When Life Gives You Lemons...

Put nine in a bowl! At least that's what Shannon Beader's introduction this season advises you to do.

Weeks have gone by without me even MENTIONING the start of the TENTH season of Real Housewives of Orange County. Now, a brief little history for ya, Real Housewives of Orange County (or, as I will affectionately call it for the rest of the time: RHOC) was the first Real Housewives location in the whole "Real Housewives" series. Just knowing that should bring tears of happiness, nostalgia & fear into your eyes.

Now, what we learn from the opening credits alone is that, housewives may come and go but Vicki Gunvalson is forever. Being the only original housewife still standing on the the OC series, she proudly announces in her tagline, "I'm the OG of the OC, everyone else... is just a copy."

Now, whether or not that is an accomplishment or something to feel deeply embarrassed about is debatable. However, being the sentimental biddy that I am (lol?), I am gonna go ahead and say I am proud of Vicki for sticking it out for all of these years. Never once did she let any of these vapid, blonde (or the occasional brunette) morons scare her away. No, she is the original vapid blonde and, no one... NOBODY... can take that away from her.

Nope.

So, the opening of the season was pretty standard. Vicki's shady boyfriend allegedly has cancer (some speculate that he is faking it), Tamra's crazy ass is wayyyyyy too excited to be a new grandmother (or as they like to pathetically call it: a glam-mother), Heather has way too much money (money enough to feed about 3 countries in Africa for years), Megan (the new housewife) needs to be fed a sandwich with some of Heather's money and FINALLY, Shannon... Oh, poor Shannon.

There have been times I have been watching Real Housewives over the years and have felt highly discouraged. Sometimes the show becomes way too real for me. Don't the fucking editors realize that we do not want our reality television to be ACTUALLY real? We want it to be mindless and frivolous. 

Exhibit 1: Flashback to Real Housewives of Beverly Hills' Taylor Armstrong's abusive relationship with her sleazy husband Russell a few years back was mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, politically and anaerobically draining to me and my fellow reality television devotees. What's more, that whole ordeal ended in Russell committing suicide (like, FOR REALSIES) and Taylor discovering his body hanging in her closet. I mean, shit just got way, way too real.

Now there's Shannon. Shannon's real, genuine misery radiates through your television. 

Last season we were introduced to Shannon and her family. Shannon is a true, authentic housewife: unemployed, raising three kids with (or for) a husband who alternates between catatonic, whiny and apathetically eating chips & salsa. The camera is careful to catch (thanks to Bravo) every moment of Shannon yelling (and seemingly "nagging") her husband, looking for any kind of reaction that she can from this lifeless shell of a man. The camera alternates between her yelling at him and her interviews as she sits crying to the audience, saying how she feels like her husband doesn't give a fuck (and as far as we can tell, Shannon is right on the money).

Now, the thing that kills us all the most is that Shannon is so goddamn likable. It is one thing when it's Kyle Richards (I mean, who CARES about Kyle) but Shannon actually seems like a chill ho. 

So, fast forward to this season. We learn during this season premiere that... *SPOILER ALERT*... he was cheating, all along. Surprised, we are not. However, Shannon's reaction to the affair is something straight out of an Amy Schumer skit.

"We're just kind of on hiatus because he made out with somebody at a party in front of me, and I totally overreacted. I tried to apologize, but it was too late."

Shannon is a complete wreck and there's no end in sight for this cluster fuck of self-delusions, self-loathing and self-destruction.

So Shannon, about your your introduction this season. When life gives you lemons, you do not put nine in a bowl. You take those fucking lemons and you fucking throw them at his cheating, lying, chips & salsa eating face. Then, you take a knife and you cut off his balls. Then, you put his balls in the bowl. Then, you leave and you take those chips and salsa with you... and you bring them straight to me.

Because, who doesn't love a delicious bowl of chips and salsa?

