After about two and a half years on the couch, including a brief affair with hypnotherapy, I was released.
But Go Jules Go, you’re probably thinking. You? Therapy? How can this be? Is it the chipmunk thing? ‘Cause that’s been making me kind of uncomfortable for a long time now.
It’s true, friends. This hilarious, blonde bombshell you see before you has some clumps in her mascara.
At first I felt uneasy being set free. Who would I talk to? And then I remembered you!
The thing that made me realize my therapist was right, that I was indeed ready to stand on my own two, massive, massive, size 11 feet, was the fact that I had made friends with my demons. I’d invited them onto that couch with me, and instead of trying to suffocate them with one of my therapist’s oversized pillows, we started chatting.
The one demon in particular who led me to therapy was an old friend frenemy. FOOD.
Every moment in my personal history, a history rich with love, laughter, beautiful sights and broken hearts, is colored by whatever I happened to weigh at that time. Give me any year back to 1991, when I was 9 years old, and I can probably provide an exact number – and exactly how I felt about that number.
During my first couple of years in therapy, I thought I could fix whatever the hell was wrong with me. I knew food was a merely symptom, but for goddsakes, I was in my mid-30s now, surely time to turn a corner here. Then I realized: My issues were never going away, least of all this one.
And that’s what has made all the difference.
My issues and I can sit side by side in this life, sometimes in companionable silence, other times in a raging battle, and everything is going to be O-KAY. It’s how I relate to them, how I deal with them moment to moment, that really matters. Why not pull my darkest parts into the light where I can admire and understand every ugly lovely inch of them? They are part of me, after all.
Besides, if I’m going to fret over anything, it should be the fact that Darren Criss STILL hasn’t called me back.
“I remember how panicked I was when I first came here,” I said to my therapist on our second to last visit, gazing between her cluttered desk and oversized necklace. “It’s not that my issues have gone away. It’s just that I feel so much differently about them. So much calmer.”
She nodded. “Does that feel like progress?”
“If that’s not progress, I don’t know what is,” I replied.
So now that I’ve invited my favorite frenemy over to spend some quality time, I’ve decided (s)he needs a name.
I’m thinking Osama binge Laden. Yes? No?
Any other frenemies out there you’d like to introduce?
The day everyone showers me with attention, compliments, and permission to drink at 9 AM I announce the winner of my latest giveaway!
For this contest, I asked you to (pretty please) leave a comment describing your ideal birthday, with bonus points awarded for mentioning chipmunks. This particular commenter nailed it. I love word-y puns almost as much as I love sneaking “water” into the movies.
And thus, the winner of Last Week Tonight with John Oliver’s “A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo” is…
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!
So, I maybe had a little too much to drink the other night, and started having an imaginary conversation with Second Husband, Darren Criss (of “Glee” fame). This is that conversation.
Honestly, I’m surprised this doesn’t happen more often.
GO JULES GO: I love you so much. I don’t even care if that makes you uncomfortable.
SECOND HUSBAND: Um…
GO JULES GO: It’s funny you say that. When I was about to molest First Husband, he had a similar reaction.
SECOND HUSBAND: Um…
GO JULES GO: Yes! Exactly like that. I was all, “Do you think I’m pretty?” and he was all, “Um…” and I was like, “How would you feel if I did something stupid right now?” and he was like, “Um…” and then I attacked him.
SECOND HUSBAND: Guest…post? Is that like when you fill in for someone on security duty?
GO JULES GO: Ha ha! There is so much I can teach you, Second Husband! Let us start with the rules of plural marriage.
SECOND HUSBAND: I don’t like where this is going.
GO JULES GO: Oh, don’t be coy. You know I saved the best for last.
SECOND HUSBAND: So you’re stopping at two husbands? How am I supposed to believe that?
GO JULES GO: Well, if you’d just grow a handlebar mustache I’d feel a lot better about making this official.
SECOND HUSBAND: I would rock the shiz out of a handlebar mustache.
GO JULES GO: I know you would. And you just said shiz.
SECOND HUSBAND: So?
GO JULES GO: So I love you.
Who are you having imaginary conversations with?
***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, the deadline is THIS WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6th. 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.***
I feel guilty about the lack of pleasures on this blog as of late. Because of personal and professional duties doodies, I haven’t been able to post as regularly as I would like. (Either that will change soon, or I will go Britney Spears circa 2007 on ya’ll.)
I hear your cries. I know. It’s unacceptable. So, to get you through to the next post, I give you your very own…
Guilty Pleasure Survival Kit!
Indulge in these items, and it’ll be like I’m right there with you (hopefully in a slightly uncomfortable way…I love that shirt on you).
1.) More ME
If you haven’t seen my last cinematic masterpiece in celebration of my 1-year blogiversary, you’re dead to me. Watch it! You’ll love it! Critics are calling it, “Um, who are you?” “The best thing since your video before that.” When you’re done watching, check out my archive over there —–>. 132 thought-provoking posts.
2.) Tube Schmoob
I’ll be honest. There are a couple of free hours at night where I could be writing, but vodka and American Idol always wins. (Although, let’s remember this is technically research for me.) Be a boob tube schmoob with me and check out some of my new favorite shows:
If you love Glee and American Idol like your favorite guilty pleasure blogger, you’ve got to give NBC’s new Katherine McPhee-a-palooza a shot. Let’s just forget about Nick Jonas’s guest appearance last week. Suspend your disbelief a little longer.
Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant have done it again with this HBO winner starring little person, Warwick Davis. It was touch-and-go for the first episode, but bringing Johnny Depp into episode #2? Genius. Davis’s assistant is also not to be missed.
3.) Second Husband Croaks!
