Breakfast in Bed–Almost

Crispy bacon, steamy coffee, and fluffy pancakes were served to me on a tray in bed. Or, at least, that’s how it could have been. Instead, I hopped out of bed and helped Zack make breakfast. He couldn’t figure out my fancy Cuisine Art coffee maker, so he had made me tea. Since he was concentrating on that, he forgot to cook the bacon. He’s adorable and thoughtful and I love him. I also love that he was in my kitchen trying to spoil me! I didn’t mind a bit that I ate at the table instead of in bed. Everything was delicious!

Breakfast in Bed--uh, almost.  Nov 29, 2014.

Breakfast in Bed–uh, almost. Nov 29, 2014.

Zack said that it was his first time cooking pancakes. I feel extra special that he would step outside his comfort zone to cook me what I wanted. Ok, so it was a mix and he just had to stir water and eggs into the dry powder. Still, he did a fabulous job! And he did it for me!

We spent the rest of yesterday (Saturday) morning at Ikea. Ikea is a huge furniture store. Its warehouse-sized showrooms are set up to demonstrate that you can furnish a 500 sq ft apartment/dorm room with just $1000. There are offices, bedrooms, and kitchens that may cost more, but are still based on the cheap, modular furniture for which Ikea is famous. Zack and I meandered slowly down the aisles, stopping to pick up interesting items.

Next to a stuffed carrot sat a stuffed green vegetable. Zack asked, “Is this broccoli? It’s green with a cloud-shaped top, but the smiley face on the stem is throwing me off.”

I shrugged. “It could be,” I answered.

A child showed one of the toys to his mom, who shook her head. He tossed it back into the bin.

“Little Tommy never ate broccoli again. All because his mother wouldn’t buy him a broccoli toy!”

I giggled. “That’s entirely possible. She should have bought him the broccoli and the carrot! He could have grown up to LOVE veggies!

“Sigh, it wasn’t meant to be!”

Veggie toys forgotten, Zack was drawn to a light-colored teal shelf with metal mesh doors. He admired it and opened the doors. “Retro!” he said.

“Hideous!” I answered. It really was. “Maybe it would be prettier if it was a couple of shades darker, like my friend’s wedding colors.”

We wondered over to the kitchen section where Zack seriously considering buying a new cutting board. “I have a perfectly good cutting board,” he said, “but these are neat!”

I nodded. Ikea, Target, and a few clothing stores have taken my hard-earned money in exchange for lots of neat stuff that I didn’t need at the time. Today, though, I stood strong. There was nothing here that I needed.

We almost got out the doors without buying anything. We were so close! The filing cabinets weren’t quite what I wanted, the lights that my cousin desired were discontinued, and Zack left the hideous shelves behind. (He might go back for a couple of side tables later on.) Then I found a Christmas present for Sally, so we had to stand in the long checkout line. Which wasn’t a big deal, since we had no place to be. But we were so close!

“Are you hungry?” Zack asked. “Because I need to get something to eat.”

“Do you want some of Ikea’s famous Swedish meatballs?” I asked. Why a furniture store had a café was beyond me. I guess shoppers work up an appetite walking the large store; it does have two floors.

“No, let’s go somewhere else,” he answered.

So I took him to one of my favorite brunch places, The Egg & I, and introduced him to the joy of green chili chicken hash.

The rest of the day was lazy and relaxed. The whole weekend was, really, from Thursday to today (Sunday). I only cooked two sides for Thanksgiving, instead of a big spread. (And I’m glad, because there are still plenty of leftovers.) We went to my friends’ house for dessert, which took some pressure off me, since I didn’t have to cook pies. (My friends love Zack, of course!) Zack, Jack, and I spent time watching shows on Netflix. Zack and I also spent time talking and getting to know each other better. We got to know each other several times over the course of the weekend, and I enjoyed every minute ; – ) I even took a couple of naps. But only because we stayed up late.

So of course today, I am back to my usual Type A self: I got up at 4:30 a.m. without an alarm clock and immediately worked out. Right now, I’m doing laundry and writing a blog. I’m going to get a couple of hours of work done after this, then work on my thesis. I wonder if I have time to go hiking this afternoon. Maybe I’ll call a friend to see if she wants to go, or hang out for drinks tonight.

