Friday, August 29, 2008

Get to Know Jill Just a Little Bit Better

Jack says I shouldn't share things like this, but I can't help myself. Plus, we're all friends here, right? No? Well, we really should be...

Last weekend I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things. One of those things was toilet paper. I grabbed a 12 pack and headed to the checkout. As I was standing in line, I noticed that it said "6 Rolls" on it. I thought "well that was stupid, there's 12 rolls in here - how did they let this get through production with that big of an error?!" I shook my head in disbelief that a multi-million dollar company could make such a big mistake. Um....yeah, the thing is I actually bought 6 rolls of paper towels and zero rolls of toilet paper. I actually, really, truly thought they had made a mistake. Because obviously that makes a lot more sense than me being an idiot, right? Right.

A couple weeks ago, Jack took me out for a nice dinner at a local Indian restaurant. Within minutes, I managed to spill my glass of wine all over the table. After the server cleaned it up, I went to pour some more---but (surprise!) the cap was on. I'm a genius. Now anytime there is something to be poured he reminds me that I should check the cap. Isn't he helpful?

A few weeks back as Jack and I were leaving a yoga class he says "wow, that car is awesome!" I look over in the general direction he was pointing to and say "the Ion? I didn't know you liked Ions so much." I cannot adequately describe the look with which that was met. Probably 2 cars down was a fancy classic car of some sort.

" weren't looking at the Ion were you?" Amazingly, he wasn't.

In my defense, the Ion was really shiny.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Jack and His Crackberry

Shortly after Jack and I started hanging out, he got a Blackberry. Before that he had a regular cell phone that allowed him to check and send text messages every minute on the minute. The Blackberry has the added feature of allowing him to check and send his emails every minute on the minute. That means that, on average, every 30 seconds he is doing something with his phone - and I'm not even counting when he "checks the time" (which is code for "I know you hate it when I check my text messages this often, so let's both pretend I need to know what time it is."). It has been a real joy for me, in case you can't tell. I mean, I am THRILLED with this development in his communication capabilities.

Jack is a trickster, though, because the other day he asked me, "on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the highest, how would you rate your satisfaction level with our relationship?"

"A million", I replied.

"No, really, 1 to 10."

"A ten."

"Me too."

"Why did you just ask that?"

"Well, if you rate it a 10 then there's nothing you'd change about it, so you must not really mind it when I check my Blackberry."


Thursday, August 21, 2008

Jack: The Good Neighbor

So last Saturday afternoon I'm strolling down the hallway, quasi-whistling the tune to "I'm Not Going to Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You," when my neighbor from a few doors down almost runs me over while exiting his unit like a bat out of h-e-double hockey sticks.

Before I go any further, I should provide some much needed context: prior to our near-collision, I did not even know said neighbor's first name. Up to that point, our longest conversation had been:

Him: "Wow, it's hot out today."

Me: "Yeah, tropical."

But on this particular day, Chad - as he would later introduce himself - was chatty.

Him: "Hey, bro! What's up?"

Me: [silence, looking around to see who else in the hallway he could possibly be addressing]

Him: "It's good to be alive, bro, huh? So what are you up to?"

After realizing that Chad's biological brother was not walking behind me - and that Chatty Chad was in fact addressing me - I purposely avoided the small talk and cut to the chase.

Me: "I'm on my way to the grocery store."

Him: "Cool. Can I go with?"

Me: "Umm...what?"

Him: "Can I go with you to the grocery store? I need to pick up some groceries as well. And it doesn't make sense for us to both drive, does it?"

The next few minutes of dialogue were too bizarre to transcribe. I began my argument by pointing out that I grocery shopped at a natural foods co-op and that they don't sell items like Doritos or Pepsi. Chad retorted by saying that he had been thinking that he should start eating healthier and that this would be a perfect chance to begin doing so. I then noted that I might also be stopping at Target and the post office on my way home, a detail that backfired on me and actually heightened Chad's enthusiasm for carpooling with me. After unsuccessfully trying to persuade Chad - a.k.a. "Mr. Debate Team Captain" - not to tag along, I relented and decided to play the role of the Good Neighbor.

Me: "OK, fine. Let's go."

