Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Anyway, Jack and I have a number of stories to share about our staycation, but one I'd like to discuss first is a trip we took to a local comedy club. Somehow when I bought my tickets I must have specified FRONT ROW because that's exactly where we ended up. This made me nervous immediately because comics sometimes like to mock the people in the front. I don't like to be mocked, you see, which I know is quite a unique characteristic.
HOWEVER. At one point, the comic - a lady - said something to the effect of "you men know how we women can be a little crazy at times...". Suddenly I feel Jack's hand leave my shoulder. In horror, I watch as he raises it above my head, almost in slow motion, and POINTS down at me, while sporting a huge grin. Did I mention we were in the front row? EVERYONE stared at me, and the comic even pointed out Jack's "hilarious" move - "look, this guy up here even pointed at his girlfriend!", she said. I think she did that just in case anyone in the entire room missed the fact that my boyfriend totally sold me out! I turned 16 shades of red.
Jack's Two Cents
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Jack Follows-Up: For the record, older men DO NOT suddenly become attracted to heavily patterned holiday sweaters, pleated pants, or gigantic white underwear that could also be worn as bike shorts. Also, the idea that older women "don't want to dress too young" confuses me. Who said anything about trying to look young? Just try to look attractive, OK? And by "try to look attractive," I mean try to never, ever, ever wear mom jeans.
Monday, December 15, 2008
- Toilet paper must be positioned such that the user pulls sheets off from the top, sometimes referred to as "over", as opposed to "under". Should toilet paper be replaced in such a way that it does not comply to this standard, the replacer shall be promptly notified and must remedy the situation immediately.
- Should a user need to replace a roll of toilet paper, there is a conveniently located roll near by in a place called "on deck". If the replacer uses the on deck roll to replace the original roll, that person is bound by law (under threat of severe punishment by Police Officer Jack) to additionally replace the "on deck" roll. Replacements for "on deck" rolls can be found in the hall linen closet.
- If you make fun of the contents of Jack's fridge, you lose the privilege of consuming whatever might be in there.
If Jack says he's going to cook for you HE DOES NOT WANT YOUR HELP AT ALL. Don't you dare try to help him chop vegetables or do anything even remotely helpful. Even if it takes what feels like an eternity, don't get any ideas - he will do it himself!
- Do not assume that just because Jack lives there, he wants to clean up after you.
- Do not get mascara stains on his bath towels. For some reason he did not like this the first 100 times I did it. I thought he'd get used to it, but he never did.
- Do not let Spot poop on the white carpet.
- Should Spot poop on the white carpet, don't say "meh, you have other stains anyway".
So I guess you could say he's pretty uptight. It's a good thing I'm so flexible and caring, because I've learned to accept these little quirks about him. He's had it easy by comparison - I hardly have any house rules. Spot has several, like "I get to go where ever I want when ever I want and feed me now and then take me out and then I want a biscuit and now let's take a nap and gimme some attention and rub my belly, and then TAKE ME ON ANOTHER WALK!" Easy, right?
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Only probably worse since most of my shirts involve a deep V-neck cut so as to show off "the girls" [read: boobies!]. (In case you all are wondering, that shirt says "I [HEART] FASHION", which is what most of my t-shirts say, obviously.)
Anyway, the point is that I'm cute and you are too but maybe just not in my clothes. Or any girl's clothes. Come to think of it, you asking this question mere days after you tried to convince me (okay, succeeded in convincing me) that Victoria's Secret had opened up a store for men, selling lacey boxers and what not, I am starting to wonder if I should be concerned. Am I not reading the signs? Somebody send help.
Jack Follows-Up: Your response is far-from-satisfying, Jilly. And for the record: no where in my question did I state that I WANTED to wear girls clothes. I was just noting that there seems to be a double-standard that deserves to be called out. If a girl wears a guy’s shirt, why is it considered “cute” as opposed to “butch”? And to be honest, I just asked you this question in the hopes that you’ll return some of the hoodies, sweatpants, boxers, etc. that you’ve
borrowed stolen from me.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Recently, Jack even started taking the leash when we take Spot for a walk. On one of these occasions, he let Spot get a little too close to running out into traffic for my comfort level (my little baby isn't the brightest about cars - he thinks they look like big dogs and wants to go play with them, I think) (Spot, not Jack). Um, anyway, after I screamed something like "OHMYGOD he just got really close to running into traffic! You have to keep him closer to you!", Jack asked the following question:
Do you think you'd break up with me if I let your dog get hit by a car?
