Joelle said in the early morning on August 3, 2007
As a kid growing up, I never wanted to be famous. You know how some people want to be rock stars or President or like… a supermodel or something? I never wanted that. First, I wanted to be a doctor — mostly because my Barbie was a doctor and damn if she didn’t look sharp in that coat. Then I wanted to be a singer, as demonstrated by the Gershwin tunes I would belt out in my living room accompanied by our player piano. Singing was followed by dancing, but only because I took eleven years of ballet lessons and nine years of jazz dance. My dad used to tease me and say I wanted to be a singing dancing doctor. Think of the specials I could offer! “Pap n’ Tap” — get a pap smear and a tap lesson for one low price! “Lambatomy: The Forbidden Surgery"…
But, I digress.
I still don’t want to be famous. Famous is a pain in the ass. But, I do want to be successful and I feel like if we aren’t now, we’re well on our way! Recently, Kathy and I not only acquired our very own publicist, the lovely Carly Milne (who is also an established author with a new book
coming out soon), but we also are going to be working with a very cool lit agent (who I won’t name just yet — the ink isn’t quite dry). I feel so good about all of this. Excited… a little nervous in that good way. We really dig our editor, our publicist is a long-time client and friend and we really enjoyed chatting with our new agent this morning. She was fabulous and it makes me feel like we have such amazing, capable people behind our little Moxie machine.
Oh my god, we have “people”. 
Joelle said late at night on August 4, 2007
I’m selective about the musicals I see… some of them are a little over the top for me (even the ones I’ve been in). In the last decade, I think I’ve only been to a few shows — Cabaret, Rent and now Avenue Q.
For years I’ve been wanting to see Avenue Q. I’d heard all the great reviews and after hearing a few songs from the show, I was convinced that Avenue Q is definitely right up my alley. With songs like “If You Were Gay” and “The Internet Is For Porn”, how can you not be entertained?
While in Vegas in 2005, I saw the orange “furry” cabs around town as promotion for the show and was thrilled to hear it was going to be at the Wynn Hotel. I figured I’d have a better chance of seeing it there, but never got around to it. I guess it’s run it’s course there as it’s been replaced by Spamalot and the fine folks at San Diego’s Old Globe Theatre put in their bid as the first stop on the Avenue Q national tour (running at Spreckels Theater).
I knew it would be here, but with tickets running a bit tight for my budget this summer, I figured I wouldn’t get a chance to see it once again. But, fate was on my side! Yesterday, I logged into MySpace and saw that the Old Globe Theater had placed a bulletin offering 50% all tickets for tonight’s 9pm show only if you mentioned MySpace when you made the reservation. A few texts to GFI and we had fantastic orchestra seats, center stage within minutes. Hooray!
We started the evening at Cafe Sevilla, a great Spanish place downtown where we indulged in a few sangrias and a variety of delicious tapas. I’d only done the tapas thing once, when I was in England, and really enjoyed it so it was fun to do it again. If you ever go to Cafe Sevilla, I highly recommend the Chicken Croquetas and the White Sangria.
Anyway, after hailing a cab, we made it to the show right on time, picked up our tickets at will call and proceeded to enjoy one of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time. Maybe ever. The actors were great, especially the female lead (and various other characters), Kelli Sawyer, was fantastic. Her voice was great, even when singing in character voices. To say this musical is irreverent is putting it mildly. It’s rude, crude and socially unacceptable, but it’s just so… happy (and true) that you can’t help but laugh. I wish I could see it again before it leaves. I’ll have to go see it in New York, I suppose. Maybe in New York there won’t be a woman behind me gasping at every other potentially offensive thing.
Go see Avenue Q if it comes to your town and you’re not a complete tight ass. Go if you areamused by excessive stereotyping, swearing, hardcore puppet nudity and really, really cute bears. Go if you like Gary Coleman. Go see Avenue Q.
Joelle said at some point on August 8, 2007
I was skimming my Google homepage for my morning dose of news and found this little gem out of New Zealand. Apparently, a couple had decided to name their newborn baby “4Real” because they saw the ultrasound and knew the baby was “for real”. But, because it was rejected by some sort of New Zealand baby name registry for including numbers and not using consecutive characters, they’ve decided to formally name the baby “Superman” while still referring to is as “4Real”.