Thanks for trying to serve me breakfast in bed, Zack! I relaxed for a little while. I love you!


For more of my wisdom, follow me on Facebook at or Instagram @jules_strawberry_rules .

Gobble Gobble (Bacon!)


A Strawberry Thanksgiving

Zack showed up with flowers in hand. The turkey was on the table, perfectly cooked to a lovely golden brown. He made the stuffing while I threw together the green bean casserole and gravy.

Of course, he whined about having to work. The instructions were, “Boil Water. Add Mix. Stir.” He whined about having to boil water. But he didn’t mean it, so I slapped his butt and told him, “Get to work!”

He answered with a smile and a, “Yes, Dear!”

Seated at the table, we listed our top three blessings.

“You,” Zack said, looking at me. “My health. My job.”

“You,” my son Jack said, looking at me.

Wow. I was overcome by emotion. These two men counted me as their number one. Wow. I truly am blessed!

Jack continued, “The fact that Thanksgiving only comes once a year and that this is my last bite of turkey!”

“There’s always leftovers,” I reminded him.

His shoulders sunk like I had told him that his puppy died. “I really don’t like turkey,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, wondering if I should have cooked something else.

“It’s nothing against you, I just hate the holiday,” he reassured me.

“What’s your top 3?” Zack asked about my blessings.

“My friends and family who are dear to me,” I said, including Zack and Jack in my number one. “My health and job, of course. And the material things that I have, which are much less important but which make my life so much easier, like my wonderful little house.” Silently, to myself, I added God. I figured that the atheist at the table would roll his eyes and the agnostic might feel uncomfortable, so I kept that between me and Jesus.

Per my strict diet, the meal was completely free of gluten, garlic, and soy. This is trickier than it sounds: I had to go to two different grocery stores to find gluten free stuffing. Gluten free (wheat free) cream of mushroom soup is also difficult to find; flour is often used as a thickener. And instead of fried onions, I used crispy bacon. I really think that I like bacon better. Thank you, Sally, for the idea!!  (Chex mix, though good otherwise, sucked in green bean casserole last year.  Fail!)

Like all holidays, the meal was imperfect. The green bean casserole was cold; I hadn’t cooked it long enough. The gravy was a little lumpy. Since I only make it once a year, I don’t get much practice. But everything tasted good and I loved having my guys at my house. And unlike last year, nothing burned!

Last year’s fire wasn’t my fault. Someone didn’t watch the sweet potatoes closely and the marshmallows caught fire—in my brand new toaster oven! It was put out quickly though, and no one was hurt, so it was a minor incident. Still, it was one of those moments when I was torn between taking a picture or helping. I kinda wish that I’d taken a pict.

GTG – we’re going to Elizabeth’s and Daniel’s for pie. (They’re the ones that fixed me up with Billy Ray, remember?)

Happy Thanksgiving! I hope that you list all your blessings and find your heart as full as mine!



Almost Thanksgiving

“A British lady, fresh off the airplane, showed up at my 4th of July party in 2011,” I said. “I asked her, ‘Where’s your redcoat?'” I laughed.

Zack laughed with me. “You didn’t!”

“I did! In my defense, I was pretty drunk,” I explained. “She was a good sport. We became friends and she came over for Thanksgiving.”

“Really?! The two holidays that Americans celebrate independence from Great Britain, and you invite a Brit?!” He said.

“Ha! Right! Well, since it was her first Thanksgiving–” I started, but Zach interrupted me.

“And probably her last, the way this story is going!” he said.

“Hey! Let me finish!” I scolded. “Are you ready to listen?”

He laughed. “Sure, go on with your story.”

“Since it was her first Thanksgiving, I made a ton of food: green bean casserole, turkey (of course), ham, gravy, stuffing, and mashed potatoes. I told her that the mashed potatoes were the hardest thing to make, since you have to boil all the water off without burning them.”

“What? You’re supposed to pour off the extra water,” Zack said.

I laughed. “I know that now. But I didn’t that day. That Brit laughed and laughed! See, my mom never made a fancy Thanksgiving. She bought pre-cooked turkey—like for sandwiches—and made just a couple of side dishes. Our family lived in Louisiana, so it was just us. No big deal. So I didn’t know how to cook a big feast!”

Zack said, “I’m sure that it was delicious.”

