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July 30, 2007

Hmmm


with Michael Arrington last Saturday night at some Laughing Squid party

So maybe someone can explain this to me -  let's just say, theoretically, you express an interest in somewhat geeky tech guys*.  Let's say you express this interest whilst at a party full of said guys, in front of a girl video blogger.  And let's further say that this blogger decides that your interest in the aforementioned guys is directly correlated with your interest in their high valuations, despite you saying nothing of the sort and repeatedly making facial expressions that indicated, in general, you were attempting (perhaps failing, but nonetheless attempting!) to be cute/humorous.

Let's also say that (theoretically) you're used to taking all sorts of shit from anonymous interweb-type commenters who don't know you, but really, really enjoy making judgments about your promiscuity/intelligence/motivations/ample-rear, so you (honestly!) don't really mind much, and have learned to actually sort of find it all quite amusing, even the part where people try to guess how many STDs you have.  Well.  Maybe not that part.  But the rest of it.

Should you then assume that anyone with a decent level of irony will get who you really are and that the aforementioned video blogger wasn't necessarily trying to be malicious, but simply editing a series of statements into what could arguably be thought of as really bad performance art?  Or should you think that she's sort of a biotch who you should challenge to a geek-girl-rumble, maybe an AIM-off, with Justin.tv and Jimmy Wales and maybe some guy from YCombinator as iPhone wielding referees?

Or should you just stop clearly procrastinating with obnoxious and sort of self-indulgent rhetorical questions and focus on actual work?

*to be very clear, that's not an oblique reference to the one pictured above, although Mike is a great guy and Meghan and I enjoyed his company.

July 29, 2007

Attention All Tech Boys

A few of you (I won't mention the numbers, but it's more than ten, less than a hundred) have been emailing me for dates after my recent TechCrunch (in)famy.

I'm not looking for a date (uh, mostly), but I am looking for a tech boy to program a website for me. Write with your hot tech credentials.

xoxox
Julia

July 28, 2007

In SF!

So Meghan and I flew out to San Francisco for last night's Techcrunch party, which I had heard was "harder to get into than Studio 54 in its heyday" (according to Newsweek).  I adore tech guys.  No, not cause they're rich.  Because they can fix my computer.  Duh.

ACTUAL TECHCRUNCH PARTY CONVERSATIONS, TRANSCRIBED VERBATIM (I shit you not.  Seriously.)

Tech Geek #1: "Rupert Murdoch bought my last company."
Tech Geek #2: "Oh yeah? I co-own a business with Bill Gates.  Since I was EIGHTEEN."

Julia: "Why won't anyone ask for my phone number tonight?  What am I doing wrong?!"
Cute Tech Girl Blogger: "All the ITers out here, they want the girl in the next cubicle!"
Julia: "I AM the girl in the next cubicle!  Except I work from home."

Tech Geek #3: "I'm not going to date anyone who doesn't have a Wikipedia page."

Julia: "But aren't they all 'nice guys' here?"
Cute Tech Girl Blogger: "That's a total misconception. They think just because they're not date raping you they're a nice guy.  Um ... no."

Julia: "Is your social life representative of Silicon Valley?"
Cute Tech Lawyer: "What social life?  I go on bike rides!!"


Nothing says "IT'S TIME TO FUCKING PARTY" like ... uh ... laptops.


After party pizza, thanks to the adorable Mike Arrington.  I'm a big fan of Mike, despite making quite possibly the worst first (and second) impression, ever.  Never underestimate the danger of a video blogger with Final Cut Pro and an inability to detect sarcasm.

July 26, 2007

The (Pretty Significant) Evolution of My Interior Decorating

Since we're talking bachelorette pads, I dug up a few old photos of my past, um, valiant attempts at fixing up my various places of residence.  HA.

Georgetown dorm, junior year

Yes, that's a pink flower border I actually bought and pasted up.  And yes, it was ALWAYS that clean.  I lint-rolled my bed.  Who does that??

Georgetown dorm, senior year

I really liked pink.


I thought hanging a dress on the wall was the ultimate in creativity.  Perhaps this is why Georgetown is not known for churning out innovative artistic minds.  Sigh.

Newport Beach, CA, right after graduation

I lived with my ex-fiance (although he wasn't "ex" at that point).  I call this look "I'll compromise on the pink but we're still having a goddamn teddy bear on the couch, damnit."  Bland.