I’m sorry, but are you fucking kidding me? Stupidity this grand deserves profanity. These people are breeding? I think the movie Idiocracy is right, smart people are over-thinking their procreation, being too cautious, waiting until it’s too late or they’re too old or they only have one baby. (And believe me, I feel that way, too.) Meanwhile, we’re being out-bred by miscreants who want to name their kid UB40 or whatever. Jesus H. Smart people! Put down the Nietzsche and start shagging. I implore you.
Pat and Sheena Wheaton say they will get around the decision by the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages by officially naming their son Superman but referring to him as 4Real, the New Zealand Herald newspaper has reported.
The Wheatons decided on the name after seeing the baby for the first time in an ultrasound scan and realizing their baby was “for real.”
“No matter what its going to stay 4Real,” Wheaton told the Herald, “I’m certainly not a quitter.”
[read full article]
Stay in school, kids.
Joelle said at some point on August 10, 2007
I think it’s high time I bought new flatware . Forks and knives are not usually something I think about and it’s really not the kind of thing anyone really think about replacing all that often, do they? At least I haven’t. The set of flatware have in my drawer I got in 1991 as a gift. It’s Pfaltzgraff, so it’s not like it’s bendy, but after (quick math in my head) almost 17 years, I think it’s time to bid it farewell. Those spoons fed ice cream to soothe many broken hearts, the knives moonlighted as screwdrivers, putting together more crappy furniture than I care to count… this flatware has seen a lot.
Wait a minute. I’ve had my flatware for almost seventeen years? I don’t think I’ve had anything seventeen years besides my jaded perspective. Things like yearbooks or family photos, your baby shoes… things like that, sure. Those are things you expect to have seventeen years, but forks you got when you were 18? Not so much…
Anyway.
I realized this morning that I needed new flatware when I reached for something to stir my coffee with and grabbed the butter spreader. You know, the little one with the beveled edge that you use with fancy-shaped balls of butter at restaurants. I chose it because I realized I was down to only two spoons left in my set, the rest victims of the garbage disposal or the former office desk. I figured I should use the scalloped sugar spoon or the fancy butter spreader before I wasted my only two spoons. How ever would I eat my sorbet later? I wouldn’t want to do anything extreme like dishes.
Do you ever hang on to a piece of silverware even though you hate it? I have a fork that has a bent tine. No matter how I try I can’t get that tine bent back into place, but do I throw the fork away? No! I curse at it and throw it back in the drawer and pick a different one. Why do I do that? It must be the same gene that makes me keep pens with no ink.
Joelle said around lunch time on August 13, 2007
I have a kind of… situation. There is a mystery smell in my apartment. Now, before you start assuming I’m a crappy housekeeper, I assure you my home is quite tidy. All the garbage has been emptied, the disposal has been run extensively and deodorized. My sink was recently rooted… twice. My bathroom is immaculate (I even installed a new toilet seat yesterday), I burn smelly candles and all of my pilot lights have been checked. Nothing died in the fridge and from what I can tell, nothing is dead or dying in my home. There are no dead hookers in my mattress. None of my plants have root rot and there are no half-eaten anythings hiding anywhere. Fans are running in every room of the house. And yes, I did consider that it’s me. I’ve been assured that it’s not. *sniffs*
So… what gives?
Here’s the deal: I don’t smell it in my house at all until I leave. I can have the windows and door open all day long airing the place out or I can keep it shut up all day with no change in result. When I come home and unlock my front door, even if the windows have been left open, I smell what I thought at first was ammonia, like a litter box, but now has been determined to smell more like fuel or gas. This sent me in a wild panic to check all my pilot lights, but no, that’s all good.
Also, the smell never really enters my apartment. Once you’re in, the smell is gone. Once you’re a foot past the front door… poof! Disappears. If you try to go back and smell it in the same spot you just stood, it’s also gone. It’s like this strange scent that lives in a 1inch field of space just in the jamb of my front door. I don’t smell it when I’m outside, only as I swing the front door in to go inside. Once inside, the smell is gone.
I feel like I’m taking crazy pills here. What could it be? Airplane fumes? Car exhaust? Electrical problems with the building? Olfactory haunting? What is it?
It’s Tuesday and we all know that’s just Monday Lite. I’m swamped, so I leave you with this riveting meme I lifted from my trainer’s myspace bulletin. Try not to faint from the excitement!
Four jobs I have had in my life:
1) Florist
2) Perfume Ninja
3) Model
4) Visual Merchandiser
Movies I could watch over and over. (We just covered this, but I’ve since added a few.)
1) When Harry Met Sally
2) American Beauty
3) Secretary
4) Sideways (OK, it’s a repeat. Sue me. I love that movie!)
Four places I have lived:
1) San Diego, CA
2) San Francisco, CA
3) Dallas, TX
4) Daytona Beach, FL (Kind of. Only one day, but I did technically move there.)
Four things I did this weekend:
1) Installed a toilet seat
2) Took photos in the park
3) Hopped around my living room like a fool
4) Sleuthed a mystery smell
Four places I have been on vacation:
1) England
2) Hawaii
3) Jamaica
4) Cabo San Lucas
Four of my favorite foods:
1) fish tacos
2) Hob-Nobs
3) cherries
4) cheese
Four places I would rather be or go:
1) England
2) Belize
3) Italy
4) Spain
What are your favorite activities?
1) singing
2) getting a pedicure
3) laughing
4) creating cocktails
Your favorite non-alcoholic drinks?
1] coffee, coffee, coffee
2] Pellegrino
3] Diet Pepsi Black Cherry Jazz (I can’t believe I’ve become a Diet Pepsi drinker)
4] water
Your favorite alcoholic beverages?
1] slightly dirty vodka martini
2] wine, red or white
3] good beer (Guinness or Stella Artois, most often)
4] champagne
Favorite scent/smells?
1] the ocean
2] amber and vanilla together
3] sauteeing garlic
4] night-blooming jasmine
Favorite colors?
1] pink
2] orange
3] light blue
4] whatever, really. I just love colors. Purple isn’t a huge fave, though.
Favorite Flower?
1] hibiscus
2] gerbera daisies
3] orchids
4] oriental lilies
Favorite TV shows? (I think I watch too much TV lately)
1] Seinfeld (yes, still.)
2] The L Word
3] Weeds
4] Mythbusters
4 Hopes for the future?
1] write more books (and hopefully land our own series)
2) travel Europe
3] weiner dog!
4] road trip across the U.S.
4 bad habits?
1] being too hard on myself
2] skipping the gym
3] impatience
4] not putting the toilet paper back on the roll holder thingie
Hottest profession of opposite sex? (What? What the hell kind of question is this?)
1] musician
2] fancy landscapers? Ground cover and irrigation makes me crazy? I don’t know.
3] dog walker (dogs are a great lady-lure)
4] anything someone does well with confidence is hot, I don’t really care what one’s job is. Just have one.
If you do it, trackback, so I can go read it!
Joelle said at some point on August 16, 2007
taken last night at sunset from the streets around my apartment
Joelle said at some point
I believe the mystery has been solved. At least, I’m pretty sure. I feel fairly silly and damn lucky I didn’t blow my house up.
While in the kitchen the other night, I was getting something out of the freezer and as I shut the door, I caught a whiff of The Smell again. This totally sent me into “Where in the hell is it coming from???” mode and I set off like a bloodhound in my kitchen, vehemently sniffing anything and everything. I must have looked like a total nutjob.
Finally, with my nose practically shoved into the burner, I discovered the culprit. It was the gas on the stove! The stove was turned ever-so-slightly left (even though I could have sworn I checked that like, 30 times) toward the “low” setting. It wasn’t even on the low setting, really. It was about a 1/4 inch off the “off” mark, no where near an actual setting. Yet, I had to bear in mind that the #2 setting on my stove sometimes seems like “high boil” because it’s a new stove and really efficient. It seemed reasonable that the stove was leaking a very small amount of gas that was being diluted by the many fans I have running. It makes perfect sense now that the longer I was away, the stronger the scent would be. It doesn’t quite explain why it happened when I left the windows open, but I’m not going to argue with it. Since I’ve turned the knob a quarter inch back to the “off” position, I’ve not smelled it. That had to be it.
