Help! It's a TICK ATTACK!

I know Jack is working on a post about his visit to Hickville, USA, but since he's a little slow at posting, I figured I'd humor you with a story about said visit.

As I mentioned, I grew up in the country. My hometown is 80 miles from a McDonald's, okay? I think we may be the only such community. And yes, I am using distance from a McDonald's as a measure for how rural a place is. In my case: very rural.

Well, as is often the case in the country, there is a decent amount of wildlife where I grew up. There are deer and moose and coyotes, all of which are beautiful and majestic creatures....and then there are the less majestic creatures, like wood ticks. They're pretty gross and I don't particularly enjoy them, but they're sort of a fact of life up there. Since Spot and his 2 doggy cousins were out and about exploring the countryside quite a bit, they were bound to get a tick or two. Or ten. Or thirty. So one afternoon Jack and I are lying in bed watching TV with Spot wedged between us. Jack is petting Spot absentmindedly and I'm nearly asleep when all of a sudden I get smacked on the arm:

"Honey, honey, wake up. WAKE UP. Is this a wood tick? IS IT?" (pointing at Spot's head)

Sleepily, I feel around on Spot's head and determine that yes, he has a wood tick. I pull the tick off and go to get rid of it. In the 30 seconds I'm gone, Jack has completely torn apart the bed, feeling all over for any sign of rogue ticks roaming around.

"Jack, ticks don't really like to attach themselves to lifeless sheet sets and comforters. They much prefer to be on a living being - like dogs or humans."

Immediately his shirt is off and he's running to the bathroom to get a look at his skin in the mirror. I follow him and he says "ARE THERE ANY ON MY BACK? LOOK! LOOK! ARE THERE? CHECK MY BAAAACK!"

Seeing none I say "no.....and are you okay?" Honestly, I was trying to control my laughter at this point. You would think he had just had a close encounter with a tiger or something.

"Well I don't want to get Lyme disease!! "

"You can't get Lyme disease just from seeing a tick, honey. They have to bite you, and then hold on for quite some time. I'm pretty sure you're going to make it there, tough guy."

We've been back for over a week and he was never actually bitten by a tick, but I wouldn't doubt it if he's still doing a pretty thorough check every night anyway. City boy.

St. Patty's Day Fun

Last night Jack and I celebrated our first St. Patrick's Day together. We did this not by dressing up as leprechauns or drinking green beer, but by bike shopping. Isn't that what everyone does on St. Patty's? No?

Well, spring is almost here, and I talked Jack into getting a bike so we can gallivant around town together this summer, enjoying the fresh air and a good workout. (Plus, I bet he'd look adorable in spandex.) Anyway, the thing is, Jack met me at a time where I wasn't my active self. A few short summers ago, I'd spend my weekends biking 20-30 miles a day, with a ride or two during the week as well. But then I got injured (non-bike related, non-diva-dance related) and all but stopped working out. That's when Jack and I met. This is only important because last night Jack was very concerned about my bike knowledge: "Until a few minutes ago, I didn't realize I had brought Lance Armstrong with me!" I think he said that when I told him that it wasn't the smartest idea to pick out a bike based solely on color - something he was considering doing.

As Jack rode the model bikes around the store he kept telling me in a very excited voice, "I can't believe how light this thing is! I mean, it's sooooo light!"

"When was the last time you rode a bike, the late 80s?"

"Maybe."

"Yeah, surprisingly they've made some improvements since then," I smirked.

"Ooh! Know-it-all-Jill with her fancy bike knowledge. Who are you? Where is my girlfriend?!"

When he asked if his new not-yet-purchased bike would fit in the back of his car, I suggested he get a bike rack instead.

"That's a little much, don't you think? I don't think I'm ready for a bike rack."

"READY for a bike rack? What does that even mean?"

"Well, next thing I know you'll be telling me we need to move to Wyoming and get a Subaru."

I'm actually kind of scared to go biking with him...I have a feeling he'll throw a fit if the bike gets dirty or something. Maybe he should just stick with dance?

Getting Our Zen On! (Sort Of)

Hi, it's me, Jill. I'd like to tell you a little story about last night. Sometime last week I asked Jack if he would be up for going to a meditation class with me. I have always wanted to try it but just never done it (that's what she said). Since he is pretty adventurous, he said yes. So last night was meditation date!

A couple things you should know: Jack and I are not very patient people. It hasn't really been a problem in our relationship so far because a) it's not like we're impatient with each other (usually), and b) we're both quite aware of the fact that we could improve ourselves in that regard, so I think we both make something of an effort. His parents are routinely asking me how I manage with his lack of patience, and honestly it hasn't been that bad except when he's behind the wheel of a car. Then WATCH OUT. One time, we were behind a woman in the left turn lane, waiting to turn left onto a one way street. You can turn left onto a one way on a red light, you see. But this poor woman didn't know that. I thought Jack was going to lose it for the 15 seconds we sat there. After the turn, he actually pulled up next to her and had her roll down her window so that he could tell her "you know, you can turn left on a red light there because you're turning onto a one way". Her English seemed limited, and she just said "no, no, no", and drove off. Jack felt like he had performed a public service. I felt like I should duck and hide from embarrassment.

Anyway, because I would like to work on my patience, and because so many people recommend meditation for those of us who are Type A (him) and moderately insane (me), I decided this would be a good thing to check out - for both of us. Jack agreed to go, but afterward, he definitely disagreed on the benefit of meditation in helping him build some patience. "That is the WORST way I could try to improve my patience. I sat there frustrated the whole time. I mean, when he said look at the floor but un-focus your eyes, what did that mean? It's physically impossible."

"Well, I think you missed the point, honey..."

"Point? You think there was a POINT to that nonsense? Was the point to BE DRIVEN INSANE?"

"Um...no. But I actually meant that I think you missed the point on the not focusing thing. You know how if you focus on something your eyes will start to hurt? Well, they don't want you to do that because it sort of defeats the purpose of relaxing, you know?"

"But how am I supposed to NOT focus my eyes? They're MADE to focus. That's how I can SEE."

At this point, honestly, I was losing my patience with dear Jack. I mean, he just refused to admit that maybe you could look into space and NOT focus, but lots of Buddhist monks everywhere would disagree with him. And I was disagreeing with him because I am disagreeable.

The moral of the story is that Jack won't be going back to the Zen Center any time soon. Instead, I think he'll just continue to enlighten people on traffic laws where ever he goes. Because if he doesn't, WHO WILL?

That Time Jill Got Sick

I think you learn a lot about your significant other the first time you get sick. Over the past couple days, I have had a cold, and I have learned that Jack is desperately afraid of getting said cold. In fact, you would think I have Ebola or the monkey pox or something.

Don't get me wrong, he has been fantastic in a lot of ways during this time. When I was home from work, he took time out of his very busy day to bring me lunch, tissues, and orange juice. When I had to leave town earlier this week unexpectedly, he took care of Spot for me, and even did my laundry. I appreciate these things - A LOT. But for me there is nothing that can take the place of actually spending time together.

I should probably blame my mother for this. When I'd get the stomach flu as a little girl, she would stay up all night with me, holding my hair back each and every time I threw up. If I had a fever or a cold, she'd bring me cool washcloths and hold them on my forehead. To this day, if I call her when I'm sick, she asks if I'd like her to make a 7+ hour drive to come take care of me. I'm not kidding.

Then there's Jack. I have met his parents and I can't imagine that they would have locked him in the cellar when he came down with something, letting him come out only when he could prove the illness had passed....and yet, that's basically how Jack has turned out. And I suppose I either have to get used to it or cry until I get my way. I think I'll go with the latter.

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.

Got Bidet?

I’ve always considered myself to be a rather clean dude. I keep my fingernails dirt-free. I floss every day. I even change the sheets on my bed once a week. And yet after recently visiting my friend Kiro’s house, I now feel like I belong in a pigpen.

This “cleanliness inferiority” complex sprouted right after I used his bathroom. And saw this thingy:

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?”

“Umm…you mean that low sink with the really deep bowl?”

Kiro then channeled his inner Tim Allen and gave me a Tool Time presentation on bidets. I don’t want to get too technical, so I’ll just leave it at this: a bidet allows you to wash your pooper with water. Kiro – who is from Japan – went on to explain that nearly everyone in Japan uses a bidet after they go number two. He told me that it was “unsanitary” to just use toilet paper. “You need some water, man,” he said. “How are you going to clean down there without water?”

And you know what? I think he’s right.

The more I thought about it, the more I agreed: how are you going to clean down there without water?

I thought about other cleaning activities and – surprise, surprise – they all involved some good ol’ fashioned H20. Imagine that you’ve just gone for a ten mile run and now you’re really sweaty. Would you ever just consider wiping yourself clean with a towel? Of course not. And yet that’s essentially what we’re doing each time we wipe ourselves clean with some Charmin.

Perhaps a more vivid analogy involves a white dinner plate. Now spread some beef stroganoff across that plate. For artistic purposes, let’s even go ahead and sprinkle some corn on the plate as well.

Now when it comes time to clean said plate, are you going to simply wipe it clean with a paper towel? No way, Jose. You’re going to rinse that bad boy with about two gallons of water. Anything less would be flat out disgusting. Which is why I’m heading to The Home Depot tonight. I think it’s high time for this dirtball to clean up his act.

Editor’s note: After doing some additional research, I found two more nuggets (no pun intended). Toto is a Japanese company known for its upper-end bidets. On Toto’s website, consumers are encouraged to “experience unequaled cleanliness, comfort, and refreshment…the ultimate in modern hygiene.” Even better, Toto also sells handheld bidets (i.e., portable butt sprayers). Apparently when Japanese tourists travel overseas, they want to still be able to feel so fresh and so clean when they utilize less equipped toilets. Inspirational.

Take Two: When Bloggers Attack

Jill's Take

The other morning, Jack was like "hey, is your hand as long as your face? Put it up against your face to see."

Since I trust Jack (mistake #1), I did as he said, placing my palm square over my nose to see if my face was as long as my hand. Then he up and smacked my hand! Not nice, right?

Since I am not very original, I was like "Now YOU do it". I was going to smack him right back, you see. So he puts his hand up like I had just done, and I went to smack him....but before my hand got there, he moved his hand, and wouldn't you know it, I smacked gently tapped him directly on the face.

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.

"Stop? I can't stop! I'm in so much paaaaiiiin!"

"You are so dramatic."

"I think I should call the police. Or at least the paramedics!"

I maintain that I barely grazed his face, however. More of a "love-tap", if you will. He clearly was overreacting, as he is prone to do.

Jack’s Take

Have you ever told someone a joke and then had them immediately retell it back to you? Me neither. But that’s apparently how Jill’s brain works.

I played a joke on her. So then she tried to play it back on me immediately. How original, right?

The only difference in Jill’s approach was how she chose to deliver the “punch line” (no pun intended).

To recap: I patted her just hard enough to make the point “yo, genius, you shouldn’t be so gullible.”

When it came Jill’s time to pat me, however, she apparently had a flashback to that old arcade game where you would smash caterpillars with a mallet as soon as they popped up. Remember, it looked kinda like this:

In other words, Jill smashed my face like she was trying to buzz-in on the Family Feud and the question was: “Name a pet.”

I don’t want to get too dramatic, but I did have a swollen lip the next morning. And I also think I had a grey eye – not quite a black eye, but definitely something that was heading in that direction.