New York, 23rd & Park, 2005

Could only afford IKEA, and although I lived alone, I was dating an older guy, and he hated pink, so I went for green instead.  In retrospect, who the hell cares what the guy you're dating thinks?  Again, note the bear.

East of Gramercy, now

Highly evolved style, thanks to my ex-boyfriend, who has the design sense of 15 gay men.  He taught me how to take it to the next level ... and introduced me to the color brown, which, prior to him, I was violently against.


The bear stays in the picture.

Bachelorette Living, sans Cat.

So my favorite bronzed (rust-colored?) lady Emily over at Gawker just posted a list of the things comprising a single gal's bachelorette pad.  Being such a bachelorette, I thought I'd find out how accurate they were ...

  • Piles of magazines everywhere, comprised of tons of pretentious ones that are clearly untouched and then severely thumbed-through Vogues and Luckys
  • Piles of magazines, check.  Vogue (and Vanity Fair, O, Glamour, Elle, Real Simple, Wired, Details, New York, Newsweek, among others like, yep, my employers - Star and Time Out New York).  I did have a sub to The New Yorker (it was a gift), but it made me irritable every time I looked at it.  As for Lucky, hell no.  Even I have standards.
  • Overflowing shoe rack and nothing in the fridge
  • Shoe rack, check.  Several of them, at least one overflowing.  Nothing in the fridge - check.  (Well, technically, it contains frozen spinach.  And a Brita pitcher.  And 5 month old "beer for guests" because I don't really drink, and when I do, I definitely don't drink beer.)
  • Scented candles
  • Check, check, check, check.  Every room.
  • Slovenly heaps of little-used makeups in the bathroom
  • Oops, not so much here.  I definitely have heaps of makeup - safely stored out of sight.  But this falls under the I'm-Scarily-and-Abnormally-Anal-Retentive clause, so ...
  • Stuffed animals in the bed
  • Check.  A teddy bear, of course.  Always.
  • Cat hair on the furniture / cat smell
  • This would be a resounding check, except that I'm allergic, alas.  But I have a small white fluffy dog which at times people mistake for a cat.  Does that count?  I think I may get double points because I dress her up and take movies of her.
  • Cabinets full of mugs featuring the likeness of lady who looks like those hypertrophically-limbed Daily Candy illustrations, bearing the legend "I Love Shopping" or whatnot
  • Well, actually - nope.  I like things to MATCH, so all of my glasses are clear, except for one free Georgetown Alumni glass, which always annoys me, but I can't get rid of it, because then I would have an odd number of glasses.  Hmm.  Now that I put it into writing, that sounds a little crazy.  It's just ... they're all lined up nicely on the shelves in even numbers - which makes me happy.  Yeah, yeah, I know, I have issues.
  • Anything pink
  • Uh, CHECK times 50.  Times 500!  Times ... right ... you get the idea.  Look, to say I have a serious pink fetish is to say that perhaps Lindsay Lohan has a problem with substance abuse.  The pink fetish went dormant for the past two years (a result of having to live with a boyfriend, and after our subsequent breakup not having the cash to redo my place), but when I move to my next apartment, Bobby Trendy, watch out.
  • Ornamental pillows
  • Of course.  I own four of them.  Were pillows supposed to have another purpose?
  • Unedited bookshelves, esp. if they include He's Just Not That Into You or anything along those lines
  • The looks I've gotten from guys after perusing my bookshelves have ranged from horror to disgust to naked fear.  Four words: HAZARD. OF. THE. JOB.  In my defense, these ... uh ... literary works are sent to me unsolicited and FOR FREE.  Still.  Currently sitting on my desk in a giant pink & purple, about-to-topple-from-the-weight-of-desperation stack: "The Rules," "The Rules II," "Having an Affair?" "How to Understand Women through Their Cats," "If You Want Closure in Your Relationship, Start with Your Legs," "It's a Breakup, Not a Breakdown," "The MANual," "You Can't Have Him - He's Mine," "I Can't Believe I'm Still Single," "How to Marry a Multi-Millionaire," "Faking It," "Get Serious About Getting Married," "The Art of Seduction," "Sperm are from Men, Eggs are from Women."  The last one's actually pretty good.
  • Nair
  • Ha!  No.  Having shelled out big bucks (WORTH IT) for laser hair removal, I am now the proud owner of a more or less hairless body. 
  • Lite cottage cheese in the fridge
  • There's a beet/carrot juice from Liquiteria in my fridge right now because I'm too lazy to use my juicer.  That definitely counts.
  • Anything lite or diet around. Cases of Diet Coke. Weight Watchers 'Just 2 Points' bars
  • How about boxes and boxes of green tea bags?  I won't put Diet Coke - or any soft drink - into my body, nor that Weight Watcher's crap.  I'll do cookie crack, but not that shit.  I don't really drink anything but water and my beet-carrot juices.
  • Inspirational or thinspirational things on the fridge
  • I have a magnet that says "It's not who you marry that matters.  It's who you divorce."  It makes me smile every time I walk by it.
  • This Week's Time Out Column!

