Every Dog Has Its Thursday- SPECIAL EDITION

Hey, Julie-readers. It's me, Audrey, the guest-poster who was afraid of Finding Nemo.

Today I am not here to embarrass myself by telling you what other "harmless" (read: terrifying) things frighten me, but rather to make sure the ever-adorable Bailey gets her weekly hour in the spotlight while her mom's away.

Let's take a look at this picture, shall we?





Here we see Bailey, who looks surprisingly like my dog Smalls, playing tug-of-war with Tim, who shares a name with my husband, Tim (duh). This picture amuses me on a few different levels. There's the obvious adorableness of it, of course -- don't even try to tell me you can look at this picture without smiling a little. But there's also the fact that this scene could very easily take place in my living room -- just swap out the Tims and trade Bailey for Smalls or Ben, and there you'd have it. And, knowing my Tim and my dogs, nobody would be surprised at all.

See, Julie and I recently talked a bit about how her Tim and my Tim are pretty much the same person. Not literally, because that would be, well, adulterous and awful. But figuratively, you know, in the sense that our Tims are very much alike. I recently posted a picture of my Tim getting friendly with a giraffe, and Julie said her Tim would do the exact same thing. And now Julie sends me this picture of her Tim playing toy-in-the-teeth tug-of-war with Bailey, and I'm thinking, "Yup, my Tim would definitely do that." Tims are a ton of fun like that -- everyone should have a Tim in their lives. I'm sure Bailey would agree.

It's Not Easy Being Green... Or Is it??

While Miss Julie is off gallivanting across the pond, she has asked me, Lindsey
to guest post here at WTF have I done? Since the last time I posted
on my own blog was months ago and all I did was post wedding photos, I
warned her that she may want to reconsider her request. I wouldn't
want to tarnish her blog's good reputation. At the very least, she
recommended, I could use this post as a way to let people know that I
am actually ALIVE! Maybe this post could be like my comeback to the
blogosphere. Only time will tell if this is more like a "Britney 2007
VMA performance" or a "Britney 2008 VMA appearance" type of comeback.
But if I suddenly come toward your car wielding an umbrella, I'd hit
the gas and get out of there, stat.

Last week (election week) was all about Change--for the better I hope
(YES WE DID)!! This year has been full of changes for me, large and
small. Dudes, I totally got married! Like, I'm a wife...? WTF HAVE
I DONE? But, I digress. I try to make a conscious effort from time to
time to be better...to be a better friend, a better daughter, a better
sister, an overall better person. Sometimes I even try not to nag so
much. Seriously though, pick up your effing clothes off the bathroom
floor and really, you brought your dirty dishes one foot from the
dishwasher and set them down and left? Really? Is it THAT hard?
Well," that's what she said."

Don't we all aim to be better? Isn't that the American way?

Little by little I have been trying to change the way I treat the
environment. Not because going green is trendy, but because I think
small changes in the way we do things can have a big impact on our
surroundings. Plus, it just feels good to do good things! When I
lived in New York, which was the majority of my life up until four
years ago, my family and I always recycled. Was there any other way
to do things? It was just what we did. Then I moved to Virginia, got
an apartment with my now husband and suddenly we were throwing
bottles, cans and paper away left and right. We just got lazy, and
plus, I think it would have cost money to recycle. Paying to recycle?
That is kind of a strange concept to me. Three years ago we moved
into the house where we currently reside. It is free to recycle!! Yes
we can! For some reason though, it wasn't until earlier this year that
I made it a house rule. Now it's easy, routine and dare I say it,
fun?

So now that the recycling has been going well, I was looking for
another way to be better. I hate to clean. Hate. Loathe. Uber- Ick.
I am totally Type A though and am at my happiest when the house is
organized and clean. The thing I hate most about cleaning though is
the cleaning products. No wait, it's the actual cleaning itself, but
feeling like I am breathing in cancer and all things bad for you is
the second worst part about cleaning. I remembered an episode of Jon
and Kate Plus 8 (OMG, Julie totally got me hooked. I can't wait for
the wedding in Hawaii episode!!) where Sara Snow came to visit Kate
and teach her all about green living. I remembered she said all you
needed to clean counters, etc. was vinegar and water. I looked up the
details online and decided to clean my house using only baking soda
and vinegar water. Let me tell you, I'm hooked!

