As a child, I don’t even think Julie meant to be funny, but in doing things like wearing gigantic Sally Jesse Raphael red glasses that she was constantly getting bubble gum stuck all over and telling the director of our sailing camp to “go f*ck” himself — she’s always been one of the most hilarious people I know.
In fact, since having her as my best friend, I literally can’t stomach being friends with people who are not funny. If a person doesn’t have a sense of humor, then, um, well, it’s almost like I categorize them with social misfits and serial killers. The chances of me pursuing a friendship with an individual who can’t make me laugh is akin to me attempting to wax my bikini line with just a pair of tweezers: never in a million years. (Again, another reason why I’m so grateful to have met such friendly and FUNNY people here in Delaware! Like the girl who recently left Depends on my door!!)
Anywho. I’m pleased to announce Julie is starting a spin-off blog to Naked Thanks, called Naked Fan Mail. Like Karin and I have done for the past year, Julie will be “baring her soul” but she’ll be doing it through good natured celebrity fanaticism rather than thank you notes (so very fitting for her status as a LA-resident). Plus, as a stand-up comedian, I’m sure she’ll keep us all in stitches with her witty observations on Hollywood and pop culture.
Happy to pass the naked baton to you, Jul!!! Readers: stay tuned for the link on Wednesday!
Julie's been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We bonded as young children over the fact that both our mothers cut our hair with butter knives and dressed us like boys. I'm honored she's doing a spin-off to Naked Thanks!
The thing I miss most about living in Virginia is my friends. Since my Delta Delta Delta days at Penn State, I hadn’t had such a tight knit group of girls with whom I could talk about absolutely anything. In fact, it always seemed like our book club was the place where we had the most hilarious conversations, so it makes me sad I’m missing out on that tonight while all my NoVa friends yuck it up.
When we started the club five years ago, no one had kids. The funny part about this was that when it was a pre-baby book club, all we talked about was labor and delivery. I’d say 99% of our book club conversations revolved around what we heard about women pooping on the table during labor. Ironic, because none of us even had babies — so what did we know?
The truth is, once you’ve actually given birth (or at least in my case), you could care less if you poop on the table or not. In fact, during my last labor, I could have taken a shit on Grey’s head and I wouldn’t have cared. Indeed, I could have dumped on an entire room of people and not batted an eye, but I digress…
The point is, I always knew we could talk about anything during book club and I’m very grateful to have been a member for so long! And who knows, next month I’m going to a new club here at the beach, so maybe it’ll be the same way. I have a theory that if you give women from any state in the country a few glasses of wine and some appetizers they’ll all wind up talking about third nipples, poop during labor, and celebrity gossip. It’s in our blood!
Here's a pic we snapped at BC a few years ago. No clue why we all rubbing our nipples. I think we were making some sort of reference to Pride and Prejudice or Grapes of Wrath? This is a very intellectual crowd, as you can tell.
While I am happy to work at a magazine that promotes the finer things in life, the powers that be seem to think it’s a-okay if their employees sit on each other at the office. The person who I happen to squash with my presence day in and day out is Kelly, our Associate Editor.
Freckle-faced and just two years out of college, she has an uncanny ability to subtly read gossip blogs in Google Docs, color codes her dozens of “To Do,” lists in sorority-friendly hues, and works harder than Anna Wintour’s footmen. I appreciate her insight into important cultural phenomena like the stress of reality TV on once solid marriages and the goings on of The Real World, Washington D.C.
Kelly and I like to dream of world domination and a future where we don’t have to strain our backs changing the water cooler. When we are really feeling starry-eyed we think of the cubicles we may one day have and what it must be like to make private phone calls about naked beerpong without having a Siamese twin pulling your hair.
Kelly in our glamorous office burning the midnight oil. We once had to deliver something to a law firm and convulsed with jealousy over their marble halls and private offices. It is unfortunate that journalists work in dumpsters with wifi and a dictionary.
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