I smiled. He’s so sweet! “Yes, it was. And it was also delicious the year that the vegetarian came to dinner.”

“Uh, you had a vegetarian over for turkey?” he asked. “Did you serve tofu?”

Again I laughed. “Hell no! I cooked a big ass turkey! He brought mac and cheese for himself, and I made green bean casserole. He sat next to me in the place of honor. The turkey came out beautiful and golden brown, just like it was supposed to. Then, when I took the big knife and the big fork and carved the turkey, it squirted juice all over his face!”

Zack laughed so hard that he doubled over. “You DIDN’T!” he said between gasps for air.

“Oh, I DID!” I said. “I squirted turkey juice all over the vegetarian’s face! This year, we’re going to keep it simple. Just a couple of side dishes, ok?”

“And lunch meat, like your mom? You’re not going to cook a turkey for me?” Zack asked.

“I’ll cook a turkey, but just a small one for you, me, and Jack.” I asked. “After this crazy, drama-filled year, a quiet dinner at home sounds fabulous.”

Zack smiled and hugged me. He supported me every step of the way. Instead of dreading a big, stressful, crowded Thanksgiving, I had dinner with him to anticipate. I sighed, content.

“Are any Brits gonna join us?” he asked.

I smiled. “No, and my foreign hairdresser refused to talk about the holiday. He said that everyone has teased him about it, and he’s already sick of it.”

“Oh? Why is that? Does he have a big, crazy family?” Zack asked.

I giggled. “His family has nothing to do with it! Well, except for the fact that—he’s from Turkey!!”

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. So many jokes, we didn’t know where to begin!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!


Marry Me

I’ve been married twice, and never been proposed to. Put another way, no one has ever proposed to me, even though I’ve been married to two different men. If I ever get married again (and that remote possibility doesn’t make me hyperventilate quite as much as it used to), I want the guy to propose to me.

I have not been proposed to; no one has ever proposed to me. However you care to say it, I have been engaged twice, without any of the fun, romantic hoopla that usually precedes it.


The first time, I was blackmailed into getting married. I just wanted to move in with the guy; my very conservative, ultra-religious parents objected. Dad threatened to take away my car and quit paying for college.

I tried to call his bluff and said, “Well, then, I’ll marry him!”

Mom said, “Congratulations! Let’s plan the wedding.”

So I married a guy that I barely knew.

I didn’t say that it was the right decision. I didn’t say that I was smart at age 18.

We were married in a small, quick ceremony with cheap gold rings from the pawnshop. That marriage barely lasted a year. At least I got a consolation prize—an awesome prize—a beautiful baby boy. Thanks for playing, try again.


The second time, we were playing with play dough. Seriously. My son Jack was 22 months old and we, along with my boyfriend-at-the-time, were playing with play dough. As I usually did, I make a ball, then a snake, then a ring. (A more technical description for you engineers: that’s a sphere, then a cylinder, then connect the ends of the cylinder into a “donut” configuration, like a washer with a circular cross-section.)

 playdough Playdough Ring2

Feeling silly, I reached for my boyfriend’s hand, and said, “Will you marry me?” Solemnly sliding the ring (play dough donut) onto his finger.

He took me seriously. The man actually took a play dough proposal SERIOUSLY!!

When asked, he said something like, “I knew that you were gun shy about marriage, so I was trying to find the right time to ask you. When you asked me, well, I got excited.”

Awwww, that’s sweet. In a didn’t-have-a-ring-yet, kinda-thinking-about-it, saw-an-easy-way-out kind of way.

He was very upset when the play dough fell off his finger, so I did the next logical thing: I retrieved a keep-tie from the kitchen and made him a new ring. A couple of days later, he was again upset when the paper separated from his keep-tie. So I did another logical thing: I took a ring off my finger and let him wear it. It was a silver heart-and-flower ring that would only fit his pinky finger.

When the guys would laugh at him for wearing it, he’d show them my picture. “This gorgeous woman wants to marry me,” he’d tell them. And they’d be quiet.

I bought my own engagement ring. Since I was paying for it, I didn’t feel quite right getting an expensive diamond. I settled for a less-expensive ring with my birthstone in it and small diamonds along the perimeter. To this day I still wear it; only now, it’s not an “engagement ring,” it’s a “birthstone ring.”


