Mornings. GAH.

I am not a morning person. Have I mentioned this before? Yes. Will I continue to mention it? As long as I have to wake up in the morning, yes.

Are there any other non-morning people who feel my pain--the pain that comes from rolling out of bed before 6 am? I'm betting most of the people reading this feel the same way I do, as a matter of fact. So, here's my question:

If the majority of us are NOT morning people, why is it that we allow morning people to dictate our work/school schedules, hmm? Is it because they get up before we do and beat us to all of the decision-making meetings?

"All those in favor of starting the work day before 10 raise your hands. Hey! It looks like everyone here is in favor of this proposition. That's surprising! I thought for sure that the night people would vote against it."

"Um, sir, we're holding this meeting at 7:30 am. None of the night people made it."

"Ah."

Well, let's not be bullied any longer. I say we decide to start the work day at 10:00 am. None of this starting at 7:00 am stuff. Night people, now is the time to unite. Here is my plan:

First of all, we deprive the morning people of their caffeine. I'm sure they wouldn't be so happy about mornings without their coffee.

Secondly...that's as far as I've gotten. I'll work more on the plan when it's not so early in the morning. And then we will conquer, and the world will be glorious. I mean, if all businesses decided to open at ten, it would be totally cool! We could all get a little more sleep or get a few things done around the house or whatever. Brilliant? Yes. I should rule the world. But only after 10 am.

NO, Katy. NO.

Once upon a time, I mentioned a few people who need a "No Girl"--someone to just say no to their bad ideas. Well, let me add Katy Perry to that list.

There are many times a No Girl would have been helpful for Katy. ("I think I'm going to marry Russell Brand." "No, Katy. No.") But I'm only going to address one.

Have you heard Katy's song Firework? I like it. It's catchy and has a nice message. However, have you seen the Firework music video? No? Behold! (You only need to watch the first minute or so to catch the "No" moment, though the whole video is weird.)



Now, children, can any of you guess which moment requires a no? Choose from one of the following options:

a) Shots of the city
b) Pool party
c) Family fight
d) THAT ONE PART WHERE FIREWORKS START SHOOTING OUT OF HER BOOBS.

Any guesses? D? Is that your final answer?

*Dora the Explorer Voice* VERY GOOD!

Honestly! What is going on? I get the concept--we're all special and have light within us. Yada yada. But is that really the best visual? Fireworks shooting out of our chests? Call me crazy, but I don't find that image very inspiring. To be honest, it reminds me of that scene from Austin Powers where the Go Go Girl Robots have machine guns in their chests....

Sorry. We're getting a little graphic today.

The point is that it's high time I make a business out of this No Girl thing. Everybody needs a No Girl (including me). I could be rich. RICH!

So, who wants to be the first person to hire me? Anyone, anyone? Willow Smith?

Well, Byron....

I work in a very small call center. In fact, there are certain times during the day when only one person is on the phone. Today, I got chewed out by someone who was on hold for too long. As I was apologizing to him and explaining that I was the only one answering phone calls at the moment, I couldn't help but think of :26 of this clip:




"Well, Byron, surprisingly, it's just me."

Is it weird that I think this clip is hilarious? Maybe it's the lack of sleep. 7:00 am is way too early for me to be functioning... *Twitch.*

The Other Dark Meat

Oh! Just to give you a little glimpse of what I've been doing for the last little while, here's the Demon Chicken trailer. I've written all the music for the film (including what you hear in the trailer), and I may or may not be the blue girl in this.... Come see it, my friends! Tickets are just three bucks, and it should be lots of fun. (How often do you get to go to a red carpet premier, anyway?) I will see you there!

Bears Have It So Easy.

I keep starting blog posts, attempting to make up for the hiatus I've taken from writing, but the perfectionist in me screams, "No! Not good enough! You have to do something epic to make up for your neglect!" That darn perfectionist. It's impossible for me to get anything done with her around. So, I've taken this moment to gag the perfectionist within and lock her in the closet, so to speak. Quick! Let's have a chat before she gets out!

How have y'all been? (Please feel free to verbalize your answer.) Wonderful, wonderful. I've been cold and tired, but other than that I'm fantastic. You know what I've discovered? Scraping the ice off my car is one of my least favorite activities ever, and doing it at 6:30 in the morning is hell. Oh, if only there were a way to hibernate through the winter....



Somebody get me some Hibernol, STAT!

Uh oh. Miss Perfectionist is starting to break out. I'll see you later.

Public Service Announcement #3

This month, I want us to work on eliminating this phrase:

"I like long walks on the beach."

Example: My name's Julianna, and I like long walks on the beach.

Why am I targeting this one, you may ask? BECAUSE I CAN'T LISTEN TO IT ANYMORE.

Here's the weird thing about this phrase: I'm sure it started out as a sincere way to introduce oneself on...say...dating service videos. And then it was overused to the point that people started saying it as a joke. Oh, and what a funny joke it was for people to introduce themselves that way at work and school and church and such. Har har har. And then the joke got less funny over the years as people continued to introduce themselves that way at work and school and church and such. Har har. And now it's decidedly UNfunny when people introduce themselves this way at work and school and church and such, but we feel obligated to give out at least one "Har".

No more. Let's do away with that final "Har".

If you are one of those hundreds of people that STILL thinks this is a clever way to introduce yourself, let me enlighten you. IT'S NOT. You might as well stand up and say, "My name is ______, and I like being unoriginal." (Ironically enough, it would be more original for you to say you like being unoriginal, but whatever.) And, if you are one of those hundreds of people that STILL laughs when someone introduces himself with the beach phrase, I beg you to stop encouraging this.

I submit that the next time someone tries to get a laugh by using this phrase, we all choose to stay completely silent. No laughter. If you can make a cricket chirping noise, do so. Feel free to glare at the person who uses the stale phrase. Make him feel so embarrassed that he will never say it or laugh at it ever again.

I know it sounds harsh, but it must be done.

Go forth, my people. Grab your literary pitchforks and slay the ogre that is "I like long walks on the beach"!

ERG!!!

On Saturday, I was lucky enough to be able to take the GRE. Ah, there's nothing like spending a gorgeous fall day trapped inside a small, dark testing center taking a mind-taxing test for four hours.

Actually, the test itself wasn't TOO bad. Except for the math part. So help me, I will never be able to figure out how to find the area of one shape circumscribed about another shape.


URG. I just about have an aneurysm when I look at those problems.

Anyway, the worst part of the whole test was actually the hoops I had to jump through BEFORE the test started. They don't allow you to have food or water in there, and they monitor how many breaks you take. They also literally make you turn your pockets inside out before you go in. I understand the principles behind this, but it's sad to me that we have gotten to this point as a society. We can't just treat people like adults. We have to treat everyone like disobedient children, because there are too many dirty, rotten cheaters.

Oh! But that wasn't the worst part. The test itself started with a tutorial about the computer. Literally, the first part of the tutorial said, "This is a mouse. This is how you use the mouse. Practice clicking the mouse." It then proceeded to teach you about all sorts of *difficult* skills like scrolling and other such complex computer functions.

What the what?

Let's think about this for a minute. The GRE is designed to assess the competency level of people who are getting ready to attend grad school. So, here I am, ready to be tested on whether or not I know the antonym of words like cosset and misanthropic, and whether or not I can solve 48 math questions in 45 minutes. Somehow, these skills are supposed to inform admissions officials about my ability to perform well in school. But the test-makers are assuming that there's a possibility that I won't know how to operate a mouse. AND THIS IS ACCEPTABLE??!

Call me crazy, but I think it's a lot more important for a potential grad school student to know how to perform basic computer functions, than it is for a potential grad school student to know what pulchritudinous means. (Frankly, if anyone ever uses that word in my presence, I will punch him in the face. "IT MEANS BEAUTIFUL!! JUST SAY BEAUTIFUL!!") If you don't know how to click a mouse, you are going to have a hard time anywhere, frankly.

