone else is genuinely having. My only saving grace is that I’m sitting close enough to the restroom to make a quick getaway (or seven). Bottoms up, you delusional tulle junkies.

Games and poetry of any kind were banned from my bridal shower, but I still lose sleep at night thinking about how I put those nearest and dearest to me through this cursed ordeal.

It is unforgivable, but at least we’re even now.

Guilty Flavor of the Week, Music, Uncategorized

Introducing…Guilty Flavor of the Week!

Go Jules Go

I’m feeling a bit down, and I think I just figured out the reason: Reruns! One look at my DVR and you’ll feel as empty as we both do.

It’s time we both focus on the positive things the Guilty Pleasure Gods have to offer this month: 1) Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part 1) is available on DVD beginning April 15th, 2) “The Warblers” CD drops April 19th, 3) Water for Elephants is coming to theaters on April 22nd,

…AND…

4) GOGP‘s Guilty Flavor of the Week Starts RIGHT NOW!

My amazing new blog feature!

You’re going to love it!!

It’s almost as great as when he/she said he/she’d marry you!!!

And it’s so much better than when all one/two/three/seven of your kids were born!!!!

This week’s Guilty Flavor of the Week honor goes to:

VOYEURISM!


…just kidding (sort of)…

BRUNO MARS!

I swore I wouldn’t fall in love with “Grenade,” but I. Just. Can’t. Help. It.  Enjoy (I double dog dare you not to)!!!

Marriage, Uncategorized

My Engagement Story is Better Than Your Engagement Story

Go Jules Go
"I know. It WAS better than yours!"

I like to think of myself as Old Money. Not because I have, or have ever had, any sort of real money, I just think if I did, I wouldn’t brag about it. I wouldn’t buy a McMansion on Millionaire Row and send my kids to ivy-covered prep schools, and I definitely wouldn’t drive a BMW. (I would buy a real mansion on secluded acreage, send my kids to boarding school, and have a chauffeur.)

What I’m trying to say is, I know I shouldn’t brag about my engagement. It’s just that, well, I’m so POSITIVE it’s better than yours (and am excited to read your comments to this effect), that it seems like I owe it to you to tell you that you can stop trying now. You’re welcome.

Four years ago, I said to my boyfriend something like, “My entire sense of self-worth is riding on how you propose, so I really need you to pull out all the stops.”

Unbeknownst to me, he took my words to heart and began plotting. When we flew to Las Vegas for my 25th birthday, he already had the whole thing planned. We arrived the day before my birthday, and on the morning of April 30, 2007, I couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t let his decrepit-yet-metrosexual shoulder bag out of his sight. I started to become suspicious, but when he took a shower and I poked around, no ring was to be found.

I tried not to sound disappointed when he gave me a toothbrush as a gift. I’m very passionate about dental hygiene, so it was quite a thoughtful token.

I won some money on the slots and we went to the Paris restaurant for dinner. Things were looking up. We were excited to go see Amazing Johnathan perform at the Sahara. I’d been wanting to see him live for FOREVER.

When we arrived at the Sahara, my boyfriend made a big to-do about going to get our tickets, and someone ushered me straight to the front of the theater as if they knew me. The suspicion returned.

The show began and, to my horror, my boyfriend started texting.

“Who are you texting!?” I hissed, reminding him through my narrowed eyes that not only were we two feet from the stage, but also that I knew how to make his life miserable because only one of us could cry on command.

He put his phone away and Amazing Johnathan asked if there were any volunteers in the audience whose name began with “E.” My boyfriend, Ed, raised his hand and was selected to go on stage. Amazing Johnathan asked if Ed was with anyone, and he replied,

“Yes, my girlfriend, Julie.”

This is it, I thought, and smiled. As I gracefully walked on stage, I can assure you that I was not shaking in the slightest (because that would be the normal reaction, and I was clearly far from normal, living out the most outstanding engagement story that was or ever would be told). Amazing Johnathan asked me to put my hand on an orange while he cut around it. It would have been an embarrassingly unfunny trick -for both of us- except that when he opened the orange, there was indeed a diamond ring inside! It looked so sparkly…and sticky.

“Do you know what that is?” Amazing Johnathan said, rather dumbly if you ask me, because we all knew why we were there, and Ed got down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?” Ed asked, and I tried to think of something interesting to say. Why had I not been rehearsing this for the last 25 years?

“I suppose,” I replied, sure my wit would go unappreciated.

Amazing Johnathan congratulated me and then kissed me on the lips while everyone howled. Well, at least I can be the vehicle for someone else’s applause, I thought graciously.

For some reason, Amazing Johnathan decided to continue with his show after that, while I spent the remainder of the night grinning and cleaning orange pulp out of my new accessory.

Four years later, I’ve yet to hear a better engagement story, but if I do, I’m willing to give you my ring. I can’t wear it. It makes me break out.