My Birthstone Ring



Next time I become engaged—assuming, of course, that there is a next time—I want a traditional, down-on-one-knee-in-a-fancy-restaurant proposal, with a traditional ring so that I know it’s planned and sincere.

All the stories and movies about fancy proposals are fun and sweet, I admit, but I don’t need a ring in my dessert. Nor do I want a proposal from a sky-writing plane, a blimp, the Jumbotron at a football game, or a knight in shining armor. And since I had to buy my own ring previously, a nice diamond picked out and paid for by someone else would be appreciated. Nothing too big or fancy, just a simple marquis cut diamond would do. Baguettes are nice, too.

An engagement is a long way off. Talk of marriage recently just has me thinking. I’m glad that my friend is getting married and I can’t wait for her destination wedding in 2016


Learn more about me by following my Facebook page, Jules Strawberry.

Planning a Destination Wedding (for 2016)


Costa Rica, Sept 2013

She’s only been seeing him for 3 weeks and she’s talking about marrying him.

Lilly Peach, Allie Apple, Gala Pear, and I all have BFs! One of us, the one who has been seeing her guy for about 3 weeks, is talking about moving in with her BF when they hit the 6 month mark. She’s planning the wedding, too: a destination wedding in 2016.

To be fair, the happy couple were friends for over a year before they started dating. Reggie always said that people should be friends before they start dating. That gives both people the opportunity to get to know each other without trying to impress or make awkward first date conversation. The relationship can progress more naturally.

However, I once dated a guy that I had worked with for a year and a half. I thought that I knew him pretty well. After all, I had dated someone during that time, so he treated me like everyone else. What I didn’t realize is that he was a workaholic. I felt like I knew him well because he was at work almost every waking hour. Sigh. I’d rather have a date at a bar than at the office, any day of the week!

Ok, let’s be fair: he was a work friend, not a social friend.

So how long should a couple wait before moving in together? I waited a year and a half before I moved in with Alan, and then married him close to the 2-year mark, which I thought was a pretty good time line. And yet, we were divorced inside of 5 years. I’ve known couples who got married sooner than that, who are still together. We’re talking less than a year of dating.

Portia hypothesized that you should know a person through all seasons before committing yourself fully. She wasn’t talking about a calendar year, though. She meant that you should see a person happy, sad, angry, and depressed. You should know how a person responds to adversity, how he supports you through your bad times.

Wise words. Except, Portia moved in with a guy after two months and stopped talking to all of her friends. I haven’t seen her in years. But I digress.

If my happy friend—not Portia, but the one planning a 2016 wedding—was graded by any of these measures, I think she’s pass. She’s seen him happy; he’s walking-on-air in love right now! She’s seen him sad, when his last girlfriend tore his heart out. I imagine that over a year’s time, she’s seen him angry and depressed as well. They all pass Reggie’s test of being friends first.

So let’s be happy for them, the couple who are going to move in together in 6 months. Let’s help her try on wedding dresses, if that’s what she wants to do. And I’ll start a special vacation fund so that I can attend her destination wedding.

Which friend am I talking about? Or is it me?


Movie Star For a Weekend (2006)


“I’d like to be part of the movie,” I said to LaLa over the phone.

“You would?! You’d drive from Austin to Houston for this?” She asked. “The 48 Film Competition is intense. We don’t get much sleep, and I won’t be going home at all that weekend. If you’re serious, we have a couple of hotel rooms where you can get some sleep when you can.”

“I am serious! I’m there! I haven’t seen you in years, so this is a good excuse,” I said. LaLa and I were best friends my senior year in high school, which was her junior year. We hadn’t seen each other since graduation. “And I’ll get my own hotel room. Since the divorce, I’ve discovered that I like having the bathroom all to myself.”

“Ok. Well, we won’t get much time together. But the crew could use you, and it will be a lot of fun, around the hard work. I’m so excited that I get to see you!” LaLa said. “The Competition kicks off on Friday night. We’ll meet at Dean’s Clothing Company—it’s really a bar—and draw genres out of a hat. Then the elements are announced and the teams leave to start writing.”

“Elements? What are those?” I asked.

“They’re details that much be incorporated into the script. See, the whole competition is set over one weekend; that’s why it’s called the 48 Film Competition. The script must be written, the movie filmed, and even the music performed the same weekend. To keep everyone honest, we all must use the same elements: a character, prop, and line of script.”