This is just one more thing that bothers me about the whole world of academics. We are all tested on skills that aren't entirely applicable in real world situations, while USEFUL skills are neglected. I don't care if you can quote all of the words in the dictionary or do wonders with imaginary numbers. If you can't figure out how to navigate around a computer or carry on a conversation with human beings, you have some work to do.


Common sense, my dears. It's worth a lot more than that GRE. Or, it should be worth more, anyway.

Well, at least that part of my grad school prep is out of the way! Now it's on to other things. I'm on my way to Chicago this weekend to check out Columbia College, so I hope that all goes well.

And when I say "I hope that all goes well", I really mean, "I hope I don't get raped". (Thanks, Dad, for giving me a complex by telling me about the muggings that happen in Chicago. I love you.)

Wish me luck, my dears! And if I don't make it back, carry on the Hermit blogging without me.

Love you, mean it.

Jules

Eureka!

I love small town people.

When I say that, I actually mean people who live in small towns...as opposed to town people who are small. (Though I'm sure the small people are just as love-able.)

Why do I love the citizens of small towns? They're so gosh-darn easy going. That is why I want to take some time today to commend Eureka for its complete and total awesomeness.

We took a large group of people to Eureka last week to do some filming for Demon Chicken (premiering Dec. 9 in Pleasant Grove, peeps). Now, most people in "normal" cities would have a hernia if a drove of college-aged kids showed up in full make up to film a low budget movie, but not the good people of Eureka. No sir. They were excited about letting us use their town. Like, wanted to take pictures with us, excited. Like, wanted to help film, excited.

I'd especially like to take a moment to give a shout out to two very special Eurekans.

To Billy, the nice elderly gentleman who let us film in his buildings, you totally rock. And I think your idea of making a "topless bar" out of your roofless building is fantastic. Perhaps a little inappropriate and too progressive for a sleepy town, but fantastic nonetheless.

And to Craig, you might be the coolest sheriff I've ever met. Everyone, I want you to picture this in your head: Imagine that you are a sheriff. Yes, you. You are driving down the road in your sheriffy car, when you see some people running around dressed as zombies. "Huh," you think. "That's strange." Then you look across the street and see a girl (that would be me, Jules) dressed in nothing but a towel, being airbrushed blue. Now, you might be tempted to take some sort of disciplinary action against these hooligans, right? Well, not Craig! He drove his truck right up to me and said, "Hey. This looked like fun, so I thought I'd come over and see what you're doing."

Here's to you, Craig. And Billy. And Eureka.

Cheers.

Public Service Announcement #2

Good job with refraining from using "git er done", my minions. Statistics show* that "git er done" usage is down by 36%. (Of course, it just went up since I used it twice. Blast.)

Even though we've cut back on one annoying phrase, though, there are many more out there. We've got work to do.

*Inspiring music begins to play in the background. You may all turn on the Braveheart soundtrack now.*

The fight may be long. The fight may be hard. There may be days when we feel like we are going to be overrun by the vast amount of people who don't know how speak correctly. BUT WE WILL NOT GIVE UP! We will not falter! Together we will show the world that they can continue to speak like idiots, but they can never make us speak like idiots!

*Music reaches a climactic point, and Jules raises her sword into the air.*

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT NUMBER 2!!!!!

*Cheers fill the air.*

Ahem.

All right, here's the phrase we need to boycott this week:

"I could care less."

Example: "I don't want to hear your opinion. I could care less about what you think."

Hmmm. Think about it. If you COULD care less about what I think, why don't you go ahead and care less? What you mean to say is, "I COULDN'T care less about what you think."

There you go.

Go forth, my friends. Rid the world of "could care less".

I'm going to go off and help Scotland win its freedom.

(For the "Sons of Scotland" speech, skip to 4:28.)



Oh, Braveheart. I love you.

*All statistics are made up on the spot by me.

Great Googly Moogly

Dear Computer Users Everywhere,

Before you decide to venture on to the interweb, please be sure that you understand the difference between the URL address bar (the place where you type in web addresses) and Google (a search engine). Believe it or not, there are some web sites that are missed by Google's all-seeing eye.

(I was going to make some nerdy comment about how even the all-seeing eye of Sauron missed Frodo Baggins, but I'm way too cool to even know about such things. *Jules has shifty eyes as she pushes her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose.*)

Ahem.

Anyway, friends, please take my advice and learn how to GO to a website instead of SEARCH for it. And, if you can't learn the difference, please don't call customer service and get frustrated when you can't find a website.

Much love,

Jules

You Must Be At Least This Tall To Ride This Ride

MEN OF THE WORLD:

Do you lack ambition? Did you not eat your vegetables when you were children?

WHY ARE YOU SO SHORT?!

I'm 5' 9 1/2". I'm not a freak of nature or anything. It should be possible for you to be taller than I am. And it would be preferable if you could still be taller than me when I'm wearing 3 inch high heels.

That's all, really.

I. Am. Job.

Guess what, friends? I officially have a job again! *The world lets out a collective sigh of relief.* If someone with a bachelor's degree in music can find a job in this poor economy, surely anything can be accomplished.

So let's cure cancer now, mmkay? It can' be that hard, right?

Right.

Save the babies!

Once upon a time, I got a call from a local blood donation center, asking if I would come donate. I'm all for being a blood donor, because I'm super charitable like that. (Actually, I do it for the cookies. I just love free cookies.)

Anyway, I told the lady over the phone that I would be happy to come in and donate. And then she said, "That's wonderful! By the way, did you know that you are a baby donor?"

"...Wha?"

"I just thought you might like to know that we give your blood to babies!"

"...Cool."

And that's how my addiction started. I mean, how can I say no to the babies? THE BABIES! Now I give platelets, though, so I can go every couple of weeks. Is it weird that I find that type of stuff enjoyable? I get to go sit there for two hours and watch a movie or read a book, while still feeling like I'm contributing to society. And then I get cookies. SCORE.

This recent time wasn't quite that enjoyable, though. Due to a series of unfortunate events, they had to stick me in both arms, and I look a bit like a druggie now. At least they were kind enough to coordinate (ish) my bandages with my shirt.

My arms hurt.

An Urgent Plea

Dear ABC,

Please release all of the Whose Line Is It Anyway? episodes for purchase. Pretty please? I will buy them all. Every single one.

Thank you for your consideration.

Waffle Day!

Today was National Waffle Day. I hope you all planned accordingly.

If you forgot to make waffles, I have lots of orange waffle batter and buttermilk syrup left-over. Feel free to stop by and I will make you some.

Please. I have no job, and waffle-making is a lovely way to spend one's time.

Was That Necessary?

I was just driving down the road after church, listening to Mormon Tabernacle Choir music, and minding my own business. All of a sudden, the guy in front of me stepped on his brakes. I looked around him to see if there was something in the road or something, but no. Obviously, he was tapping on his brakes because he thought I was riding his bumper. I thought, "Oh. I didn't even realize I was following closely. How fast am I going?" The speed limit. So, I continued to go the speed limit. Sure, I was a little close to the guy in front of me, but whatever. If you're driving slowly, you should be prepared to be followed closely by those who would like to go the speed limit...or faster.

Well, anyway, the time came for me to turn off the road, so I pulled into the turning lane. Much to my confusion, the dude in front of me stuck his hand out the window to give me a nice, friendly, flipping off gesture.

That was a little dramatic.

Did I mention that the guy was wearing "church clothes"?

I hope his lesson today was on being Christlike.

Public Service Announcement

Is it okay if we abolish, or at least boycott a few things? I realize there are so many things in this world that should be done away with, but world hunger is a little too hard to tackle at this exact moment. So, I'm going to start a little smaller.

For this week, I want us to make the world a better place by avoiding the usage of the following phrase:

"Git er done."

Yes, I know it's going to be difficult, but if we all make a pact to stop using the phrase in any shape or form, I know we can get one step closer to world peace. Or, at least the world will be a slightly less annoying place for me.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Those Are My Superhero Tights. I Fight Crime In Them.

My little brother is an aspiring film director. I am an aspiring "help my little brother become a film director" person. So, when he needs somebody to help him brainstorm ideas, I am more than happy to help.