If you were responsible for the death of my beloved dog, yes, that would probably be a deal-breaker.
Even if it was a huge accident and I felt TERRIBLE?
Well, I'm just not sure I could get over that, and I think I'd harbor some resentment toward you even if I knew you felt bad. Just don't do it, and we'll be fine, okay?
I don't think he liked my answer. I also don't think he remembered my answer because a couple weeks later he asked if he could take Spot off the leash so that he could chase bunnies better. In downtown. On a patch of grass the size of my bedroom. IN DOWNTOWN. I said no, which is good because moments later Spot almost dragged Jack out into traffic chasing one of those bounding bunnies.
What do you think? Could you forgive your boyfriend/girlfriend if s/he let your dog** get smooshed like a bug?
* And no, I don't feel like a big loser for admitting that. Bite me.
** If you don't have a dog and/or don't like animals (i.e., you have no soul) (just kidding) (not really though), think of something else you love and use that for the example, please.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Jack's Two Cents: I'd like to comment more about this post, but I'm too nervous to touch Jill's germy keyboard. I don't want to get the bird flu or whatever it is that she has.
Monday, November 24, 2008
You see, Jack LOVES throwing out impossible, ridiculous, and bizarre hypothetical situations to see what I'll answer. It seems this exercise can be prompted by any number of things, but usually is a result of me saying something absolute like "I will never eat meat ever again".
Enter Jack: "You'll never eat meat EVER again? What if the government imposed a law and you HAD to eat meat, and you could only choose 1 kind of commonly eaten animal to not eat. What would you pick?"Or sometimes I'll proclaim that I "hate" something - a real no-no in Jack's book - and I am berated with questions about hatred, even if I was just saying it willy-nilly. For example, if I say "I hate Paris Hilton and everything she stands for", Jack will create any number of scenarios in which perhaps I would NOT hate Paris Hilton.
"That would never happen."
"But what if it did?"
"But why would the government make me eat something I don't want to eat? That doesn't even make sense. Why do they care what I eat??"
"Come on! You only get to pick one that you don't have to eat. You'd pick pigs, right?"
"I suppose, but it's never going to happen so I don't have to make a decision, now do I?"
"Would you hate her if the two of you were the only two people left on earth and you HAD to be friends?"I think it drives him nuts when I won't just answer, but as Kenneth on 30 Rock says: "I don't do hypothetical situations - that's like lying to your brain." Plus, it's kind of fun making him re-define the hypothetical again and again until he gets so frustrated he just stops. It's not a quick process, but eventually he gives up.
"Who would make us be friends if there's no one else left on earth?"
"Well, I mean if you really got to know her I bet you'd find she's a nice girl. You shouldn't say you hate her."
"But I do, is the thing. And we're not going to be the last two humans on the planet, so I don't have to worry about her changing my mind on that."
"Well, what if Spot were drowning and Paris Hilton risked her life and jumped into the ocean to save him? THEN would you hate her?"
Jack's Two Cents: The people who now say "that would never happen" about mandated meat consumption are the same people who once said "that would never happen" when asked a hypothetical question involving a black president. Also, aren't you familiar with the importance of scenario planning, Jill? The first step in scenario planning is often to identify the worst or most unexpected scenario and then figure out how you'd respond in such a situation. When I ask you these hypothetical questions, you see, I'm really just helping prepare you to make the best decision when you actually find yourself stranded on an island with Paris Hilton. You will thank me one day.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I happen to like the feeling I get when I open my fridge or my pantry and see lots and lots of food in there. I like knowing that if I want to make something tasty for dinner, I probably have the ingredients to do so. Want some black bean tacos? Guess who can make them RIGHT NOW - me! How about some tomato basil pasta? I'll whip that right up, thankyouverymuch. I do spend a lot of money when I hit up the grocery store, and I surely buy more than I need, but I always, always have a well-stocked pantry - and eventually I'll eat all those cans of beans and tomatoes and vegetables and so on, so what's the harm?