“Oh! Cool! To make sure that no one writes the script in advance, I get it.” I was getting excited. This sounded like an adventure, and I was ready for one of those. “What do you need me to do?”

“We need actors. Usually everyone gets at least one line,” she told me.

“Wow, an actress in a film! That will definitely be fun! I can’t wait!” I said.

JULIE kiss MAR 31 2006

Friday Night

I met LaLa at her apartment in Houston. She was still a skinny, beautiful blonde, but she had aged ten years, in the best possible way: she had a confident air that she hadn’t had as a teen.

We rushed from her apartment to Dean’s Clothing Company. We ordered drinks and made small talk while we awaited the start of the competition. LaLa was distracted; her mind was on the upcoming challenge.

Finally, a kind, pretty woman stood up and asked for everyone’s attention. She had dark hair and pale skin with black rimmed glasses; her smile, like her, looked soft and nice. She explained the rules, much like LaLa had, and said that there were 7 teams signed up. Then each team came forward in turn, drawing a genre from a bucket: comedy, musical, drama, etc. LaLa drew, “Mockumentary.”

“What is that?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“It’s like that Spinal Tap movie. It looks and feels like a documentary, but it’s not real. It’s a parody, a farce.”

“Oh,” I said, kind of disappointed. “Wouldn’t comedy have been better?”

“No,” she replied, “This is awesome! Just wait. Now, shhh.”

The kind woman at the front motioned for the excited crowd to calm down. “Now, for the Elements,” she said, and the crowd quieted down. I heard someone ask loudly for pen; that team was certainly disorganized. “Prop: Pliers. Character: a cheerleader named Diane Dellusio. Line: ‘Just keep going; you’ll know when to stop.’ “

The next few hours were a whirlwind. I followed LaLa in my car from the bar to the studio, which was one of the prefab buildings in a low rent office park. Inside, it looked like an office lobby. Somehow I was surprised to see carpet. I met the rest of the crew, about a dozen people, and we chatted while we await instructions.

“LaLa, I have an idea. We can make it like a series of dates…” I began.

“No!” she said, and addressed the room at large. “We have the core writers, who will come to the back and help me write the script. The rest of you need to just wait for us to finish. Jeff!” she turned and started talking to one of the writers. They soon went into the back room.

I identified at least four handsome young men in the room. “Jules, be good,” I told myself. “You have a boyfriend. Well, a guy that you’re dating. So what if it’s only been a couple of weeks; be good! He’s a nice guy!” Kenny had texted me to ask if I had arrived safely in Houston. He was sweet. I just wasn’t sure that we had a future; he worked at the grocery store restocking shelves. Until recently, he had lived with his parents, my neighbors, which is how I met him.

“Hello,” said one of the handsome men. He was about 5’10” and I tried not to notice his beautiful brown eyes or his strong chest.

“Hi,” I said with a smile.

We chatted for a while. He lived in Houston, had a day job in an office, but dreamed of modeling and acting. We shared the same birthday (July 19). Despite my little pep talk, I found myself very interested in this man. I had to get away from him!

Eventually, we were told that the writers would write all night. Come back tomorrow.

I made a beeline for my car and drove to my hotel. I couldn’t take a chance that Mr. Brown Eyes might ask me out for a drink; I might have said yes!

JULIE front MAR 31 2006


The two smartest women in the room, an engineering student (me) and physics teacher, were cast as the cheerleaders. I laughed hysterically. My role was to pretend to be a really bad actress. I was to deliver my line in a monotone voice. I did, and nodded vigorously in response the line that was said to me. The whole thing took about a minute; but I was in a couple of other scenes, too, in the background.

Anthony was gay. When I found that out, I volunteered to run errands with him. After all, a gay man was safe; I wouldn’t have to worry about him hitting on me (or vice versa).

“I’ve been having second thoughts about my sexuality,” he told me.

Uh oh. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I’m thirty years old, and I’m in a relationship with a man that I’m not sure that I like. It’s time to branch out, try something new. I don’t know if that means another man, a new sofa, or a woman,” he said, laughing, trying to make a joke.

I giggled nervously. Maybe hanging out with the gay guy wasn’t so safe, after all.