Usually, my one big critique is that there aren't enough women in his movies. Like, we're talking zero main female roles. So I'm usually saying, "Hey, can a girl play that part?" "You could just have a girl do that." "Girl, girl, girl, girl."

It's only natural that this would come back to bite me. And that is how I found myself trying on a costume for a part in his latest independent film.

Blast.

And, as I was trying on this costume, I remembered, once again, that my summer Bluebell goal has given me some beautiful love handles. (They're sort of like a trophy, in a way. Yes, friends! I bear the mark of one who has taken the Bluebell challenge!)

Naturally, upon noticing these badges of honor, I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I decided to order some Spanx.

Now, I have never ordered Spanx, so I'm not really savvy about which particular product would be best to hide the Bluebell love. And, furthermore, since I'm pretty tall, I don't fit in any of their little size charts. So I decided to call customer service and have a nice "girl talk" with one of the employees there.

Imagine my surprise when Richard answered the phone.

I automatically felt so awkward. I don't want to be discussing slimming underwear with some guy. I don't know why it makes that big of a difference, but it does! Somehow it's okay to ask a girl which product she would recommend to suck in your ghetto booty, but I don't want to discuss panty lines and other such things with a dude.

And, frankly, I don't know why a guy would want to be working at a place that has a collection called "Bra-llelujah!"(I realize that a guy invented the bra, but still.) Look what the economy has done to us poor people. Guys are working at Spanx, I'm not working at all. It's just a cruel, cruel world.

Nevertheless, Richard was helpful, and managed to steer clear of that dreaded panty word. (I hate that word.) So, thanks to you, Richard. I hope you find a job at a sports hardware store soon.

(And, for those of you who don't recognize the title of this post, you need to hop over here and watch "Handsome Men's Club." There is some swearing involved, just so you know. Swearing aside, though, it's one of the funniest clips I've seen in awhile. Cheers.)

You've Failed Me For The Last Time!

I have officially been back in Utah now for over a week. My older brother got married on Saturday, so Grama Sue and I made the drive together to be here for the wedding. And I just have to say that my grandma is the best driving partner ever. Not only are we both fast drivers, but we also have excellent taste in music. So, speedy driving plus Styx music equals fun.

However, faulty Google Maps plus running wedding errands does NOT equal fun.

For those of you who have never driven in Utah, let me explain the address system to you. We have this handy dandy grid system that can be quite useful for finding addresses. Most addresses here are like this: 555 South 555 West. (I hope that's not a real address.) Anyway, if you need to find it, you just drive south until you hit 555, and then west until you hit 555. Pretty simple.

Unless, of course, some HoodyHoo decides to get all "creative" and name a street after something else.

"Hey! This sensible grid system is so boring. I'm going to name my street after something cool like...like...a bear or something. Yeah! Bear Lane! I'm sooooo creative."

And then some poor soul is stuck trying to find a house on Bear Lane, when she has no idea where Bear Lane is BECAUSE IT ISN'T PART OF THE GRID SYSTEM!!!

*Jules goes into a rage.*

*Jules calms down.*

You're probably thinking, "Jules, that's what Google Maps is for." Ah, my friends, I too once believed in the power of Google Maps. In fact, I trusted in Google Maps just the other day, as I was searching for a place called Prosperity road. But, after blindly following truly horrible directions and having to spend 45 minutes backtracking, I realized that my trust was wasted.

Darn you, Google! You have failed me for the last time. I'm going over to MapQuest.

And Prosperity Road? You suck. STICK TO THE GRID SYSTEM!!!

Thar She Blows

We all have our little fears, right? Some people are afraid of heights. Some people are afraid of clowns. I think it's safe to say that we're all just a little afraid of Richard Simmons.

Eek.

These fears are perfectly normal.

Then there are fears that are completely unjustified. For example, I'm terrified of dying in a submarine. Why? I have no idea. It's not like I come in contact with submarines on a daily basis. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only way I'm going to die in a submarine is if some freak accident happens on the Finding Nemo ride at Disneyland. And then I'll get my name added to that super cool Snopes page about Disneyland deaths!

Stop rolling your eyes at me. It could happen.

Anyway, thanks to MSNBC, I now have another irrational fear to add to the list:

Death by whale. (Alright, technically the couple didn't get killed by the whale, but LOOK AT THAT THING!!)

How does one prepare for that? Is there some sort of Captain Ahab-inspired class on what to do if a whale jumps at you? Is there an insurance policy in the event of whale damage? Why am I even worrying about these things?!

I guess my dreams of marrying a wealthy yacht-owner have officially been killed.

Damn you, MSNBC. Damn you. *Jules shakes the fist of anger*

A New Career Choice

So, for awhile now, one of my goals has been to become a better goal-setter. But, seeing as how I'm not a good goal-setter, I didn't accomplish that goal.

UNTIL NOW!!

About a month ago, I decided to set a very important and challenging goal for myself: Try every flavor of Bluebell (that Walmart carries).

Obviously, I have my priorities all figured out.

Thanks to the help of my amazingly cool grandma, I'm getting close to accomplishing this crucial goal. (I'm also getting close to accomplishing my goal of becoming diabetic before the age of thirty, but that's a different matter.) You can all be very impressed.

I think I'm going to have to start a new career as a Bluebell smuggler. Maybe I'll bring some back to Utah, and if y'all are really nice to me, you can have a bite of it.

And then the Bluebell withdrawals will commence.

The Girl I Mean To Be

So, I'm sure I've talked about this before, but I always say that some people need to hire a "No" Girl (or Guy)--someone who says "No" to really bad ideas. This is especially true for a lot of people in Hollywood. (I'm talking to you, George Lucas.) I would gladly be the "No" Girl.

I would also like to be the "That's Enough" Girl for some other people. Specifically? Jerry Bruckheimer. I think he knows how to produce some very entertaining movies. But he doesn't know where to stop, and this is why we get to endure Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and 3. I should have been there to say, "That's enough, Jerry," when the first Pirates ended. *Sigh* Where was I?

Well, I saw Sorcerer's Apprentice on Saturday, and it was fun. A good, entertaining popcorn movie. But, we all know that Jerry isn't going to leave it at that. Oh, no. He's going to trample it into the ground with a sequel, if not more. So, I want all of us to work together to stop this from happening. On the count of three, we're going to shout out the magic words. 1, 2, 3. "THAT'S ENOUGH, JERRY!"

Good.

While we're on this subject, I would also like to be the "Yes" Girl for Christopher Nolan. Have you seen Inception yet? Stop what you're doing (reading this blog) and run to the nearest movie theater. And make sure you say, "Yes, Christopher. YES!"

GOOOOOOAAAAL!!!

Is it just me, or does soccer seem to have a high number of good-looking players?

I mean, more so than any other sport?

I'm just saying.

I don't understand why people say soccer is boring to watch. So what if during a 120 minute long game, only 1 goal is scored? (Congrats, Spain.) LOOK AT THE EYE CANDY, PEOPLE!

I'm a fan. *Jules gives her stamp of approval.*



Ronaldo. *Growl*

Taking a Stand.

Dear Movie-Makers,

Can we stop with the 3-D trend? Please?

I realize that it gives you an excuse to charge more for movie tickets.
I realize that it gives you a way to take a mediocre script and make it a little more bearable to watch.

But, let's be honest. I'm not fooled by the cute little flying character that jumps out at me, (Captain EO, anyone?) or the exploding things that jump out at me. (Okay, that's a lie. I'll be entertained and fooled for the first ten minutes. But that's it!)

I don't need to see Shrek coming out of the screen. I don't need to see Step Up in 3D. (I don't need to see it, period, but that's beside the point.) I don't need to see SORORITY GIRLS IN 3D!!! GAH!

I'd say more, but I'll let my buddy Roger say it better.

Sincerely,
Me

P.S. If this 3D trend continues, I will no longer put those 3D glasses back in the bin. SO HELP ME! Take THAT!

Haikus on a Refrigerator

There's nothing like going on a vacation and neglecting all responsibilities.

