Juliana wrote:

1. i was having drunken sex with my boyfriend in the back seat of his car, very late at night in a supermarket parking lot when two police officers blinded us with flashlights through the windows. they told us to get dressed and get out of the car.  we were each taken aside by a cop; mine asked me if i was there “of my own free will.” before i answered ‘yes’ i vomited (a little on his shoe). my boyfriend was sober and promised to take me home, so they let us go.

 
2. i was stopped for speeding on my way to a bar on st. patty’s. the cop returned with my documents, a $175 ticket and then told me my license was suspended and i’d have to be arrested. i was handcuffed and cried the entire ride to the station and continued crying as my mug shot was taken. my best friend copied my mug shot from my report and used the picture – me, bawling, wearing my “kiss me, i’m irish” shirt, on my b-day party invitation.

 
3. my parents own a cleaning business and needed my help on a saturday in a 24 unit condominium. the building had just been renovated and was unoccupied.  i was hung over and exhausted and decided to take a nap. i chose a walk-in closet for a little heat and silence and shut the door to sleep. i woke up to voices – a broker was there with a prospective buyer to show the unit. i sat up just as he opened the closet door… he saw me and jumped back. i didn’t know what to do and was still half asleep so i said “hi,” grabbed my jacket and left.

I picked Juliana to win my One Truth Two Lies game because well, her answers were ridiculous. When I say ridiculous, I mean awesome. They were clever, well written and made me hope that all three were true. Especially the second one. I mean, getting your mugshot put on your own birthday invitations with a shirt that says “Kiss me I’m Irish”? That’s absolutely classic.  Being a prankster myself, I absolutely appreciate the humor in that.

Bonus points were also awarded for throwing up on a cop. Or writing a Lie about throwing up on a cop. Either way.

You know that one’s not the Truth though because if you throw up on a cop, I’m pretty sure you would get arrested, pay $200 and go straight to jail.  I’ve seen how that shit plays out on COPS and they never let people go home after they have vomit on an officer. Also, I’m certain that COPS is an accurate dipiction of real police work.

So when I asked Juliana The Great, if she wanted me to say anything specific about her awesome, she had this:

I’m single, my birthday is coming up next week, and i read that women reach their sexual prime at age 27, so applications are now being accepted. must have appreciation for the arts, think i’m gorgeous, no heroin overuse, and proper grammar.

what else? i like robots, nerf guns, and other people’s trash. reading my blog has been scientifically proven to make people thinner and tan.

On top of all that I would like to tell you all about some things I’ve heard about her…

I’ve heard that Unicorns refer to her as the most awesome mythical object in the universe.

I’ve heard that her Awesome has been accepted as the 51st state in America and they are changing the American Flag right now, as you read this.

I’ve heard that when she farts, a rainforest is saved.

I’ve heard that guys who look directly in her eyes, get everlasting erections.

Just what I hear.

Also, who doesn’t like Nerf guns?  This is Juliana’s first comment here and I just read her blog for the first time Saturday. I found her through 20sb’s site and couldn’t stop reading. The first post of hers I read included skunks, vaginal liquibeads, Triple cleansing douche, Dunkin Donuts coffee and annoying co-workers. I admit, I was hooked. As if the superhero lego people in her blog header wasn’t enough…

Then I look at her tags. Amongst her biggest tages were: dealing with shit alone like an adult, sex, weed and poetry. Nice mix there.

How did I not know about her fabulous corner of the internet sooner? I feel like her blog makes me a better person. Everytime someone reads one of her posts, a Republican donates money to Amnesty International. Her blog is the new black.

So go read her blog and leave her a comment and give her money. What are you waiting for.

His hands were rough from toting rebar and shovels and cam locks and plywood. He was the youngest on the crew, looked down upon by the elders who often relied on him to do their heavy lifting. Another young thug with concrete on his boots, unmotivated to do anything with his life.

Simply by sight, he was nothing.

His knees are bad from floating cement and filling in cracks and grading the dirt. Even though he’s young he shows the wear and tear of working hard all day. After the slabs and walls are poured he makes his way to the cooler and is judged for being the first one to get water. Just another Mexican kid from the barrio not good enough to date their daughters.

When he talks, he acts as if he’s one of them.

What they didn’t know was his determination. That after he was done disassembling the scaffold and putting away the laser plane and washing the chalk line from his jeans, he attended night classes at the university. That after nights of drinking and sinning and philandering he was up late on his laptop, writing essays and solving problems and studying economics.

His clothes were always dirty and his hands were always rough and his knees always hurt but he did what he had to in order to escape the life everyone thought he was destined for.  Without the help of anyone he became what he most hated. Slightly cynical, overly skeptical and insanely critical.  Along the way, his heart was broken by a harlot which only left him bitter and clouded his judgment.

But then he meets her and she’s punk and smiles and dreams and lives. She believes in the universe and in people and in spirituality. She is positive and sees silver lining and loves peace signs. She never matches and wears scarfs and Converse slip-on shoes, and things like stationary and cheese and thrift stores make her happy. She has tattoos of Sanskrit and drinks scotch neatly and believes in recycling.

He meets her, and she challenges his thoughts and dreams and concerns. She makes him feel relevant and smart and human. His hands aren’t rough anymore, but he still thinks they are. He feels like he is what the elders said, a thug. A nobody. A waste.

In his mind, he will always be the guy who didn’t deserve her. She deserves soft hands. He tells her his story and she listens and supports and loves. She doesn’t judge or run or criticize.

and he thinks, maybe this is what love is supposed to be like. Maybe this is what he deserves.