Julie's Page

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.

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.

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.

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!! **