We All Do Nearly-Fatal Things Sometimes...

Since Jack shared his “dumbest thing I’ve ever done” story, he said it was only fair that I do the same. So, here you go:

Back in college, I had this sweet job nannying for a well-to-do family. They paid me lots of money to haul their two daughters to and from various after school activities, to pick up their dry cleaning, and run errands all over the city. They had a beautiful house in which I got to spend much of my free time – they were basically my family away from home. Right next door to them lived this very lovely elderly couple. By “elderly” I mean they must have been well into their 80s. I rarely saw the wife, but the husband was always out and about, tinkering in the garage or doing yard work or something. He was always very sweet, though we probably never said more than “how are you today?” to each other.

One thing you should know about me before I continue this story is that I have a very soft spot in my heart for the elderly. In high school I worked in a nursing home helping the residents get dressed, bathe (yes, bathe), eat, and so on. I love old people and would never do them harm – even the ones that used to kick me and call me names, and even the ones who tried to hit on me while I was changing their diapers (and yes, that happened frequently, and no, an old man in a diaper is not the least bit tempting).

So anyway, one day the younger daughter needed to get to her tap dance lessons, and she was taking her sweet time getting out the door. I was waiting in the car, getting impatient. She finally gets out to the car, and I start backing down the long driveway, being careful not to hit the garbage cans that were at the end of the drive on my left hand side. I was being so careful....but only when it came to the trash bins, as it turned out. On my right side, had I paid much attention to that as I backed up, was Mr. Sweet Elderly Man (I can’t remember his name, so sue me), mowing the lawn on his riding lawn mower (THANK GOD IT WAS A RIDER). He had those ear muff things on that protect your ears from loud noises, so he couldn’t hear me coming, and I am a jerkball, so I didn’t see him there.

You can probably guess what happened: I hit him. I hit him pretty hard. The daughter was all “OMIGOD YOU HIT MR. S.E.M.!!!”, which was clear to me, and not very helpful to the situation. I immediately got out of the car and started apologizing profusely. He didn’t take his ear muffs off – just motioned to me that it was no big deal. “ARE YOU SURE? I HIT YOU! I HIT YOU WITH MY CAR!!!!” And off he went, mowing again, like nothing had happened.

It took me a LONG time to face that sweet old man again. I made the daughter swear never to tell her parents. I thought nearly killing the neighbor might be grounds for dismissal - I mean, who really wants their kids riding around with a woman who's committed vehicular manslaughter?

_______________

PS. This reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from The Office:

Guess what? I have flaws. What are they? Oh I don't know... I sing in the shower. Sometimes I spend too much time volunteering. Occasionally I'll hit somebody with my car. So sue me. No, don't sue me... that's the opposite of the point I'm trying to make. -Michael Scott

Summer Fun: The Porn Squad and Getting Banged

Jack and I had a really fun day yesterday. Actually, this whole summer has been pretty awesome, hence the sad lack of posts on this blog.

Anyway, yesterday after an hour or so at the pool, we went to run some errands. On the way back, we drove past a group of high-school age girls holding a sign that said "CAR WASH". There was another sign that said "Pom Squad". As we passed, Jack said "I think I need a car wash from the Porn Squad!"

"PORN SQUAD? Really? You think that's what that sign said? PORN squad?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what it said. Porn Squad."

"Honey, it's the POM SQUAD - like cheerleaders or whatever."

"No, it was definitely the Porn Squad, and I think they should wash my car."

He insisted that it made much more sense that a group of teenage girls would be on a Porn Squad instead of a Pom Squad. Because that's totally logical. And not at all illegal.

Later that afternoon, we went to play some tennis. Now, one thing to know here is that Jack played tennis all through high school, whereas I took one week of lessons back when I was 16. I know the basics of the game, and can hit the ball, but not very hard and not very accurately. I still like to play, though, because it's fun to hit balls, and it's a good workout (that's what she said). While we played, Jack was refreshing me on the rules, giving me some pointers on my backhand, and so on an so forth. We were on our last game of the match (he had already won 5 games, I had won one and it was clear he'd be winning the 6th shortly), he tells me "now honey, when you get shut out on the final game of a match, you've been 'banged' - that's what they call it when that happens."

"Really? That's weird."

Shortly thereafter, he won the last point and I loudly announced "I just got banged!" to try out my new tennis lingo.

I thought it sounded funny, but who am I to argue with a long time tennis player, right?

Fast forward to last night. We're about to go to sleep and Jack says, quite ominously, "Honey, I need to come clean about something, because if I die in my sleep or something I just can't have this on my conscience."

"Um....okay, what?"

In my head I'm thinking he's going to say something like 'I slept with your best friend!' or 'I killed a puppy yesterday just for fun!' because my mind goes to places like that when someone starts a statement the way Jack did.

He continued: "In tennis, there's no such thing as 'getting banged' - it's not a tennis term at all. So if someday you're playing with someone else, I just don't want to be responsible for you saying 'YOU BANGED ME!' Okay?"

After over a year, he is finally figuring out just how incredibly gullible I am. It's about time. I, however, still apparently have not figured out that Jack is always lying to me. Hmph.

Jill Knows Her A-B-Cs

Hola. Jack here. Normally my posts are rather light (i.e., stupid). But today’s is quite heavy: Jill has a serious problem, and I’m not sure how to help her.

What is Jill’s ailment, you ask? She can’t stop spelling words out loud.

It all started innocently enough. Jill’s dog can’t spell, you see. So when Jill wanted to slip something by Spot, she’d spell it out.

“After lunch, maybe we should take him to the p-a-r-k?”

Or, “since it’s 3:00 a.m. and snowing outside, I think it’s your turn to take him out for a w-a-l-k?”

Recently, however, there have been a couple of disturbing developments. First off, Jill is starting to think Spot has a bigger vocabulary than he does. I think Spot’s vocabulary consists of six words: treat, water, out, walk, park, and potty. Jill thinks Spot’s vocabulary consists of thousands of words, including m-e-d-i-c-a-t-i-o-n and g-r-i-l-l-e-d-t-e-m-p-e-h. And quite frankly I’m not the best speller, so it’s getting hard to keep up.

Secondly – and most disturbingly – Jill has started spelling words out loud even when Spot isn’t around. Last week the two of us were dining at a nice restaurant when Jill casually asked, “Will you give me a back rub tonight after I take Spot out for his w-a-l-k?” Concerned – and confused – I quickly checked under the table to see if Spot had in fact actually sneaked inside the restaurant without me noticing.

I wish I was making this up. But I’m not. Please help.

Jack Asks Jill: Why is it OK for You to Wear My Clothes?

Jack Asks: Why is it more acceptable for a girl to wear something from her boyfriend’s closet than it is for a boy to wear something from his girlfriend’s closet?

Jill Answers: Um, have you seen how adorable I am in your sweatshirts? HAVE YOU? Well, I think that answers why it's acceptable for a girl to wear something from her boyfriend's closet. On the other hand, have you seen the size of my t-shirts? If you put one of those babies on (have you?? be honest, honey, I won't judge you), you'd look sort of like this:

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.

Drop It Like It's Hot

The other night, Jack took Spot out for his evening walk-slash-potty trip. When he came back in he said "Of course when I take him out he does a HUGE number 2!" I laughed because, well, poop is funny.

The next day, we were walking Spot together when my little doggy finds a nice patch of grass, squats, and drops a big one.

As I went to pick it up Jack goes, "Ewww, that is just like mine from last night!"

Shocked, I replied, "Did you just tell me about your poop?!?!" I wondered if we had somehow reached a new level of intimacy without my consent. I thought you had to be served papers or something if this kind of talk was going to start happening.

"HIS POOP THAT I PICKED UP LAST NIGHT", Jack retorted. "Why would I be describing my poop to you??"

Oh.

Well, he really should be more specific, shouldn't he?

You can imagine he had a hay day with that little misunderstanding.

Intelligent Email Exchanges

Jack: [yadda yadda yadda unimportant stuff]. he - larry - us.

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)

This Conversation Really Happened

Jill: (excitedly) Victoria's Secret was having a sale and I got 9 pairs of really cute undies for $50!

Jack: That's awesome. See, that's one way that men really do get kind of screwed.

Jill: (confused) Because you can't wear women's underwear?

Jack: (in disbelief)

Jill: (still confused)

Jack: No, because men's underwear are so much more expensive.

Jill: Oh. Yeah, that.

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.

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.

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

In my defense, the Ion was really shiny.