And then you come back from the vacation, and you still neglect as many responsibilities as you can, just for good measure.

I'm still in partial neglecting mode, just for your information. And, since one of the rules of partial neglecting mode is that you can't strain your brain too much, I'm not going to write a new post. I'm going to pick one from the draft folder!

*Half-hearted applause from a canned audience.*

(Come on, y'all. Have some respect for the draft folder.)
(And, yes, I've given in to the power of the "y'all". Deal with it.)

Anyway, here's a draft that was started back in the good old days, when Taren and I spent that year and a half in the basement. Life in the basement was filled with all sorts of creative adventures--just ask Taren or me to sing our song entitled "Spiritual Spectacles", and you'll see how gosh-darn creative we are. (You'll also never want to hear the song again, but that's beside the point.)

Well, I thought it would be a shame to let some of our creativity to just die in the basement. (Ashes to ashes, basement to basement. What?) So, here is the collection of our Refrigerator Haikus, crafted ever so brilliantly using Movie Quote Magnets.

(Aren't you excited? I can tell by the way your eyes glazed over just now.)

Without further delay, here are the (sort of) haikus. (Feel free to discuss the deep, hidden meaning of these haikus with your intellectual friends. Taren and I will be having a poetry reading very soon [never], and we will have an open discussion panel where we will discuss our thought processes during the composition process. Doughnuts will [not] be provided.)

Presented in no particular order.

I could have been here.

I'm not this conversation.

I am in the truth.

(And what IS truth? It's just so deep!)

You've gotten stupid.

I'm mad as a mission from God.

Together we're nice.

(Can you decode the secret message in this haiku?)

In my pajamas

I am not an animal.

That little dog is.

(And what does the little dog represent? Is there a little dog in each of us?)

A real pretty mouth.

I hear you talking to me.

Go ahead and stop.

(Seriously. Stop.)

Show me what it means--

I once shot a boy's best friend.

I'm ready for you.

(What does it mean?! The sheer brilliance of this poetry is ASTOUNDING!)

He can't refuse you,

and I picked on an angel,

so I got no place.

(You can just sense the inner struggle the author was going through when she so skillfully rearranged those refrigerator magnets. Truly inspiring.)

Spam, anyone?

Will someone please tell me what the spammers are getting when they leave comments on blogs? I am quite curious, because I just don't understand why various users leave comments that say helpful things like, "Use a book as a bee does flowers," followed by an ominous-looking link. (It looks like this, in link form: .......................) Normally I would gladly click on the link, just to find out what in the world that comment even means. (Use a book as a bee does flowers? I get what they're trying to say, but it just isn't working for me.) But, in this case, I'm too afraid that I'll stumble upon something that might burn my retinas. Old men doing straddle stretches in speedos, anyone?

Even better are the comments with nothing but Asian characters and that same ominous-looking link. Like anyone's going to be fooled with your trickery, Asian Spammer. (What would you call an Asian Spammer, anyway? A Spamming Asian? A Spasian?) It's not like I'm going to see your comment and say, "Ooh! It must be my long lost friend from Japan or Korea or China or whatever language that is. I should check in with them!"

Nope. Not fooled.

So remember, everyone: Use Spam as a person would use meat. ...........................

Peace out, my dears. I'm off to Disneyworld, and then the beach. SUCKAS!! Mwahahahahaha! *During her fit of evil laughing, Jules chokes and coughs. She gets her comeuppance.*

What Master's Would Best Complement My BS?

I've decided lately that I love too many things, and some of these things that I love aren't necessarily helpful in the real world.

And, no, I'm not talking about Bluebell (for once). Bluebell is on the list of things that are just downright dangerous for me.

I'm talking about my hobbies and interests. Like...the vast collection of movie quotes that is sealed inside my brain. This is helpful in Scene It, perhaps, but not so useful in real-world application. I'm pretty sure employers don't regularly say, "Please list as many movie quotes as possible from memory." (They should start doing that.)

Even my music skills aren't very helpful in the real world. "Real world", in this case, means "money-paying world". On a scale from 1 to Helpful, I'll rate my music skills at a 3. (And, yes, I realize that rating system makes no sense.)

Hence, my present dilemma. I'm searching for Master's programs, and I keep getting attracted to programs that are COMPLETELY impractical, but I see them and my CrEaTiVe side says, "Hot diggity!" And then my timid, sensible side says, "BAD JULES! DOWN, GIRL!" So, Miss CrEaTiVe looks at another one and says, "Yes yes yes yes." And Miss KillJoy says, "Nuh uh."

*Heavy sigh*

Part of me would love to get something a little more on the practical side, seeing as how my undergrad degree is in music, but I'm not really qualified for anything...seeing as how my undergrad degree is in music. See the problem? And I really detest the idea of getting a master's in education. Seriously. My nose crinkles up at the very thought of such a horrific experience.

Any grad school oficionados have advice for me? I don't even know where to get started. I guess I should take that darn GRE, but most of the programs in the musical field don't require GREs. (By the way, I think they should change the acronym so it spells ERG instead. I think that would be more fitting for such a test:
Person 1: "I've gotta take the ERG. ERG!"
Person 2: "I heard you the first time. You didn't have to repeat yourself."
Person 1: "The second time I said it I was using it as a curse word."
Person 2: "Ah.")

HELP!

Are any of you still reading this? Anyone?

*Crickets Chirp*

The secret ingredient in Bluebell is love, after all.

There comes a time in every girl's life when she must decide--

Do I want to get rid of my love handles, or do I want more Bluebell?

I think you can probably guess my choice.

Anyone for some Homemade Vanilla with Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? Yeah? Well, get your own!

NOM NOM.

Armpit of America

Dear Albuquerque,

For a long time now, I have not been kind to you. Behind your back, I often refer to you as "The Armpit of America". You may be wondering what you have done to cause me to dislike you so much. Well, I don't like to bring up old wounds, but do you remember that one time when I spent my New Year's Eve in one of your roach motels and two people were murdered there? Yeah, that didn't sit so well with me.

But, let's not dwell on the past. The reason I'm writing to you is because I want to apologize for all of the mean things I've said. To my great surprise, I enjoyed the time I spent with you this trip. Keep it up, Albuquerque.

Sincerely,

Julianna

P.S. The new recipient of the Armpit of America award is Vaughn, New Mexico.
P.P.S. I still think we should give New Mexico back to Old Mexico.

Clarification

I feel like my last post sounded too much like a tiny pity party. And, as much as I love parties of any variety, I just barely ran out of tear-shaped confetti and double fudge brownie ice cream, so I guess I should just elaborate on the no job situation and nip this particular party in the bud.

I wish I could say that the reason they aren't hiring me back next year is because I did something CRAZY. That way, I would go out with a bang as opposed to a fizzle. (Well, we still have graduation on Friday. I guess I could do something crazy there.....) In all actuality, it's purely based on a lack of funds. In fact, the school head master was all misty-eyed when he told me they couldn't employ me. "My daughter just loves you and talks about you all the time."

Whoohoo!! As long as the kids love me, I'm good with that. And now I can have the excuse to go find a job that actually pays my bills. Anyone have some suggestions? I hear that bums with street signs do pretty well for themselves....

Back to Square One

Update on yesterday:

The day did not get better. Guess who doesn't have a job next year? *Jules jumps up and down, frantically waving her hand in the air and yelling, "Ooh! Me! Pick me!*

Ah well. Back to job hunting, my friends.

Julianna and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

It's May 24th.

It's snowing.

Now, I'm not talking about nice little snow flurries. I'm talking about tree branch-breaking, shovel-your-driveway-multiple-times-ing, blizzarding snow.

Once again, Julianna is disgruntled.

And it's only 10:30 am and I've already had an emotional breakdown.

I think I'll move to Australia.

On the bright side, I did make it to the gym. Go team.

Also, I loved Lost last night, and like any other true Lost fan, I'm going to post about it soon. Deal with it.

I hope your Monday is shaping up to be better than mine.

I'll let you know when I start my photography business.