I used the baking soda to clean the shower floor and the bathroom
sink. Do you know how long I've been trying to get the rust off of
the drain part of the sink? A long time. Truth be told, there is
still some rust there, but it is a serious improvement. I used the
one part vinegar to one part water to clean the shower walls, mop the
floors and even clean the toilet. The best part was that when I
turned on the water to rinse the shower walls, my eyes didn't start
burning. It didn't taste like burning either. Edgar was totally
dying over the smell of vinegar, but I really don't mind it. Once it
dries you can't smell it anymore anyway. You have to try it! I
swear, you'll be hooked too...and totally craving salt and vinegar
chips! mmmm

The only thing I really miss (so far) is using Pledge to dust with.
Instead, I just used a regular ol' rag. I wonder if there is a green
dusting product. Do YOU know? I also can't bring myself to get rid
of the real stuff yet "just in case." I mean Lysol...I might NEED
that if Edgar gets sick and his nasty sick germs get on the doorknobs.
Sick people. Yuck. Again, I digress.

I'm not perfect and sometimes I do things that aren't the best for the
environment, like using paper plates or buying bottled water. I heart
Clorox wipes, too. I'm trying though and you should too. As I like
to say, doooooooo iiiiiiiiiiiiit. I mean, if you want to.

Julie Should have Shoved ME in her Carry-On.

Hi, Julie's readers! It's me, Erin, from the state that i am in. What do you mean you don't know who I am? I'm Rufus' mom! Oh, now you know who I am. Perhaps you should get to know me a little before this guest post. Let's see...when I'm not dealing with poopy pants at school, I'm at home writing blog posts for my dogs. Yeah. That's about it!

Since Julie is off in London, I thought I’d share a little bit about my trip to Londonn 2006. Our trip to London was my first trip out of the country, and the first vacation Ted and I went on alone (despite having been married for nearly 2 years).

Since we were fairly poor at the time, we did London on a budget, which isn’t easy. It really just meant that we went any place that was cheap or free. And we ate at Pizza Express, which was a lot classier than you would think! Still, we took some amazing photos, but Julie will bring back her own amazing photos. I want to show you a couple things that Julie might not think to take pictures of.

First up, the tube escalators:

Julie might like to take a picture of these, but I would advise against since we may have gotten in a bit of international trouble. NO PICTURES IN THE TUBE. I swear, we aren’t terrorists!

Now, for some exciting British signage:

This sign begs the question – is it all right to feed the other birds?

That wasn’t the only signage we found amusing. This might be my favorite picture from out trip:

You can’t go wrong in a place that cages children but allows dogs to run free!

And finally, some good advice for all international travelers:

Happy Traveling!!

Girlfriends WOOT!

Hi All! Aimee of Old Guys Dig Me here. As you all know, Julie is off vacationing and having fun. So in the interim you get me. Sorry. :P

For those of you who read my blog, you might know already that I have a cousin that I really don’t like. In the past I’ve tried to help her because she’s come to me, asking for advice about not having any girlfriends. She’s spent most of her life with the same guy (she’s in her mid 20s and they’ve dated since high school) and she’s pretty much created a life that revolves only around him. I’ve tried to invite her places and introduce her to other women that I thought she would really like. And she’s responded with blowing people off and being generally snotty.

Next month, she’s getting married.

With my new engagement (I know!!!) and the thoughts of her concerns and her upcoming wedding, I’ve really been thinking about how awesome it is to have such a great group of girlfriends. I really am very blessed to know the women that I know, and to be able to call them friends. There were moments in my 20s where I thought, OMG all women are backstabbing bitches (I’m sure we’ve all been there), which makes these friendships all the better.

My local friends and I spend at least two nights a month together. We are involved in book club and bunco. We try to make other times to get together for puppy play dates or tennis or shopping and lunch. Each of my friends is very different and sometimes our personalities really compliment each other, and other times we clash and keep each other honest. These friends would do anything for me and know I would do anything for them.

And then there are the not-so-local friends, some of whom are “blog friends.” The fact that we haven’t spent time together in person (or that time has been very limited) doesn’t diminish the fact that these women are fabulous friends. I received an email yesterday from a blog friend that I haven’t heard from in awhile…she was concerned that she hadn’t been there for me when we were going through Chance’s illness and death. The honesty and the genuine concern made me tear up, and things have just picked up where they left off before.

Some people think that people who meet people online are weird. They think that when you talk about a friend that you know from the internet, you aren’t really talking about a true friend. These people obviously haven’t met the people that I’ve met. I love you guys. Thank you for being such great friends, even though the miles keep us separated. I really like this poem/story, I hope you enjoy it too.

http://www.hugsandsmiles.com/girlfriends/

(Don’t you love how this nice post about friendship started out with bitterness? It’s just SO ME!)