The day passed slowly. We had a lot of time to hang out and talk between scenes, while the other scenes were shot or the props were hunted down.

Brown eyes told me, “I’m going to a birthday party tonight. One of my friends. Should be a blast!”

I could tell that he was bragging, but I couldn’t help but feel left out. He probably couldn’t invite me, since it wasn’t his party. Still, I wondered if he had a date, and what she looked like.

The cute blonde with the clear blue eyes asked me, “Hey, it’s kinda hot today. Wanna go swimming back at the hotel?”

My scene has been shot, and I’d been told that I might not be needed again. “Stick around if you like, we might use you in another scene. But don’t count on it.” So I was pretty bored. “Ya,” I said. “Let’s go.”

The water felt great. Blondie looked great: his muscles had nice definition. We talked and splashed and it seemed natural when he kissed me. We did a little more than kissing when I pulled away and said, “Thanks, I’d better be getting back to the set.”

“Ya, me, too,” he said. “Uh, thanks. This was fun. I—uh—haven’t done this in a while.”

I smiled. He was a waiter in real life; I could see him getting a lot of tips.

It’s a Wrap!

It was late when the official call word was out that we were done filming. The experts had to splice the film, add the opening and closing credits, and overlay the music. That meant that LaLa, as the project lead, was going to have another late night.

Brown Eyes ran out the door to his birthday party. Before he left, he got my number and asked me to breakfast the next day. I agreed; I’d need to eat, and I hated to eat alone. It wouldn’t be a date if I paid for my own meal, right?

Anthony, my gay (?) friend, asked me to go see some live music with him. I was tired, but not ready to go to sleep. I was in Houston, after all, and hadn’t seen much of the city at all. So I agreed.

We had to go by my hotel to drop of my car, then his house for him to change. It felt odd to be in the house that he shared with another man; especially when he was on the outs with that guy. I wouldn’t wait to get out; even thought, it was a beautiful home, and I loved the stories behind the fun furniture and decorations. Then drive to the bar. By the time that we got there, it was nearly midnight. We each had one drink and were ready to go. The band was good, but we weren’t into it.

Anthony fell asleep at the wheel at least three times. I kept waking him up. It was clear that he couldn’t drive home after dropping me off; so it was only natural that he share my hotel room. Platonically.

I barely slept. Here was a stranger (though a friend of a friend) sleeping in my bed. I didn’t know how to get out of it, but I had bought a hotel room so that I could have my privacy. Now I was sharing my room with a STRANGER?! He snored away, oblivious to my internal struggle.

The next morning, he said, “Thank you so much for a lovely evening. I really appreciate you letting me stay here.” Then he kissed me. Not a peck on the cheek, but a full on, tongues-touching, kiss.

All I could think is, “MORNING BREATH!” and “OMG I just kissed two guys in one weekend!” and “I’m a terrible person. I’m seeing somebody!” and “He’s supposed to be GAY!!!”

He said, “I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

I mumbled that I had to leave, get on the road, and keep in touch. I brushed my teeth and got outta there was quick as possible.

Breakfast with Brown Eyes was very enjoyable. He had picked an upscale breakfast place with an excellent brunch. We had a nice, friendly chat, then he walked me to my car. And he kissed me.

Wow, wait. He kissed me. WHAT?! Three guys in one weekend?!

I had wanted an adventure, and I found one! Part of me felt guilty, but part of me was thrilled. I loved that I was charming enough that 3 guys wanted to be with me. YAY!


“Kids, do you want to see mommy on a movie screen? I’ll be 40 feet tall!” I told my children.

My 8-year-old daughter was enthusiastic. At 12 years old, my son was less than thrilled.

“Oh come on!” I said, coaxing him, trying to get him to smile. “I’ll be huge. You can point at me and say, ‘Look at my mom’s big red tits!’”

I probably scarred my children for life, but my daughter laughed. My son got in the car. Well, that’s progress, at least.

The screening went well and the film won! I was stunned. I’m an actress in an award-winning short film. I’m on IMDB (though there’s no picture and there’s not much to read).   Here’s the film:


So I picked up three guys in the same weekend. Unintentionally. When I was trying to be good. I set out to have an adventure, and I did! And I’m a movie star!

Just to be clear, all this took place in 2006, a looooong time ago.

For more info on how to become a star in one weekend or less: