Julene's journals

the food network is better than porn when you're on atkins.

here's your proof.

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FARHAAD IS THE BEST EVER. HIS MAKEOUT GAME IS SOMETHIN' SERIOUS. GET WITH HIM.

for the past week i have been doing the atkins thing, and working out every other day for about an hour. heavy cardio is hell on ex-smoker lungs.

before anyone jumps in telling me that i am beautiful the way i am, i appreciate the sentiment but i really don't want to hear it. i have been in hate with my lack of self-control when it comes to eating lately. and the fact is i don't even own a bathing suit for the sheer fear of what i would look like should i ever choose to go to the beach now that i live in california. it is also hard to have people bum you out when you are working really hard towards a goal. so just be supportive or don't say anything.

anyway, it's been a week and according to my urine i'm not even in ketosis. i am furious because i don't know what the fuck has happened to make me NOT be in ketosis. :( annaliese told me that i look skinnier but i never really notice the difference until my weight has dropped by 15 lbs. i got on the scale last week and i'm in the neighborhood of 143, which is alright i guess. you gain and lose several pounds throughout the course of a day, so i don't see a point in taking that number to heart.

thursday nyx will hopefully have time to cut & dye my hair, and that night i plan on going to yoga. i have never taken a yoga class so i am hoping it is going to give me instant results. i realize this is an unrealistic expectation, so don't take it too seriously.

ideally i would like to be 130lbs (tops) or at least melt away the majority of my love handles and stomach. i want my hip bones to jut out perfectly the way they did when i was a gym junkie. *shrug* all the matters for the next week and a half is not deviating from this diet.

i got a really awesome new dresser, and am now desperately seeking out other furniture items (and a tv) via craigslist.



:)

i have nothing else i want to talk about. the end.

Farhaad is the greatest. EVER. Everyone go to his journal and tell him he's the best. THE BEST. EVER. EVER! Word has it he's got a smoothe cock.

Closet cat returned. I am such a fucking psychotic cat lady. Below is an entry I wrote earlier this week about my weekend. It's half-assed and probably filled will spelling errors. Sorry in advance.



About a month ago I had a friend remind me that she had me on her buddy pass and that her birthday was coming up. Needless to say, going to Atlanta for an entire weekend led to massive amounts of alcohol consumption. Here’s how it went down…

Friday:
Dressed in slacks and the most uncomfortable shoes ever (I’m told this attire is called “business casual”) I arrived at the around 10am. This was after Farhaad gave me a panic attack because he told me to be ready at 9am… and didn’t show up until later. Whatever.

 I was bumped off my original flight (cue panic attack in LAX) due to the flight being over-booked by some ridiculous number of people. Then I'm informed that I'm on standby for the next flight, which wouldn't be so bad if they hadn't told me at the same time that there were only two open seats and approximately seven of us trying to get on. Next thing I know the board behind the angriest airline workers ever is informing me the flight has been delayed by an hour and a half. I got to spend close to six hours sitting in LAX trying to keep myself amused and avoid awkward “luv yer sick tattzzz” conversations. After all the stress, every person that was on standby still managed to get on the flight. I swear the airlines do this shit just for kicks.

By the time I got into town it was almost 10pm and I hadn't eaten all day. But I  decided that if I just got some bar food that would like having a real meal and thus prepare me for alcohol consumption. Something as minor as having a completely empty stomach did not the group from quasi-forcing me to hit the bottle a little too ferociously. Is it shitty that I was a guest yet my friends picked up my tab? I dunno why Trista is my friend, seriously.

Back story: when we first met it was because neither one of us wanted to go to poli sci class my freshman year of college, so we'd get high on our way to IHOP where we'd sit and eat pancakes for three hours. God, those waitresses fucking hated us.

I'm fairly sure we were at several different bars, and that I didn't puke. Other than that it was just a bunch of drunk stewardesses (plus me) being exceptionally obnoxious. Being surrounded by guys and girls who spend all day in those awful uniforms serving you bite-sized pretzel packages made me view the phrase "cutting loose" a whole new light. I can say with the utmost confidence I didn't need that last shot or my last beer that evening, because I don't remember much after that. I'm assuming I was carried back to the house because there's no fucking way I walked.


Saturday:
I woke up ready to die. I don't know how these fucking kids could drink all night at get up at like 8am (which was like 5am for me on Los Angeles time) but I wasn't having any of it. I think I would've been less of an asshole if I had been allowed to sleep in. Or if they hadn’t informed me at 8am that we were going to be drinking again in a few hours. Who drinks during the day? Why, people on a pub crawl being put on by some local animal rescue of course! Kind hearted alcoholics!

Nothing is as unappealing as a plastic cup full of beer when you're still trying to figure out if you're going to throw up your breakfast. But you know what they say, when in Rome...  To top that off, everyone was saying something about petting the dog that bit me or some other bullshit. The dog that bit me was named "Jack Daniels" and he and I weren't going to be making friends at fucking 2pm. I ended up mildly drunk (again) before demanding we take a nap before going out that night. When I woke up after a few hours I had my second hangover of the day. Are we noticing a pattern yet?

Cut to later that night... my friends think they're funny or some shit, because they took me to The Claremont. Having never been to Atlanta before, I had no idea what I was getting into. All I was told was that The Claremont is "not your typical strip club." Everyone was exceptionally vague about explaining to me what exactly that meant, and I should've been more suspicious from the get-go. However any chance I had to ask questions was avoided by pouring liquor down my throat. My friends are all about using booze to get me to shut the fuck up and go with the flow.

So we arrive at this place around midnight, and outside is a HUGE line of chad bro's. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Chad-bro's. All these kids in ATL that I know shop almost exclusively at Gap. I am their "edgy" friend, which meant I showed up at this place in cowboy boots and tight jeans and an over-sized men's shirt.

Miller met up with us and he looked like he fit in with the chad-bro's, too. Aside from the whole tattoo thing I swear to you Miller probably still has his letter jacket tucked away in a closet somewhere.

ANYWAY... we stand in line surrounded by these guys talking about ass & titties or whatever for like 30 minutes before we finally get inside.

My jaw dropped in sheer horror-wonder-amazement-confusion. On the only stage in the whole club is a woman that looked like the lady that played Stifler's mom in the "American Pie" series... 30 years down the line. This lady had an AMAZING boob job and collagen injected lips but it was pretty obvious she is old enough to be my grandmother.

Now, let me be up-front and tell you all the "dancing" I saw would never fly at a standard strip club. But it was one of those things... like the tiny lady that was dressed up like Dorothy in "Wizard of Oz" getting on stage and showcasing her high-kicks.

Later I learn Dorothy is actually known as "Peach Cobbler" and has been dancing at The Claremont for almost 16 years. She informed me she will be turning 62 later this year. I know all these details because Miller bought me a lap dance from her. I almost killed him as this little old lady was bending over in front of me, hiking her white old lady panties into her ass crack and telling me that if i want to increase my bust size I should head over to Victoria's Secret and pick myself up a "wah-turr braah" for a mere $50.

Truly, I wanted to be insulted that a granny stripper was calling me out for being less than stacked in the chest department. I wanted to, but she was just so goddamn cute--what a strange word to use in reference to a geriatric stripper. I couldn't bring myself to be offended. It's also difficult once you’ve been handed multiple alcoholic beverages while this older woman was telling me about her life as she's pulling her panties to the side to show me her "peach cobbler" (vagina) and her "ham and biscuits" (which loosely translates to either her upper thigh or her butt, I'm not really sure).

One of the other strippers had the biggest mother fucking badunkadunk i have ever seen in my life. Like, each one of those ass cheeks was the equivalent of two basketballs merged together. And she could wiggle that shit, let me tell you! She didn't take off her clothes, but it was one of those things where the hypnotic wiggling of everything below her waist made up for lack of nudity. Or maybe it was better that she didn't get naked. I can't even tell, I'm just glad my vision was mostly blurred at this point.

I do distinctly remember at some point holding the "whiskey coke" Miller handed me up to the light and realizing I could see through it. If there was any cola involved you could've had me fooled, especially after I'd put so many down and could *still* tell this drink was entirely too strong. Do I even have to say it for you to know that I drank it anyway?

Now, the next stripper looked like a midget Corky. (Was Corky a midget? I can't remember.) Her dance routine involved putting her hands together over her head and dancing like she was trying to hula hoop. When I met her later on in the night I realized she was under 5' tall.

If you're ready for me to stop, you ought to know it gets better... because apparently in my drunken state I pulled out my phone and texted a friend to tell her about the next lady that took the stage.

Text #1: “This stripper looks like Wesley Snipes.”

Text #2, about 10 minutes later: “She's taken off her pants... and she still reminds me of Wesley Snipes.”

This lady then proceeded to hold a full can of PBR under one of her breasts, hands-free, while she continued to dance around the stage. Seriously, think of Wesley Snipes with boobs. It was like he transformed into a slightly older woman while still dressed in a black fishnet shirt and motorcycle boots. From the Blade trilogy and tax fraud to the stage at The Claremont, I shit you not.

We went to some hipster bar afterwards so I could sober up enough to be put in a taxi. Oh, and chill out because the entire time we were at The Claremont the place was fucking *PACKED*.

… no, I’m not joking.



Sunday:
Big surprise, I wake up and I'm on hangover number three of the weekend. Of course that is not going to keep me from being dragged out of bed and to Little Five Points. It’s weird, I’m starting to notice most cities I’ve been too have some area called five points. In Denver it used to be a crack ghetto.

Anyway,  I found an amazing cowboy shirt in blue that I want to live in for the rest of my life.

Then I came home and looked at naked girls all day.

MY LIFE IS SO ROUGH!

The end.

i wrote this amazing journal entry but i am not going to post it because right now i am having anxiety that maybe a dumb 20 year old boy let my cat out of the house while he was throwing a tantrum about a microwave and now she is dead or scared away or something else equally as awful.

if you find my closet cat i will shower you with love.

Dear Sneaker Pimps,

Thank you for perfectly summing up the past week for me.

" Don't think 'cos I understand,
I care, don't think 'cos I'm talking we're friends."

xo,
julene.

never hang out with the gay guy you fornicated with.

you will spend the whole time wondering what the hell is wrong with you and why the lisp didn't deter you. then you will try very, very hard to remember if he has a big penis or not. when you can't remember ANYTHING about his penis you will decide it's probably better that the entire thing has been completely stricken from your memory. so when he sticks his tongue in your mouth you can throw yourself out of a car and say "HAVE A GOOD NIGHT" while you literally break into a run to make it to your front door before he can turn off the car.


this is all only a theory of course. i would never sleep with a gay guy.

last night i got wasted with jenna. i would tell you the story but frankly it makes me sound like a weekend warrior, and i want you all to think that beneath this ridiculous exterior lurks an intelligent and mature young woman that doesn't rely on alcohol to have fun.

i want farhaad to come home already so we can go shopping. i need someone to help me find the perfect pair of jeans and let me know if they make me look fat.

since i am on the rag, i have been thinking about an epic summer romance. i can't help it, it's all i've heard about lately.

here, watch a shitty video that makes me want to find a boy that will take me to the beach and not laugh at the fact i prefer to swim in  men's swimming trunks and a tshirt instead of something that will make me feel like there is something wrong with my height-weight ratio.