Every Dog Has Its Thursday: House Guests Edition

Hi All. Tarah here. I'll be popping in here and there while Julie's away frolicking in London.

So Bailey and I go back a few years. We've had lots of fun times together and I've watched her a bunch of times when Julie and Tim are out of town. Here's a picture from one of our first times together.



Can't you feel the love? Well, I'm sad to report, it's gone.



...Okay. Maybe not gone. But the alliances have certainly changed. She's now met Matt. And I have to say, she very much so loves him. She's more excited when he come home. She wants to play with him more than me. And she just can't seem to stop looking at him. She even gave him kisses of her own volition. Sigh.



Here she is hanging out at Matt's feet. Note the duck.

Of course none of this changes the fact that Bailey is one of the coolest dogs ever. But more on that later this week.

Have Bailey's friends Rufus, Kaya, Ben, Smalls, and Daisy made a new friend? Check 'em out!

Everything you've ever wanted to know about Processing Pineapples... But were too bored to ask

Hi everyone on Julie's Blog! I'm Julie's friend Dustin!
While she's away I get to take over and post some of MY stuff. I'm an engineer, so I thought I'd teach you something engineering... something neat... something that would totally bore the crap out of Julie's regular blog readers...

I got it: this is how you process pineapples!

Pineapples are native to South America, and were named that way by the European colonists who thought it looked like a pinecone. One pineapple plant, which kind of looks like an aloe plant, grows a flower in the middle. The stem of the flower eventually gets fat and spiney, and grows one pineapple once per year. The flower on top turns into leaves (sometimes left on in the supermarket), and the pineapple is ripe about 5 months after it blooms. Workers break it off of the plant at the bottom and bring it to the processing facility.

At the facility they're washed over and over again in chlorinated water to get rid of the bugs, dirt, poo, and frog eggs (frogs like to lay their eggs in pineapple leaves where they collect water). They're then classified on basically how pretty they are: the best are exported, the second best are sold near where they are grown, the third set gets turned into dried and canned pineapple, and the uglies are juiced.

Since the best looking ones are pretty much ready to sell, they're coated with a layer of wax, boxed up, and shipped. Some still have leaves, or crowns, and some do not, so they're sorted and shipped as such. Grade 2 pineapples are just shipped to market: no work to be done there.

The juicing is pretty simple, too: workers skin the pineapples with huge knives, and they're ground up and squished. If you've ever seen apple cider get made, just add the "pine-" and it's the same thing.

Third pineapples are skinned by hand by workers with big knives. The skin is so tough they have to be sharpened every half hour. The core is removed by a big piston, and the meat that's left is cut by a 12-blade reciprocating saw, which cuts doughnut shaped slices about an inch thick. From here they're either canned as is, cut into chunks and canned, or manually laid out on racks and baked at 150 degrees for 24 hours. The slices are packaged and shipped around the world, and can be eaten up to 18 months after they're made.

Yummy!

Still awake??

Bow Wow Wow Yippie Yo Yippie Yay

Helloooooooooo my avid 'WTF Have I Done?' readers!!! I have been
asked to provide a posting for ms. Julie since she is too busy living
the debonair life in London dropping 'bollocks' and eating fish &
chips with Gwynnie to her heart's content...

For those who don't know me, my name is Melanie and I am one of Julie's
bestests from college...she was kind enough to be one of my bridemaids
and help me sustain my sanity, so the least I can do is try to fill
her shoes while she's off spending Tim's paycheck at Harrods...

So, without further adieu, my post:

As many of you may have heard, we have a new president-elect…it is
kind of a big deal in that we seem to have finally broken the racial
barrier as to the leader of our country. Mind you, there is still a
lot of work to be done, but we are FINALLY headed in the right
direction!!!

I woke up first thing last Tuesday excited to have my voice heard –
this is the third presidential election that I have been able to cast
my vote – that makes me feel old. I did vote in the previous two but
alas, like Ben Affleck, whomever I voiced my support for seemed to
lose…(sorry Gore & Kerry). I may not have as an emotional story as
Julie (which was a moving one), but the same excitement coursed
through my veins as I walked with my husband to our polling station at
of 7:00 am. I am proud to say the nation finally seemed to agree with
me and we did it. :o)

So what to me is the most exciting thing about having a first family
that is adorable, compassionate, hardworking, dedicated (not only with
the nation, but with one another), and down to earth? The fact that
in his acceptance speech Barack promised his little girls a dog for
the White House.

