J-Baby and J-Bird Confront Recession The Only Way They Know How

Trying to make a decent living during the recession proved to be too much for your favorite Romance Couple, J-Baby and J-Bird. We've left all of our worldly possessions (mostly tweed blazers and extension cords) behind and moved into this cave. It's only a little bit constantly moist. If you think about it, this really isn't any weirder than when friends you know from college start hopping box cars and living in filthy condemned buildings. We're just taking it a step further by eliminating all traces of humanity-- cutting out the middle man, as it were-- to live like either 1. Bears or 2. ascetic saints.

Follow our cave experience in a series of upcoming blog posts:
1. J-Baby and J-Bird Are Roughing It
2. J-Baby and J-Bird Don't Know What To Do About Food
4. We Miss Our Apartment
5. The Tension of Cave Life/Starvation Puts Strain on Our Relationship
6. Hello, Mom? I Thought Maybe I Could Move In For A Little Bit

Pagan Sacrifices, Snowtime Delights

Having consulted our noted weather gods, the groundhogs, we Fredenburgs maintain that winter will continue much as it was. While some families might find the soggy, cold conditions to be ceaselessly dreary, we find it is an excellent time to show off our "fashion" sense. We actually killed the groundhogs used to make our winter predictions and made these hats out of them. We're protected against the elements, and as an added bonus, we're protected against bad winter juju.

Julia Infuses Kansas City With Much-Needed Dateability

Rachel recently called me (with barely concealed glee in her voice) to bring to my attention Kansas City's most recent mention in the "news." Evidently, Kansas City topped the list of Worst Cities for Dating compiled by the crack team of sociology grad students and other human behavior/survey taking experts over at the Axe Body Spray Department at Cornell University. From the article: AXE, known coast-to-coast for their dating game expertise, came up with the idea of finding "America's Best and Worst Cities for Dating," using 24 distinct criteria including, among others: population density, percentage of singles, frequency of hooking up, dating venues such as coffee shops, bars, and intimate apparel stores and flowers and jewelry bought as gifts. I also suspect that Axe Body Spray sales in the highest ranking towns were through the roof.

Having in my possession an entrepreneurial spirit, I have come up with the perfect solution to Kansas City's woeful lack of dating and it will make me rich. Firstly, I will ad some new, even sexier Axe Body Spray scents to their arsenal (which currently includes such scentsations as Phoenix, Tsunami, Kilo, and Orion): Banana Ala Flambe, Sagittarius Rising, Blurt, and Sour Cream n Onion. I propose to set up a sort of couple factory, probably near the entrance or in the parking lot of a community college. It will be called Romance Alley or Fredenburgtown, whichever sounds more conducive to hot hook ups (so Fredenburgtown). It will be comprised of a series of stations much like the layers of hell in Dante that patrons will pass through on their way to lasting togetherness.

Station 1
Men file through showers that spray Axe Body Spray (ABS); emerge reeking of "appeal." In a separate line, women are sprayed with a makeup gun and a fire hose filled with Clinique Happy. The lines converge at
Station 2
A smokey, poorly lit bar that serves nothing but long island iced teas. 3 drink minimum.
Stations 3 and 4
A Victoria's Secret, and finally, a DeBeers retailer.

Of course, I haven't forgotten the hipster set. This leg of Romance Alley/Fredenburgtown will be housed in a warehouse in a recently gentrified area. The ABS showers will instead spray armpit sweat collected from bike messengers onto both sexes. Station 2 would include cheap domestic beer as an option and have mood music provided by a local noise band that no one can profess to like but who are very popular regardless. Stations 3 and 4 would be a bookstore specializing in first editions and a coffee house with surly employees and foul coffee.

I'm glad I have a boyfriend.

Allergic!

Things have gotten pretty grim here in Kansas City, aka Romance Couplelove Wonderland For Lovers Only Paradise. The temperature has dropped so low that I have to wear wool gloves even while I do the dishes, giving me a case of "dishpan hands" so severe that I might be a medical marvel. Also, as you may have read, a recent debacle involving very ineffective composting worms has left us with a kitchen overflowing with wet garbage. Those worms are either truly lazy or truly dead. Worst of all, we have been faced with a sudden onslaught of seasonal allergies that threaten to ruin the season. Jamie and I were about to do some Holiday Stabbing (gotta keep the relationship fresh, am I right ladies?) when a sneezing fit caused him to carelessly fling the knife. "You missed the bullseye, stupid!" I cried. CHRISTMAS IS CANCELED.

