The Mystery BAU's

I live in a condo. While there are many things I like about living in a condo (e.g., no mowing, no shoveling), there's one thing I really dislike: community laundry. I'm borderline OCD and a neat-freak to begin with, so when I start to think about my clothes being washed in the same washer that all of my weirdo neighbors are using, I start to sweat. Profusely. This feeling is exacerbated when I think about the fact that the following individuals all live on my floor: an elderly woman who often smells like she's wearing a diaper, a raging alcoholic who often wears t-shirts with dried vomit stains on them, and a stripper. No, I'm not joking.

Whenever it's time for me to put a load in the washer or dryer, I'm usually pretty diligent about inspecting each appliance to make sure there aren't any stray diapers or thongs that were accidentally left behind. But apparently my inspections are not always perfect.

Last week I was folding some clothes and found a pair of undies that I assumed were Jill's. Why did I assume they were Jill's? Simply because they weren't mine, that's why. This is a very important part of the story: I didn't inspect the panties; I just noticed that they weren't mine, so by default they had to be Jill's, right? Umm...wrong!

A couple of days ago, Jill was getting dressed and digging through her drawer in my closet. Suddenly she discovered The Panties That Weren't Hers. And then all h-e-double hockey sticks broke out.

"Whose are these?" she screamed, holding them up for me to see.

That's when I noticed them for the first time. They were big. Like, really, really big. Like, XXL big.

Now I was in a bit of a predicament. I knew Jill would be offended if I said I thought they were hers, but I also knew she'd be outraged if I said they were another woman's. I decided to offend rather than outrage.

"Umm...yours?" I replied, sheepishly.

Wrong decision. Jill was clearly more outraged over the idea that I thought she wore XXL grandma skivvies than she would have been over the idea that another woman's underwear found its way into my closet.

The moral of the story: I need to get my own washer and dryer.

Jill's Take: Frankly, I do not know how these underpants could have been mistaken for mine. I mean, I will admit that I have a few pairs of pretty drab undies, but they all FIT ME. And none of them go so high as to cover my belly button or potentially reach my boobs. So when I looked at these things, two possibilities crossed my mind: 1) Jack is cheating on me. With a very large grandmother-type; or 2) JACK THINKS I'M FAT. Since I am too delightful for Jack to want to cheat on me, and since he isn't desperate enough to date the owner of those underwear anyway, I ruled out #1 and determined that clearly Jack thought those undies were actually mine. RUDE. But I guess better than being cheated on?

Jack Has Always Been a Giver...

I recently learned that my good friend Bill’s little sister is expecting quadruplets. That’s FOUR babies at once – and with no fertility assistance whatsoever. Apparently Bill’s sister is just naturally outrageously fertile. Anyway, as Jack and I were driving to visit his parents the other day, I mentioned this news.

“Quadruplets….that’s FOUR, right?”

“Yep,” I confirmed.

“Wow, that’s a lot….I mean, what if they didn’t want a family that big?”

“Um…too bad, I guess? I mean, it’s not like they used fertility treatments or anything. Maybe they were just meant to have a big family?”

Jack really hadn’t even been listening. He just sort of picked up where he left off – “…like, do they have to have them all? Or could they maybe have them all and then pick the 2 they wanted and give the others away?”

“WHAT? Give away two of your babies?? And keep two?? How would you decide which ones to keep??”

"I’d give away the girls, and keep the boys. That's what I'd do."

Of course at this point I was livid, because whenever Jack and I discuss how scary it will be to someday raise children, he always says he hopes he only has boys, because raising daughters would be too difficult. Like most men, you see, Jack points to the fact that he “knows what teenage boys think about all the time” - and therefore wouldn’t want his daughters around teenage boys. Best to just GIVE THEM AWAY, I guess?

As soon as we got to Jack’s parents’ house, I had to tell them this story – that Jack planned to give away the girls if he ever had quadruplets. He got a good talking-to about that.

I think my work here is done.

Oh, and the illustration above? That’s me crying because Jack is FORCING me to give away my daughters, whilst happily clutching his precious sons. RUDE!

Jill's Advice for Men: What NOT to Say to Your Girlfriend

A few weekends ago Jack and I went bike shopping so I could get a speedier, fancier bike. After talking to the sales person about the differences between men's and women's bikes where it was noted that women's bikes tend to have a little bit wider saddle, Jack turned to me and said this:

(Pointing to the largest seat ever manufactured in the history of bike seat manufacturing) "So, you should probably get this seat since you have wide hips."

Me: [Death glare, death glare, death glare]

Jack: "You as in WOMEN, not YOU specifically as a person....I meant, um, women....?"

A few days later, I bought some of those padded bike shorts. Have you ever worn those? Well, they are the most hideous things on the planet. They make it look like I have the world's biggest, most obvious cameltoe ever. When I pointed this out to Jack (not that it needed pointing out, mind you) I think he had learned his lesson from the bike seat talk, because he keeps telling me I couldn't look bad in anything - not even cameltoe shorts. Good boy.

Jack's Advice: Not Exactly a Kodak Moment

Fellas, this one's for you. Maybe you're like me and you enjoy playing practical jokes. And maybe - just maybe - you've thought about playing the following joke on your girlfriend:

Step 1: remove all of the photos of your girlfriend hanging up in your living room

Step 2: refill the now empty picture frames with photos of ex-girlfriends

Step 3: make sure at least one of the photos is of an ex-girlfriend in a string-bikini

Step 4: next time you and your girlfriend are hanging out in the living room, gaze longingly up at the pictures of your exes and say, "man, we had some good times."

Take my advice: your girlfriend's not going to find this "joke" nearly as funny as you do. And you'll probably be in the doghouse* for a day week month or two.
___________
* (Fortunately for me, Jill really loves her dog, so her doghouse is actually pretty nice.)
___________

Jill's Two Cents: Yes, Jack actually did this, about 3 months into our relationship. No, I'm not kidding, and yes, I wish I were. When I first noticed the change of photos, I rubbed my eyes, sort of like you would if you were in a cartoon and you saw something that couldn't possibly be there because it was so ridiculous (like a man with sensitivity!), you know? Then I got mad, which was made even worse by Jack then saying "What? I did this to my last girlfriend and she thought it was funny."

(deep breath)

(another deep breath)

Luckily, after MUCH coaching, Jack has learned that a) we do not pull practical jokes that involve putting up bikini shots of ex-girlfriends who happen to be tall, blond and thin; and b) we do not say things like "my ex-girlfriend was so much more laid back than you!" or anything that might at all make it sound like your ex-girlfriend could in any way be superior to your current girlfriend.

Jill Asks Jack About PMS

Jill Asks: When will men finally acknowledge that PMS is real?!!

Jack Answers: This one's easy. I'll acknowledge that PMS is real as soon as you acknowledge that PNS is also real.

What's that? You've never heard of PNS? Well let me fill you in. PNS occurs only in males. It's caused by a change in hormones (i.e., testosterone) once a month. Symptoms of this serious syndrome include:

• A biological need to not wear anything other than sweat pants and cut-off t-shirts.


• A biological need to ask you if our butt looks big in said sweat pants and then sob uncontrollably when you ask a valid clarifying question like, "define big?"


• A biological need to not eat anything other than potato chips and chocolate chip cookie dough vegan ice cream.


• A biological need to then sob uncontrollably when you ask a valid clarifying question like, "does that carton say that a serving size is two quarts, or did you just come up with that on your own?"


• A biological need to spend all day Sunday watching SportsCenter and re-runs of Chevy Chase movies on TNT (i.e., the male equivalent of spending all day Sunday watching It's Me or the Dog and re-runs of Renee Zellweger movies on Oxygen).


• A biological need to then sob uncontrollably when you ask a valid clarifying question like, "How did Clark Griswold bank enough PTO to go on all of these vacations?" (i.e., the female equivalent of asking a valid clarifying question like, "Why does Bridget Jones own so many f'ing diaries?")


• Sudden and painful cramps; these cramps typically occur when men are asked questions like, "Are you ready to go to Bed Bath and Beyond?" (Note: these disabling cramps are similar to the sudden and painful cramps that women suffering from PMS often experience when they're asked questions like "Are you ready to go to bed?")

So...as soon as you and your fellow ladies recognize the seriousness of PNS, we men will also recognize the seriousness of PMS.

Jill's Follow-Up: First of all, I would not put it past you to ask a clarifying question like "define big". This is why I refrain from asking you such things. Secondly, this post explains a lot about all your sobbing I've been putting up with all these months. Maybe scientists need to find a cure for this horrible malady because it certainly is negatively affecting my life. And lastly, I feel an extra bad case of PMS coming on RIGHT NOW. What coincidental timing, huh?!

Five Things That Boil Jill's Blood

My sincerest apologies for the delay in posting this. Due to the extremely large number of things that boil my blood, it was something of a challenge to get it down to a mere 5. So, without further adieu:

1. Invasion of my personal space. Sometimes I wish I could wear a large hula hoop around my mid-section everywhere I go. Maybe it'd be electrified too, so that should anyone try to get that close to my person they'd get a little shock. You see, I can't stand it when people crowd me - it drives me insane. Literally, I think I lose a little bit of my already fragile and questionable sanity. Jack has learned this over the past several months when he's invited me to crowded standing-room-only concerts. Having to prevent your girlfriend from beating the crap out of strangers who come just a little too close has proven to be a little much for poor Jack. It's possible I won't get these kinds of invitations anymore.


2. Pretentiousness. Ooh, you're rich and buy fancy things and go to fancy places, OOOHHHH! Get over yourself, okay? My personal opinion is that people who are all about wearing $300 t-shirts, and going to bars where the drinks are $20 a pop, must have pretty empty lives. I mean, just because you have a successful career, savings in the bank, and a small island in the Caribbean and all I have is this blog, $42.38 and some pocket lint doesn't mean you're better than me. So there!


3. When people argue with me about what I eat. I'm vegan. You're not. Hooray for you, I don't care! It really is unbelievable how many people like to make fun of my food choices. The worst part is how unoriginal most of the comments are: "You like pigs? I like pigs too - I LIKE TO EAT THEM" or "Hey, Jill, don't you ever get sick of just eating lettuce and tofu?" At least people could be creative about it. Or shut up. That would be nice too.


4. Karaoke. I know this is a weird thing to get upset about, but for crying out loud, have you heard some of those people sing? Nobody good ever does karaoke, and on the rare occasions that someone actually is good, I can't help but think: "SHOW OFF". (I'm mean, aren't I?)
   
   
5. Being Hungry. Jack will probably write a post someday called "Jill, the Hungry Monster" because, well, I become something of a monster when I'm hungry. I can't help it. I just get angry when I'm hungry. I kind of understand why people in developing countries start wars. If I were hungry all the time, I'd be pirating stuff too. Guaranteed.

(To read Jack's list, go here.)

Staycation Report, Part I: When Jack Sold Jill Out

This past week Jack and I were on vacation. More accurately, we were on STAYcation. That's what you do when the economy is so bad you're not sure if you'll have a job next month, your student loans feel suffocating, and all you care about is being together anyway so why bother traveling? (Cue "awwww"s and vomiting). Instead of going somewhere sunny where we could sit on the beach and drink martinis all day long, we opted to stay in the frozen tundra we call home, where we were treated to several days in a row of below zero temperatures (you can see how happy we were with that to the right). Spot was also less than thrilled with the weather, but pleased as pie (can pie be pleased?) to have so much attention all week.

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.

About 30 minutes in to the main act, the comedian hadn't made fun of anyone yet, so I started to feel a little more comfortable. Well, it was that and the wine, which will always put a girl at ease (and make a girl easy - ba-dup-dup-dup - I'm here all week folks! Hahaha!).

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, of course, thought he was just about the funniest human being in the world. I elbowed him in the ribs and reminded him it's never a good idea to mess with crazy people. Muhahaha!

Jack's Two Cents

I must not have heard the comedian correctly. I thought she said, "you men know how women can be a little sexy at times." Sexy, not crazy. Sorry for the misunderstanding.

Hypothetically Speaking...

I need to tell you all something: Jack has a problem. It's a pretty serious problem and may someday result in a significant brain injury - because it's possible that eventually I'll kick him in the head.

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?"

"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?"

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.

"Would you hate her if the two of you were the only two people left on earth and you HAD to be friends?"

"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?"

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.

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.

So I'm Dating a Memory Murderer

Jill and I were cruising around in my ‘64 Chevy Impala ’06 Nissan Altima, listening to some smooth R&B, when Jazmine Sullivan’s new song "Bust Your Windows" came on. For those of you unfamiliar with said song, here’s a sampling of Ms. Sullivan’s lyrics:

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!”

Excuse me? Who does that? Someone who’s evil, that’s who.

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…

Jill's Two Cents:

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:

This guy broke my heart into a million little pieces by cheating on me, then took pictures of them together and waved it in my face.
VERSUS
I deleted a few pictures of his [wildly unattractive] new girlfriend from his camera.

I'd say that made us STILL NOT EVEN CLOSE TO EVEN. But now I guess I probably shouldn't tell Jack all the follow up things I did to even the score. Sheesh! Ya tell a guy you destroyed a few memories and he gets all paranoid!

Also, I've decided not to leave my toothbrush unattended anymore. Are you pit-swabbing it?!?!?

Darth Vader Does Hot Yoga

I love yoga. I really do. Not only is it a good workout, but it has a calming effect on me - something I am in dire need of on a daily basis because I am, apparently, "high-strung". So the other night Jack (yes, I got him to go back!) and I went to what was supposed to be a nice, calming, relaxing hot yoga class at my yoga studio (did that just make me sound pretentious? It did, didn't it?).

But do you know what happened? Some heavy breathing jerkface decided to take the same class, and instead of relaxing, I spent the entire 60 minutes a) trying to figure out which a-hole it was making all the Darth Vaderesque noises, and b) imagining myself walking on over to him and kicking him in the head mid-downward-dog. Not exactly relaxing, although picturing that did make me giggle inside because REALLY, what do you think would happen if I did that?

But I digress.

I don't know why I let things like this bother me. OkYesIDo: I seriously have NEVER heard anyone breathe that loudly. Ever. And I used to work in a health-care facility where there were people with emphysema and oxygen tanks for crying out loud! No healthy human being should be breathing that loudly, I don't care what our yoga instructor recommends.

After yoga, I was a little concerned that Jack hadn't noticed Darth Vader in our class. He clearly wasn't as insanely upset about it as I was. Maybe he has hearing problems, I was starting to think! (That would actually explain quite a few things.) Once we were in the car I politely asked him, "DIDN'T THAT DARTH VADER A-HOLE ANNOY THE BEJEEBIES OUT OF YOU???"

"Yeah, who was that anyway?"

THANK GOD. I was starting to wonder if I was a crazy person - this puts that to rest! Right?

Time to Take Out the Trash

Jack keeps a little box in his hall closet where all my jewelry and hair pins go if I leave them unattended in his house for longer than 3 minutes. The first time I got a look at this little box I noticed that several - SEVERAL - of the items in it did not belong to me. Lip gloss, bobby pins, earrings....all not mine!

"Um...who does all this stuff belong to?"

"People...."

"Why are you keeping it if you don't know who owns it?"

"Well, because what if they come back for it?"

"How long has this stuff been in here?"

"I don't know. But you never know when someone might realize that they're missing an earring and call me up and ask for it."

"I think we should throw this stuff."

"What?!?! We can't do that! What if someone asks me for it?!"

(blank stare) "Yes, we should toss it. I think only my stuff should be in this box. If the other girls wanted their stuff, they would have called you by now, don't you think?"

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.

Anyway, really, I know times are tough and all, but after 3 months what kind of girl is going to call him up and say "hey, I think I left a 1 cent bobby pin at your house, have you come across it?" An idiot kind of girl, that's who, and who wants to see that kind of girl again anyway?

Jack’s two cents: The problem is that I really can’t tell the difference between $4 earrings and precious jewels. Maybe that gold earring with the seven intertwined silver hoops and the “MADE IN CHINA” stamp was a family heirloom dating back to the Egyptian pyramids? Or maybe that blackberry lip gloss had some sentimental value? Maybe the girl’s grandmother used to bake her blackberry muffins and this $2.99 artifact provided her with priceless memories? What kind of cold, ruthless soul would simply toss those items out like a used Q-tip?

__________________

PS. If you are a lady who might have left some really dark lip gloss at Jack's, sorry, but I tossed it. It's kind of like finder's keepers except in this case it was finder's throwers.

PPS. I would like to note that I gave Jack over a month to put the non-Jill items in a different box so that it didn't mix with my $4 earrings precious jewels, but he never did that, so....