To those who may now know, I am a HUGE animal lover (and thank
goodness Massachusetts voted to ban dog racing). This promise
prompted me to start a list of possible names for the first pooch.
They are as follows:

• Mobama
• Change
• Trigger
• Cali(fornia)
• Hope
• Virginia
• Equality
• Florida
• Hillary
• Russia
• Fred (Armisen)
• And my personal favorite: Maverick


Thoughts???


P.S. I think it's about time that Microsoft Word starts to recognize
Barack Obama…make sure you add it to your dictionary…

Guest Post #6- To Sleep Perchance to Dream

Hello, fine readers and friends of the lovely Julie! How are you? Good? I'm glad to hear it.

It's me, Elise, from All Or Nothing. Yeah, I know I guest posted on another blog earlier this week. Yes, I really SHOULD try writing on my own blog every once in a while. OKAY, YES, I HAVE ABANDONED IT A TEENSY BIT. I get it.

Geez. Nice welcome.

Anyway, as you probably know, Julie is on vacay and she has asked some of the better bloggers out there to take over her site while she's gone. And then she asked me, too. I'm still not sure why she would subject her blog (and, more importantly, HER READERS) to my ramblings, but she did, and so now you're stuck with me. I did, however, think that we might stay somewhat on theme and discuss an aspect of traveling, since Julie's out gallivanting about the country. So, without further ado, how well do you sleep while traveling? No really, I want to know, because lately (read: today) I've been thinking about sleep habits, and how strange they can be, especially when you're thrust out of your normal sleeping zone.

For example, today I was traveling by air, as I made my way to the greater Los Angeles area for work. Any of you who frequent the airlines know this drill. You get your boarding pass, wait for your "group" to be called, and then slowly inch forward in line through the jetway and onto the aircraft. You try to stealthily avoid ramming your bulging carry-ons into the heads and elbows of the already seated passengers, and you always end up stuck in the middle of the aisle, waiting while that one lady tries futilely to ram her gigantic, wheeled suitcase into the overhead bin. You finally find your seat, pray that you're not next to any...especially well-rounded folks, and squeeze your way in, attempting to be as graceful as possible while hauling yourself and your huge bag over the metal armrests and into about three square inches of available leg space. You make super-polite conversation with the people seated near you, trying to appear interested and engaged in a riveting discussion of...say, time zones, but you're all actually looking around slyly, hoping that another row has empty seats so you don't have to sit three deep.

Today though, on my full flight (no chance of moving to an empty row), I settled in and was happily sitting in my (middle) seat, reading a book, and listening to my iPod. After about an hour, a great wave of sleepiness overtook me, and since I had nothing to do and nowhere to go, I figured a nap might be in order. I laid my book down, glanced to my left, and saw that window-seat dude had beat me to the nap. He was already dead asleep, with his neck cranked awkwardly against the window, mouth open, drooling just a little. A quick look to my right let me know that the older man sitting in the aisle seat was politely reading his book, sipping his water and minding his own business. I closed my eyes, leaned back, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up with a crick in my neck because my head had rolled dangerously to the right and was precariously balanced about an inch above Polite Elderly Man's shoulder. I shook myself awake, disturbed to find that I had nearly made the PEM a bit more than just my seatmate, but the whole thing reminded me of one of my worst airline sleeping situations ever.

It was a situation much like the one described above, except that when I woke up, it was because I was drooling ONTO the shirt-sleeve of my (stranger) seatmate, as my head rested directly upon his shoulder. The poor guy had obviously been made SO uncomfortable by my inappropriate (accidental!) cuddling that he just kind of froze. Instead of waking me up, or even just moving his shoulder in a way that would WAKE me up, he sat there, miserable, drooled upon, waiting for me to finish my nap. And when I finally DID wake up, it was with a jolt and an immediate, red-hot wave of embarrassment washing over my face. I was too sleepy, though - stuck in that half-daze where the fog refuses to completely lift from the brain - and instead of just apologizing like a normal human, I did this awful, terrible PETTING thing, where I rubbed his shoulder not once, not twice, but MANY TIMES. And as I rubbed, I apologized profusely, saying "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over. He looked stricken. I looked like a crazy lady. And all because of a stupid nap.