Thursday, November 13, 2008
As a heterosexual man, this definition infuriates me beyond words. But I’ll try nonetheless.
What does my sexual preference have to do with my concern for my appearance? Nothing, I hope. I like to dress nicely. I’m comfortable wearing pastels. I have a 100+ pairs of shoes. And yet I love me some ladies.
Many of my straight friends often accuse me of being metrosexual. They say things like, “Nice lavender pocket square, dude. Did you borrow it from Clay Aiken?” These are my straight friends who wear pleated khakis, golf polos with the top button buttoned, and Oakley blades circa 1987. And these are the same straight friends who haven’t had a girlfriend since their sophomore year of college. So criticism from them doesn’t really bother me, since I know their (lack of) concern for their appearance just makes me look better to the other straight females out there.
Criticism from Jill, however, drives me insane.
I showed up at her house a few weeks ago wearing an uber-cool bright purple v-neck sweater and some matching purple high-top sneakers. I was ready for the runway. And yet I think the first comment out of her mouth was: “Wow, aren’t we looking very metrosexual today?” She also drops the m-word anytime I do any of the following things:
- Try on anything that's “slim fit”
- Get a facial or manicure*
- Comment that I like another guy’s outfit
To teach Jill a lesson, I’m tempted to show up at our next date wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a XXL Minnesota Vikings shirt. Or maybe I’ll just stop washing my face and clipping my fingernails. Perhaps then I’ll look more “manly.”
And while I’m on this rant, let me just state one more fact for the record: not all gay men are good dressers. Some gay men dress just bad as my aforementioned straight friends. And yet the stereotype persists. Which brings me back to the woman at the party who asked me if I was gay or simply metrosexual.
If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I would have slapped Ms. McDrunkyDrunk upside the head. (But of course I would have done so in such a way to ensure that I didn’t break one of my manicured* nails.)
Thursday, November 6, 2008
I bust the windows out your car
You know I did it ‘cause I left my mark
Wrote my initials with the crowbar
And then I drove off into the dark
What happened next is what we in the business call a “red flag.” Jill started singing along with A LOT of passion in her voice. (Jill normally just hums along to the tune – typically because she doesn’t remember any of the words – so it seemed extremely alarming when she started channeling her inner-Jennifer Hudson to this particular song.)
The whole song is about the joys of damaging an ex’s property. And since Jill ended up singing the last two choruses at the top of her lungs (“I BUST THE WINDOWS OUT YOUR CAR”), I naturally had to ask her if she’d ever damaged an ex’s property.
I was thinking she might say something like “I stole his favorite CD” or “I rubbed his toothbrush in my armpit.” Clearly I underestimated her. What Jill admitted to doing can only be described by two words: pure evil. Here’s what she told me:
“I had an ex-boyfriend who went on a vacation with his new girlfriend. When he got back into town, we got together and he wanted to show me some of his photos. While I was acting like I was scanning through his pictures, I was actually deleting all of his photos from the memory card! He got pretty upset, but I just acted like it was an accident. And I have to admit I felt pretty good afterwards!”
What if he had a once-in-a-lifetime image stored on that memory card? What if it was a picture of him and his dying grandma? What is Jill going to do to me if we ever decide to go our separate ways? Wait a second…maybe her telling me this story is just her way of using a fear tactic to lock me down? Hmm…
What Jack isn't mentioning is that this "new girlfriend" was procured prior to breaking up with the old girlfriend (i.e., ME). So, let's check the score:
I deleted a few pictures of his [wildly unattractive] new girlfriend from his camera.
Also, I've decided not to leave my toothbrush unattended anymore. Are you pit-swabbing it?!?!?
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Jill: Who's Larry?
Jack: Sigh....sometimes you are so blond. Say "he – larry – us" as one word.
Jill: HAHAHAHA. Maybe I was joking. Did you ever think of that? (Sadly, I wasn't)
Monday, October 20, 2008
But yesterday she gave me quite possibly the best-slash-weirdest gift I’ve ever received.