My beautiful Second Husband, Darren Criss, got to perform with Kermit the Frog for E’s Oscar pre-show last weekend! They sang Rainbow Connection and the result was magical. You can watch the video here.
4.) Tried-and-True Food/Beverage Combos
I have graciously road-tested the following food combinations for you over the past two weeks. You can enjoy knowing they have the GOGP stamp of approval.
cherry peppers on pizza
chocolate chips mixed into cupcake batter
refried beans and bacon
vodka and Simply grapefruit juice
As a reminder, please indulge recklessly, and whatever you do, DON’T:
use the following words or phrases in casual conversation (and maybe don’t use them ever):
Yesterday Babs and I headed into Manhattan to see Second Husband, Darren Criss, in his Broadway debut: “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.” To say I was looking forward to this day is like saying a Friendly’s Reese’s peanut butter cup sundae is ‘just okay.’ After weeks of preparing my Why Polygamy is the Right Choice For You presentation for Second Husband, the day had finally arrived.
I laid out my outfit. The guilty pleasure gods blessed me with an unseasonably warm, sunny Saturday, and I didn’t even need the gloves and jacket vest!
I took extra care doing my make-up, and debated waterproof vs. regular mascara. Would seeing Second Husband in the flesh reduce me to tears?
I then consulted Babs and put my hair in her favorite style.
Feeling spiffy, we headed in on the 2:42 train, with the goal of getting to the “How to Succeed” stage door by 4pm. This way, we could hopefully score an autograph from Second Husband after the 2pm matinée performance.
Once at the Al Hirschfeld theater stage door, we secured a decent spot on line, right against a barricade.
I chatted up the adorable girl next to me, Christie. She had seen the play the night before, and had come back to try to meet Darren. I told her I only had the Warblers CD for him to sign, and she gave me an extra Playbill! I was thrilled to reciprocate with the latest and greatest in cutting-edge fashion, a GoGuiltyPleasures slap bracelet.
We waited about 45 minutes, and the crowd thickened. Babs and I met another lovely mother-daughter duo, Anne and Molly, who definitely helped the time pass pleasantly. After quickly assessing their chipmunkitude, I covered them in slap bracelets. Interest in my bracelets grew, but I was running out. I had to save one for Second Husband, after all!
Beau Bridges and the female lead, Rose Hemingway, came out to sign autographs. They both graciously acknowledged my “Thank you SO much!” with sweet smiles and eye contact, solidifying my hunch that I could win Second Husband over as easily with my overdone undeniable charm.
An hour and a half into the wait, I started to get restless, especially because I was late meeting the glorious JM Randolph (of Accidental Stepmom fame) and her husband for dinner. I kept her updated with texts: “Sooo sorry! He’s still not out yet!” She was very understanding. It was Second Husband.
After two hours, my feet were starting to feel the burn and I was ready to do this thing. The jokester security guard suddenly said, “We’re shutting it down!” I thought he was kidding, but watched in disbelief as he started removing all of the barricades. “The cops are shutting it down,” he explained. “There are too many people on the sidewalk.”
Sure, there were probably about 150 of us waiting in a line down the sidewalk, but, but, but… c’mon!! Everyone was being very patient and calm. Sigh. No Second Husband, and me with extra room in my heart.
I may not have gotten to meet Second Husband, but I DID get to meet the gorgeous and charming JM Randolph and her HILARIOUS hub. We missed having dinner with them because they had to get back to work, but we had a nice chat and will hopefully get to cash in on a rain check soon.
Babs and I, starving, and more importantly, libation-less, headed down the block to 45th and 9th Ave. to try our luck at Justin Timberlake’s restaurant, Southern Hospitality (he might not be bringing sexy back, but I guess bringing baby back ribs will do for now). The wait time was 45 minutes, but the cute host caught a glimpse of my Playbill, and after I shared the details of my autograph fail, he told us we could eat in the downstairs lounge/bar, if we didn’t mind. We didn’t! We got to eat and drink on a luxurious leather couch, the service was quick (key when you have an 8 o’clock curtain) and the food was very good. The lounge was quickly overrun with twenty-somethings, and suddenly a guy walked in and the group whooped and hollered. We realized we were in the middle of a surprise party. Er….surprise!! We got the check and skidattled.
Everywhere we went, we heard the name ‘Darren Criss.’ New York City seemed to have traded in its cool indifference for superfandom. (I fit right in.) Back at the theater, we made our way to our right orchestra aisle seats and I spotted lots of folks from Darren’s theater company, StarKid.
When Darren descended from the ceiling as a window washer in the opening scene, the crowd went berserk. His StarKid friends/college mates were ecstatic. They grinned wildly and pointed to each other – their friend! On Broadway! It was a treat to witness.
Darren’s performance was hilarious, captivating and exuberant. (I’m being as objective as I can, I swear.) His enthusiasm, combined with the audience’s energy, made the two and a half hour show fly by. (If you read my lukewarm post about seeing the very same play back in April, when Daniel Radcliffe was the star, you know that I’m not always as easily won over.) Darren made the performance seem effortless, the way only great actors can. To think he only had two weeks to rehearse! And yeah, he looked drop-dead, too!
I should mention there’s a whole ‘fight song’ about a rivalry with a school whose mascot is a chipmunk. A chipmunk! I heard Second Husband say chipmunk!!! Babs nudged me so hard I almost landed at the peep show next door.
We didn’t have the stamina to try to get an autograph after the show, since we weren’t sure Darren would come out (he did…double sigh), but we made the 11:11 train, which was a miracle in and of itself. I lose at least two pounds every time I go into the city. (To see some great pictures of Darren from January 7th that Babs DIDN’T take, click here.)
The night ended with a text from Peppermeister: “How was it? Am I still your ONLY husband?”