* * * *

On the ride from our condo to the co-op, I said a total of six words. Mr. Chatty Pants filled the rest of the space with anecdotes covering a variety of topics, including his love of mountain biking, the challenges of making homemade pasta, and his girlfriend's inconsistent sex drive. Again, I'd like to point out the fact that I didn't even know this guy's name twenty minutes ago, and suddenly I'm an expert on what it takes to get his girl in the mood. Silently I vowed to myself to never be neighborly again.

* * * *

When we arrive at the grocery store, I give Chad the clearest instructions possible: "It's 2:10 now. Meet me back here at 2:30."

Fast forward twenty minutes:

2:30 pm - I finish paying for my groceries and wheel my cart to the agreed-upon meeting space. Chad is nowhere to be found.

2:33 pm - I check my watch for the fifteenth time in the past three minutes. I contemplate leaving Chad behind. I then remember that Chad is (a) clearly not sane and (b) built like a brick house, and it's probably not the best idea to desert a crazy bodybuilder at a grocery store - especially when that crazy bodybuilder lives less than fifty feet away from you.

2:37 pm - I start to worry that maybe Chad slipped on a wet floor and now needs me to give him a ride to the hospital. What else could explain his excessive absence?

2:38 pm - I spot Chad on the other side of the store, casually making his way through the produce department. He happens to glance up and we make eye contact. I point to my watch and give him the "what, are you on drugs?" look. He holds his index finger up, mouths the words "one minute," and goes back to carefully inspecting a cantaloupe. If I had a rifle on me, I would have taken a shot.

At 2:42 pm - twelve minutes late - Chad finally makes his way over to me and excitedly says, "Where to next, partner? Target or the post office?"

I want nothing more than to tell him that I hope he gets salmonella from his chicken breasts and that I'd rather give myself a swirly than go to Target with him. Instead I lie and tell him that I bought some frozen peas that need to get back to my freezer right away.

"All right, bro. We'll hit up Target next time."

Right. Next time.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Take Two: Amongst Friends

Jill's Take

Recently Jack and I were discussing whether or not it would be okay if his friend gave me a professional massage. His friend is only a professional massage therapist in this hypothetical situation, mind you, but somehow this still came up as a reasonable thing to discuss.

My feeling was that it would be awkward and, well, inappropriate. I've had enough professional massages to know that there is always a certain level of nudity involved, and, if you play your cards right, some making out. Seems to me that that wouldn't be appropriate considering the nature of my relationship with Jack (acquaintances?). What's more is that I don't think I'd want his friend to give me a massage (no offense, buddy). Wouldn't it just be weird?

"Not even if it were free?" Jack asked.

"No, I don't think so. I don't want him to see me mostly naked. Wouldn't you be uncomfortable with that?"

"What if he were the best massage therapist in the country?"

"I'd see the 2nd best I guess."

Then it became a challenge for Jack--under what circumstances would I let his friend see me mostly naked? The conversation jumped from the friend being the #1 massage therapist in the country to the #1 gynecologist in the country. And suddenly I had a major problem with my vagina. Great, now I'm dying of a vagina disease in this hypothetical situation! JUST GREAT.

At any rate, am I a prude or is Jack trying to hook me up with his friend?

Jack's Take

Is it just me, or has Jill watched one too many late-night movies on Cinemax? I mean, seriously, what kind of world is she living in? One in which every mundane situation is only a few synthesizer chords away from turning into a steamy baby-making session, apparently.

In reality, here's what happens when Jill gets a massage from a professional masseuse:

  • She changes into a robe and lies down on a table
  • The masseuse goes about his or her business in a professional (i.e., non-erotic) manner
  • 60 minutes later, Jill leaves feeling more relaxed and the masseuse leaves $80 richer

And yet, somehow, here's what happens -- at least in Jill's mind -- when she gets a massage from my friend:

  • She changes into a robe and lies down on a table
  • Upon entering the room, my homeboy trips on the shag carpet and spills a bottle of hot oil all over Jill
  • Rather than simply towel off the excess oil, Jill naturally decides to get butt nekkid and "air dry"
  • Overcome by Jill's nekkidness and stunning beauty, my friend ignores the fact that he and I have been BFFs for years and turns into The Ladies Man
  • 60 minutes later, Jill leaves with a baby daddy

Umm...right. That sounds quite plausible. I totally get where you're coming from. Not.