XOXO,
Jules

The Men of My Dreams

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Ed Sheeran Must Live

I know, I can tell you're terribly perplexed by the title of this post. "Ed Sheeran Must Live." What on EARTH is this biddy talking about THIS time? Why in tarnation should Ed Sheeran live? Well, allow me to explain myself a little bit before you get all up in my jock strap.

The rumors are true: Ed Sheeran is an abomination. His music could drive any man or woman to drink heavily, blow their brains out, and/or (even worse) take-up Krav Maga. The lyrics that he sings are more potent than any laxative. His tunes will leave you with an Imodium-induced night, soaking in your own vomit and blood.

And as you lay there, literally drowning in your own barf and feces, chances are you will ask yourself: how did I get to this point? How did I let Ed Sheeran do this to me?

I get it, I really do. "Thinking Out Loud" is responsible for most of my problems that I have been having these past six months (I am quite convinced). Ed Sheeran is the reason why I fucked up my front bumper, Ed Sheeran is responsible for ISIS and I just know Ed Sheeran is somehow responsible for my acne problems. But, one must understand that despite all of this, Ed Sheeran MUST to be protected.

You know how all of these ridiculous celebrities die and then everyone turns them into these "musical geniuses" or these "heroes" of ridiculous proportions? For instance, they do this with actors. Paul Walker dies and now everyone is acting like he was some kind of Robert DeNiro or some shit. I mean, hot as fuck he was, but let us not forget...he was in the Fast and the Furious 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...ugh... AND 7.

Okay, enough about the late Paul Walker's beauty. Back to ME.

Singers die and their awful, awful music is then suddenly "classic." "Lego House" will be be the new "Imagine." "I See Fire" will be the new "Bohemian Rhapsody." All I want to do is prolong the inevitable.

But the truth is, I am worried. I am worried about Ed Sheeran. I am worried that Ed Sheeran is not properly protected. More so, I am nervous that he is not eating the proper fruits, vegetables and milk! I even saw on CNN the other day that he does not believe in multi-vitamins... or eating organic! How the fuck is Ed Sheeran going to outlive me us if he does not even care about his fucking health?!?!

Not only that, Ed Sheeran needs to be protected from all of the level-headed, intelligent Americans who want to take him down. We all need someone who is up to the task of protecting this embarrassing human being.

That is why I am taking this opportunity to selflessly elect myself to be his bodyguard and protector. I will take a bullet for Ed Sheeran, for cryin' out loud.

Yes, I am applying to be Ed Sheeran's bodyguard. For my whole life I wondered what my purpose was. Am I a musician? Am I a porn-star? Am I an actuary? No, all along the answer was right in front of me in the Top 40. I am meant to keep Ed Sheeran alive. I am meant to stall his eventual John Lennon status. I need to stall this numb nut from becoming a legend.

I will to save the world, one horrible song at a time.

For those of you who do not think I'm up to the task, think again. This biddy is FIESTY.

And that is a damn fact my good hoes. I will save Ed Sheeran. You will build memorials to my name, you will have a National Holiday in my honor. You will all love me...finally

#SaveEdSheeran... who's with me?

XOXO,
Jules

Weird Stuff

There are a lot of weird things in this world if you REALLY think about it. I have spent a large majority of my time this week pondering the things that I just find so completely bizarre and will be shocked and appalled if you tell me otherwise. Weird things are happening all around you, people. Open up your eyes and actually see the true madness for once.

These are the seven weirdest things around:

1) Nipples.

So, ridiculously, entirely weird. Let us just start with the word itself: nipples? N-I-P-P-L-E-S Say it three times very slowly (and make sure you are at work when you do). See what I mean? The word in itself is so incredibly bizarre (and a little disheartening).

Also, nipples are one of the most mystifying things on our body. I mean, think about it, no other part of our body produces a substance to be ingested. I am like a walking milk factory, just waiting to be sucked dry one day. Yumm-o!