See, this is what happens when we abandon our normally PRIVATE sleeping habits and instead make them not only public, but also conducted within mere inches of total strangers. There's something about that overwhelming, enveloping feeling of total drowsiness that makes even the most stoic and mannerly of passengers abandon all pretenses of appropriate public behavior and start snoring, drooling, stretching, and then snorting awake. It's awkward, and I'm pretty sure no one enjoys watching a total stranger sleep weirdly all over the place, much less all over THEM. But it matters not. The sleep beckons, and we all answer, powerless to refuse that siren call.

Now here's where you play in: Please, PLEASE tell me I'm not the only one who has had a shameful and uncomfortable public sleeping situation. What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen or done regarding Public Sleep? And don't hold back. Goodness knows I'll drool all over you given the opportunity.

Guest Post #5- Facebook WHAT!

Hello! This is Laurel of Sass Attack or, as Julie prefers to write it: Sass ATTACK! (I really love her way.)

Although I'm only a couple years older than Julie, she and I span an important generation gap. I like to call this schism the "UNDERSTANDING FACEBOOK DIVIDE." As a 2003 college graduate, social networking was unheard of during my college years. I dabbled Friendster and Myspace before Facebook really exploded among my age group.It now seems that Facebook is here to stay, and I certainly like the interface far better than any of those previous sites. Still, I somehow feel adrift in the land of the 'book.

Why? Because the rules of the Facebook game are made by the young. Specifically those, like Julie, who graduated from college in 2006 and had Facebook while they still undergrads.

My sister is also class of 2006. She "gets it." If my sister lived in the US, I'm sure she would help me with my difficult Facebook decisions. Unfortunately, my sister is a Peace Corps Volunteer in Namibia and only checks Facebook once a month or so. Not helpful.

Therefore, for all things Facebook-related, I turn to my Assistant. If Facebook were Mount Everest, Assistant (also an '06 grad) would be my sherpa. When I finally gave in and set up my account, she coached me through each step.

"No, don't put activities and hobbies, that's not cool."
"Don't friend too many people too fast, you don't want to look too available."
"Ugh, there were not so many applications back in the good old days."

The "don't friend too many too fast" rule, apparently, only applies to when you first join. After that, Assistant advocates friending anyone you've ever met, indiscriminately. She laughs at my dithering over whether so-and-so who I met at a party this weekend is worth friending. I'm thinking, Will I ever see this person again? Will we become real friends, worthy of Facebook? Will they think I'm coming on too strong? Assistant coaches me to quell this negative self-talk and send the request.

"Being friends on Facebook doesn't mean anything," she says, "It's fun. Do it!"

Assistant was proud of me when, after the bachelorette party I attended last weekend, I friended four new girls. In that case, I was a little more confident about my friending decision because: 1. We'd vowed while drunk that we'd become friends and 2. I had photos to share!

At noon today, however, I got my first real, hard-core Facebook test. Into my inbox popped the subject line: College Boyfriend added you as a friend on Facebook. College Boyfriend and I are not in touch. I wish him no ill will, but we don't hang out. I knew he was on the 'book. I'd searched him. (WHAT? YOU DO IT TOO! ADMIT IT!) I assumed he'd searched me, but figured our unspoken no-contact pact was still in effect.

"Psst..." I called Assistant over to my desk and pointed at the offending email.

"Ooh!" she said, "Now that he's requested you, we can see his limited profile!" (SEE HOW WISE SHE IS? I HAD NO IDEA THAT WAS THE CASE!)

Pretty standard. College boyfriend recently finished from grad school, his photo was sports-related, he has a cute-looking girlfriend.

So, then, what to do? Would accepting his friend request open the floodgates of conversation? Would he expect me to write on his wall? More importantly, would he email me if I just ignored his request? (Answer = Yes. I know this guy.)

"Oh please," Assistant said, "Just do it. But make him wait a couple hours."

Never one to refuse Assistant's advice, I did just that. I figure that if he wants to stalk me, let him go ahead. I have a pretty good life.

Hm. Just being "friends on Facebook" with an ex? No drama. I guess I'm getting the hang of this new technology after all.

Guest Post #4- Eating with Ed

Hello everyone! I’m Vanessa from Random Ramblings About My Crazy Life. I have held many jobs in my life (hence “crazy life”) but the one that gives me the most interesting stories is waiting tables. It’s a great skill and I have fallen back on it many times for extra cash. Besides, what other job allows you to interact with such a varied group of personalities?

Several years back, one of my regulars at an Italian restaurant was Ed. Ed was a single older gentleman who had been in the Korean war and lost half his hand. When I started waiting on him he had also had a stroke his dexterity had suffered greatly. He was a recovering alcoholic and was always offering to take me to AA meetings even though I rarely drank. He really was just lonely. Think Jack Nicholson in As Good as It Gets.