Couple Stuff: Christmas Wishlist and Olfactory Moneymaker

With the holiday season drawing ever nearer, you're probably wondering, "What should I get Julia and Jamie for Christmas?" Well ask no more: we are only accepting His and Hers items this year. Fellow crafters, why not knits us some His and Hers sweaters? Fellow credit card holders, why not call up Lillian Vernon and get us some of those sweet monogrammed terrycloth robes? We aren't just two strangers living in an apartment together; we are a couple, dammit, and we want our robes, bath towels, mugs, keychains, ipod caddies, toothbrush holders, and shoe trees to show it!

Soon we'll have our own David-and-Victoria-Beckham-style fragrance, complete with a copycat ad campaign. The ads will gratuitously feature Jamie and myself looking underfed and sullen or on the verge of groping each other whilst wearing impeccably starched shirts and lounging on sheets with a very high thread count. The fragrance itself will have to scream "Oppulance," but also, "Sensible Budgeting," "Do It Yourself," "Home is Where The Heart Is" and "Superiority." In other words, I'm crafting this solely for the olfactory delight of one, Martha Stewart. Additionally, the fragrance needs to be distinctly Jamie/Julia. I don't know, I'm thinking notes of bergamont, sandalwood, jasmine, apple pie filling, high fructose corn syrup, Tide with bleach, and Pantene ProV. It will be offered in traditional eu de toilette and also in a gallon tub viscous format sure to be popular with society dames and those concerned about not being sticky enough.

From the Desk of R. Scott

Can we have an honest moment, you and I? Julia doesn't write this blog. I do. I started this blog as a joke (at the readers', and most of all, Julia's expense) and it turned into a year and a half long love poem to my friend-- caustic tone notwithstanding. Now that Julia has moved to Kansas City, it's getting increasingly difficult to generate topics. I actually started reading the blog that Julia and Jamie started together to steal topics, when I realized just how redundant that is. Basically, this new blog gives a much better (funnier, more accurate, more adorable) account of the G Rated exploits of Julia, because it comes straight from the source. So it is with some regret that I resign from my post as Julia Fredenburg's ghostwriter. I'm letting this blog go the way of the Edsel--lumbering into future obsolescence with noxious fumes blowing everywhere, a major embarrassment to America's once proud automobile industry.

Let's do our part, faithful readers, to keep Julia as internet-famous as possible. Check out the new Julia-Jamie blog here-- keep abreast of the romance of the century! I think Julia and Jamie can be the new Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens if we all pitch in. There might have to be a scandal involving racy pics; I'm not sure what shape this will take, as my creative stronghold on the public perception of Julia's life is effectively ended. As long as we're being candid here, might I just mention that if I didn't live in Sacramento I would be third-wheeling on this relationship like you wouldn't believe! Might I also add that I am so jealous that they are a couple who BLOGS TOGETHER that I am almost physically ill just thinking about it. In this world ripe with meaningless encounters and pathetic craigslist missed connections, the kind of love you can blog about (and with) is rare indeed.


If for some reason you are interested in keeping up with me and/or you just love total banality, go here. If not, then I urge you to check out the new blog, her flickr, and jump on my campaign to get Julia Back To California in 2k9.

A Word on My Google Ads

Usually they say "cat urine," but today one says "mom mother." Clicking on my own ads would violate the terms of use, but darned if I'm not curious as hell about that one.

Get Jealous

We have literally sprung forward into our new life in Kansas City; as evidenced by these photos, we have trampolines placed at the entrances to each room. Ah, spaciousness unheard of on either coast!


More glimpses into our obscenely sweet new digs are available here.

It's Happening!

Tomorrow-- Jamie and I load up the Volvo and embark on our oft talked about journey to Kansas City, AKA The Greatest Romance Trip of the Century for Lovers Only! We hear they've got some crazy little women there and I'm gonna get me one...preferably, a Kansas City Chiefs cheerleader who will be amenable to the idea of doing odd jobs around the house. In 3 days time, we will begin our new life of affordability and pastimes of the landlocked. We've planned out a route that will provide us with the most hot springs stops. If there's anything I like more than eating boiled, white foods, it's having a therapeutic soak!

Jamie and I sold off much of our furniture and lesser electronics at a garage sale on Saturday. Rachel, eyes clouded with tears, took many of my old clothes, probably hoping to fashion some sort of bizarre shrine or icky doll in my likeness.

I'll disclose my new address soon. Please send Mexican food, the beach...

Hey! I Collect These!

Go ahead, buy me these for every birthday, Christmas, anniversary, housewarming, boat christening, or "just because" present for the next 5 to 10 years!

Left paw up= luck
Right paw up= money
Both paws up= protection for the home
Having over 25 of these placed in every room of the house= no cancer ever, getting good at gambling, Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes winning, learning to turn negative feelings into bricks of REAL GOLD, levitation, depilatory ease.