To add to the weirdness, people get these little suckers pierced for cryin' out loud! I mean, what does the human mind even make of all this? Food factories are also some kind of weird sex thing?

In addition, some food for thought, why are the nipples the only part of the breasticle that are not allowed to be viewed in public? Questions, I pose them.

Why are we all so fascinated by the nipples? Nipples, what IS it about you that enthralls us all?!

2) Trombones.

I am going to go out on a limb here but I bet at least one of you has had a week or two long obsession about the inner-workings of this brass instrument. Again, first of all, the name? How did that name come about? And how can we just ignore the presence of the word "bone" there?

Also, like, what is going on with this instrument? It seems so elaborate and confusing, I wonder how any person can ever truly understand the real truth behind this gadget. Personally, I can not wrap my head around this thing.

3) Buttons

I understand the usage of buttons but they are still just absurd to me. Perplexed by their circular shape and their usage, I can not help but be drawn to them. I own many button down shirts and I never get sick of buttoning and unbuttoning them (sometimes, unfortunately, at inappropriate times).

The little holes in the middle are practical but still questionable. I can't help but think that buttons are some kind of perverted, sick joke that I am just not getting.

4) Avocados

Very often you will find fruits posing as vegetables but avocados take this to the extreme. They take this task way too far and someone needs to stop them. Avocados are way out of line and Obama should start taking action for once.

5) Vases

I can not decide whether or not it is that vases are weird or that I just do not like them. I mean, some vases are just plain attention-whores. They are basically competing to be prettier than FLOWERS. This is a very immature action. How can a vase think that it really stands a chance next to a beautiful chrysanthemum or a lovely daisy?

Stop trying so hard vases and stop being so weirdly obsessed with attention.

6) Lint

The word in itself is mysterious and kind of disgusting. If you have ever done a load of laundry (which I know half of you haven't, you lazy fucks) then you know how weird this shit is. Its soft, rough, fluffy and terrifying all at once. I dare you to find something as weird and as intimidating as a big ball of lint. I fucking dare you.

7) Capricorns

Howard Hughes,  Michelle Obama, J.D. Salinger... all Capricorns. Creepists, they are. Weirdos, yes indeed. I have said it before and I will say it again, be very careful around these Capricorn characters. You may think they just want to go for a leisurely walk down a deserted block with a knife but they may really just wanna turn you into their next couch or ottoman. And do not, absolutely do not, look them directly in the eye. They hate that.

Kate Middleton hates that.

XOXO,
Jules

Look What You Did to Her-hiney!

Let me preface this post with this: I really have nothing against Emma Watson. Truth be told, I think the girl is rather lovely and is quite blessed to be born with probably one of the most perfect faces I have ever seen (and, trust me, I have seen A LOT of faces in my day). Perfect face, totally chill girl. I do not want any absurd Harry Potter fanatics torching my house or fucking my invisible boyfriend, so let's just get it out in the open: Hermione is alright.

So, no one get emotional or try to do any ridiculous wand tricks or place any silly spells on me for what I am about to say.

I have been watching things play out this past year without speaking (I know, how totally bizarre). In the past few months, Emma Watson has launched this "HeforShe" campaign. In short, this is a gender equality campaign, looking to recruit men as "agents of change" for women's rights. Look it up on wikipedia if you do not know, you ignorant fucks. Am I supposed to research everything for you biddies? Jeez.

Anyways, recently, Watson described the widespread success of the campaign. The campaign has gained many supporters, including (allegedly) the one and only Prince Harry!!!!!!!! Watson's words aside, I could not help but notice the widespread attention HeForShe has been gaining on social media by unlikely feminists. White girls who never cared about feminism before are suddenly ALLLL about it. Boys who, in all likelihood, still do not care about feminism are claiming solidarity! They are all just tweeting away, as I speak, hash-tagging HeForShe like there is no tomorrow.

So many are entering this feminism party a litttttttle too late (this feminism rager, if you will). Newsflash: women have been tooting this feminist horn for years (Feminism: killing boners since 500 BC!) I literally can not even NAME all of the women who have been scrutinized because of their connection to the word "feminism." Now, all of a sudden, you have this hot, sexy little wizard telling you feminism is a turn-on and now every single girl (and guy) are taking part in bra burning rituals near and far.

For instance, Lena Dunham, stands for similar things as Emma Watson (is claiming to stand for) and all Lena Dunham has received is criticism, body-shaming and projectile vomit. Lena Dunham is not conventionally good looking, or thin for that matter, and therefore her words are way less enticing.

The truth hurts but it is apparent that pretty, skinny and perfect faced women are the only women we care to listen to. But wait, how is that feminism or equality at all? Aren't all of you ignorant, self-loathing females projecting the same superficial standards that you claim to be protesting? Oh, you silly, naive biddies... back to square one, aren't you?

And all of you "men" who claim to be in solidarity with HeForShe, is this not some elaborate, fantastical ruse to get into Emma Watson's pants?

Do we all just, secretly (or not so secretly), want to fuck Emma Watson? And if so, why can't we just say that instead of pretending we give two shits about gender equality. Fuck unequal pay, we all just want our dicks sucked and I will be the asshole who blows your cover.

BYEEEEE

XOXO,

Jules

A Love Note

Dear Bae,

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate, Rough winds to shake the darling buds of May... and all of that other shit. The truth is, no Shakespearean sonnet can sum up the love that I have for you, sweet prince. Sweet, sweet Chris. No Kate Hudson rom-com can define our everlasting love. The passions we have shared over the years have only grown stronger with time...and more tender. Some mornings I wake up after a night of our intimate lovemaking and I feel my heart practically drowning in both love and lust, simultaneously.

With eyes that you can get lost in and a body that can bring any girl to both tears of joy and tears of horniness, your looks can be met by no man (except for possibly Jake Gyllenhaal). My hands run gently through your delicious head of hair--not one grey hair visible, not one sign of thinning in sight. You are a god of the gods, a man of both pureness and godliness. If they ever make a movie about Jesus again, you are likely to be their pick for main lead.

And Mel Gibson better not fucking kill Jesus in this one, that sick son of a bitch. I will hunt him down and feed his penis to the wolves.

That brings me to that beard. That rugged patch of manliness, that beautiful masculine gem of a facial hair that you sometimes don to award shows to make women cream their pants. That beard is both a beauty and an insulator. Keeping your face warm, keeping my heart warm...keeping everyone warm.

But our love is not solely a physical one. Chris Pine, you and I are connected in both body AND mind. We share a true bond that I share with no other man, and you share with no other woman. No person understands me like you. No man has shown interest in both my vagina and my brain as you have, sweet Chris. Sweet, sweet Chris. There is nothing we do not talk about with each other, we are both open-books. Sexy open books who like to make sweet passions in your BMW before you drive off to go be hot in some silly movie you are in.

Chris Pine, you are the reason why I wake up in the morning. I live for you, Chris. I have devoted my life to your sexiness and your penis.

In fact, I have built many shrines to your man meat. This shrine includes a piece of dirt that may have been near your penis this one time, four years ago and a drawing I made a year ago of what your penis (probably looks like). I say many prayers to this shrine tri-daily. I praise God everyday for your averaged sized cock.

As if your looks and brains were not enough, you hit the ladies with your undeniable sense of humor. You can hear panties drop within a 5 mile radius whenever you bust out your best material.

Like, remember that time you made that joke about the cow and the protractor?! HAHAHA oh my god, hilarious. You had me rolling for hours. So typical you. Cracking jokes, making sillies...so effortlessly, so sexily.

I sometimes feel like our love is so strong, I just want to kill myself. There is only so much love the heart can bear. After I watched the Star Trek movie I almost drove my car off the bridge near the theatre. You were just so beautiful (or maybe the movie was just incredibly boring). Regardless, I often fantasize about us killing ourselves together. The ultimate act of romance... the ultimate act of passion.

