Fantarding Over Pete Yorn Pays Off, Again.

When I was new to Twitter I was immediately drawn to the idea of hearing what goes on in the brain pan of my favorite musicians. I can't think of a better way to be connected to some of my favorite people on the planet, well, except for maybe for their cell phone numbers and long, uninterrupted chats about their musical inspirations...but hell, we all know that's never going to happen. (By the way, Dave Matthews, you've neglected your Twitter far too long now.)

Imagine, however, my unadulterated joy when Pete Yorn followed me back in my early days of Twitter. Pete. Yorn. Dear God, I still have to fan myself whenever I think of that day. I thought it was a joke at first, or a Twitter error. I mean, really, why on earth would Pete Yorn follow me? It's because he's cool as shit, that's why. Pete Yorn actually mixes it up with his fans. His willingness to follow his fans furthers my belief that Pete is one cool cat who's down to earth despite some of the industry circles he swirls in. Pete Yorn is made of win. Dipped in awesome sauce. With a cherry on top.

To my dismay, the other day I noticed that Pete was no longer following me. My immediate reaction? I fantarded too much and crossed over to creepy stalkerdom. But then I realized he stopped following everyone except for a select few. I felt better for a split second, but still mourned the loss of my fan connection to Pete. You see, last May, because of following Pete on Twitter, I won two tickets to Coldplay and Pete Yorn in Pittsburgh from none other than Pete Yorn himself. I have the screen shot of my Twitter DMs to prove it! (Hey man, don't be a dream crusher, I know the messages probably came from one of his assistants)

(note in my excitement I said the June 30th show instead of the May 30th show, because June 30th is my birthday and I couldn't imagine a better birthday present than to see Pete Yorn and Coldplay - but no, I had to get all retarded and get the date wrong. Sigh. Smooth Jules, smooth.)

And our seats weren't on the lawn either > 3rd row! I think I actually felt Chris Martin's sweat drip on me. This was a dream come true for me and my Coldplay fantard sister. And shortly after, I won tickets from 91.3 the Summit in Akron to see Pete at the House of Blues in Cleveland, again, through Twitter. I was on a Pete Yorn high for weeks.

So you can imagine my disappointment when Pete stopped following his fans. But last night, Pete tweeted that he was receiving too much spam and needed to make some changes and would be following his fans again soon. Ok, I admit it. I'm not above begging and groveling. I made one tweet to further my follow back cause - a lame attempt because I was too afraid of coming off as the crackpot we all know and love. And guess what? Pete Yorn followed me back. *fans self one more time*

Last night, I was one of 30 people Pete Yorn was following, out of the 1,225,107 people who currently follow him. Holy frijoles.




I am ridiculed on a pretty regular basis by my friends about my fantard ways. Meh, I suppose I should care, but I really don't. My fantarding is only used for good, never evil. If I like a band's music, I'm going to feverishly promote them because typically my friends share my taste in music, plus I like to get on their nerves. *points at Dave* Fantarding and my cunning wit are some of my most enduring qualities. *eye roll*

See how fantarding paid off for me again? I'm just one tweet away from connecting with someone I genuinely admire for his contributions to my musical cosmos.

Now, if I could only think of something intelligent to say. Maybe I'll just start with a simple thank you. *tries to contain girly squeal* Sorry.

Unhealthy Fears

I think the last time I posted with any enthusiasm on this blog was when I was dealing with a mouse issue about a year ago. Well guess what, boys and girls? Those damn mice are back and I'm completely squicked out.

As I've detailed on this blog before, I have an unhealthy fear of spiders and now I'm developing one with mice. And fortunately for me, we don't have any snakes in my area or near my house, or I'd have an unhealthy fear of them too. When I was a child, up until the age of 6, we lived in a century old farm house. The farm land surrounding the house was being developed by suburban sprawl. As a result, the snakes who resided in the area, were forced to move to new locales. Enter our house. Every spring, when the rains were frequent, my mother would start to panic. Like my unhealthy fear of spiders, my mom has an unhealthy fear of snakes. When a storm was approaching, she'd start smoking even more than usual, which was an incredible feat. If should could smoke three at time, she would have. Nerves forced her to keep busy with anything, mainly cigs, because she knew what was about to transpire.

My parents weren't exactly poor, but they chose to live in this old house so they could save enough money to build their dream home. And they eventually did, we moved into a brand spankin' new house when I was six. But before that, my mom had to endure the wrath of the black snakes every spring and summer while residing in the house at 415 E. Main St. See, when it rained, the snakes needed somewhere to find shelter. They would start slithering out of the fields, across our lawn and down in between the foundation of our house and the ground. Yes, snakes as in plural, as in many. I would sit at the window and watch them come. Dozens. It was like a horror film. And my mother, sometimes, would turn white as a ghost and pass out from fear. I'd have to drag her to the living room where I was instructed to lift her feet up on the couch until she came to. And when she did, she'd instruct my brother to "get the hoe." Now, my brother was probably 9 or 10 at the time and his job was to go outside in the rain and either chop the snakes' heads off or use the hoe to move them to other locations.

I'm not shitting you. This was a pretty regular occurrence. Today, my brother also is severely squicked out over snakes. Can you blame him? But back to my story. See, the snakes would find their way down into the foundation, and INTO THE WALLS OF OUR HOUSE. This old farmhouse had a dirt basement. When my mom would lock herself out of the house, she'd open one of the basement windows and drop me through it because I was the only one who could fit. I'd then have to stumble through the dark (trying not to think about snakes) to the steps where I'd run up as fast as I could to unlock the door. Then it would take me about 3 hours to recover from the horror of the basement. I'm sure my brother had to take a day or two to recover from the snake slaughter.

My mom used to tell me stories of how she would lay in bed and listen to the snakes slither through the walls. This must have drove her crazy. Some of the faint memories I have of my mom before I turned 7 make sense now. Fear does crazy things to you.

And now, the mice are back in our present day ghetto house. Even with the cats. So finally we called an exterminator. He came out and inspected our house. Mice have been discovered in our attic and basement. Oh my God, we're filthy! So lately, I haven't been able to sleep without the aid of some sort of sleep medication. I lay there thinking about the mice on the other side of the wall. What if they find their way into my room? What if they're crawling on my son? Oh I can't even imagine the horrors! I wake up nightly with visions of them crawling on my ceiling above my bed.

I come by this honestly. My poor mother. How she overcame that is beyond me. My poor brother. He had to hack away at large black snakes at the young age of 9. Good gravy. And me? I had to be squeezed through a small window, dropped 4-5 feet into a dank, smelly basement, riddled with cobwebs and God knows what else. My unhealthy fears of pests, however ridiculous, somehow seem justified.

Eggs are fryin' up in the brain pan

I've been missing my blog. She's been a good friend to me over the past several years and lately, I've been dissing her like a bad case of herpes. It's time to rekindle my love affair with the voices in my head and get them posted for the whole world to ignore.

In short moments of lucidity, I catch fleeting glimpses of topics that must be discussed. Fantarding fairytales. International Delight's Chocolate Raspberry Creamer. Cramps.

Right now, though, I must put those Pulitzer worthy topics to rest and focus on the task at hand. The J-O-B. But fret not my faithful two readers (counting myself), I will be back to blog sometime in the next decade. And that's no lie.

Mmmm, going to warm up my coffee. I love the coffee pixies who sprinkle me with their caffeine fairy dust.

I Want a Bunny Body Slam

This video makes me giggle. Bring it, Bunny Wabbit.



In other news, all work and no play make Julie a very dull girl. Yes, this has been said numerous times on this blog. I'm such a slave to time.

Speaking of slave, I want to share this little, what should I call it? I guess quip is appropriate. Someone I know has the last name of Lavery. Her first initial is S. She has a vanity plate on her car. You know where I'm going with this. Her license plate says SLAVERY. And she's white.

Can you imagine the looks she receives while tooling around in her fancy car, all white and shit? I know she means absolutely nothing derogatory by it, and I've often wondered if she's even figured out the implications, but nonetheless, I get a charge out of it every time I see her in her car.

People make me laugh.

Seriously, I want to blog. I really do.

For some of you, you know what I'm dealing with at the J-O-B. The work world is clearly spinning off its axis. I have so many comments, ideas and rants running through my split pea brain but I'm unable to release them. I must hold my head high and plow forward. So today, instead of blogging like I want to, I must focus on the task at hand and muddle through.

As I sit here pecking away on the laptop, I look longingly at Jagger, the Slasher Cat, sleeping blissfully, half on the table, half on the window sill, with his head nuzzled into the corner of the window. He looks so peaceful.

If I went into the office today and nuzzled my head into a nonexistent window, would I look so peaceful? Um, no. I'd end up being fitted for the latest in straight jacket fashion.

Right now, the comfort of canvas and buckles sounds like a fabulous vacation destination.

Fourteen Perfect Words for the Fourteenth Day of February.

Joonya is sick. Now where's my WTF blanket?

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

"...viewing scrambled porn..." The more I watch it, the harder I laugh.