I’m still not sure how comfortable I am having a Playtex Femcare box sitting on top of my toilet, but I can assure you that I’m going to find a way to test these “wet wipes” out for a while. Regular toilet paper just seems so uncivilized now.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
My idea of leftovers: two pieces of lasagna to re-heat the next day
Jill's idea of leftovers: enough full pans of lasagna to feed a high-school football team.
For the record, I love it when Jill cooks for me. (As do my neighbors, their pets, and the homeless guys that live in the alley behind my condo.)
But these are the cold, hard facts:
- A couple of weeks ago I told Jill that I was in the mood for a meatball* sub. So we agreed to make them from scratch together. Based on the recipe she came up with in her head, we ended up rolling approximately sixty-two meatballs, give or take twelve.
- Last weekend Jill decided that she wanted to make vegan pancakes. To prove my theory that she tends to cook more food than any two reasonable adults could possibly eat in one setting, I made a point of trying to count each pancake that she made. I lost track at seventeen.
- Then came "pasta night." Jill's idea was to make a homemade pesto, which sounded great to me. When we went to the grocery store beforehand, however, I questioned Jill's insistence that we get THREE CUPS of basil. "Yep, I'm positive we'll need that much," she assured me. People, the next time you're at a grocery store, please make a point of noting how many leaves come in a one cup package of basil. And then please multiply that amount by three. And then remember that we were cooking a dish for TWO PEOPLE. I'm convinced I actually went into a "basil coma" that evening. I also had pesto breath for the next four days.
- Last night Jill innocently told me that she was going to "whip up something simple." When it was finally time to sit down, she served me a BBQ rib* sandwich, asparagus, corn on the cob, and enough sweet potato fries to feed a family of sixteen. After stuffing myself to the brim, I noticed that there were roughly eight ears of corn on the cob still available. Did I already mention it was just the two of us?
She's officially out of control.
If you or anyone you know has suffered from this serious condition known as "IsecretlywanttobeajuniorhighlunchladyandsoIcookmyproportionsaccordingly," please let me know of any possible treatments. Thanks.
* Jill is vegan. So the meatballs were really veggieballs. And the ribs were really soy ribs.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Jill: Oh. Yeah, that.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Jill's List (with observations by Jack):
1) Michael Vartan (photo)
Who? Is this guy even a celebrity? Or does he actually work at the falafel place by your house and you're just calling him a celebrity so you can have a free pass? I'm on to you, woman.
2) Christian Bale (photo)
Umm…search "Christian Bale The Machinist" and tell me if you still feel the same way. You can hook-up with any celebrity in the world and this guy made your Top 5? Seriously?
3) David Beckham (photo)
I hate to break it to you, but hooking up with Mr. Beckham would NOT automatically make you a member of the Spice Girls.
4) Matt Damon (photo)
I'm sure his WIFE AND TWO KIDS will be flattered by how much interest you have in their HUSBAND and DADDY. Home-wrecker.
5) Tom Welling (photo)
This dude is best-known for playing a character who wears head-to-toe spandex. Enough said.
Jack's List (with observations by Jill):
1) Norah Jones (photo)
If I say something bad about your precious Norah I have a feeling you'll toss me out like yesterday's trash....so I'll go ahead and leave this one alone.
2) Beyonce (photo)
Does it make you sad that instead of hooking up with you, she's married to someone who looks like this? I mean, that guy is UG-LY. Talented, but not much to look at. Anyway, it would make me sad, that's for sure. Although this probably increases your chances with her should you ever find yourself with an opportunity....crap.
3) Scarlett Johansson (photo)
Oh, honey, Scarlett? Really? This is very upsetting to me. This girl thinks that Barack Obama actually emailed back and forth with her. In all his free time. Right. And they're engaged too. I actually think all those blond jokes were written about her specifically. And if you try again to convince me that she's smart because Woody Allen says so, I'm going to remind you that he's super old and she has big boobies. The end.