What a maroon.
Joelle said in the early morning on August 20, 2007
After that whole violating debit card incident, I decided to sign up for Privacy Assist Premier™ from Bank of America. I fell for one of their “Following this call, a customer service representative would like to speak with you about protecting your identity” spiels and decided to sign up for their 90-day trial. They send me my credit report once a quarter from all three reporting agencies, along with tips on how to improve my credit, what to clean up and who to contact. They also send me immediate notices when there’s been an addition or change to my credit report. I figure for only twelve bucks a month after that, it’s worth it to me to know what’s going on. Pretty sweet, actually.
So, I get my first booklet with my credit report and most of it looks how I expect, except that my credit score is slightly lower than I anticipated. Nothing catastrophic, but it’s not likely I’ll be pre-approved for an AmEx Black any time soon. I started scouring the report line-by-line and lo and behold… the fifth item listed is not mine.
Not mine to the tune of $9664. And next to it, nestled among all my “paid in fulls” and “currents” I see UNPAID in fat block letters. Gee, no wonder my score is lower than I expected. The debt is for an apartment complex in Frisco Texas that I never lived in. I did live in Frisco, Texas for a few years, but I lived in another complex, owned by a different company on a completely different street. Oh, and I moved away in September 2003. This debt is opened in December 2003 and continues to be outstanding.
This irks me. Here’s why:
When I moved away, I forwarded my mail from Frisco, Texas to my new address in San Diego… like you do. I’ve moved 19+ times in my life, so I think I know a little bit about forwarding my mail. I am certain I did it correctly. But, once in San Diego, I started to receive mail for a woman with a very similar name to mine. Her first name was only off from mine by one letter (I usually only use my first name in legal situations and go by my middle name) and our last names were the same. And we both lived or had lived in Frisco, Texas. I found that really weird, considering Frisco was a pretty small suburb of Dallas, but not implausible.
First, it was bills and the occasional offer. Then, it became what looked like collection notices. Normally, I would write “return to sender” or “does not live here” and leave it for the postman, but I also called the relevant post offices and informed them of the issue. But, one day I accidentally opened a piece of mail that belonged to her and it turned out to be a court summons for custody on some children (I assume hers). I thought it was important enough that it warranted a phone call. So I called the number of the court in the letter, informing them that they had the wrong address and then I called the woman whose mail I was receiving.
Overall, my doppelgänger seemed pleasant enough. I told her I was getting mail and that after accidentally opening a piece, it looked to be really important, so I thought I should let her know in case she was missing any detrimental documents. I gave her my number in case any of my mail showed up at her place, then she thanked me and assured me that she would take care of the misunderstanding with her creditors and legal people. Slowly, but surely, over the last year or so, I’ve stopped receiving her mail. It could be the fact that I’ve moved several times myself, but I was happy it had stopped.
Now, this thing with my credit report. I can’t help but think it might be this woman, what with all the bills and collection notices I received addressed to her. I’m thankful there’s nothing else on my credit report linked to her. I’ve contacted Bank of America and they’re sending me some dispute package thing that I need to fill out and submit to the reporting agencies so they’ll investigate it. Hopefully, they’ll remove it.
Or I’ll have to fly to Frisco, Texas and get my rumble on.
Joelle said around lunch time
Dear Tourists,
Yes, I mean you. No, I don’t mean Vacationers Who Visit Our Fair City because I like them. They keep our economy growing and our population interesting. Those are people who visit me and of course, those people are exempt from any and all ranting I might do about any topic. I’m totally down with Vacationers Who Visit Our Fair City. I’m talking to the Tourists. Those people who go on vacation and completely disregard human decency, social graces and common sense (assuming they had any to begin with). It’s as though the moment they donned their sandals with socks, they completely lost their damn minds.
I’m talking to you, Dude in the Hawaiian Shirt and Flip-Flops, crossing the street all zig-zagged any ol’ place you feel like it. Or you, Woman with Camel Toe, Three Kids on Leash and Giant Inflatable Shamu, darting out from behind the dumpster and then demonstratively executing your “pedestrian rights” by stopping to smell the ass of each of your offspring while I try to make a left hand turn. Could you not have done that when you got to the corner? MUST you stop in the middle of the street?