I like to call this particular piece "Moving Out of the Basement Apartment".

I feel that it accurately captures the angst that comes with moving. You can almost hear the model in the photo (who is obviously a natural, by the way) saying, "Why don't I just light a match and start over...in the forest somewhere?"

It's a modern-day version of The Scream, really.

Seriously, though. This moving thing is annoying.

Let's find something a little more in my price range...like the 5 to 10 dollar price range.

Once upon a time I signed up for the "Shop It To Me" mailing list, and now I always get emails from them about the fantastic sales going on with various brands. It's a nice idea, but I have yet to buy anything, mainly because the showcased sales are usually on items like this.

Now, call me crazy, but it seems that anyone who is willing to spend 2,500 dollars on a deerskin jacket is not the type of person who is going to be signing up for EMAILED DISCOUNTS!

The other day there was a lace metallic shawl on sale for 800 dollars, discounted from 1,500 dollars. Oooh, golly! That's the perfect item for me! $1500 was just too big of a price tag, but $800 is perfectly reasonable.

Come on, Shop It To Me. If I'm looking for a clothing sale, chances are that I don't have $1000 to spend.

I blame the parents.

In the past week, I have very nearly killed the following animals with my car:

• Two suicidal cats who darted in front of my car at three in the morning.

• One wounded quail, limping ever-so-slowly across the road.

• A bunch of ducklings.

I felt the worst about the ducklings. What is it about ducklings? I could run over a different type of animal and not feel TOO bad, but running over a whole family of ducklings ranks right up there with punching puppies--nearly unforgivable!

I'm still haunted by the image of their little wings flapping in panic as they tried to escape my car. Luckily, they got away, but I very nearly became a murderer.

Seriously, ducklings, didn't your mother ever teach you to not play in the road?

Some of Julianna's Thoughts While Sitting in a Sauna

Eeew. There is an old man out there wearing a Speedo. Sir, it's time to trade in your tiny suit for something a little more modest. Please. Someone should really put an age limit on Speedos. Like, only Olympians between the ages of 16 and 30 can wear them. I'm pretty sure that would cut down on most dry-heaving that occurs at public swimming pools.

And don't get me started on bikinis.

Speaking of which, a bikini-clad woman just came in to the sauna with her significant other. How do I know that these two are romantically involved? Well, first off, I just have a gift for reading people. Secondly, they are cuddling and cooing. *Shudder* Is that romantic? To come into a sauna and sweat all over each other? I don't think so, but that's just me. Call me crazy, but I think that some moments are not meant to be shared with the love of your life.

But, what do I know? I'm one of those crazy young single adults.

Uh oh. The Speedo Man is coming into the sauna. No, Speedo Man! Don't come in! Oh great. Speedo Man is sitting directly across from me. OH NO! Speedo Man is doing some very inappropriate stretching moves. Stop, Speedo Man! STOP! STOP WITH THE STRADDLE STRETCH!!! ARGH!! My retinas!!

*Julianna rushes out of the sauna, nursing her wounded eyes.*

Watch a movie, feel the burn.

"I will not run. Why punish my legs for something my mouth did?"

--Source Unknown for the Moment

(I couldn't remember who said this quote, so I decided to Google it. Note to self: Never Google anything containing the word "punish". Anyway, we'll just leave that quote author-less for now.)

I am not a runner. Unless something scary (like a bear or Tree Man) is chasing me, I just don't see the point of running. This has always been my philosophy. That is, until the glorious day when I discovered the cardio cinema at the gym!

It's amazing how quickly a movie can change my attitude. Running on a normal treadmill is like death and a baby. But, put that treadmill in a theater room and I'll run for miles, as happy as a hamster. (Get it? Hamster...because hamsters run on their little wheels for hours? What a brilliant metaphor. The writing in this post is just top-notch. You should be glad you're reading this.)

However, my hamster-like happiness has faded lately because it seems like Gold's Gym workers have terrible taste in movies. I have seen Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull multiple times in that cardio cinema, unfortunately. I've seen The Proposal more times than I care to count, and I've even been fortunate enough enough to see parts of Step Up 2 and G Force. (Speaking of hamsters....)

But, the most annoying movie as of late is definitely We Are Marshall. I've seen the first half of that movie probably four times in the last month. Ugh. First of all, I get sick of inspirational sports movies really quickly. (I blame this on the fact that I was way overexposed to Remember the Titans during my high school years. "We need to have an inspirational assembly for all of the high school kids, so we're going to watch Remember the Titans." "We need an inspirational activity for the drama students, so we're going to watch Remember the Titans." "We need an inspirational activity for the floral arranging class. Remember the Titans it is!") Yes, I'm so happy that football is such a magical tool that brings us all together, but I don't want to watch a movie about it. Especially if Matthew Mcconaughey is playing the annoying head coach. And especially if I'm trying to run.

Maybe I should just imagine that I'm running away from that movie....

And Why Can't References to the Holocaust Be Funny?

Remember my pickiness about bananas? Well, my dear father (Hi Dad!) is very tolerant of my banana issues. In fact, even though I don't live at my parents' house, my dad still buys green bananas. On Sunday, he commented on the fact that I hadn't been around to eat the bananas.

Dad: See? I buy them green and nobody eats them.

Jules: I'm sorry! The window of opportunity is just too short.

Dad: I just need to get you a banana ripening chamber.

Jules: There's an idea.

Dad: You know how the banana gas chamber works, don't you?

Jules: Yes. The bananas are told to tie their shoes together so they'll get them back after their shower. But they don't get their shoes back.

Get it? Anyone?

*Crickets chirp*

Later conversation with Taren:

Taren: Yeah, I don't think anyone is going to think that's funny. The Holocaust isn't exactly a funny topic.

Jules: But THIS is funny! Bananas don't even WEAR shoes!

Oh, bananas with shoes. *Chuckle*

I Guess I'll Be Ordering the Big Mac

I saw a billboard the other day for a restaurant. I don't remember which. Ruby River? Ruby Tuesday's? Something involving rubies. Or not. Apparently this is another advertising fail, since I can't even remember the name of the restaurant. Ah well. I'm over it.

Anyway, the billboard showed a picture of a smiling couple next to the words, "Because she said yes."

How sweet. If she says yes to the proposal, she gets steak. If the answer is no, he's taking her straight to McDonald's.

Frankly, I think McDonald's is missing out on a great opportunity for advertising. Right after the Ruby *mumble something unintelligible* restaurant ad, there should be a billboard with a pic of a sad couple and the words, "Because she said no--McDonald's."

I would remember that ad. Most definitely.

An Angry Spring Haiku

There's snow on the ground.

It's April the THIRTIETH!

Jules is disgruntled.

I have been disgruntled too many times this week, what with a Castle re-run, a Lost re-run, and now some spring snow.

My life is SOOOO hard. All of those suffering children in Africa have no idea what it's like to be me. It's just too much! *Jules bursts into tears and throws a temper tantrum.*

Whatever. I'm getting cheese fries. (Anyone catch the hidden movie quote in this entry? Anyone? Taren?)

You need a new ad campaign.

The other day I was watching something on Hulu, and a commercial came on that immediately got my attention, because it was asking all kinds of "What if?" questions.

"What if you went to grad school?" (Ooh! Grad school? I want to go to grad school!)

"What if you went to Prague?" (Ooh! Prague! I want to go to Prague!)

"What if you changed your mind and went to Montana instead?" (A few shots of horses running free through beautiful green fields. Now I want to go to Montana.)

"What if you met someone?" (A shot of a hunky cowboy-type person. Now I really want to go to Montana.)

"What if he gave you HPV? What if it turned into cervical cancer?"

Julianna's brain lets out a mental SCREECHING sound.

Wait a minute. Where did that come from? One minute we're running with the horses, and the next minute you try to turn it into some dramatic cervical cancer awareness ad.

I hate when commercials try to fool me. They drag me in with their pretty pictures, and the next minute they're trying to make me all weepy-eyed. It's not going to work on me! If I were the rebellious type, I would go out right now and get cervical cancer, just to spite whoever made this commercial. "Yeah, your commercial did nothing to prevent ME from getting cancer. I saw your commercial and now I'm on my deathbed. Take THAT!"

