I love love. Even as a teenager with braces, extra chins and a permanent seat at the ‘Geek Table,’ I couldn’t get enough of Valentine’s Day. While others lucky enough to have a valentine would grumble and groan about the commercial nature of the holiday, I couldn’t find a single reason not to embrace a day that celebrated love. Not just romantic love, but love for family and friends, too.
It’s far from February, but there are lots of lovey dovey vibes out there this weekend that were just too wonderful not to share with you sweet little chipmunks.
There are so many things I love about The Byronic Man’s latest post – I’m sure you’ll understand as soon as you read it.
My cousin recently shared this fantastic video on YouTube (Fran & Marlo Cowan, married 62 years, playing an impromptu recital together in the atrium of the Mayo Clinic):
And for some real guilty pleasure love, I discovered this weekend that Second Husband participated in a Funny or Die LOLCat skit (as the voice of Leopold in “Life of Leopold”). You can watch it here. …Sigh. Isn’t he so smart and funny and dreamy, even (especially?) with whiskers?
There are a lot of really compelling, totally unbiased reasons you should fall in love with my dog, Uncle Jesse (yes, that’s right, we named him after a “Full House” character, ’cause we’re cool like that).
For one thing, have you ever seen a grown, otherwise sassy and able-bodied dog eat lying down?
Did I mention he comes over and gives our feet/legs a lick of thanks every time he has a solid drink of water or a satisfying dose of kibs?
Uncle Jesse even looks pathetic-cute after rolling in disgusting things out-of-doors (and getting an immediate bath):
Have mercy for REALSIES.
If Uncle Jesse’s looks and eating habits haven’t won you over, perhaps his mind-control abilities will. When he has to go outside, he simply stands in front of you and stares.
If that doesn’t work, he gets closer.
And then…
Okay, still not smitten? Well, there’s one more test to see if your heart actually works. When I was a Hurricane Irene refugee at my parents’ house, Peppermeister and Uncle J put on this stunning performance:
Hi cutie-patootie critters! You’re probably gonna want to play this while you read:
There is definitely something in the air today. Fridays usually bring out a certain level of giddiness, it’s true, but today takes the [ooey, gooey, chocolate-filled, cream cheese icing-topped, chipmunk-decorated] cake.
And now, I leave you with a fact that’s never before wormed its way into this blog: Ten years ago (!!), I met The Peppermeister while working at a special needs elementary school. We plan to leverage our combined awesomeness expertise, and barn, into an enchanting special ed summer camp within the next year or two (for realsies). Anyhoo, “Shake Your Sillies Out” was the best song I learned in those two years working at the school. Maybe the best song I’ve ever learned, well, period. What’s your favorite silly song? (Doesn’t have to be a kid song. I’m sure you guys remember this one from Ace of Base.)
P.S. – Why, yes, yes I did actually shake my sillies out before posting this. So enthusiastically that I forgot I let the dog out (…crud, don’t tell Peppermeister).
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.
WTF.
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:
Vodka Distillery.
Animals Dressed as Other Animals: An Aww-Inspiring Exhibit.
Sexy Secret Hiding Place for Second Husband, Darren Criss.
And the slightly less obvious:
Clubhouse for My Very First Cult. (Alert: Currently recruiting. Must love deep-fried Oreos and puppies. Serious inquiries only.)
Storage Room for guillotine, life-sized Twilight dolls, barrels of wine, aged cheeses and fireworks*.
Goat. You know. Maybe. Like one cute, little goat. And some chickens. Just 1 or 2 or 50. And the goat probably needs a friend, now that I think about it.
Admit it. You want some g.d. extraordinary chickens, too. (Side note: My bestie actually bought this calendar for someone once.) Photo credit: bumblebeeblog.com
*This might sound more impressive if you knew fireworks were illegal [for residents to own/set off] in New Jersey. …No? Still not impressed? Did you see that chicken?
What about THESE chickens? Boo-ya. Photo credit: mytakeonlife.com
"Hey guys and gals, it's time to ditch this lame-ass scene!" Photo credit: stuff-and-nonsense.net
Are you tired of sleeping under the stars, of being totally at one with nature? Are you feeling a little too granola-y after a night on the ground? Or perhaps you have a few thousand dollars you don’t know what to do with? Well, have I ever got the answer for you!