And YOU, you stupid jerk-off in the SUV with the out-of-state-plates and no sense of direction. Left means left. Left means LEFT. It does NOT mean “Left but maybe right, oh, this is a one way street and maybe we should just park, no, let’s try to get across these 4 lanes of traffic, wait, instead let’s slam on our brakes for no reason”.
It means LEFT. 
I totally appreciate that you’re on vacation. However, I’m capable of going on vacation and not totally disrupting the lives of the city natives. I know it’s a gorgeous city. I know. I don’t blame you for wanting to visit. But don’t be That Guy. Some of us live here and are trying to get somewhere. Pack up your Tivas and your zinc oxide and your Padres visors and your boogie boards and your hats with the beer cans and your koozies and your crap from the San Diego Zoo and get to STEPPIN’. Fall is almost here and I’d love to be able to turn a corner without running over someone in a fanny pack.
Thank you. Come again.
xoxo
Joelle
Joelle said in the early morning on August 21, 2007
I was watching Blue Planet, one of those fancypants documentary mini-series on The Discovery Channel, last night. This was mostly about the poles, north and south. It covered all the usual stuff about polar bears and seals, the whales and penguins.
Penguins! I love penguins. 
Anyway, as I was watching these Emperor penguins feed their adorable fuzzy gray babies, I suddenly felt so grateful to be human. Have you ever seen how penguins (and most other birds) feed their young? The parents dive into the sea and eat as much fish as possible, then back on the ice, the cries of their adorable fuzzy gray babies trigger them to regurgitate the semi-digested fish into their mouth and throat. The baby sticks its adorable fuzzy gray head into the parent’s mouth and noshes on mom’s vomit.
Seriously. As a human, can you imagine if every time your baby cried you barfed? With the amount of crying kids in this world, the scene in Wal-Mart alone would be enough to keep me off food for weeks.
Joelle said at some point on August 22, 2007
Kathy and I got the new cover to our book this morning! Hooray! The new cover hasn’t quite made it to Amazon yet, but it’ll be there soon.
Our old cover, as excited as we were about the book, didn’t exactly jive with our voice or the series, so Katie, our in-the-know and ever-patient editor, decided to scrap it and start again. She was kind enough to let us in on the review panel and even let us whip up a few mock-ups. Our literal design didn’t make the cut (they have their own talented in-house art department), but some of our ideas did, so we’re very happy!
Compared to the new cover, this one looks a lot more hip and a little less “teen” because we definitely didn’t want anyone to think this was a book for teenagers. It’s got cocktails in it, for pete’s sake, and we all know teenagers drink Boone’s Farm. (I’m totally dating myself with that, aren’t I?) 
The colors are a lot less retina-searing, we totally changed the font and illustration and this time, they were kind enough to give the girl a head.
I could make a crass joke here, but I’ll refrain.
If you are running BlogAds and would be interested in offering up ad space for us or trading ad space, we’d welcome it! If you’re so inclined, please drop me a note!
Anyway, this is our new cover! If you haven’t pre-ordered your copy of The IT Girl’s Guide to Blogging with Moxie, we hope you will. 
Joelle said around mid-morning on August 23, 2007
Some of you may recall that in 2006, I attended SXSW Interactive as a panelist on ”How to Make $$ with Your Blog Design Skills” (you can download the entire podcast here — please excuse the poor sound and my nervous laugh). Kathy wasn’t able to attend with me that year because she’d just had Mr. Poop (her kidlet) and wasn’t in a position to hoof it to Austin, Texas.
Then, BlogHer happened and we were offered an opportunity to attend the 2007Conference in Chicago, but this time, I was unable to attend. So, Kathy went to “represent”.
So, we’re making SXSW Interactive in 2008 a priority. We’d like to attend something together for once. We’re also going to try to work a book signing into the trip at the SXSW bookstore.
