Ever since my first update blew up the world of the blogosphere, all kinds of people come up to me and ask how I am handling being the next internet superstar. Well, for the record, I'm totally taking it in stride. I'm still the same old Julie from the block. It's just now my block is in a much more affluent neighborhood than yours and I employ your next door neighbor as a housekeeper and pay her minimum wage. Live the American dream, my good woman. If you ever find yourself in my neck of the woods (and you make it past the security guard at the gate), feel free to stop on by for a visit. I'd love for you, my fans, to come check out my crib. Like, my literal crib. The place where I sleep. And, if you plan on sticking around for a bit, I could probably convince Mom to give you a tour of the crib where my crib is. She's nice like that. Sorry if that confused some of the white people who might read this.

But hey, if you're just playing catch-up and/or are new here, let's get reacquainted. My name is Julie Pollestad, daughter of a retarded father. I'm almost fourteen months old and queen of my own facebooks (link). You should totally go check it out and like/follow me if you're not doing so already. Unless you're a pedophile or someone trying to steal my identity, that is. Seriously, I don't even have any credit -- what exactly would you do with it? (Please tell me the answer is buying a bunch of awesome toys for us to share.) Anyhoo, on there I post a lot of cool things and stuff like pictures where I am being awesome and movie clips where I am being even more awesome. I have a hard time sleeping at night knowing that I have less followers than Dad and there is something uniquely troubling about that. It's going to be kind of hard to own the internet when he is one step ahead of me and trust me, if he's one step ahead of me, I am doing something horribly wrong.

Here is a sample of me being cute/awesome:


That's not a glamor shot. I'm not even posing. That kind of thing just comes naturally to me. I'm just sitting there playing and some tall person comes running up, vying for my attention by saying my name and then blinds me with a flash. But that's the kind of stuff you deal with once you're a famous internet celebrity.

So, wow, it's been more than seven months since I last posted some of my writings here. I always hear grown people talk about time flying but since I don't know what time or flying is, I guess that reference just kind of goes over my head. Also, I'm pretty short so lots of things go over my head. This is most definitely a good thing because sometimes Daddy forgets where the trash can is and alcohol bottles are known to go hurling in random directions. I haven't learned to duck so being under-sized has saved me on more than one occasion. Plus, it's pretty easy to sneak into stuff. When you're a baby, good luck trying to convince the teenager at the movie ticket window that you simply "forgot your id this time." Some of them can be really stupid but most are not *that* stupid.

I'm not walking yet, which seems to be the first question on everyone's mind when they first talk to me. But I am climbing and crawling around like no one's business, so a whole new world has opened up for me. Now that I am able to move around freely, people constantly feel the need to warn me of the dangers of the world. Like, don't play with handguns and say no to drugs. That's all fine and good advice but the problem is that since I don't know any words, I can't even say "no" to things like drugs if I wanted to. (I do desperately want to say "no" to many, many things for the record.)

So, imagine what might go down if I'm alone in a public park and some guy comes up and offers to sell me something illegal. I honestly couldn't tell him no. And, like, what if the dealer guy that is selling me the stuff is the paranoid type who thinks someone is eavesdropping on him everywhere he goes. So, he'd say things like, "OK, if you DO NOT want to purchase these 'non-illegal' drugs, please tell me now." Then he would make this kind of wink with his eye in my direction telling me that he knew what was going on and that he was wise to the people doing audio surveillance on him. Next thing you know, I'm trudging home with a large bag of H in my diaper and wondering how the hell I am going to get rid of it. All because I can't say no. I mean, sure, I'm enterprising; I know many ways that I could actually get rid of it but come on, I'm a baby. Perhaps I should start slow with a lemonade stand or something before moving up to being the head of an international drug cartel. And they say that the life of a baby is easy street.

Of course, I'm steadily growing older so it won't be long until I'm not able to use the "I'm a baby" excuse any more. For some reason, "I'm a toddler" just doesn't have the same cute ring to it. People expect me to be grown up and act my age but I figure as long as I still crap in my pants instead of the toilet, I should be given some leeway with the choices I make and situations I find myself in. I'm not saying that you should look the other way -- I'm just stating that if you want me to be on Sesame Street at some point, they might frown heavily with a felony conviction hanging over my head. Of course, I'd need to find someone who could actually give me directions there. Based on internet research, it would seem that a lot of people are still trying to find out how to get to Sesame Street.

But I suppose I have prattled on long enough for this second go-round. I'm generally not one to name drop but it's about time for me to go hang out with Mickey Mouse. Yes, *that* Mickey Mouse. We're cool and stuff like that. I'm not trying to claim that we're best friends but if you infer that from what I wrote here and tell other people out of pure jealously, well, I can't stop you. Regardless, you know when Mickey comes around that it is going to be hot dog day and while I have never had a hot dog, they seem like cool things to base days around.

I'll be back very soon to post more realness from the world of Julie but if you have anything to say in the meantime, hit me up on the book of Faces or at baby@pollestad.net. Holla!