We know, We're Sorry

Darlings,

We know its been a while, and you've been deprived of the Maturity Index. You may be thinking that Holly and my maturity has dipped below the age of about 6 and we are no longer able to type or use a computer. This is not the case. You know how Gossip Girl goes on a random hiatus between Thanksgiving and Spring Break? Well, consider this our hiatus, and its almost over!

After a few weekends on the road, visiting our families, or just being boring and not doing anything worth writing about, Holly and I will be back next Monday with a new maturity index that will undoubtedly be celebrating spring, our bikes (The Royale and The Crimson Wave), and the fact that were back on a popsicle-exclusive diet.

To prove that we love you forever and have been thinking about you, please enjoy THIS, a live video of Phil Colins' smash hit "Something Happened on the Way to Heaven"

Forever your girl,

Paige

Hump Day Inspiration:

At least you aren't...

Trying to compete with James Franco

I bet he killed that with his BEAR hands... no?

It's common knowledge that Holly and I share and undying love of James Franco, a love so intense and undying it shines like a thousand suns, a love so unifying we've promised each other (pre-boyfriends) that if, for any reason James Franco ever came into our lives and had trouble choosing between us, that we would whole heartedly enter into a "Big Love"-esque mormon family bond with him.

There's enough to go around.

You see, Franco isn't just your every-day, Hollywood foxy (or fozzy) smoke-dog who strolls onto a movie set, reads a few lines then retreats to his Malibu home and does drugs with Lindsay Lohan. I mean, he may do these things, who knows, but besides that, he's so much more!

James Franco was on "Freaks and Geeks", remember how awesome that show was?!

Oh, too bad the rest of the cast and the creator were never heard from again.

Then he was in all the Spider Man's, and he played a villain, but a totally hot one (I think). Then, and I'm reading his imdb page, here, this isn't memorized, he was in some movie called "You Only Stalk the Ones You Love", which I've never heard of, but will probably try and Netflix.

We took this when we were stalking...

He was in "Pineapple Express" (aka "Smoking High" in Japan... thanks imdb), where he proved he was funny. He played Harvey Milk's boyfriend in "Milk" and we totally saw his butt in that. He played Allen Ginsberg in "Howl". And THEN starred in a season of "General Hospital" which he did as some sort of hyper-meta performance art piece, as he was playing a painter while he was actually preparing for a gallery show opening of his own. Thats right, James Franco paints! Only while he's not hosting SNL, and actually being quite funny.

At the "FRANCO" exhibit

Good luck, every other guy on the planet.

Want to know what else James Franco does? He gets a creative writing MFA from Columbia, while studying film making at NYU. And want to know what happens when James Franco writes a short story? It's printed in Esquire (http://www.esquire.com/fiction/james-franco-fiction-0410) And it doesn't even suck that bad!

As if all this weren't enough today we found out that James Franco is going to get his PhD. at YALE next year, not that that's a big deal or anything.

So today, we'd like to dedicate our Humpday to you, any human who is trying to compete in "hotness combined with awesomeness" with James Franco. You loose. I bet he volunteers at the Ronald McDonald House on the weekends and is totally into puppies and listening to me complain about my job, too.

Dr. Franco, you know where to find us.

Forever your girl,

Paige

WEEKENDNESS!

...and also what is on my mind

So today is my last day working for my current job, where I have been working for a year and a half. People keep asking me if I'm sad or excited, and if I'll miss them. There has been some office whispering which I hope means someone is bringing in pizzas for lunch or cupcakes or Starbursts or something. I am wondering if I should just leave all my office swag here (pictures of friends and family, a beagle magnet) as a shrine. So today's post could easily be about all of this last day of my first real job, but I really don't care that much. Seriously, I didn't even wear a bra today, I have other things on my mind:

-a lamb craving

yum!

-if George Clooney has dumped his current girlfriend yet

-my new Degree Girl "Just Dance!" deodorant that has a pink glitter cap

-the fact that that Beyonce might be pregnant

-the fact that I am going to a Perpetual Groove concert tonight with my boyfriend and couldn't name a Perpetual Groove song if I had a knife to my throat

A Perpetual Groove show...

-the fact that that all of my friends are going to Anchor Bar where I, admittedly, know the lyrics to every Lady Gaga and T.I. song that will be played there tonight

A Lady Gaga show...

-the fact that I owe Paige 3 Push-Up Pops

-my dream last night that involved the partial nudity of male cast members of "Dancing with the Stars"

My brain power isn't quite powerful enough to compose a concise post about any of these thoughts, so instead Paige and I will give you a little weekend treat.