You're cute, Jill. But so cute that a good friend of mine wouldn't be able to keep his professional hands off you upon seeing your shoulders exposed? Nobody's that cute.

Oh well...I guess it's a good thing that none of my friends are world-class bikini waxers. Now THAT could potentially be awkward...

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Nice Moosey

Jack is out of town again this weekend. Frankly, I am starting to wonder if there is another "Jill" out there somewhere. Likely a much less attractive, hilarious version of Jill, but that's not saying much, is it? Just kidding, there's no one even remotely like me (and I'm sure Jack will back me up on that).

Anyway, Jack is in the country somewhere. I don't mean America, I mean somewhere RURAL. Being the sweetheart that he is, today I got a picture text message from him with the subject "Thinking of you". How sweet is that?

This was the picture:

The message below said "Naturally this made me think of you."

See, I'm vegan, remember? So it's funny because a moose head is not exactly something that I particularly enjoy - unless of course it's on a moose body, walking around in a moose pasture. See?

My favorite part was that he named the picture "Nice moosey.jpg". Ah, that Jack!

Anyway, hopefully when he returns we'll be back with some more super interesting things to say and I won't have to carry the weight of this new venture all by my lonesome anymore. In the meantime, we'll be thinking of you.

Monday, August 11, 2008

A Little E-card Can Go a Long Way...

I am happy to report that Jack got his car washed this weekend and his windshield did not shatter into a 1000 pieces.* It was a pretty big deal. I mean, with how often that happens it's a miracle he made it through - but he did! Hooray!

Speaking of Jack, he's off enjoying the weather today on a golfing trip with his buddies, while I sit inside at my job. Lame. I mean, even though I am absolutely terrible at golfing, I am particularly skilled at driving golf carts recklessly and drinking wine (Coincidence? We can't be sure.). Surely they could have used those services?

Anyway, as he is away for a couple of days, I wanted to let him know I was thinking about him. I'm of the school that says you should always make that special someone in your life feel very, very, um, special. So, I sent him an e-card:

Needless to say, he was touched--and rightly so. If that doesn't say "I care about you deeply" I don't know what does.
* See point 2 under "Things you should know about Jack" for reference.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Did You Just Say That I Don't Listen?

* Black text = Jill; Red text = Jack *
Jack has been upset with me lately. He claims I don't listen to a word he says. He got this (mistaken) idea because I may have asked him several times why he has a scar on his abdomen; I tell him I like his shoes and ask if they are they new even though apparently he's worn them around me many times before; and because I say things like "I'm sorry, were you talking again?" with regularity. I don't get how you take all that and add it up to "Jill doesn't listen to a word I say", but apparently that's what he's done. (Editor’s note: Jack had a few suggestions for improving this paragraph, but Jill wasn’t listening to any of his suggestions.) This is troubling for me. You see, I have always prided myself on being a good listener. (Please tell me you’re joking. That’s like Jeffrey Dahmer priding himself on always being a good nutritionist.)

The problem, I think, is not that I'm a bad listener - I think it's more that my memory is what you might call "lacking". (Actually, the problem is that you’re a bad listener. But you’re probably not listening to me right now anyway.) Well let me revise that - my memory is what you might call "selectively lacking". For example, if Jack were to tell me my ass looked "huge in those jeans", I can guarantee you I would never, ever, ever, ever forget that. But when he tells me about the time he had The Appendicitis, it takes a few times to sink in. You'd think I could just put 2 and 2 together (scar on right side of abdomen about the size of an appendix = he probably had appendicitis), but I also tend to open my mouth and yap before I really think anything through. "Heyyyy, what happened here? Why do you have a scar??" This is usually met with "Are you serious? You don't remember? I HAD MY APPENDIX OUT! DON'T YOU LISTEN TO ANYTHING I SAY?"

(The scar is what triggers your memory?!?! How about the STORY? My parents were up North and I was under the care of an irresponsible older brother? Said brother responded to my cries-for-help by accusing me of drinking a bottle of vodka and telling me that it was “normal to have an upset stomach”? Said brother later refused to bring me to the hospital to prove a point about the dangers of underage drinking? He then left me lifeless on my bathroom floor doing face-down snow angels in a pool of my own vomit? Is any of this ringing a bell? How about the part where the doctor who was performing my ultrasound started bulging his eyes in amazement when he saw how close my swollen appendix was to exploding?!?!?! How do you forget a story like that – especially after it’s been told to you a handful of times?) He gets kinda cranky, if we're being honest. (I get cranky when you forget about my near-death experience. You get cranky when I don’t notice which specific strands of your blonde hair were highlighted blonder.)

