Tag: guilty pleasure

Food, Uncategorized

My Most Shameful Guilty Pleasure OF ALL TIME a.k.a. Little Slice of Man Meat (no, this isn’t the one where I talk about Daniel Radcliffe in Equus. Nice try, though)

Go Jules Go
    You might be thinking this is the post where I finally talk about the fact that I own Season One of “Laguna Beach” on DVD and have watched it, in its entirety, on two separate occasions. Or maybe this is the one where I put up a picture of when I dressed as Doogie Howser for Halloween. There’s a good chance, you think, that I’m about to tell you how much I love guillotines.
    You’re wrong.
    While all of those things are indeed shameful guilty pleasures of mine, I have one that goes FAR BEYOND any I’ve just mentioned. In fact, I can’t believe I’m going to talk about it now, but, as promised… Let me start by telling you about something that happened last weekend.
    Last Saturday night, my husband and I were, true to form, hanging out watching T.V. Somehow, the topic of Jonathan Taylor Thomas came up. 

    “Is he younger than you?” my husband asked, trying to imply that this was another one of my creepy obsessions with the Teen Beat contingent.

    “No,” I promptly replied, adding, “He was born on September 8th, 1981!” I then quickly pulled up his profile on imdb.com, confirming my credibility.

    I realized it had been a long time since I had thought about Mr. Taylor Thomas, or trolled (and possibly contributed to…) fan fiction sites about said star of yesteryear. Rest assured, this is not the mystery guilty pleasure of which I speak. The confession, while absolutely J.T.T.-related, is far more disturbing.

    You see, when I was 13, like most 13-year-olds, I was a tad…boy crazy. Emphasis on the crazy. Because real-life boys never paid me any mind, I had to turn my focus toward the more famous variety. Any normal Jonathan Taylor Thomas fan might have been satisfied with plastering their bedroom walls with posters (oh, I did that, too), but not me. Even meeting him at a taping of “The View” wasn’t enough.

    I decided to become a vegetarian.

    Why, you rightly ask? For one reason, and one reason only. You guessed it. J.T.T. wouldn’t be caught dead gnawing on a turducken or snarfing down a White Castle sack of 10.

    Do you understand what I’m saying here? I gave up McDonald’s french fries for this kid, because they were made with beef flavoring. And guess how long this nonsense lasted? 5 and a half years! My entire teenage life! That’s just…just… there are no words.

    Now, please, I beg of you, post a comment sharing at least one of your most shameful guilty pleasures. I’ll be here in my closet, amongst the skeletons, not enjoying a Boca burger.

     

Uncategorized

Fountain of Uncouth

Go Jules Go

Let’s see. We’ve already covered the fact that I was an extra on “Dawson’s Creek,” am obsessed with Glee, Harry Potter and little miss pageants, and that I named my dog after a “Full House” character. You might be thinking this well’s about to dry up.

Nay, friends, I’ve only just begun. (It certainly helps that blogging about guilty pleasures is, in and of itself, a guilty pleasure. That shouldn’t be allowed. It’s like trying to stare at the sun.)

Here are a mere few of the things I plan to bring to your [rapt] attention over the coming weeks. (Please feel free to express your gratitude by subscribing. Or by sending pictures of animals dressed as other animals.)

1. What to expect if you see Daniel Radcliffe naked, live, as I have.

2. What NOT to say if someone asks if you want to attend a week-long Project Management Boot Camp in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania.

3. 9021-Oh My God.

4. Robert Pattinson SINGS! (Holy sh*t, how have I not gotten to this yet!?)

5. My Plan to Save Mankind, a.k.a. The Power of Haikus

6. MY MOST SHAMEFUL GUILTY PLEASURE OF. ALL. TIME.

See you on the flip side, Crackers (have you not tried these yet?)!

Music, Uncategorized

Modern Fart

Go Jules Go

My husband has been trying to convince me of the power of farts for quite some time now. “They’re hilarious,” he says over and over again. I always lift my delicate nose high in the air and scoff.

Yesterday, though, something disturbing happened. I arrived at my friend’s house and she escorted me to the kitchen saying, “[My husband’s] cutting the cheese.” And I had to bite my tongue to keep from giggling!

Really, Julie, I thought to myself, you’re almost 29 years old. And that’s almost 30. It’s time to put the fart jokes behind you. Then I remembered my blog, the perfect place to embrace the inherent humor of farts! Everyone wins.

Farts are universal, and while nothing new, in today’s modern age we have access to some of the finest farts around. My husband will gladly show you his Fart app, which has over 100 unique farting noises.

Because I would never deny you instant gratification or the opportunity to GOGP, I present you with my top three favorite fart moments. Don’t forget to cast your vote!

P.S. – You haven’t really lived until you’ve tagged a blog about farts.

#1 – Iguana Fart? Why, Yes, I do

#2 – Farts on the Sly – Live!

#3 – I Motion to, Well, You Know

Food, Lists, Uncategorized

My Ultimate Dieting Secrets REVEALED

Go Jules Go

Diets aren’t a guilty pleasure, but cheating on them certainly is. I’ve been cheating on my diet for 723 days now, and I’d like to let you in on my secrets. You’re welcome in advance.

Pop Tarts

They put two in every sleeve, meaning it is OBVIOUSLY appropriate to eat both. Try it.

Go Big or Go Bacon.

Preferably, both.