Luckily, Susie Gardner had the brilliant idea of reconvening the same panelists from our first successful panel (we made the SXSW Honor Roll of best panels) for a new topic: Blogging Tool Death Match! (For some reason, I thought it was going to be Blog Platform Death Match, but I don’t make the rules...) But, so many panel ideas are submitted that we need your votes to make sure our panel is selected.
Blogging Tool Death Match!
Every blog project starts with the same question: Which blog platform is the right one to use? Answering this question correctly can make or break the final product. Get the nitty-gritty on each platform from experts who will defend their software choice against all challengers. Will it come to blows?
This year, I’m trying to coerce Kathy into taking my spot on the panel since I did it once already. I can hang in the audience and make lewd gestures at her like any supportive friend and business partner would do.
Each of the panelists is taking a blog platform to pimp: Lisa Sabin-Wilson (Wordpress — of course!), Peter Flaschner (Movable Type — Lucy, you have a lot of ‘splainin’ to do!), Paul Chaney (Typepad — I’d rather eat paste than work with Typepad, maybe he can change my mind) and one of us (Expression Engine — the tool of champions!). If Kathy’s not into it, I’ll happily wax enthusiastic about Expression Engine. Susie will be our moderator in case I have to throw down over Movable Type’s whole “rebuilding” thing and we need to take it outside.
If you’re planning on attending SXSW Interactive 2008 (or if you aren’t and don’t mind logging into the site), PLEASE vote for our panel! C’mon, you know you want to see a bunch of blog designers slinging geek mud! How is that not the pinnacle of excitement?
Joelle said around lunch time on August 26, 2007
Last night, a bunch of us met up with our good friend Bitca in Santa Monica for dinner and drinks. We met up at the 3rd Street Promenade at 7pm and then our gang of ne’er-do-wells wandered down a few blocks to Buca di Beppo for family-style Italian food. If you’ve not been there before, the small portion is enough to serve 2-3 people. It’s enormous. Keith‘s girlfriend got a side of spaghetti marinara that was like… at least a half-pound of pasta. Seriously.
Generally, everyone just gets different things and everyone shares, but I’m watching what I eat so I tell the waiter that I would just like to order a meatball. I was going to get a side salad, too, but I figured it would be the size of a Cadillac, so I stuck with something managable: one meatball. I knew their meatballs were easily meal-sized and I am trying to avoid pastas. Just a personal choice. So, the waiter says, “Ok, one meatball” and writes it down, endorsing it enthusiastically… telling me I wouldn’t be disappointed. Great. Bring it on.
So, he’s getting the rest of the orders and he interrupts my conversation, pointing to the single-serving spaghetti and meatball dinner on the menu. “Since you not so hungry, we get you this, okay?” he said. I nodded, assuming he was bringing me a slightly smaller meatball, something more lady-like or whatever. Fine, fine.
The food starts to arrive… giant bruscettas as big as a steering wheel, lasagna the size of a cinderblock, some baked ravioli, Bitca got some crazy pork thing with blueberries and hazelnuts, there was a pizza, but lo! Where was my meatball?
The waiter comes zooming up to the table with this plate piled high with pasta and one big meatball at the top. I said, “I didn’t order the pasta dinner.” and he says, “Yes, you did.” and I said, “No, I asked for a meatball and you told me that you were going to give me this other order. I thought you knew something I didn’t.”
He then takes my plate, rolls the meatball onto another empty plate right in front of me and says, “You can move it to a new plate if you want it separate!” and I said, “Look, I just want the meatball.” So he takes the pasta away and says, “OK, no problem. It’s the same price.”
I said, “No, I’m sorry. No. A meatball is $4.99. A pasta dinner is $9.99. That is not the same price. I’m sorry, but I’m not paying for pasta I didn’t ask for.” He took it off the bill, but seriously, what is so hard about “I just want a meatball.” when there’s a table of ten more people ordering $200 worth of food?
Just give a girl her meatball. Jeez.
Joelle said around mid-morning on August 27, 2007
As much as that photo above does amuse me, I have to say I think I’m the only person on the planet who doesn’t “get” the whole I Can Has Cheezburger phenomenon. I just don’t get it. I don’t get the misspellings, I don’t get the concept, I just don’t… get it. Is there a particular department where I relinquish my geek membership card?
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