    First off, MY COLUMN FINALLY HAS A FREAKING NAME!  Single File!  You're thrilled, I can tell.

    Secondly, this week's column, Terms of Endearment, is on pet names between you and your honey.  You know - your baby, your angel, your ... pooper?  Um ... Just read the column.

    July 23, 2007

    What I Did This Weekend, Hot Polo Players Edition

    File Under: Who Cares If They Can't Speak English?


    At the Mercedes Benz Polo Challenge in the Hamptons this weekend - with three Brazilian polo players and my gorgeous wingwoman Meghan Asha.

    July 22, 2007

    The Origins of that Infamous(ish) Horse Photo



    I just "discovered" (and by discovered I mean someone told me about it) a video uploading/sharing site that 1) doesn't deeply confuse me 2) doesn't assault me visually and 3) will still allow me to squander loads of time I should be spending, uh, reading celebrity magazines.

    It's called Vimeo, and visually & style-wise, it is to YouTube as Facebook to MySpace.  Cleaner design, less trash, you don't feel dirty afterwards.  Anyway.  It's my flavor of the month, although I suppose we'll see if it has the staying power to keep my attention (Flickr didn't).

    In the meantime, appreciate the precursor video to the infamous(ish) shot above, which I've oh-so-helpfully entitled "Horse, Beach, Bikini," from last December in the Dominican Republic.  Thanks to my cameraman/photographer/ex, who never gets a photo credit for the damn thing.  I'd give him one right here and now, but he's not currently speaking to me.  Sigh.

    July 19, 2007

    Damn you, Cookie!

    I'm not into drugs.  I don't much drink - except an occasional glass of red - (hello, resveratrol!!).  I've never even smoked - although I've been guilty of "holding one to look cool/skinny."  (Whatevs, it was high school college.  You know you did the same thing.)

    So why is it that I have a horrible, unbreakable, irrevocable addiction - OBSESSION, really - with the enormous chocolate chip cookies my 24-hour corner deli sells for a mere $1.50?  And by "obsessed" I mean really, really obsessed.  I-dream-about-them obsessed.  When-I'm-in-other-cities-I-wonder-how-they're-doing obsessed.  I'm-know-what-days-the-baker-delivers-them-(Tuesday-and-Friday) obsessed.

    So, given this level of ... ah ... excitement over a mere cookie (albeit a very large and moist chocolate chip laden cookie), I wondered if someone might explain, you know, exactly what's going on in my obviously defective brain.

    Like, I get the concept of sugar-addiction, the whole glycemic index thing, but only to a point.  And, really, aside from moving apartments (I've considered that), is there anything to be done about this situation?  My size 27 (uh ... or 28) jeans depend on it.

    I called my resident Knower of All Things Nutrition Oriented, FAKE EXPERT.  The rigorously informative interview totally made up interview below. ** (Yeah, I was going to actually do an interview, but I got too lazy.  Anyone want to just email me the answers to these questions?  thanks.)

    ------

    ME: So, can you please explain why I love this cookie more than anything in my life, including but not limited to: my mother, any of the men I'm dating, my dog and Jon Stewart?  Okay, maybe not Jon.  But the rest.

    FAKE EXPERT - Blah blah blah ... Sugar is like crack.

    ME - Really, crack, huh?  And I thought trans-fats were bad!  That crazy New York mayor banned those, but not cookies.  What's up with that?