Ed had a very precise way of doing things and he wasn’t shy about letting anyone know. The ritual was always the same. He came in every day for lunch at exactly 11:25am. He had a certain table he liked to sit at and took it upon himself to inform management he expected that table every day at exactly 11:25am and I should be in that section every day to wait on him. No exceptions. Apparently in Ed’s world I was never supposed to get sick or have a day off and he complained bitterly each time I was absent and another server had to wait on him.

When he arrived he wanted a Diet Coke with a lemon wedge on a side plate waiting. He also wanted a salad with the lettuce cross-cut into small pieces although much of it ended up on the floor anyway. He liked a plate of tomatoes cut into bite size pieces waiting as well. Good for his prostate he always said. No bread, I was never to offer bread. I made the mistake twice and the entire restaurant heard about it, both times. Apparently in Ed’s world, bread will kill you with gluten and salt.

His entrée order was always the same, spaghetti with meat sauce and he liked it to be cut at the table. I always felt strange cutting a grown man’s food, but each time I reminded myself of his loneliness and inability to maneuver a fork to him mouth with any accuracy. He never left a speck of food in the bowl (the floor was another matter) and never wanted dessert.

The reward was great, his bill always totaled $17 and he always left a $15 tip. He also dispensed little bits of advice along the way. Sometimes his advice was just a tad off, much along the lines of “wear a helmet if you go to war”. Other times it was relevant to the point I felt like he was looking into my soul; things like “never stay with a guy who doesn’t make your heart sing. He has to be willing to do anything to be your everything, don’t let him get by with less.”

He also showed up with random gifts for me. Some small and insignificant like a coupon for a movie rental, other times huge expensive gifts. He gave me the most beautiful winter jacket and somehow guessed my size exactly. I told him I couldn’t take it; it was too expensive. Ed insisted saying I needed to keep warm and he didn’t want me getting sick because then I couldn’t come to work and wait on him. Oooooo-kay then. Beautiful winter coat it is!

I don’t know what ever happened to Ed but I hope he is somewhere smiling, giving ‘em hell in true Ed-like fashion.

Guest Post #3- Things that go Chomp In the Ocean.

Hi, Julie's Readers! I'm Audrey, also known as a lover of Sangria. There are two things you need to know about me before reading this post: 1. I've somewhat recently become a major wuss about scary movies; and 2. I'm a little afraid of the ocean. Or, more specifically, I'm a lot afraid of the sharp-toothed things that live in the ocean.

"Alright," you're surely thinking, "that Open Water movie probably scared the pants off of her and now she's going to tell us about it."

Well, you're half right. That Open Water movie did scare the pants off of me (much to my husband's delight -- ba-dum-ching!), but I'm not here to tell you about that. No, I'm here to tell you about another scary movie set in the ocean:

Finding Nemo

"The kids' movie?" you ask?

Yes, the movie that is supposedly appropriate for children. Very very brave children.

It's true: the first time I saw Finding Nemo I thought it was scary. In my defense, I saw it in a theater (full of children up way past their bedtime at a 10:00 show) on a very large screen with very intimidating surround sound. Which will add suspense to even the tamest of movies. At least if you're a wuss like me. Which apparently, all these Late Bedtime Kids are not, because none of them seemed to be clutching their mothers' arms the way I was clutching Tim's arm through the majority of the film. (That would be my husband Tim, not Julie's boyfriend Tim. It's confusing, I know. Try to keep up.)

Okay, let me explain a little. You guys, there are sharks in the ocean. And other bite-y things that bite you with their big sharp teeth. And also, in the ocean, things sneak up on you. It's a big place, that ocean, and things can just emerge steathfully out of the blue to come and bite you. It's not cool.

So, Finding Nemo takes place in the ocean, as you hopefully know. And in this movie, there are a lot of scenes where wee little cartoon fish are hanging out against a seemingly harmless wide blue ocean backdrop. A wide blue ocean backdrop out of which any number of alarmingly scary fish could emerge at any moment. I spent every single scene like this not watching the wee little cartoon fish, but rather watching that background, bracing myself for some scary creature to come creeping up behind the wee little cartoon fish and swallow them whole.