= 1 serving.

You probably already knew this one. I should have given you more credit. I’m sorry.

Elastic-waisted pants.

But don’t worry. You’re not gaining weight, they just shrunk in the wash.

Booze

Drink early, drink often. Remember, it’s 7am somewhere.

Mantras

It’s important to have a mantra. Charlie Sheen likes to think he’s bi-winning. I prefer “Rice Cakes are Evil.” Look at this woman. I’ve named her Carolyn. Carolyn doesn’t really want to eat that rice cake. The devil is making her do it. Fight the good fight, Carolyn!

I’ll give you a minute to grab a pen, because I’m about to share THE most important secret when it comes to [cheating on] your diet:

Will Power

When you find you’re craving fruit, water, or god forbid, tennis, take a moment, sit down and think, “Is this REALLY what I need right now?”

Animals, Uncategorized

Animals Dressed as Other Animals

Go Jules Go

About 8 years ago, I was at a local Hallmark store with no idea that my life was about to change. That’s when I saw a rack of little Boyd’s bears dressed up as other animals. I think they were supposed to be Christmas ornaments, but in reality they were everything I never knew I always wanted. Ever since then, I cannot get enough of animals dressed as other animals, be they real or fake. I think it has a lot to do with my deep-seated need to give animals voices of their own in this cruel, cold world. Imagining a bear pretending to talk like a moose? Or a cow trying to be a rabbit? O.M.G. It’s like the Halloween of the animal kingdom. Will the fun never cease?

"Ooh, look at me, I'm a moose. Ooooh. I'm so moosey, with my antlers and my Harry and David candy. Oooh."

I wanted to share a lot more of this overwhelming cuteness with you, but–

Oh deer, someone beat me to it!

http://animalsdressedasotheranimals.tumblr.com/

Here’s a sneak peek:

TV Junkie, Uncategorized

Mannequins in My Closet

Go Jules Go

When I think of guilty pleasures, nothing fills me with more shame or more delight than a little TLC show called, “Toddlers and Tiaras.” Seen it? It’s okay, this is a safe zone (and the safe word is “glitz”). Go on, admit it. You love it, too.

It turns out there’s a lot to learn when it comes to little miss-guided pageants. My mom likes to tell me I was born during a Miss America pageant and that’s why I have this strange obsession. For example, do you know how they get those perfect smiles? Something called a ‘flipper,’ which is a fake set of snowy white teeth that the children snap over their gap-toothed imperfections. The parents shell out about $300 and send a mold in the mail to Never Never Land, even though their kids quickly outgrow this accessory. This says nothing of the thousands they spend on bedazzled dresses, ‘falls’ for the hair, fake nails and spray tans. All for a 2-foot tall trophy, if they’re lucky.

I was horrified when the previews first began to air, but alas, my will power was no match for the man behind TLC’s curtain. My moral compass imploded as I watched a 3-year-old, doing Madonna for her ‘talent,’ walk on stage in a gold, cone-shaped bustier. You know it’s bad when the other pageant moms gasp.

The pageant directors are a spectacle of their own, the ghosts of dreams past lurking behind the feverish glint in their eyes. They take their jobs VERY seriously, but can’t even seem to string a sentence together as they stand behind a rickety wooden podium announcing the contestants. They give you a glimpse into the corrupt world of pageantry, hinting that the judges already have a favorite or that the entry fees were misallocated and the pageant might have to be canceled. I drove all the way from Louisiana and all I got was a 5-year-old hyped up on Pixie Stix? I think not.

My absolute favorite element of all of this is the pageant fathers. Really? Really, Ava’s mom from Texas? Really, Jayla’s mom from West Virginia? Do you REALLY think he’s in it for moral support? You might want to check his closet for that missing feather boa. And don’t be surprised by what else you find in there.

Uncle Jesse

Have Mercy

Go Jules Go

When I first got my Australian Labradoodle puppy, I tried telling people it was a “labrador-poodle mix.” A mutt, basically. I wanted canine street cred. I was a dog-loving humanitarian, for crying out loud, not some Paris Hilton wannabe with a ball of fluff shoved in a Coach carrying case.

But eventually I surrendered, and I can now admit that I am one of the many Americans who owns a Designer Dog.

And I love him. To death.

His name is Uncle Jesse.

Uncle Jesse is the 11-month-old love child of my allergy-ridden husband and me, and every spare smile and giggle is given to him. He doesn’t shed a single hair, but instead showers us with licks and sassy sidelong glances. It took many months to potty train him and he still responds with snooty indifference when we set down a bowl of organic lamb and rice kibble. He prefers raw beef and expensive, top of the line yogurt. Chunky peanut butter and chicken marinated in fresh ginger seem acceptable, too.

To add to the atrocity of this ultimate guilty pleasure, I’ve found that I like putting him in t-shirts. A lot. And I’ve convinced myself that he likes it, too.

Aside from your pedestrian basics, his first trick was “Watch the hair, huh!” (An homage to his namesake.) He mastered this before he turned 10 weeks old. The downside to an intelligent dog is that you really have to make it worth their while. “This filet is a bit overdone, sir.” Having said this, he’s a complete and total wimp and the only time he’s truly happy is when his family is together. That or he’s got his head stuck out of the car window.

Uncle Jesse is the cat’s meow and if you think you can convince me otherwise, you’re barking up the wrong tree.