Glamorous + Camping = GLAMPING!!!
Yeah, that’s right! 5 star wilderness retreats! A real bed! Plumbing! Classy meals! A butler! …Wait, you’re thinking, this sounds kind of like staying at an actual hotel. Nay, friends. Look, you’re still kind of in a tent:
Photo credit: Trendhunter
And you’re still kind of in nature:
Photo credit: goglamourcamping.com
And there are still meals around the fire…kind of:
Photo credit: pawsup.com
You didn’t really want to chop your own firewood and roast your own marshmallows anyway, did you?
For anything ranging from (cough, choke, sputter) $200-$2,000 a night (…per person…) one of these glamorous tents could be your own. The glamping trend is rapidly catching amongst the conflicted elite, and you can now find glamping resorts on nearly every continent.
So, what do you think? Are you having the maid tell your assistant to call your travel agent to book your trip right now?
P.S. – Okay, you caught me. I’d totally go glamping if I didn’t have to pay for it. (Especially here.)
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?
I'm pretty sure he came back as a poltergeist. No rattling chains -yet- but why else can't I make it out of the ladies room without a wet-sink-stripe across my thighs?
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.
I’ve named every car I’ve ever had. My first car, a hand-me-down maroon 1987 Crystler Le Baron was The Toaster. Because, well, it felt like you were riding in a little tin toaster. I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for The Toaster. Not just ’cause she was my first, but because she was healthy as a horse until her dying day, when she just wouldn’t start. True to guilty pleasure form, I even adorned her dash with 5 hunky passengers who always seemed to agree with me:
I was so sad when The Toaster went bye, bye, bye.
My second car, another hand-me-down, was a silver 1991 Geo Prism named Toasty. Toasty was a love child of The Toaster, and took after her in many toaster-y ways. This isn’t Toasty, but she looked a lot like this:
Photo credit: cargurus.com
I named my last car, a shiny new, baby blue 2005 VW Beetle convertible, Nudge, because anytime you left the door open or didn’t have your seatbelt on, she’d let you know about it in the most obnoxious way possible:
I know. I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie wo-orld...
Two years ago, I sold Nudge, knowing it was time to buy a 4-door, grown-up car that I could actually see out of (Nudge sure was cute, but the visibility? Yeesh). I had to emotionally check out, knowing it was unlikely my next new-to-me car was going to make me smile on sight. I paid cash for my current car, a used blue 2006 Hyundai Sonata. The Sonata’s been very good to me, and I’m starting to feel guilty for not naming her.
A Hyundai by any other name...would still smell like a homeless person.
Ineed your help. Write-ins are MOST appreciated (please be sure to comment below for any write-ins; the poll ones don’t seem to appear!), otherwise, I’ve created a poll where you can vote below! Before doing so, though, here’s a few things you should know about the Sonata:
She has over 100,000 miles on her
When I say she’s blue, I mean she’s more of a garish, turquoise-y blue
She reeked of cigarette smoke when I bought her
When I turn on the vents, it smells like a homeless person for a few minutes
Her trunk is huge, and, it’s full of crap (so, you know, she has junk in her trunk)
According to the CarFax report, she was in not 1, not 2, but 3 accidents before I inherited her
Do you have those people in your life who can get your Giggle Meter skyrocketing with just one look? I sure hope so. Girl on the Contrary’s hilarious post about a recent elevator trip had me reminiscing about all those times I’ve laughed inappropriately. Like this:
For me, I think it all started with one of my very first best friends, a sporty, feisty girl I met in nursery school at the local YMCA. Everything was funny to her – even getting in trouble. We used to play a made-up game where we’d blindfold each other and then feed the blindfolded person something and make them guess what it was. She will never let me live down the time I gave her a spoonful of bacon grease from the coffee can my dad used to pour it into. I could barely hold the spoon still; suppressed laughter had me shaking from head to toe.