Yeah, that would show 'em.

If you really want to get people to avoid HPV like the plague, all you need to do is show a picture of Tree Man and say something like:

"HPV can lead to this:"

ARGH! I'll never touch anyone ever again!

Now THAT would be an effective commercial.

Since I'm on the subject of ineffective ad campaigns, does anyone remember this anti-Meth ad that was on several years ago? Oddly enough, that catchy tune makes Meth seem sort of appealing. (My brothers and I still sing the song to this day. "Ooh Meth. Ooh Meth!"



Yes, it was a legit commercial. Anti-drug fail.

Field Trip!

The other day I was looking through some of my old journals, and I found a few entries that involved my dear roomie, Taren. My favorite one said this:

Wednesday March 15, 2000

"...Lately I've been hanging out with my friend Taren. She can be really funny, but when we get together we act really retarded. Maybe that's why I like to hang out with her. I like to be able to act goofy and just have fun."

You know, I might as well have written that yesterday, because it's just as true today as it was ten years ago.

We DO act really retarded when we get together.

And, on that note, we're going to take a field trip to my roommate's blog, where you can read what happens when we put our minds together. Hop on over to Free Flan, everyone, and make sure you stick together! Don't get lost. (Of course, if you do get lost, Free Flan is a good place to be. I'll warn you, however, that you might come out with new-found respect for Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers.)

(A piece of art from some of Julianna and Taren's earliest collaborative work. The original is on display in Julianna's journal, and will no doubt sell for millions of dollars.)

And While I'm At It....

Continuing on with my letters to drivers:

Dear People Who Drive Cadillac Escalades,

Whenever I see you, all I can think is, "That person has far more money than he has class." Seriously. You spent $62,000 to $85,000 on a glorified Suburban?

Whatever floats your boat, man.

Dear People Who Drive Brightly-Colored Volkswagen Beetles,

When I see you, all I can think is, "Whoever is driving that must have been a really cool and rich 17-year old girl...about 7 years ago."

My apologies if you're some 45-year-old dude. But, really, why are you driving that?

Now, granted, I drive a '96 Hyundai Elantra, but that's because I have no money. Maybe that's why my soul hurts a little when people with money buy blechy cars. (Yes, blechy is now a word.)

That's some false advertising on your car, buddy.

Dear Slow Drivers Who Insist on Driving in the Fast Lane,

Why? Go be slow in the other lanes. Do you do this because you have this warped sense of responsibility that makes you feel that you must force everyone else to drive the speed limit? Well, bully for you for being a law-abiding citizen and everything, but get out of my way. If I want to push my little 4-cylinder car to its 85 mph maximum capacity, that's my own business. I don't appreciate your little attempt at vigilante justice.

"I will stay in this lane driving 65 mph, no matter what! Take that, you evil speeders!"

Ugh. I want to install a giant fist on the front of my car so I can punch you with it.

Oh. I also want to make sure I deliver a special message to the guy who was driving 60 mph in the fast lane yesterday, holding up a whole line of angry people (myself included). Sir, you have earned yourself a free punch in the face. You can claim your prize any time. And make sure you bring your car with you. Yes, the one you were driving yesterday. Yes, that would be the blue Mustang that had the word "Racing" written on the back.

You need a new car.

Best regards,

Jules

Save the Trees! Save the Trees!

On Saturday I woke up to the soothing sound of trees being murdered outside my window. Yes, my landlord decided to chop down every tree in the backyard (except for the one tree I actually WANTED him to cut down--the one that constantly pokes its big branches into my face as I try to walk through the gate).

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Avatar, or he would know that when you cut down trees, it causes great pain to blue people.

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Pocahontas, or he would know that every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name.

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Ferngully, or he would know that cutting down trees leads to Tim Curry escaping and singing a cheesy song about pollution. And, really, who wants that?

I told my dear roommate that we should have gotten up really early and chained ourselves to the trees in a bold attempt at rescuing nature, but that might have caused some awkward tension between us and the landlord. Plus, that would have required getting up early.

Really, though. Isn't it a bit sacrilegious to chop down all of your trees right before Arbor Day?

BLOG!

I promised I would write about the Muse concert, and then I didn't. Once again, I have betrayed all 30 of my loyal followers.

I'm sure you have all been anxiously awaiting a new post from me. I'm just sure of it. I can see it now--all 30 of you hanging around your computer screen with blood-shot eyes, neglecting all of your responsibilities and yelling, "Blog, Jules. BLOG!!"

Well, friends, I'm back. Sorry it took so long for me to hear your cries. You see, my ears have been ringing all week, thanks to my Monday activities: going shooting with my dad and going to the concert. (For the record, I would definitely recommend ear plugs for both activities.)

All I have to say about the concert, really, is that it was amazing. I figure to give you a play-by-play would be incredibly boring--sort of like looking at pictures of someone else's cruise. "And this is where I was having the time of my life, while you were stuck at your dead-end job." Who wants that?

So, in short, if you have the chance to go to a Muse concert--take it. You won't regret it.

Nothing says "Happy Birthday" like the gift of a gun.

Happy Easter, everyone! Easter is so confusing to me. You'd think it would be our biggest holiday, due to the fact that it celebrates Christ's resurrection, which seems to me to be the most important event ever. But, it seems like no one really knows what to do with it. Uh, I guess we'll dye some eggs and, uh, fill this basket up with green plastic grass and toys?

Sure. That's a good way to celebrate the Atonement. OH! Don't forget to throw in the chocolate bunny so we can celebrate the fertility gods at the same time.

Our traditions are cool.

Speaking of traditions, it's my birthday this week. (Did you notice my pitiful attempt at transitioning smoothly into my next topic? Oh, my high school English teachers should be ashamed.) The thing about my birthday is that it comes at an awkward time of year: APRIL 7.

(Did you all get that? I SAID APRIL 7TH. I just thought I should randomly throw that date out for no apparent reason....)

There just always seems to be so much going on around that time. So, usually I get to celebrate my birthday over a bunch of different days. Hooray! Today was what we'll call my first birthday of the week. And I got a gun.

Watch out, world. I now own a gun. Yes, the girl who couldn't hit a pumpkin with a shotgun now owns an automatic rifle. (In my defense, the pumpkin was flying through the air. And I'm a better shot now....)

Happy birthday to me! Second birthday is tomorrow--MUSE CONCERT!! I'll let you know how it goes, so you can vicariously enjoy what is sure to be a fantastic show.

Ella is the perfect cure.

Whoever invented April Fool's Day deserves a big fat punch in the face from yours truly. In fact, I'm practicing my right hook, just in case I ever happen to run into the guy.

Call me crazy, but I don't find any joy in a day that celebrates people playing mean jokes on each other. And I REALLY don't appreciate having to go through an entire day of little children raising their hands in class, just to make some dumb comment and then laugh hysterically afterward, proudly yelling, "April Fool!" Yeah. That was old before it even started today.

Oh. And the lovely spawn of Satan in my class told me this week that he wanted to take a hammer and kill everyone. He is such a joy.

On a happier note, I've decided that Ella Fitzgerald is the perfect cure for a bad day. I bought this album today, and I highly recommend it. Go buy it. Now.

Is there a safe house for people who are in an abusive relationship with dessert items? Please leave the hotline number in your comment.

Confession: I love food, more than I love some people. (More than I love a lot of people, actually.)

Of course, if you're reading this blog, the above statement doesn't apply to you. *Jules bats her eyelashes and smiles innocently.*

We all know that sometimes we love things that aren't good for us. Take Samson and Delilah, for example. Or Romeo and Juliet. Or Brad and Angelina.

But, though we know that these couples aren't exactly the best match for each other, where would we be without them? Huh? I mean, what would the tabloids write about if Brad and Angelina never got together and never adopted 26 children of various nationalities?! WHAT?!

