My name is Joy.

I live in Maine.

I've never met an exclamation mark I didn't like.

Sometimes I host impromptu dance-offs in the middle of the street.

Send email to: joylovestheinternet@gmail.com

You can follow me on Twitter, if you're into that sort of thing.

Everything posted on this blog is my personal opinion and does not necessarily represent the views of my employer or its clients.

 

Also, I’m always available for emotional support. Call me before any breakdowns at the airport while boarding your 14904th flight

My work BFF on my current emotional state.

Joy Engel, a 29-year-old Downton fan from New York, has a more straightforward view. “You are never going to meet anybody who is as insanely wealthy as the Crawleys. It’s almost like a fantasy, seeing how people like that interact.

No big deal, you guys, just chatting with the BBC about Downton and how it is wonderful. Also, Maine is the new New York, apparently. 

She may not be the fanciest cat, but she sure is pretty.

She may not be the fanciest cat, but she sure is pretty.


Wherein I Allow the Stress to Eat me Alive
I’m at a place where I can physically feel the stress boiling in my blood.
I recognize that this is likely not a healthy way to feel, so I try to do things like take deep breaths and entertain going to yoga or going for a walk.
But instead I create reality indexes about fictional White House communication directors and freak out that my friends might secretly hate me or that Gentleman Caller doesn’t seem excited enough to see me or that I didn’t do this one thing at work perfectly enough and am thus going to get fired or that my parents think I have weird sexual fetishes because I accidentally suggested we watch Caligula together before I really knew what that movie was about.
I had a particularly bad freak out earlier this week when I felt like every single driver on the road was purposefully driving slow in order to keep me from my destination and then got mad at Gentleman Caller because he didn’t want to watch the movie I wanted to watch (note: this was not Caligula, I learned my lesson).
The stress monster was taking over my life and emotions and sabotaging my relationships. The stress monster was eating my soul. The stress monster had me replying to totally benign texts about sending out baby shower invites with multi-page rants about how I AM GETTING TO IT and TEXTING ME ISN’T GOING TO HELP and THE BABY ISN’T GOING TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN INVITES ARRIVING TWO DAYS LATER. The stress monster wouldn’t let me adapt from TOTALLY SOLID PLANS to adhere to the schedules of others.
The stress monster was, frankly, a bitch.  
So this morning I decided to kill the stress monster. I’d like to say that this was some sort of Taylor Swift-style revelation that happened while I was watching the snow fall and noted that each snowflake is unique and delicate and has the ability to both soothe the soul and destroy the best laid plans.
But instead of writing a poem about snow and killing monsters, I took a look in the mirror, thought back over the last two weeks and realized that I didn’t like this person. I didn’t like the racing pulse and the unwillingness to compromise. 
Goodbye, stress monster, I stab you through the heart, I take away your life source. Consider yourself vanquished. 

Wherein I Allow the Stress to Eat me Alive

I’m at a place where I can physically feel the stress boiling in my blood.

I recognize that this is likely not a healthy way to feel, so I try to do things like take deep breaths and entertain going to yoga or going for a walk.

But instead I create reality indexes about fictional White House communication directors and freak out that my friends might secretly hate me or that Gentleman Caller doesn’t seem excited enough to see me or that I didn’t do this one thing at work perfectly enough and am thus going to get fired or that my parents think I have weird sexual fetishes because I accidentally suggested we watch Caligula together before I really knew what that movie was about.

I had a particularly bad freak out earlier this week when I felt like every single driver on the road was purposefully driving slow in order to keep me from my destination and then got mad at Gentleman Caller because he didn’t want to watch the movie I wanted to watch (note: this was not Caligula, I learned my lesson).

The stress monster was taking over my life and emotions and sabotaging my relationships. The stress monster was eating my soul. The stress monster had me replying to totally benign texts about sending out baby shower invites with multi-page rants about how I AM GETTING TO IT and TEXTING ME ISN’T GOING TO HELP and THE BABY ISN’T GOING TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN INVITES ARRIVING TWO DAYS LATER. The stress monster wouldn’t let me adapt from TOTALLY SOLID PLANS to adhere to the schedules of others.