4) Alicia Keys (photo)
Your list is starting to make me wonder if you realize you're dating the palest, blondest girl in America who can't sing or play any kind of musical instrument. You do know I don't have any musical talents, right?
5 - tie) Jessica Alba (photo)
YOU DON'T GET SIX. Let's just get rid of Scarlett and keep these two, huh? Wait a minute - she has a baby - who's the home wrecker now?!
5 - tie) Zooey Deschanel (photo)
YOU DON'T GET SIX. Cheater! If you meet Zooey you only get to hug her. Same with Jessica Alba - since they apparently are only half of a person each. HUGS ONLY. Your little plan just backfired!
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Naturally I had no idea what it was or how it worked. So I just got on my knees, washed my hands and left.Upon exiting the bathroom, Kiro noticed the look on my face and said the following: “I should have given you a heads-up, man. You’ve probably never used a bidet, huh?”
Friday, September 26, 2008
We had to have this conversation several times before this stuff was actually thrown out, and even then it was only because I got pretty tipsy and picked all the non-Jill stuff out and threw it in the trash. It was fun, let me tell you. I flicked each and every hair pin into that trash bin (flick, flick, flick!) with pure glee and now I know that everything in there belongs to me, me, me! It is a lovely feeling.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Apparently there are a lot of rules about this "free pass" business.Jack: So later tonight if [Duffy, Kelis, etc] is eyeing me during her set and she gives me the come hither look and then her bodyguard comes and says she wants me to come back stage and then I get back there and she comes on to me, can I make out with her and you won't get angry?Me: Why would that happen? Isn't she married?Jack: But what if it does happen? Can I have a free pass?Me: Well, I don't think it's going to happen.Jack: Are you saying that [Duffy, Kelis, etc] won't find me attractive? Is that what you're saying?Me: No, of course she would, but I just think it's pretty unlikely that she's going to get her bodyguard to fetch you so that she can have a night of passion with you.Jack: Well if you think it's so unlikely you should just say yes.Me: But what if it does happen? I mean, if you're backstage making out with [Duffy, Kelis, etc] do I have permission to get a ride home from someone else at the concert? Like a hot dude?Jack: You only get free passes with famous people.
"If she's into animals, sure."
What I meant by that is that any woman who's into protecting animals is okay by me....but I guess that didn't come across in my text, because this is what I got back: "Wait, did you just call me an animal?"
Monday, September 22, 2008
Well, that set him off. He went on and on about how violent I am, and how it hurt soooo bad, and he thinks I chipped one of his teeth.
"You could be arrested for that! That was domestic abuse!"
"Oh, stop!" I demanded, through my laughter.
"You are so dramatic."
I played a joke on her. So then she tried to play it back on me immediately. How original, right?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
2:32 pm – I Google “hot yoga” and browse through the search results. I conclude that Jill is either (a) inviting me to a Bikram yoga class where the room is heated to 105 degrees with 40% humidity or (b) really kinky.
Receptionist: What level are you: beginner, intermediate, or advanced?
Me: Is there a category below beginner?
Receptionist: Do you at least know how to do downward dog?
Me: I’m sorry, what’d you call me?
6:34 pm – I finish off my bottle of Ice Mountain water. I had hoped that my water supply would last me an hour. Turns out I came up short by fifty-six minutes. Oops.
Friday, September 12, 2008
What can I say, he is a passionate man, and by golly, if we don't get a gold in 2012, I don't know who will.*
* Perhaps someone with actual talent?
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
So Jack and I are in the elevator in his building the other day, just having finished taking Spot, my dog, out for a walk. I'm holding Spot, per condominium rules, when the elevator stops and 3 more people stroll in. As the door closes, Spot lets out one of his stinky, stanky, LOUD farts: Pffffffffft!
Me: (laughing uncontrollably as quietly as possible)
Jack: Really, you couldn't hold it? (not as quietly as possible)
Me: That wasn't me! It was Spot.
Me: See?! That was him!
Jack: Stop blaming the dog - it was totally you. You could apologize, you know.
Meanwhile, our elevator friends are visibly uncomfortable, but don't really acknowledge what has just happened. I'm still laughing uncontrollably of course, because apparently I am a 10 year old boy and farts are really, really funny to me--especially because IT WASN'T MINE. I maintain that fact no matter what Jack has to say about it!