Paige's ex-roommate from college, Brittany, is coming for a little visit tonight. My fondest Brittany memory (that I'm aware of) is when I brought my mother into the Roxy store in Charleston, where Brittany and Paige worked. Brittany had recently adopted a black chihuahua who was appropriately named Gnarly. As a "prank" (on who, it is unclear) Brittany had glued a black hair extension track to Gnarly's head and after removal some extension glue still remained on the tiny dogs head. Instead of my mother commenting on something about gluing things to dogs' heads, she just suggested putting Goo-Be-Gone on the dogs tangerine-sized head to remove the weave by-product. Brilliant!

So, as this is a Brittany/Gnarly/Doing Weird Things With Dogs themed weekend, please enjoy this clip of de-weaved Gnarly in "robot shoes".

Everybody have great weekend! I am excited to pretend to know words to songs I have never heard before and we are all excited to see Brittany!

Forever Your Girl,

Holly

Hump Day:

At Least You Aren't an Un-famous Person Seeking a Book Deal

or, maybe you are, in which case, you'll feel our pain.

Well, as all of our faithful readers know, on Wednesdays, the hardest day of the week to survive, we like to bring you a little bit of news to brighten your gloomy, office-occupied Humpday. Normally this news is about someone who has it really rough, someone you can look at be think "I may be at my desk under fluorescent lighting, filing old faxes by date, but at least I have it better than (insert Humpday Victim here)".

Well friends, today we are attempting to enlist some personal sympathy. Sympathy for us and all the other young writers of the world who write until their hands bleed and until their eyes are twitching, those of us who scribble ideas in the night onto post-its only to wake up with notes that say something like short story idea: a girl who is pregnant with two babies from different dads AT THE SAME TIME or similar genius thought fragments.

Same uterus, DIFFERENT DADS

Those of us who have poured our hearts out onto or MacBooks, and sent our idea off to callous agents who we'll never hear from again OR agents who will tell you "I could sell this if you'd been on a reality show" (yes, this ACTUALLY HAPPENED)*. Because, dear friends, we live in a world where talent and ambition is no longer valued and the only currency is your willingness to debase yourself on national television.

Laugh it up, Conrad.

Case and point, Holly and I were horrified to find out today that coveted book deals have been granted to JWOWW and Ronnie, some of the orangest, shiniest, big-boobiest cast members of MTV's "The Jersey Shore". Oh, the HUMANITY!

Poet Laureate's of the Armpit of America

Okay, did i watch every single episode of "The Jersey Shore"? Yes, but whatever, I told myself it was zeitgeist-y performance art. Do I own a book entitled "Laguna Beach: Life Inside The Bubble"? Yeah, so what! ?I got it for Easter, like, Freshman year of college, big deal.

The Easter Bunny Did It

The POINT is that its not fair! Apparently the two have been commissioned to co-write a book entitled "Never Fall In Love at the Jersey Shore... Lest You Should Need a Perscription to Herpacin for the Rest of Your Days", ok i made that last part up. But apparently this is going to be a "How-To" book with plenty of tips and tricks to unleash your inner sweaty, juicy, drunken "guido".

First of all, I'm shocked learn that JWOWW and Ronnie are even literate, let alone able to sit down long enough, while sober to actually commit "thoughts" to paper. Also I read a statement that JWOWW wrote about the "clothing" line she's "working on" and she wrote that her clothes are very easy to "where", not "wear", where. As in "this shirt barely covers my nipples, where is the rest of the fabric?" Kind of proving my point.

Totally whereable

As for Ronnie, the only "how to" advice I'd ever take from him is "how to beat the shit out of someone who threatens you" but this is only something I should learn because sometimes I have to walk home from the subway late at night. And yes, fine I wouldn't mind reading his advice on how to make Ron Ron Juice, because it kind of looks delish and obviously makes everyone drunk enough that it doesn't really hurt when they get punched in the face.

I don't like to be a "hater", I really don't. But all I've ever wanted to be is a writer, as long as I can remember. So I really wish someone had given me the memo that said: "All you have to do to make all your writerly dreams come true is be born unto Italians, get breast implants and skunk-streak hair extensions, wear sweatpants in public, tan, avoid getting any semblance of a 'real job', dance in a scary fashion and get blackout drunk on MTV.

Instead, I followed the now-defunct memo that read: "Read big, long books whenever you can, fill hundreds of notebooks before you reach middle school, enter every writing contest ever, pay attention to details, go to college, study english, move to New York, and pray someone will like what you write."

A lot of good that's done.

So, on this Humpday, be glad you are not me or Holly, or any other young writer struggling to get their ideas out there in a world where empty, orange heads are at a premium.

She's on OUR side.

*Also, we told Joyce Carrol Oates one time how we were turned down by an agent because we'd never been on a reality show and SHE said "Thats Despicable"... did you hear that Literary world JOYCE CARROL OATES THINKS THIS IS DESPICABLE.

FOREVER Your Girl who will write for you forever,

Paige

Paige and Holly: A Margarita Story

Today, while at work of course, we have been on the search for the perfect after-work margarita. It all started with a 73 degree weather.com promise.
Chrissy came into my room this morning while i was applying CoverGirl eye shadow, that probably dates back to Britney's first hit single, saying she wasn't in the mood for the sports bar thingy she had planned for later tonight.

Tell me how you want it to be...tell me baby cuz I need to know now...oh oh ohhhh = Cover Girl "champagne" sparkly eyeshadow

I don't blame her, as we live in a house that has more appreciation for Degrassi's fake Canadian high schoolers than any sort of real sports team. I told her I was maybe going to Williamsburg to drink $4 Styrofoam margaritas while holding my boyfriends $3 beer while he played Buckhunter but wouldn't mind pregaming for such plans.

Thus starts our first margarita of the Summerish weather 2010.
Whilst spending our workday googling, "Best Cheapest Strongest Pitchers of Margaritas on the Lower East Side of NYC" we somehow found time to reminisce on our Best Cheapest Margarita in Charleston, SC days.

Which made me think of the best story, not even second to the "Kristy kicked through a chain lock in to our Scholes street apt" story, ever. I'm not sure if we have blogged this story yet, although anyone that knows either of us has heard it no less than 5 times from each of us. It goes like this (this story is better if you imagine me telling it to you in a dark closet with a flashlight under my chin):

Paige and I and some friends were having fishbowl margaritas and free chips at La Hacienda (the Best Cheapest Strongest yada yada in Charleston). Paige and I were both girl-crushing on each other pretty hard at that point, smiling and getting tingly when we would accidentally bump hands while going in for the queso at the same time.

Like Paige and I drinking a huge marg, but a little different...

Somewhere in there my ex showed up with his new girlfriend that, thinking back on it now, really resembled an adolescent Jamie Jungers (or is Jamie Jungers currently an adolescent?).

Don't text this woman/girl

Emotions started flying with the Jungers girl and the tingly queso hands and Paige and I ended up in the bathroom alone together...and the rest is sort of hazy except we are pretty sure I told Paige I wanted her to be my sister or similar and anyhow we somehow decided we'd find an apartment together in New York City after graduating.

This bathroom confessional was basically forgotten until 2 days later when Paige, Family Size Chex Mix in non-tingly hands, walked into our Religious Studies 101 (we were college seniors) announcing she had found us a glorified one bedroom in Bushwick where we could live with her High School friend that could speak to cats. Of course I accepted.
So we both liked to think that it all started with a margarita. Well, more like 15 margaritas if you count the triple fishbowls and all.

The one on the left with the maroon is where the story took place. Sorry if this picture makes you nauseous

That said, tonight we drink margaritas again, together, amongst friends. The margaritas, the queso, probably some emotional confessions will all be present. The only difference about tonight's marg consumption will be, similar to each cast of The Real World, that we have stopped being polite, and will therefore be elbowing and possibly mouth-snatching eachother's queso, rather than blushing while going in for the same cheese.

Who wouldn't fight for this?

Have a great weekend everyone!

Forever Your Girl,

Holly

Hump Day:

Happy St. Patrick's Hump Day

To most, St. Patty's day is having a Lucky Charmed breakfast, wearing a kelly green anything, and getting as drunk as Paige and I do on a Wednesday. Sure, "everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day", but no one really believes that. Paige is a Sullivan and I am a McManus, so one would think we would would be super-into St. Patrick's day, pounding Jameson, dressed in full leprechaun garb while dancing around on swords and wearing curly wigs. But we don't necessarily save this type of celebrating for one day a year.

Paige and I are constantly speaking in funny voices, we dance sporadically everywhere we go, we have friendly-ish knife fights (similar to Sword Dancing?), and we would both wear curly wigs if we could afford them.


But this St. Patrick's Day has, so far, gone largely unrecognized.

I woke up with a headache that I complained about and Paige woke up and went to the gym (the opposite of eating Lucky Charms). We had a decent text message argument on weather or not Atlantic City would be a safe place for me to be on my 25th Birthday (as I spent my 24th being dangerous and harmful to others). So we spent a good majority of St. Pat's looking at pictures of the pool at Harrah's Atlantic City. We also talked on the phone about how annoying all the drunk wannabe-Irish high school kids are that are wandering around Midtown post-St. Patty's day parade. (Some of these kids, are even wearing those huge cat-in-the- hat hats, in green, that were maybe "cool" for 30 seconds after Clueless came out)

Don't get us wrong, we are going to a free booze St. Paty's partay tonight. However, we would go to any "free booze" party, even if it were celebrating Bristol Palin.

