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!
I don’t know what the weather is like in your part of the world, but in DC you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. I am tempted to start stuffing ice in my clothes. I walk to lunch and seriously have dreams of working in a sarong and a bra. But I control myself. There are some gals in town who don’t feel the need though. And on the pages of the fabulous world of tabloids, there is so much retouched girl skin, it’s like we live in a nudist colony.
So I must ask an age old question: with all this flesh, where is the man candy? Well, anywhere Matthew McConaughey is. Even if he is not your type, as a red blooded American woman, I have to appreciate the fact that the man is always naked. And I mean always. I just Googled him and there was nary a stitch on him in any photo.
Luckily the zany character from Texas has a pretty decent bod. Good tan, penchant for board shorts, six pack abs. And he is ready for you to check it out! He is rather well known for cavorting in the (almost) buff with Lance Armstrong; those two may be the original bromance. But I think where I appreciated his bod the most was in the life-changing film, “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.” Matthew is forced to take off his shirt after he is splashed by some mud on his motorcycle and then what do you know, Kate Hudson and him get frisky in his parents’ bathroom. The man must have a clause in every movie. No nude scene, no muscles McConaughey. I’ll take it!
Typical Matthew pic. I bet he even goes shirtless to black-tie affairs.
Here he is not wearing a shirt in a venue where others are clothed. It's probably a state dinner.
As I expected we would, Grey and I have waited until the very last second to pack up our stuff for our move. It is now Thursday, a mere 24 hours until go-time, and I’m not kidding when I say our house looks like a bomb went off.
It’s not like there are packed boxes everywhere making it seem chaotic, it’s just the fact that we haven’t done anything but be extra dirty to prepare for this move. Clothes, dishes, toys, and random items are everywhere. You can’t find a clear surface in the entire house. The back of the toilet is covered with items like Easter baskets and old yearbooks and the stove is buried under old issues of US Weekly. Open the fridge and you’ll find food, yes, but also DVDs and a few old hardrives from busted laptops. It’s like an episode of Hoarders come to life. Luckily, we both work waaaaay better under pressure, so I’m sure things will get done by Friday. Or at least, pretty sure.
I mean, it’s not like we haven’t packed ANY boxes. We have. The only problem is, the stuff we have packed is so haphazardly thrown together, it’s like we were playing SuperMarket Sweep; there’s not rhyme or reason to any of the boxes. Most are just labeled RANDOM CRAP or STUFF. Unpacking should be as much fun, if not more as packing everything up!
I subscribe to 15+ magazines and probably leaf through about 30 a month. But of course it’s just part of my job to read US Weekly and OK. Sniffing out the competition! So when I came across Garden & Gun magazine in my bed and breakfast room this weekend I almost fell off my charming chair. First of all, there is a magazine called Garden & Gun! One not aimed at gun crazed lunatics who flip past articles about tulips and straight to the part about shooting fuzzy creatures?
So I started going through it, more curious about this magazine than any other since the Playgirl I glanced in the early 90s. Would there be pictures of Scarlet O’Hara with an Uzi? Perhaps a hydrangea bush guarded by a soldier with a semi-automatic? Well, no. In fact, it was much more like Town & Country meets Southern Living with a little Horse & Hound magazine thrown in for good measure. And when they say they are the magazine that promotes the soul of the new south, I actually get it. And they make the new south look rather cool.
An interview with the author of “The Help,” Kathryn Stockett (her book was rejected by lit agents 45 times in a row, by the way), an article on a modern fish camp, and another on southern dream towns and the southern run shops in New York City. Well, well, well, as a gal who grew up just a hair below the Mason Dixon line, this was all very interesting. And not at all propaganda for the NRA or the American Horticultural Society. I’m sold! I rarely meet a glossy mag that I don’t like and Garden & Gun proved no exception. Now on to my mint julep.
I was really taken aback when I saw this mag in my B&B. First of all, how is there a magazine in the world I haven't heard of, and secondly, Garden & Gun??? Who is this for? Gangsters with green thumbs?
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