    FAKE EXPERT - Blah blah blah ... Trans-fats and sugars both turn your body into a cesspool of subcutaneous blubber.

    ME - Yikes!  And that's the worst kind?  By "worst" of course I mean "most lumpy."  So what can I do to kick this sick habit?  I'm thinking about using right now, actually.  STOP ME!!!

    FAKE EXPERT - Blah blah blah ... If you can make it through four days sans sugar (any sugar), the drug-like addiction urges will diffuse themselves.  Or you could try chaining yourself to your desk.

    ME - Okay, well, I have these faux diamond studded handcuffs some publicist sent me after Paris went to jail.  Should I just use those?

    FAKE EXPERT - Blah blah blah ... Pretty much!

    July 18, 2007

    This Week's Time Out Column ...

    ... is sort of gross.

    Don't say I didn't warn you.

    Read the (slightly) longer version here!

    Or at Time Out's website here.

    July 17, 2007

    IM "Debate" of the Day

    So, yes, I had a problem with the feminist merits (or lack thereof) in the latest Obama Girl video.

    Here, the transcript of my impromptu debate with Huffington Post's Rachel Sklar can be read, with oh-so-helpful links.  I have more to say on this subject (not typed in IMs) when I get a chance.

    For the record, I heart the gorgeous and talented Ms. Sklar immensely, and think she's absolutely brilliant, but alas, she's incorrect on this subject.

    And won't someone PLEASE make an "I Have a Crush on Hillary" video with hot, strapping, bareshirted men?  PLEASE??


    At Lockhart's going away party last week.

    July 16, 2007

    Today's Morning Show with Mike & Juliet

    Watch today's Morning Show with Mike & Juliet on game playing.  Yes, I own The Rules.  Yes, I'm a fan.  Yes, they're highlighted.  I know,  I know.  You're shocked.  What?  You think I got men with my sartorial brilliance?  Um, no.  (Hmm ... has anyone ever gotten a man with her sartorial brilliance? Perhaps Men's Vogue could enlighten us.)

    (**We can have a debate about The Rules when I'm not on deadline for a column, but it pretty much comes down to this for me: they freaking WORK.  Look, it would be lovely to go against basic psychology, and don't think I haven't tried - calling when I want, telling him exactly how I feel, etc etc - alas, my track record with that is like, 0 for 179.  Which is more than enough to convince me.  Although, this is coming from a girl who spent Saturday night watching Bridget Jones' Diary - on TBS!! Dinner & a Movie, for christssake!! - alone in her apartment, reveling in the cliche of it all.  Mmm.)

    July 12, 2007

    This Week's Time Out Column!


    Double Header this week ...

    1) "Matchmaker's Mark," My (mildly successful) attempts to "teach" "dating" "skills" to the men of "Queens"

    2) "Booze Cruising: Is the Ultimate Social Lubricant the Best Means for Dating Success?" (In a word, uh, yes?)

    Fox's Morning Show with Mike & Juliet



    Watch today's Morning Show with Mike & Juliet Relationship 101 segment

    (Please note that I did my own hair today, resulting in it actually looking FAR less like Helena Boham Carter in this particular photo than it usually does ...)

    July 05, 2007

    Fourth of July. Woo.

    So, yesterday (" 'Merrrica Day" as I like to call it, a la Jon Stewart) while you all were patriot'd up in red, white & blue, hanging out with your 'Merican homies at your 'Merican outdoor bbqs, shotgunning 'Merican beer and shoving enormous quantities of ground up 'Merican hooves & intestines "hotdogs" into your 'Merican mouths, I was ... well, not doing that.

    In fact, I watched the east river fireworks while in my pjs, perched on my radiator, through my windows (witness above shot) totally by myself.  Because true patriotism rolls solo.  Pioneer style, bitches!  Also, it was rainy and I was feeling anti-social and unwilling to make small talk.

    Honestly, watching through the windows wasn't bad - the show was fairly spectacular (although I would have enjoyed a nice Cowboy Hat firework or two),  and the commute was ideal.  But the entire time I kept thinking "I really need to freaking Windex these."  And so, during the grand finale, that's exactly what I did.

    And then I started thinking "This would make a great commercial for Windex."

    Which actually seems pretty damn 'Merican thing to think.  Happy 4th of July, Land 'o Commerce and Chemicals!