St. Patty's Day pimp hats

What we mean, besides Happy St. Patrick's Day, is that us Irish girls celebrate St. Patty's day all year round and encourage other's to do the same. The Irish are known as people with "big personalities", as in the "Irish are big drinkers", the "Irish are always late", and apparently the Irish wear curly wigs and dance with swords.

So this weekend, when everyone else is wearing black and drinking Bud Light and not even thinking about swords, there is a good chance that Paige and myself will be taking shots of Jameson, dancing, and having a faux knife-fight.

Friendly knife-fighting

Again, Happy St. Patrick's Day

Forever Your Irish Girls that Have Eyes that are Smiling,

Holly and Paige


P.S. in looking for Sword Dancing, I figured out that it's Scottish, but is inspired by Irish music. So there.

Dream Jobs

When we grow up or go to Nevernever Land...

Today I quit my job. As much as I would like to say I quit to pursue writing or to help needy children or even to focus more time on my friends (like they are my children), none of this is at all true. I, instead, found a different job with more hours, more dollars, and one less F train stop in pursuing my career. I had a "test run" last Friday at a luxury magazine to make sure I was fit for the position. I really thought I had screwed up when I had to ask how to turn on the computer, however knew I had the job in the bag when my new potential boss had the pleasure of hearing me explain what a 'bacon porn' calendar is (note: March may be a BLT, while May is interlaced bacon wrapped around pork loin).

The aptly named "Bacon Explosion"

Although for the next two weeks I am still at my "job", I am still technically 'between jobs' and still feel it is only appropriate to daydream about my dream job. Actually, Paige and I do this everyday. It isn't at all weird to get a text that reads, "Ugh, how badly do you just want to be Nicole Richie's nanny?", or "Ugh, how badly do you just want to be Mary Kate's bodyguard?". The answer is always the same: "Ugh, desperately". We will see Eastern Euro man walking two maltipoos, a teacup schnauzer, and a Chihuahua and immediately look at each other knowing the other's jealousy of this dogwalker.

So in the spirit of new jobs and old jobs and dream jobs, here is a list of our favorite kind of job: The Dream Job:

Paige's Top 3:

1.) Tortured Author- Mainly because eccentric, troubled, genius, tortured authors get away with everything, sometimes even murder (I'm lookin at you, Burroughs). If I were a tortured author I could really do whatever the hell I wanted, at any time of day I desired and people would just be all like "That Tibbetts, she's a genius! Thats why she's wearing her underwear on our roof at 6 am on a Tuesday with a bottle of Sambuca and a paint-ball gun, she must be preparing for her next brilliant novel." But due to my unfortunately lovely childhood, my lack of drug addiction and the absence of genius in my writing (see: everything I've ever written) I think the option of Tortured Author is off the table.

It was an "accident"

2.) Narwhal Watcher/ Puppy Care-taker- I really love animals, mainly Narwhals and puppies of any kind. So another job I'd really like is one where I get to live on a Steve Zissou-ish submarine and study Narwhals, but only on this submarine there would be less Bill Murray and more puppies.

Okay, maybe he can stay.

3.) Owner of a restaurant that specializes on pairing adult beverages with candy- Because, duh.

Twizzler Straw

Holly's Top 3:

1. I am never a supporter of torture unless it is upon ants with a magnifying glass when I was seven and bored. So therefore I choose untortured author. The kind that writes at her grandmother's antique desk while wearing a kimono and sipping hot unsweetened tea. On a farm. A farm with goats and chickens. And writes stories that make people cry and call their mom's at the end thanking them for the gift of life so they could read my stuff. Remember, this is a DREAM job.

2. The person that describes unique and exotic cheeses for the little cards places just so on top of these cheeses. You know, a brie that isn't quite brie because it's more nutty like a pecorino but still sweet like a stilton. Dreamcheeseer.Cheesedreams.Dreamycheesy...


3. Professional gymnastics judge. Sure, I would rather watch figure skating, but this would mean logging lots of chilly hours in chilly arenas. And gymnasts walk around in skimpy 'tards so those gymnasiums must be warm. And I like gymnastics and 'tards and probably the concessions sold at those things. So yes that would be awesome.

As of right now it looks like Paige and I will have to keep dreaming of cheese and rooftop panties. But a girl can dream right? And for now, we are both English majors with English major-ish type jobs. Which is on the track to both of our #1 dream jobs. Right? Definitely.

Forever Your Girl,

Holly