And then! The wee little cartoon fish went deeper into the depths of the ocean! Where instead of a wide blue backdrop there was a dark, terrifiying, wide black backdrop. And holy guacamole did some scary fish ever emerge from those black depths. The teeth! And the lights that apparently make you high! Connected to teeth! Holy crap! How were the kids in that theater not screaming in terror? (They must have been asleep by then, it being so far past their bedtime; it's the only plausible explanation.)

The ocean is a scary place, you guys. And Finding Nemo is a damn scary movie. At least if you're a big wuss like me.

Guest Post #2- Great places on Earth - alternately titled 'the one where I hate on Disney

Heya fabulous freaders, I'm heidi over at Life in Pink. And yes, like the name implies, I love me some pink. Everything pink.

So while Julie prances around Chicago or Disney World or wherever she's globetrotting to, you're stuck with moi. And I'm going to talk about family vacations today. Cause i've had a few disappointing ones - nowhere near as cool as the DW or the Bahamas (my boss went last weekend with her family. Yes, just for the weekend) but i digress...

For the record, i would like to be known that I have never been to either of those places. Chicago, while has some appeal, seems either too hott or wayyyy too cold for my liking. Says the girl originally from the land of frigid - Vermont.

But what I'm most bitter about is being twenty five years young and not having yet been to the most wonderful place on Earth. I've never seen the mouse, I've never hugged Goofy and I've never been on Thunder Mountain or whatever that ginormous ride is that goes straight down. I don't think I'd like it much, I get qweasy on those types of rides but still...it's the principle.

My junior year of college, my mother went without me. Not just me, but my brother and sister also. You see, I'm the youngest, so after I left the nest, mom started dating. She started dating a great guy who's taken her to Disney, on a cruise, and back to Florida. I've never been to Disney, nor have I been on a cruise. But my mother went to Disney for the first time without me. On Thanksgiving.

Now I love my mother, but essentially she said to me "well you can come, but you have to pay for yourself." Even though her boyfriend was bringing and paying for his two bastard sons (they're not really bastards. Just big jerks) So I spent Thanksgiving in Ithaca with my then boyfriend and his lovely family. Which wasn't bad other than the fact that neither of my parents called me to wish me a happy thanksgiving...

But let's not be bitter or jump to the conclusion that my parents are bad people. They're not. They just do silly things sometimes. I once called my dad up asking for money in college, he was on vaca with the second family, and he called me back because he lost service while driving through a tunnel in Pennsylvania. Yes, PA is the hippest vacation joint on the East coast. Dad and the fam had gone to Lancaster and Hershey. Yep, Lancaster PA. Apparently the Amish Country is a great sight to see.

I do have good memories of a few vacations - I spent many a spring break on the Cape with my family pre-divorce era. We had gone "down the Shore" in Jersey terms to Seaside Heights, NJ before MTV moved in and made it cool. We had also spent a very cold February break in Bath, Maine - these all being places my father was working at, not just random places my parents pointed to on a map.

By the time I was old enough, i had enough of the family vaca. I took some real vacations - though no where that I'd end up Girls Gone Wild for the record. I went to Singapore with my now ex in College which was the first time I had even traveled out of the country that wasn't...Canada. Then, for my final spring break in college, I went to London and Amsterdam with a friend of mine. No I didn't get high in Amsterdam (though i did have an Amster-dam good time!! har har har har har har I crack myself up), but i did drink a lot of Heineken. And I kissed a couple of brits, and drank a lot of good beer in London and saw Big Ben. NO I didn't run into Prince William...bummer. I know.

My point is, vacations come in all sizes. So Jules, remember, when you're down in Florida, that it may CLAIM it's the most wonderful place on Earth...but there are other places that might be better - Amish Country? Jersey Shore? or Europe and Southeast Asian city-nations. Have a great time and bring me back some of the mouse ears will ya? I've never gotten a pair :(

**Don't forget to stop by my blog and say hi!! **

Guest Post #2- It's the most Magical Place on Earth

Hello?

… Is anyone here? It’s so dark – where’s the light switch? Ah, here we go.

*Click*

Oh! There you are! My goodness, there are a lot of you, eh? Julie is one lucky blogger to have you all reading with her adventures every day. My name is Lara, and I can usually be found at my own site, Life: The Ongoing Education, but today I’m blogsitting here at Julie’s.

She’s living the sweet life at DisneyWorld right now, so she asked if I had any special Disney memories to share with you all. Well gee, let’s see: I spent the first 18 years of my life living 20 minutes away from Disneyland in Anaheim, California. So do I have memories? Oh yeah.