So Jill and I are in the elevator in my building the other day, just having finished taking Spot, Jill’s dog, out for a walk. Jill rarely holds Spot (even though condominium “rules” require her to do so), but on this particular occasion she was (a) holding Spot, and (b) holding him on her hip. In hindsight, the hip is the perfect place to hold an animal if one is ever interested in…oh, I don’t know…concealing a boisterous fart.
There were three of my neighbors on the elevator as well. They were very “serious looking” (e.g., the guy closest to Jill was wearing an Armani suit and had a copy of The Economist on top of his briefcase; in other words he didn’t really look like a card-carrying member of The Guys Who Think Elevator Farts are Hilarious” club).
As the door closes, Jill farts. It’s clearly Jill and not Spot, since human farts and dog farts sound significantly different. Dog farts tend to be squeaky and high-pitched; this one had some deep bass. My first inclination is to ask Jill if she has a subwoofer stuffed down the back of her jeans.
Jill: (laughing uncontrollably because she thinks it’s hilarious to fart in an elevator full of strangers)
Me: Really, you couldn’t hold it? (trying to let my neighbors know that I was civilized like them and did NOT think it was hilarious to fart in an elevator full of strangers)
Jill: That wasn’t me! It was Spot.
Spot: (looking annoyed and insulted..then deciding he should fart like his Mom just did) Pfffft! (note: Spot’s fart sounded completely different than Jill’s fart)
Me: (genuinely embarrassed) Can both of you try to hold it for a few more floors?
Meanwhile, our elevator friends are visibly uncomfortable, as am I. Jill is still laughing uncontrollably of course, because apparently she is a 10 year old boy and farts are really, really funny to her. I look at her giggling like a school boy and wonder if it’s time for me to give online dating a chance.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
I’ve met Jill’s parents. But she hasn’t met mine. And there’s a reason for that. Actually there are two reasons: my dad and Jill.
You see my dad and Jill both suffer from spontaneous verbal diarrhea (SVD). At any given time, they have both been guilty of blurting out random comments uncontrollably.
In Jill’s defense, my dad’s case of SVD is probably more severe, if only because he’s been afflicted longer. To illustrate my point, here’s a near-verbatim excerpt from a conversation that took place between my parents (AROUND OUR DINNER TABLE) the last time I brought a girl over to meet them.
My mom: “Did you hear on the news today that they arrested a man for a murder he committed three years ago? Apparently they found the body…”
My dad (interrupting my mom): “See, that’s what I don’t get. Why do these guys have such a hard time getting rid of the body? I mean, come on! If I ever killed anyone, I can assure you that nobody would find the body. Would it be that hard to chop a body up into little parts and put it down the garbage disposal? Or how hard would it be to burn a body? Throw it into an incinerator. Collect the teeth and stuff that didn’t burn and then throw that stuff into the garbage disposal. I mean this isn’t rocket science, people! I just don’t get it!”
Again, this was the FIRST time this girl met my dad, who in reality is one of the sweetest men on the planet and winces when he has to kill a wasp with a rolled-up newspaper. Nonetheless, my girl’s eyes were the size of the hubcaps on my ’87 Accord when she heard him spouting off like Ted Bundy.
And yet if it was only my dad that I was worried about, I would have facilitated this introduction already. But Jill also suffers from SVD.
For example, this past weekend Jill and I were at an OUTDOOR concert where people were smoking. Apparently Jill doesn’t appreciate smelling secondhand smoke, as she casually informed me:
“If this girl doesn’t watch where her smoke is going, I'm going to stab her in the neck.”
It’s important to note that Jill said this loudly enough that pretty much everyone around us heard her. Now was really going to pull out a shank and slice someone? Of course not. I knew it was the SVD, but what if the others didn’t? I quickly made a point of nervously smiling at everyone nearby in an attempt to restore the peace.
Sigh…I’m sweating just thinking about the possibility of my dad and Jill in the same room. Does anybody have any advice as to how I can make this happen without either party saying something I’ll regret?