Yesterday one of my Google Reader friends (Hi, Jennie!) shared a Happy Birthday Jonathan Taylor Thomas video because if you can believe it, little Randy from Home Improvement is 30. If he’s 30, I’ve got to be like 80, which probably explains why I always want to yell at the damn kids outside who make all kinds of racket when I’m trying to take my afternoon nap.
You will have to watch the JTT video here because WordPress wants me to give them $59 to post videos on my blog and I feel like using that money for something so frivolous would be very irresponsible of me, especially since I’m starting to navigate the murky waters of retirement savings. So far my retirement plan involves going to a casino tonight and making sizeable investments in slot machines. Way better than having to actually learn what the hell a Roth IRA is. I had to craft some sort of plan though, because Chase (my bank) keeps sending me emails being all, “You’re 27 and have no retirement account! Do you want to be a burden on your children later in life?” And then I’m like, “QUIT PRESSURING ME TO HAVE KIDS, CHASE. GOD!” and my boyfriend goes, “WHO THE HELL IS CHASE?”
Thanks for ruining my life, MONEY.
Speaking of fail-proof plans, let me tell you about the time my friend Betsy and I plotted for like three weeks to get JTT to visit us in podunk Northern California where, upon seeing our scrunch socks and rainbow-colored braces, he would undoubtedly decide he was in love with us, give up driving around Hollywood in his solid gold Ferrari and move to a place where curtains are made of Confederate flags and duct tape. We never really worked out what would happen when he had to decide which of us to date and marry, but I feel pretty confident that since Betsy was my best friend and all, and I was a nice church-going girl, I would have felt pretty bad about having to cut that bitch.
Stage One of our plan was to read every JTT interview we could get our hands on, taking notes about his likes and dislikes and then storing the lists in a binder with a picture of him on the front and OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE I AM WRITING THIS ON THE INTERNETS. Stage 2 was to write him a letter including all the information we amassed in Stage One. This letter was perfect. We casually mentioned that we loved the Boston Celtics and tofu; wouldn’t it be weird if he did, too???!!? Through these subtle hints, he would realize that we were totally soul mates (and possibly crouched outside his bedroom window sniffing a locket of his hair). Just to seal the deal, we told him in the letter that we don’t like to brag about it, but we both work for Seventeen magazine as models. We learned in Stage One that JTT loves Salinger and uses his spare time to study, so obviously a man of his intelligence would need proof. So we cut a page out of Seventeen, wrote our names above the two hottest models, and mailed it along with the letter.
After receiving our letter, he immediately departed the “Man of the House” set and drove up to meet the 12-year-old Seventeen models of his dreams.
Just kidding. But he did send us two signed pictures of him sitting on a step stool wearing white cargo jeans. WHITE CARGO JEANS. If a big old lightning bolt was going to come down on you, JTT, that would have been the moment for it. Anyway, we of course paraded the pictures around our school and when too many people had touched mine and the ink started to smudge I put it inside a plastic sleeve and made people form a line to look at it while I held it safely in my clutches. DO YOU SEE WHAT A FUN GIRL YOU MISSED OUT ON, JTT?
I held out hope for some time that he would call me, but it turns out that JTT was merely the first in a long line of men who would be intimidated by the fact that I had collected their personal information in a binder with their face on it.
I gave you my heart, JTT, and you gave me white cargo jeans.