Apologies All Around

Recently, I removed my dad's blog from my list of links. I was embittered over the 9 month period that went completely update-less. During that dry spell, he spent most of his time training the dog really, really well-- she is nearly well behaved now! He's started writing his blog again, using his typical "gonzo journalism" style to keep us abreast of Fredenburg family travels to places where there are an abundance of white people, observing them in their natural habitats (Canada). You may view it here.

Julia Turns Down The Alley... Tornado Alley

After thinking about it for an agonizing three hours, I decided that all my San Francisco plans should go the way of yesterday's paper. I sacrificed the prestige that comes from being a Petco photographer and quit my job. I'm moving to Kansas City, Missouri, instead.
San Francisco is too expensive. Additionally, San Francisco does not have enough tornadoes or general inclement weather. There is not enough gingham. There are not enough kitchens decorated exclusively with Mary Englebreit cutesy kitsch (I never tire of her "life is just a chair of bowlies" malapropisms!) I want to be closer to that midwestern axis on which my world turns-- Chicago Public Radio's This American Life (Ira baby, I'mma comin'!). In Kansas City, open containers of alcohol are allowed in the street. This is information that hardly applies to a teetotaler like me, but is strangely enticing nonetheless. Fratboy friends I haven't yet made will feel inclined to visit, I'm sure.

While my California friends are biting their nails reading The Omnivore's Dilemma and pretending that the organic kale they bought at the under-the-freeway farmer's market doesn't taste exactly like dirt, saving every last dime to afford their basement-level tenderloin apartment that they share with a pot dealer inexplicably named Sandalfoot, I'll be slathering strip steaks in K.C. Masterpiece, wearing a Kansas City Cheifs starter jacket and drinking beer out of a red party cup downtown, suddenly feeling a strange pride in an Irish heritage I may or may not even have.

My only fear is that in my absence, Rachel may become more like this guy.

Apple Not Falling Far From the Tree Department

Julia "Maui Tan" Fredenburg here with a special report on mother daughter time. It being nowhere near her birthday and with Mother's Day long past, what better time for a salute to dear Mama? After all, there's no one like mother to me-- which is why I dismissed the whole "struggling to form my own identity" thing as whiny teenage rebellion and have wasted no time in becoming just like her! Below is a list of the ways that I've succeeded so far.

1. My mom and I go running together, with matching running shoes and a single ipod shuffle between us, playing the latest podcast of This American Life. Though I haven't discussed it with her, I'm willing to bet that she shares my crush on Ira Glass. I mean, he is the closest thing NPR will ever have to a heartthrob, and we Fredenburgs are put at ease by other people in quirky, thick-framed glasses.

2. We compete over whose shoes are more "sensible." Are those Danish clogs? You win this round, Mom!

3. We both fall asleep after a meat based meal watching English mysteries on PBS. Oh Poirot, but you are fussy!

Cat Urine Agogo!

I have been moved out of my adorable Santa Cruz apartment for a couple of weeks now, marking the true end of my college days. No more late nights bent over the math book (or toilet). No more polite gatherings for pie (check your sense of abandon at the door; inhibitions welcome!) in the breakfast nook. It is truly the end of an era... an era that ended for most of us a year prior. I would like to be able to report that, after a month of frustrated searching, Rach and I have finally found that illusive San Francisco apartment, sans cat pee, not in Bayview, and with a window, but that would be a lie. I am now pseudo-homeless, apportioning my time among Sacramento (because I find temperatures above 100 "pleasant"), San Fransisco/Oakland for my jobs, and Jamie's Santa Cruz apartment, which only serves to remind me of the S.F. life that could be with the fragrant aromas of the neighbor's "incense" and the urine of about 50 cats wafting through the window. It seems the one thing that isn't hard to come by in this rough-and-tumble world where jobs and houses are scarce is cat pee. Whose cats are those anyway? Seriously.

I've compiled a sort of "Best Of" here...
CAT PEE ON THE 'NET
1. This site suggests that there are underlying causes for this cat urination problem-- mainly anxiety about other cats. So I should have a "bit of a sit-down" with all 50 cats; see if I can get them to open up. Chances are they will say, "Look Julia, I'm needing to constantly re-establish my territory through urination because there are 50 of us and not much territory to go around, see?" To which I will reply, "I understand where you are coming from, Mr. Boots, I mean, hell, we've all been there." Then, logically, I would lift my own leg on the apartment, as an act of solidarity...
2. This self-proclaimed cat pee expert knows a few handy concoctions of household products you could use to cover up/eliminate the cat pee smell. Recipes double as mouthwash or salad dressing but not both.
3. The South Park "Cheesing" Episode. Only click on this link if you aren't my parents or grandma.