Okay, Chris, I know this is breaking all the rules clearly outlined in my restraining order but we both know those are only technicalities. Our love is stronger than a little piece of paper. Our love is stronger than your pure terror of being within 20 miles of me. I know that we can make it. I know that we will be together forever.

And if you die, I will dig your corpse up, keep it in my house and snuggle with it every night.

Because I love you and that is what people who love each other do.

Love always and FOREVER (and I mean forever),

Jules

P.S. If you ever decide to date Taylor Swift, we are so fucking done. I will never send you my homemade chocolate fudge brownie cookies ever again.

White People, White Movies & White Cheddar Cheez-its

Okay, white cheddar cheez-its are just TO die for... and I am not the least bit ashamed or embarrassed to admit it. But that's about all there is to say about white cheddar cheez-its, just thought I would mention them nonetheless.

Hello biddies of the nation! It has been a minute since I have posted on my blog. Yeah, I can bore you with the details about how I have been busy with "work" and "school" and petty things like that, but I respect you way too much to do that to you. I am far too appreciative of your presence in my cyber life to thrust my laundry list of things I have been doing and things I must do on to you (quite the opposite of 90% of my Facebook friends, just sayin'). Instead, let's just get right to the meat and potatoes (is that even an expression?? WHO AM I??)

It has been a very lively couple of weeks. More unarmed black men have been killed by police, two police were killed by a crazy and Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston managed to completely avoid each other at an award show. I do not know which one of those things is more pivotal! You decide.

That brings me to my main order of business: award show season. Specifically: the Oscars. I posted last year about my distaste for award shows in general. The dresses that are more times ugly than not, the exhausted Meryl Streep jokes about how she's won SO many times and HA HA HA leave it for someone else Meryl, the acceptance speeches that last longer than two of my dad's trips to the shitter and LASTLY the white people.

Oh, the white people. So many whites, so little time.

Okay, let me preface this with the fact that I really do not give one fuck about the Oscars. You are talking to someone whose favorite movie is She's the Man. I do not need a bunch of old white men to tell me which movies to like.

Any quick glance of the Oscar nominations this year will reveal the unsurprising: 90% (or more, I am no mathematician) of the movies are for and about white people.

Recently, Al Sharpton called for protests about this issue...this very...old...issue. Do not get me wrong, I think it is totally fucked, all the same. But, were we all taking a nap for the past how many years? The Oscars only honor black actors rarely and the movie ALWAYS has to be relevant to slavery.

Dear Black actor, Oh, you are black? You are in a movie? Are you a slave in said movie? No? Okay, not interested, keep moving. Love, The Academy

Besides, it is always the same three black actors who are honored and the rest are ignored completely. Let's see, let's see we have: Denzel, Samuel L. Jackson and Morgan Freeman. There just is not anymore room in these white people's heads for ONE more black actor! Quota is full.

Now, it's hard to say what the REAL issue is. Is this all a product of the fact that mainstream Hollywood and cinema IS pro-white? Or, is this because the people who make the nominations and choose the winners are all white people? Both?! I do not want to get too far into all of this racial discrimination and what not but it is important to recognize that this IS a thing. While Al Sharpton is all about Al Sharpton, there is something to be said about these protests.

Where are the Asian-American actors? Where are the hispanic-American actors? Where are we? Who am I? Why am I?

I mean, I love Jake Gyllenhaal and all but I can give my bean flicking a rest for one night for the sake of, you know, human rights and everything. I know, I am such a good person.

The truth is, everyday I become more and more aware of how pro-white every part of our society is. The culture is completely plagued by subconscious white-supremacy, masked by liberalism and pseudo-progression.

Remember my good biddies, there's more to life than white people... but, there is very little more to life than white cheez-its. You remember that now.

XOXO,
Jules