Luckily, since then, my nursery school pal and I have had many more giggle-fests that were mutual. Other fits have been dangerous. Being in your late twenties and losing control in a business meeting, for example, is like taking your livelihood into your own hands. The more inappropriate it is to laugh, the harder it always seems not to, right? Last year, I was running a meeting where the focus was on electronic solutions for our current work. I had a few people in the room and the rest were attending virtually. The I.T. rep must have spiked her coffee that afternoon, because she just started laughing uncontrollably whenever anyone would ask a question. She was already two baby steps away from the place with the padded walls, and lack of sleep had apparently done her in. Every time I tried to rescue her and get things back on track, she’d look at me, red-faced, tears streaming down her face, and get me going, too. I’m not exaggerating when I say this went on for 5 minutes. No, I don’t know why I’m still employed. I guess it could have been worse:
Usually I have at least one episode whenever I’m with Babs. It’s kind of like the guarantee you get when you go to Friendly’s – service with a smile, or the meal’s on them. There are a thousand of these times I can’t remember, but they often start with me teasing Babs while we’re out shopping. I do so with a loving heart, to make sure she never starts wearing mom jeans or those puff-painted sweatshirts (again). Department store dressing rooms are like an altar where I give thanks to the giggle gods by trying on hideous things and transforming into the person who would wear them. Retired, chain-smoking Floridian? Snooki’s second cousin (the one no one likes to talk about)? Stripper trying to cover her dark past and pay her way through college? Been there, donned that.
I’d love to hear about some of your ‘episodes’ (the more inappropriate, the better)! Until then, I’ll leave you with a giggly clip of one of my favorite shows:
My SIL (sister-in-law) is great. Smart, loving, responsible. She’s one of my top go-to gals – she can help a sister out with just about anything. But she does have one flaw, and that flaw sounds a lot like the theme song to “7th Heaven.” Do you guys remember that show? I do, unfortunately. Yesterday, SIL reminded me of this nightmare with a nostalgic Facebook post. A dull shudder ran down my spine instantly when I saw this picture:
"When I see their happy faces, smiling back at me"...I'm afraid. Very afraid. Photo credit: cbs.com.
I told SIL I could handle Hugh Hefner, but Eric Camden was another matter. Seriously. Remember all those icky storylines where he’d counsel someone from his church in a far too intrusive way? I think pamphlets were involved, or at least I always imagined they were. And there’d constantly be uncomfortable sexual innuendo with his wife. Let’s not forget, Aaron Spelling was behind this 11-year-long (!!!) trainwreck, so I really don’t think I’m imagining things.
I concluded with SIL, via Facebook, that they were definitely keeping extra, unseen children in the basement of that huge white house of theirs. After the conversation, though, I still felt unsatisfied. I needed to prove -perhaps only to myself- just how inappropriate this show really was. And so after half-assed extensive research, I now present to you…
The Top 3 Most Ridiculous “7th Heaven” Moments*
*that I could find on YouTube
#1 – A Heavenly Arsenal
#2 – Read Between the Lines, Mom
#3 – This is Uncomfortable. Er, PERIOD.
And now, just for fun (I like to imagine they’re saying, “Puh-leeeeeeease noooooooo. Make it stooooop!”):
I know I’m supposed to be your guilty pleasure goddess, right? And at this point you rely on me as something of animmoral compass – as long as I continue to go off the guilty pleasure deep end, you can rationalize your own guilty pleasures, right?
I was afraid that.
Because I have a confession to make.
Arg. Look at me, I'm acting so scary. Arg. Photo credit: tvworthwatching.com
You know how MTV started airing a new show, Teen Wolf, this summer? And how it has everything I normally geek out over, guilty pleasure-style (teens with little adult supervision, werewolves, leather jackets…)? Well…
I kinda…sorta…
DON’T LIKE IT! I’m sorry! I know. What’s wrong with me?? It just sits in my DVR, taunting me. Is it the terrible acting on the part of the male lead (the teen wolf)? Does it take itself too seriously? Or is it just that Buffy (my all-time favorite show ever ever ever) set the bar too high?
On the flip side, I LOVE MTV’s other new summer show, Awkward. It fills a little bit of the hole My Life as Liz and My So-Called Life left behind. The one negative is that it’s only 30 minutes long.
Go Jules Go 