My point is that a little dysfunction in a relationship isn't necessarily a bad thing. *shifty eyes* So, when I decide to completely give up on my calorie counting at 9:30 at night, I'm just trying to bring balance to the world. *shifty eyes*

Okay, who am I kidding? I'm a weakling! I can't count calories. I've only been doing this for a week, and I'm going crazy. Seriously. One hand is shoveling chocolate chips into my mouth while the other hand is scooping peanut butter out of the jar, all while I'm trying to figure out a way to teach my feet how to peel a banana. (Those monkeys have it so easy.)

Don't judge.

I will say this, though. I love that moment when I decide to totally give up. It's just so wonderful when I think, "That's it! I don't care anymore. I'm eating 17 cream cheese-filled cookies, and then I'm going to order pizza and swim in chocolate ice cream! MWHAHAHA."

And then I have a big food hangover the next morning and feel sad inside.

I'm in an abusive relationship and I want out. It's intervention time, people. It's time to pry my fingers off the chocolate bar. Please.

I want to call your parents, but I don't think my cell phone plan covers calls to HELL.

"The soul is healed by being with children."

--Fyodor Dostoevsky

Now, I don't mean to disagree with the famous Russian author who brought as such classics as The Idiot and Crime and Punishment, but Fyodor was obviously not in my classes today. If he had been, his quote might be changed to:

"The soul is ripped to shreds by children."

Or something along those lines. Dah, Fyodor?

Okay, okay. Not all children have this effect. Most, in fact, are totally love-able. Take my preschoolers, for example. We get along splendidly. In fact, sometimes I think I should befriend more three and four year olds, simply because I have such a good rapport with them.

Fourth graders, on the other hand, make me break out in hives. And today, after one particularly charming punk told me he wanted to "slice my head off," I was quite sad that teachers are no longer allowed to paddle children. Quite sad, indeed.

I'm kidding, of course. (No I'm not. Not in the slightest, actually.)

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to patch my tattered soul back together. What does one use for that sort of activity? I'm thinking chocolate will be involved somehow....

Get Validated

You owe it to yourself to watch this movie, particularly if you're having a bad day. Seriously.

I'd write more, but you have a video to watch. (I'll just say that I owe endless tribute to Jarom for showing me this video. You rock.)

Worst assignment ever.

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me the "Why aren't you married?" question, I would have...at least enough to go get me a burger and fries.

And, frankly, I could use a burger and fries right now.

So, if you've asked me this question, cough up that dollar!

Seriously.

...I'm waiting.

*Sigh*  Fine.  Since people are obviously being VERY stingy with the dollars that I have RIGHTFULLY EARNED, I'll tell you about the most recent people to ask me why I haven't found matrimonial bliss:

My sweet kindergartners.

"Why aren't you married?"

"I just haven't found the right guy yet."

"Well, you need to find him.  You need to get married tomorrow!"

"I can't find a man by tomorrow, silly!"

"Well, in two weeks.  In two weeks, I'm going to ask you, and you'd better be married!"

Alright, friends.  I have two weeks to find me a husband.  Anyone, anyone?

I think I'm going to fail my homework assignment.

Why did no one tell him this was a bad idea?

Dear Andrew Lloyd Webber,

Really?  You made a sequel to The Phantom of the Opera?  A sequel in which the Phantom produces a successful show called "Phantasma" in Coney Island?  A sequel in which Raoul is a drunken gambler and Christine's son Gustave is actually the illegitimate child of the Phantom?  (Sorry if I just ruined the big surprise for you.)

(I know that it sounds like a premise for a Monty Python movie or something, but I am not making this up.)

Andy, Andy, Andy.  Why was I not consulted before this happened?  I feel like I could have somehow stopped this from happening.

Andrew Lloyd Webber:  So, Jules, I've been thinking about creating a sequel to The Phantom of the Opera.

Me:  No.

Andrew Lloyd Webber:  But, it will be amazing!  It's going to be called Love Never Dies and set in Coney Island, of all places!

Me:  No.

Andrew Lloyd Webber:  BUT!

Me:  *Slapping Mr. Webber in the face.*  Pull yourself together, man!  NO!

Alas, I wasn't there to tell him this.  Ah well.

One more thing I need to add to my list of "Stupid things I'm WAY too opinionated about."

Normally, here at A Hermit's Ranting Tantrums, I try to stick to casual topics. Today, however, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to say that I have to delve into a more serious issue. I hope you will bear with me so that together we can keep others from suffering through one of the most terrible experiences the human body can endure.

I'm talking, of course, about squishy pickles.

Can anything be worse than expecting to bite into a crisp pickle, and instead discovering that your mouth is filled with a nasty, mushy, dill-tasting, caterpillar-ish thing?

I submit to you that nothing can be worse. (Okay. Genocide/Starvation/AIDS/Natural Disasters/The Common Cold MIGHT be worse. It's open to interpretation.)

Millions   Hundreds  A couple of people each year suffer through squishy pickles in silence.  Or by letting out audible screams of "Gah!  Bad pickle!" and spitting them into a trash can so they can eat a different pickle.

IS THERE NO MERCY?!  This tragedy must stop.

I suggest that our first course of action is to boycott squishy pickles.  BEHOLD!  The first product to be put on the GAH! BAD PICKLE list:

Milwaukee's Midget Kosher Dill Pickles:

Though this may claim to be "Wisconsin's Hometown Favorite", don't be deceived!  Either this is a bold-faced lie, or you should never trust the opinion of Wisconsinites.  (Wisconsonians?  Wisconsinese?  Whatever.)  This jar is just one big squishy pickle disaster after another.  (Plus, it's not very politically correct, is it?  Midget pickles.  Tsk Tsk.  Little People pickles is the appropriate term.) Don't give in to it.  

Together we can end the hurting.  We can stop the squishy pickle assault.

It's up to you.

Have a #2 Pencil Ready.

Sometimes I forget that the average American is a complete and total idiot. Sure, I always realize that there are plenty of idiots out there--on the road, in the movie theater, in the Senate---but I still like to believe that most people are somewhat-intelligent.

And then I participate in standardized testing, and I am reminded that most of the people in our population are morons.

Why was I participating in standardized testing, you may be asking? Well, I sure didn't do it by choice. I scheduled an "appointment" to take a competency test for a census job, thinking that I would be able to just go in, take the timed test, and leave. *Chuckle* Oh, foolish Julianna.

Instead, I got to sit in a room with sixty other people, waiting for everyone to get paperwork filled out. Then finally, after an hour of waiting for people to figure out how to fill out simple forms, we all got to sit there as the test giver read the instructions of the test to us OUT LOUD.

UGH. Haven't we been going through this process since grade school? I THINK WE CAN HANDLE READING THE INSTRUCTIONS OURSELVES NOW.

Also? You don't need to explain to me how to fill in the bubbles on the answer sheet. We all get the concept.

Well, at least that's what I thought. Then you see the people who don't understand where to start or where they're supposed to write, and you understand why the powers-that-be feel that it's necessary for us to be treated like dummies.

Needless to say, I don't think I want to get that job. I'd rather not be treated like an idiot.

Goals, Shmoals

I'm not much of a goal-setter, sadly enough. I blame my cynicism, actually. I don't get motivated by those "Go for it!" posters, or the "You can do it!" pep talks. And when people tell me that I need to make goals and write them down, I nod my head in agreement, while at the same time thinking, "Yeah, that's not happening."

Needless to say, I need an attitude adjustment.

The most recent example of how bad I am with goals:

For the past several weeks, I have had a goal of eating sweets only once a week. ONCE. (I know. That's sheer insanity, right?) Wanna know how many times I've accomplished this goal?

Zero. Not once.

Apparently, I don't do well with the whole, "Don't give up what you want most for what you want right now," thing. Especially when it comes to food. Here's a glimpse of the internal dialogue I have with myself:

"Don't eat that cookie."

"But, I want it."

"Well, remember your goal."

"What goal? I don't remember any goal." *Shifty eyes...if it's possible for internal voices to have shifty eyes.*

"Think about what you want most!"

"That cookie."

"Stop!"