To remedy this situation, I have been trying extra hard lately to remember things that he says. He suggested carrying around a notebook, and while I considered that, I think it might be insulting (not to mention tedious) to write down everything he says as he says it. My suggestion was that he should just say much more interesting things, like "Jill, you are so beautiful!" and "Jill, you are like the sunshine in my world; without you, everything would be pure darkness." (Just to clarify…your suggestion is that I start lying?) Those things would be easy to remember, you know? In addition, I have decided that when I see him wearing shoes that I think are new, I'm going to keep my trap shut. This might get me in trouble at some point when he's actually wearing new ones and wants me to notice, but I'm willing to take my chances. (I will never, ever, ever “get cranky” if you fail to praise me for my fresh kicks. But if you ask me one more time about the scar on my abdomen…)

(By the way, your ass looks huge in those jeans.) [Now Jack is in trouble. BIG trouble.]

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Getting to Know Us...

5 Things You Should Know About Jill (according to Jill)

  1. Blond (literally).
  2. Believes that "being on time" is highly overrated, kind of like "paying attention", and "showering regularly".
  3. Used to think that squirrels lived inside hollow trees, despite the fact that there are very few hollow trees around. Feels as though animated TV led her astray by portraying rodents living in tiny human-like houses inside trees.
  4. Enjoys planning every last detail of everything under the sun. Spreadsheets are her best friend (and that's only because they can't protest, really). Worries constantly that "things might not go according to plan". This would obviously be disastrous.
  5. Enjoyed playing "House", "Adoption Agency", and "Veterinarian" as a child. Also enjoyed putting on plays about the evils of smoking in an effort to get her elders to stop smoking. Still feels personally responsible for that failure - acting has never been her strong suit.

5 Things You Should Know About Jill (according to Jack)

  1. She’s vegan. And when she’s hungry, she acts like a starving raccoon in an alley full of empty trash cans. Who was just left by her husband for a young squirrel. And who has PMS. In other words, Jill gets kinda surly when she’s hungry.
  2. Has the worst memory known to man.
  3. Loves her dog. And by “love” I mean if she had to feed either me or her dog to a pack of wolves, the name of this blog would soon be changed to Spot & Jill.
  4. Constantly has the sniffles. Either used to snort cocaine or she’s allergic to cat hair, dog hair, dust, air, sunlight, and water.
  5. Secretly wishes she was a professional dancer. Actually, it’s not a secret at all. Often spends three hours a night watching “So You Think You Can Dance” episodes in slow motion.


5 Things You Should Know About Jack (according to Jack)

  1. Momma’s boy.
  2. Has an irrational fear that his windshield is going to be shattered by the pressure from the auto-dryer each time he gets his car washed. He’s also scared of elevators, swimming in open bodies of water, and guys who wear jean shorts. But who isn’t?
  3. Owns 61 pairs of sneakers.
  4. Considers himself to be the best driver in the world. Literally.
  5. Has an unnatural obsession with all things peanut butter. Peanut butter & jelly. Peanut butter & crackers. Peanut butter & a spoon. Peanut butter cookies. Peanut butter brownies. Peanut butter sushi.

5 Things You Should Know About Jack (according to Jill)

  1. Doesn't just own 61 pairs of sneakers, but proudly displays them as though they are awards won for something like Curing Cancer or Saving Orphans From Blazing Fires. Some pairs are even too special to wear. And should you step on one of his feet whilst he's wearing these precious sneakers, beware - you might just lose your foot. Let me put it this way: if his favorite pair of shoes could type, this blog would quickly be renamed "Jack and His Supras".
  2. Is unnaturally attached to his Blackberry. (More on that later, I assure you.)
  3. Likes to push my buttons. Has an unnatural talent for quickly identifying what will drive me most insane and then skillfully deploys tactics that will do this in the most effective manner.
  4. Lives in a high rise building despite apparent fear of elevators (???).
  5. Is metrosexual but refuses to admit it.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Coming Soon....

But not in a pervy way. Jeez.