I could tell you about the time my family spent all day at the park only to go to the parking lot and find that our car had been broken into and our stereo stolen. Or I could tell you about another family day trip about a year later where the exact same thing happened. (I kid you not.) I could tell you about the time my sister and I went to Disneyland and lost our car keys in the park – though they were fortunately returned by some kind park-goer to the Lost and Found. Or I could tell you about another time my sister and I went to the park, where we thought we’d lost our keys again, but then we found out that we’d actually locked them in the car.

Yeah, my family and Disneyland? Always seems to equal car troubles in some way.

But honestly, I have always loved Disneyland, and I probably always will. As a child, I loved it for the excesses it offered. That park was everything fun and frivolous that I wasn’t allowed to have on a daily basis. At Disneyland, I got to eat fattening food until I thought my tummy would burst from the pure joy of so many sweets. I got to run and jump and play with all my favorite cartoon characters, ride the carousel over and over again, watch fireworks that didn’t even start until an hour past my bedtime. I remember my father carrying me out to the car after long days of fun in the sun, so tired that I was already falling asleep even as happy memories of the park still filled my head.

When I was a teenager, I loved Disneyland for the coolness it offered. At my high school, going to Disneyland was just what you did on Saturday nights – some high schools had cool diners that were the local hang-outs, but we had Disneyland. My friends and I would all get together and drive out to the park every weekend, not for the rides, but for the social interactions with our peers. How I laughed, spending hours standing on “Main Street, U.S.A.” with my girlfriends and watching the cute boys pass by and show off for us. I had my very first kiss after a night at Disneyland, and later, I made that same boy (once he was my boyfriend) stand in the middle of the bridge to Sleeping Beauty’s castle and kiss me again under the fireworks.

Now that I’m a grown-up – whoa! I’m a grown-up?! – I love it for the magic. I love that when I go to Disneyland now, my eyes grow wide and get a little misty, and I think that maybe it really IS the happiest place on earth. I love that when I’m there, I start to believe in kindness and sharing and good old-fashioned American values, for no other reason than that they’re marketed so obviously. I love that I try to take in everything around me with every single one of my five senses, just so that no matter how long I live, I’ll never forget what Disneyland is to me. And I love that when I walk through that place, where I’ve spent so much time over the years now, life seems a little bit better, a little bit brighter, and a little bit easier to bear.

Maybe I’m naïve, but I think Disneyland will always do that for me. And really, couldn’t we all benefit from a place that makes us believe in magic again?

Bye bye bye. Guest Post #1- My man Bruce.

I'm leaving... On a jet plane... Don't know when I'll be back again..
Wait a minute. Yes I do.
I'll be back in Boston on the 30th.
So it's just over a week really. You'll all be fine. I promise.

I am leaving you all in the capable hands of all of the wonderful people that volunteered to guest post. So be nice and kind to them, and leave plenty of comment lurve.

So without further ado...
Here is guest blogger #1, my good blogger buddy Bruce.

First of all I am honored to be ask to guest post in Julie's absence. But since most of you probably aren't familiar with my blog (I mostly write about baseball) I thought it might be fun to tell you all a little bit more about me and maybe (hopefully) in the process drum up some more links for my site. So here we go.....

I play a lot of softball. Makes sense since I love baseball so much right? In fact in addition to playing for my college alumni team I also coach my company team. I love it, and in case you are interested I play first base.

I love to camp. Just this past weekend I went on a sea kayaking trip in southern Maryland. It was awesome except for the bugs which reached biblical plague levels.

I love to travel and research the history of where I am going. Every time I go to a new place the first thing I do is research the history of the place, buildings I found interesting, and talk to as many locals as I can to get a real feel for what living there is like.

I can't walk past a dog without petting it. When I can I volunteer at the local animal shelter to walk the dogs. Poor guys, it is like jail for K-9's.

I'm turning 30 in August. This terrifies me more than I can say. In fact I don't even want to write about it.

I brew my own beer from time to time.

I used to be an actor. I still get the itch from time to time and live out my aspirations on the karaoke stage. Maybe someday I’ll give it another go.

I'm from Vermont. Now how many people do you know that can say that? It is such a small place I get excited every time I see a Vermont license plate and I look at the driver to see if I know them. I don’t know if I could ever move back there though unless it was to retire.

The best music (in my opinion) is from the late 60’s and 70’s. Classic rock through and through. Although I am also a big Sinatra fan.

I have never actually met Julie in person. That seems pretty typical in today's blogosphere but I am hoping some day soon we can all get together for a long over due happy hour.