Art Degree Still More Useful Than Lit Degree Somehow: Field Of Study Provides Related Job

While you losers were out having heated, yet unimaginative discussions about Obama at the local dive, spilling Stella Artois on your slacks as you move to pound your fist on the bar, or inside playing Scramble on Facebook for days on end, forgetting what toothpaste even tastes like, I was out making a name for myself. That's right-- job acquired. I'm now Petco's Official Pet Photographer, serving those members of the community who would have their portrait's taken at Sears, if Sears was a little more lenient about fecal matter. After doing this for one day, I'd say the key to capturing images of pets is to emphasize the bond between animal and master through a nurturing, holistic approach involving both patience and threats of harm and punishment. Keep bringing those untrained, highly excitable german shepherds my way, folks, and I'll keep snapping portraits that you are guaranteed to treasure forever. Finally, life is on the upswing. Only thing left is to find an apartment.

I think puncture wounds from dog teeth probably heal pretty fast.

Update: My New Look, My New Awards, Etc.

Hey gals, do you ever just wake up with a sudden revulsion for everything in your wadrobe? You're feelin' blah and you want a new look? Well that happened to me just the other day. I decided, at that point, to get extensive Botox injections, and then cover my entire face, body and clothes in white powder!

Oh, also, I am the recipient of UCSC's prestigious Irwin Award for my photography. The ceremony is this week. I made a modest little invitation for the event, if you feel so inclined to go. But, you know, don't trouble yourself if you'd rather be at home reading that thorough, thrilling campaign coverage on the website of the newspaper that you read in print form just a few hours earlier. I won't mind. It's not like we winners of this sought-after honorable distinction were busting our humps for weeks organizing this event, subjecting ourselves to ridiculous 1920s socialite style portraits to bring an iota of class to Santa Cruz. It's not like we did that.


Also also, Rach has been writing in an infuriating Wonder Years style about her boring adolescence here. Keep your fingers crossed that she deletes it soon out of embarrassment and good judgment.

I hope to see you at 5pm sharp (punitive measures for stragglers-- will be denied water crackers, to say the least) at the Sesnon gallery this Wednesday for the presentation of my award-winning work!

The Successful Living Checklist

Artsy type photography internship in the bay: check

Job that pays money: not yet

House that doesn't, for whatever reason, reek of cat/former tenants' urine: still M.I.A. (Plenty of the urine-soaked kind are available-- check craigslist now! Specify "ground floor/basement," "student friendly" and "no credit--no problem!" in your search).

Overpriced loafers with dogs heads embroidered on them: check check check! The absence of these babies is probably the root of that gnawing inadequacy I'd been feeling, and once I get my hands on some handmade black lab slippers with dogbone print fillagree, the job and apartment will just fall into place without even having to try.

What Color Is My Parachute and So On?

So I'm trying to move to San Francisco, right? This is a task more easily accomplished with a bay-area job to foot the rent. I keep foolishly checking craigslist and other "legitimate" job boards for jobs for which I might be qualified--- photography, artsy stuff, etc. But meanwhile, an often overlooked faction of the crafting community is becoming profitable: the Cat Humiliation Industry! Julia, it's time to re-assess your career goals. It's a proven fact that pet-owners will pounce on any opportunity to belittle their furry friends. Starting tomorrow, I'm sweeping the charred remains of my carefully crafted resumes and cover letters into the wastepaper basket (burning them first in a highly symbolic ceremony... all invited...butter-based snacks and popov vodka will be served, respectful silence requested and business casual dress, 10:00AM-11:00AM) and picking up the polyfibers necessary to make my own kitty wigs!

Really, I think wigs could look good on cats, and that's important. What's more, I think wigs could embarrass cats, and therein lies the profitability.

Copycat!

I saw a picture on a New York fashion blog of a guy trying to copy Jamie's style. I tried to do it, too, but then I got sick and crazy.

Finding Our Dream Apartment, pt. 1

I just graduated from college, and it only took 5 to 7 years. Congratulations, me! Now Rachel and I can begin our tireless search for a reasonably priced apartment in San Francisco. With any luck, we'll find our dream apartment: two bedrooms, $1500 a month, quaint victorian era detailing, atop a taqueria or bail bonds office, cloying scent of urinal cakes-- origin untraceable. I know, I'm building castles in the air, right? I'm keeping my cursor on the craigslist pulse, just in case that palatial estate turns up.

In other news, today is my birthday. I wouldn't mind receiving this stunning, lifelike garden statuary, if you feel so inclined to purchase it. I'd like to place it in the yard in hopes that it might scare away some of those pesky real squirrels. I sure hate 'em!