The stress monster was, frankly, a bitch.  

So this morning I decided to kill the stress monster. I’d like to say that this was some sort of Taylor Swift-style revelation that happened while I was watching the snow fall and noted that each snowflake is unique and delicate and has the ability to both soothe the soul and destroy the best laid plans.

But instead of writing a poem about snow and killing monsters, I took a look in the mirror, thought back over the last two weeks and realized that I didn’t like this person. I didn’t like the racing pulse and the unwillingness to compromise. 

Goodbye, stress monster, I stab you through the heart, I take away your life source. Consider yourself vanquished. 

To protest a bill that would require women to undergo an ultrasound before having an abortion, Virginia State Sen. Janet Howell (D-Fairfax) on Monday attached an amendment that would require men to have a rectal exam and a cardiac stress test before obtaining a prescription for erectile dysfunction medication.

Huff Po (via rachelfershleiser)

This is the most beautiful thing. Can we send her flowers?

(via jaimealyse)

megsokay asked
Can we talk about Jewish stereotypes in British culture and cinema? Because...okay...when I was living in London it suddenly became apparent in one horrific and embarrassing moment that Brits have very little real understanding of how Jewish people exist beyond stereotype (unless that Jewish person's name is Daniel Deronda).

Yes AGREED and while I thought for a second that “Levinson” was going to be this strong Jewish presence on Downton, I am sure it will end up that she was a German-Jewish convert and just didn’t Americanize the name enough. 

But, lord, to see Matthew dance the Hora

graceinsmallthings:

In which Joy becomes my Entertainment Weekly: After devouring Divergent in less than 48 hours this weekend, I downloaded The Fault in Our Stars for my bedtime reading last night. I’m currently 40% of the way through; I anticipate finishing tonight. (I’ve already downloaded An Abundance of Katherines and Looking for Alaska to read next.) I’m pretty certain I no longer need to read my entertainment magazines religiously, when Joy’s blog and Twitter are so much more indulgent of my pop culture needs.

I feel like the major take-away of the Internet right now is that you should always listen to everything I say. Always. 

graceinsmallthings:

In which Joy becomes my Entertainment Weekly: After devouring Divergent in less than 48 hours this weekend, I downloaded The Fault in Our Stars for my bedtime reading last night. I’m currently 40% of the way through; I anticipate finishing tonight. (I’ve already downloaded An Abundance of Katherines and Looking for Alaska to read next.) I’m pretty certain I no longer need to read my entertainment magazines religiously, when Joy’s blog and Twitter are so much more indulgent of my pop culture needs.

I feel like the major take-away of the Internet right now is that you should always listen to everything I say. Always. 

TODAY IN DOWNTON NEWS: SHIRLEY MACLAINE TO PLAY LADY GRANTHAM’S MOM.
YOU GUYS.
CAPS LOCK IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS. CAPSLOCK. 

TODAY IN DOWNTON NEWS: SHIRLEY MACLAINE TO PLAY LADY GRANTHAM’S MOM.

YOU GUYS.

CAPS LOCK IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS. CAPSLOCK. 

tallgirltales:

2012 SAG Awards | Best Dressed #6
Viola Davis in Marchesa (custom). Gorgeous.

I was reading some fashion rundowns of last night and two sites called Viola Davis “plus sized” and I just can’t stop looking at her and trying to figure out what in the world is “plus” about what she has going on. If anyone looks at this photo and thinks anything other than the fact that she is a healthy and beautiful woman, then we have some serious issues going on.
Serious issues. 

tallgirltales:

2012 SAG Awards | Best Dressed #6

Viola Davis in Marchesa (custom). Gorgeous.

I was reading some fashion rundowns of last night and two sites called Viola Davis “plus sized” and I just can’t stop looking at her and trying to figure out what in the world is “plus” about what she has going on. If anyone looks at this photo and thinks anything other than the fact that she is a healthy and beautiful woman, then we have some serious issues going on.

Serious issues.