"COOKIE!!"

*Munch munch munch*

Internal Voice of Reason: 0 points

Appetite: 657,002 points

Appetite is very hard to say no to. I imagine she looks something like this:

Yeah, I'm pretty sure you don't want to say no to her.

Anyway, this whole post is leading up to something I just read on the inside of the wrapper for one of those Dove chocolates. It's a Valentine's Day chocolate that has been sitting in the candy dish for a few weeks, and I've been trying to ignore it, thanks to my goal.

Goal: Fail. Yet again.

The message, which happens to be from Martha Stewart, says, "Surprise a loved one with pink bed linens on Valentine's Day."

Wha?

Martha, who should I be surprising, exactly? If I had a husband, I don't think pink bed linens would necessarily be a happy thing.

"SURPRISE!"

"Um, what's this?"

"It's your Valentine's Day SURPRISE! Pink BED LINENS!! Isn't that such a surprising SURPRISE?!"

"...Yeah. I was really hoping for a change in the color of my bed linens. The other color just seemed almost too manly."

The day I start taking advice from Martha Stewart, particularly about the proper choice of bed linens, is going to be a very dark day, indeed. I'll probably have to start scrapbooking, too.

*Shudder*

I guess that's what I get for not keeping my goals.

Not to self: Make a goal to keep goals.

(Yeah, that's not happening.)

Women, Know Your Limits

For any of you who haven't ever lived in Utah County, let me tell you that it's a singular sort of place. Singular, perhaps, because of the people who live here. They are very singular people, indeed, full of all kinds of singularity.

I'm done using the word singular. *Cheers erupt from the 2 people who are reading this blog.* Give me a break! I've been around wee little kidlets all day. They're dear little creatures, but sometimes they just suck the creative juice directly from my brain. And, unfortunately, this makes it difficult for me to think of words.... *Twitch*

What was I saying? Ah, yes. Utah County. It really is a nice place and I can recommend all sorts of things about it. But, sometimes there are people here who have very narrow minds.

Like the one guy who once told my mom, "If God wanted women to wear earrings, He would have created them with holes in their ears."

Hmmm. By that logic, if God wanted us to wear clothes, we would have come out of the womb fully-dressed. (That would be disgusting.)

I'm just saying.

So, when I saw this video, I just had to post it. It's a little overboard, but sometimes I feel that there are people around here who still have this mentality:

Okay, so life here isn't quite that bad, but sometimes I feel that there are people here who think, "Oh, you women are just so sweet. You rest your pretty heads and let the men do the work."

Next time I'm on a date, I'm going to try the kitten line and see if it works.

Oh, and speaking of dating....

I need to find myself a "spunky chap with his hat at jaunty angles" so I no longer need to "wander through the minefield of caddishness".

Well, there you have it. According to these videos, Utah County shares striking similarities with 1940's England. (Well, a satirical 1940's England, anyway.) If only we all had those charming British accents....

Oh, the Bachelor

Confession: I watched all two hours of The Bachelor season finale, even though I didn't really watch any of the season.

And then I dreamed about being on the Bachelor.

And I didn't get chosen by the Bachelor.

Now, that's just sad. Though, I will say that my dream episode of the Bachelor was a lot more exciting than the actual season finale. I mean, there was a cat fight in mine. A cat fight, people! I didn't see anything even close to a cat fight on the actual season finale. (Though, if they played "On the Wings of Love" one more time, I'm sure some of the studio audience would have rushed the stage and started swinging punches.)

I'm telling you, the producers of the Bachelor need to come find me, because I would make the show interesting. Here are some things I would like to do if I somehow made it on to the show (unlikely) and somehow made it past the first episode (impossible):

1) Punch out the bachelor when he didn't give me a rose.

2) Tell the bachelor that he just wasn't my type, and voluntarily leave.

3) Be a total prude. None of this spending a night in a hotel business. "Thanks for the date. Oh! Look at the time! I'd better be getting home to my own bed, where I will keep my moral standards and continue to be a virtuous woman."

Hmmm. Okay. That might be the main reason I would never be allowed on such a show.

Seriously, though, the Bachelor guy kept talking about how the girl he chose was "naturally sexy" and there was great physical chemistry between the two of them. Those seemed to be the main qualities he based his decision on. That's nice, but aren't you wanting a wife, my friend? What happens when you're both elbow deep in diapers? Or when you guys are sick or old or fat or whatever? Are you going to be sexy then?

Here's what I would love to see happen for at least one season of the Bachelor/Bachelorette. No more of these dates in exotic places like St. Lucia. I think you should go on a camping trip that starts out with a 3-day bus ride. You'll have to sit next to the bus bathroom, the air conditioning will go out half-way through the trip, and there will be a screaming baby on the bus. That will bring out the true colors quickly, I should say.

I'm telling you, ABC, this is what the show should be.

Quarter-Life Crisis #127

I'm starting to feel like I have a quarter-life crisis about every 3 months or so. I'll figure out what I want to do, where I want to live, etc, and then 3 months later I have to re-evaluate my life again. And then I start banging my ahead against walls, screaming, "What am I doing with my life?!" while my roommate rolls her eyes and shoots me with tranquilizers.

Okay. Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. Tranquilizers are too messy.

Seriously, though. I think it's time for me to have an official plan--one that doesn't expire every few months. So, here's the plan as it stands right now:

1) Finish up the school year.

2) Strike oil.

3) Travel the world.

Perfect. It's foolproof!!

Calling All Inventors

I am looking for someone who can invent a "Lung Squeegee". Yes, a Lung Squeegee. Like, a squeegee for the lungs. Because, I don't know about you, but my lungs could use some heavy squeeging.

Eew. Didn't anyone else cringe when I used the phrase "heavy squeeging"? I reserve all rights to use that as a band name.

Well, the challenge has been made, my friends. I expect someone to have a working prototype of the Lung Squeegee on my desk in 3 weeks. Your reward will be a hug and a cookie.

Flowers for Whom: The Conclusion

Here's an update on the flowers, since I know all of you were just DYING to know what happened.

And I just can't let my 24 followers live in suspense. My conscience can't handle those types of shenanigans. (Yes, I just used the word "shenanigans" in a sentence. I also plan on using the word "defibrillator" at some point in this entry. Just you wait. Also, watch for the word "squeegee" in a future post.)

Of course, I called the floral shop to find out what happened to my poor little lost flowers. Apparently, they weren't lost at all--they just had never been delivered. Mystery solved! So, I went to pick them up, and the lady was so sweet. She even gave me chocolate truffles by way of apology. In my opinion, truffles will make up for just about anything.

Well, maybe not anything. If you murder one of my family members, truffles just aren't going to cut it.

Unless they're really good truffles, and the family member deserved it.

Just kidding, family. Mostly. Ahem.... I mean, really. :-)

Anyway, here are my beautiful flowers from "The Julianna Fan Club", and this is my super excited face!

Yep. I look pretty excited, don't I? I'm so excited, in fact, that someone may need to pull out the defibrillator soon. (Yes. That just happened.)

Oh, and I realize that pretty much all of my pictures on this blog are taken with my computer. *Sigh* I do leave this basement, I swear. I just don't like taking a camera with me....

Anyway, thanks for the flowers!

Flowers for Whom?

Today I got an email from a floral shop. The email says, "On Monday February 8th, you received flowers from us. We would like your feedback."

Here is my feedback:

"Next time I receive flowers from you, I would love to actually receive them."

That's like adding insult to injury, isn't it? NOT delivering flowers to me, and then telling me they want me to provide feedback on the flowers I didn't get? I mean, without that email I would never have known that I was supposed to get flowers. Now, though, I'm going to sit here wondering what happened to them.

Oh well. Maybe the neighbors upstairs received them, instead, and are enjoying them.

Or maybe they were carnations and the flower delivery guy instinctively knew that carnations are not my favorite, so he didn't bother to deliver them.

Anyway, if you were the person who decided to send me flowers, thanks so much! Sorry I didn't say anything earlier.

Happy Valentine's Day! Here are some flowers for you: