Jack Quizzes Jill: Part I

(Q) If Jack were a fruit or vegetable, what would he be and why?

Jill's Answer: Hm. Definitely not peas, since you really hate peas, and I don't think you'd want to hate yourself. I actually don't even think you have the capacity to dislike yourself in any way, so peas are definitely out. And while you LOVE asparagus, I'm guessing you don't want to make people's pee smell funny...........I know! You'd be a potato, because I love potatoes no matter how they look or what you mix them with, and my love would probably be your top concern if you were told you had to transform into some kind of edible object. Yep, you'd be a potato!

Jack's Response: A potato?!?! No way. Too boring. If I was a fruit or veggie, I'd be a Bhut jolokia pepper. Because if I were a veggie, I would want to hang out in the produce department and try to flirt with the radishes (i.e., I wouldn't want to be eaten). And nobody wants to eat the hottest pepper in the world, duh!

(Q) If Jack was forced to become roommates with a current or former reality TV star, who would he pick and why?

Jill's Answer: I don't think Jack watches reality TV. So I guess I don't know who he'd live with but I'm sure he'd have to be forced into it, and that person would have to adjust to Jack's many, many house rules very quickly or his/her life wouldn't be very pleasant.

Jack's Response: Was Mini Me on a Reality TV show? If so, I'd pick him as my roomie. I like having my own space, and I imagine I'd be able to stuff Mini Me into one of my kitchen cupboards and have the rest of the house to myself. Also, I have a hunch that Mini Me would be really good at dusting all of the hard-to-reach spots.

(Q) What’s one thing about Jill that Jack would change if he could?

Jill's Answer: If Jack could change one thing about me it would probably be my fondness for animals---as in, I think he'd like me to be kinder to animals, and love them more, because it is one area in which I am really lacking, in his opinion.

Jack's Response: It's hard to improve upon perfection. Although I guess Jill could be a little bit taller. And smarter. And better at taking jokes (like right now). Oh, and I guess I also wish she was a billionaire. In all seriousness, I think there are only two things I'd change about Jill: (1) I wish she wouldn't text while driving, and (2) I wish she changed her bed sheets at least twice per year.

We're Off to Hawaii!

Jack and I have had a trip to Hawaii planned for several months now. We leave later today and will be enjoying the island of Oahu for 8 luxurious days. The first 5 days will also involve my entire family, and will mark the longest continuous stretch of time Jack has spent with them. It may also mark the end of "Jack and Jill" as we now know it. Coincidence? Hard to say.

I'm kidding. I mean, Jack keeps saying things like "as soon as we get past this trip we can break up!" which I think is a joke, but you never really know with him.

I assure you I have no intention of letting that happen, considering Jack has tickets for several kickass shows in May. After that, we'll see.

Any any rate, we're gone for 9 days, and had fully intended on scheduling some posts for while we're gone, but wouldn't you know it, we didn't really get around to that. HOWEVER, we will be updating Twitter while we're gone, so you should totally check that out. Try not to miss us too much! I'll let you know if I'm able to get Jack to go snorkeling - he's even more afraid of the ocean than I am, which is saying something. An island vacation is perfect for people like us, isn't it?

Aloha!

Jill Quizzes Jack: Part I

(Q) If Jill could be any (non-human) animal, what would she be?

Jack's Answer: A dog. Specifically a Boston Terrier. If this were to happen, then Jill's unnatural love for her own Boston Terrier, Spot, would seem a little less weird. Emphasis on "little."

Jill's Response: Eww, you just made my love of my darling Spot into something dirty, not to mention illegal. And you're wrong anyway - I'd totally be a chimpanzee. That way my emotional outbursts and throwing of poop wouldn't be nearly as frowned upon as it is now.

(Q) If Jill could pick any one super power to have, what would it be?

Jack's Answer: The ability to clone people. (See next question for rationale.)

Jill's Response: Um, I don't even think that is a "super power" in the traditional sense of the phrase. Wouldn't someone with cloning ability be more of a "mad scientist" type, not someone with a super power? Your rationale better be good.

(Q) What's one thing about Jack that Jill would change if she could?

Jack's Answer: There's only one of him. If Jill could have her way, she'd surely clone another Jack or two.

Jill's Response: Seriously? THIS is what you think I would change about you, sweetie? I don't think you even answered the question. Making another Jack wouldn't really change anything about YOU, would it? It would just double the thing that I wanted to change in the first place, which is less than ideal if you think about it.

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?!

Happy New Year!

Hey everyone! We just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year - have fun tonight & be safe. We're headed out on the town in sub-zero weather, so our biggest concern is frost-bite, but we're taking our chances anyway so that we can dress up and hold signs and/or wear tacky hats saying "HAPPY NEW YEAR". Somebody's gotta do it.

We promise that real posts will resume after the New Year. For real. Have a good one!

Merry Christmas!

Jack Asks Jill About Women's Clothing

Jack Asks: At what age do women decide to stop shopping in the "Juniors" section and start shopping in the Women's section? And why are so many of the clothes in the Women's section unflattering, dull, and sometimes downright hideous?

Jill Answers: This is a hard question. Are we supposed to ask each other hard questions? I thought this was just for fun? I have a headache.

Okay, okay, let's get on with it. I've actually often wondered this same thing. I mean, upon someday birthing a child, will I suddenly acquire a fondness for heavily patterned holiday sweaters and pleated pants? Will menopause bring with it a penchant for muu-muus and bad haircuts? Do older men suddenly become attracted to this type of attire and that's why women wear it? Will I have to wear gigantic white cotton underwear too?

Okay, I know that last one has you hyperventilating since you almost lost it when I said I might purchase some Spanx. Calm down for a minute.

Anyway, here's what I've come up with as an answer to your question -- I used to try get my mom (who is pretty young for a mother of a 32 year old) to wear hip, cute clothes. She'd put them on and I'd ooh and aah over how awesome she looked. Then she'd scrunch up her face in the mirror, tug on the "tight" shirt, and say she felt fat or that she looked like she was "trying too hard to look young". You see, there are a couple of things to know about my mom: 1) she used to be a size 4; 2) she used to be quite the snazzy dresser in her day. She's not a large woman now, but she's certainly no size 4, 32 years and 4 kids later, you know? I think in her mind she feels like she can't dress trendy anymore because she doesn't look how she used to look. This, to me, seems absurd. Is she a tiny 20 year old size 4? No, but that doesn't mean she can't look cute & trendy. I mean, I'm not encouraging her to wear mini skirts and tube tops here, just to wear shirts that, oh, I don't know, FIT. Instead, a lot of the time she masks her no longer size 4 body in XXL sweat shirts. Ridiculous, I say!

So...what's my point? I am guessing that sometimes women feel like if they don't look like they did when they were 20, they should dress "more appropriately". The problem here is that their idea of "more appropriately" isn't really....appropriate. Flaunt what yer mama gave you, right? Just because you're 50+ years old and gravity has taken a toll doesn't mean that you can't be a hot mama! Right?

That's what I'm going with, because I plan to squeeze my ass into corset tops and stripper heels even when I'm 50. That seems like a good idea, right? Maybe that's not exactly what you meant....

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.

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.

Jill Asks Jack: What's Wrong with Briefs?

Jill Asks: Why do men prefer boxers over briefs? I happen to think that briefs are quite adorable and yet most men refuse to wear them. Flaunt what your mama gave you, I say! But seriously, why do men have such an negative/surprised reaction when I say, "I like briefs on a man"?

Jack Answers: Before we begin, let's make sure that we're all on the same page. When I reference "briefs," I'm talking about tighty-whiteys, OK? I'm not talking about boxer-briefs, as those are more like boxers than briefs (and boxer-briefs happen to be my underwear-of-choice, thankyouverymuch).

I also want to state up-front that there is a notable exception to the Boxers Over Briefs Rule: working out. Running, jumping, etc. while wearing boxers is about as fun as getting softly kicked in the junk over and over again, so every guy should own at least a few pairs of briefs for when he's physically active.

Now that the nomenclature is clear, let's get to the main point: there are only two types of dudes who should wear briefs on a regular basis: (1) dudes over 50, and (2) dudes who wear really, really, really tight pants. That's it. End of story.

Since I've been in my share of health club locker rooms over the years, I estimate that I've seen roughly 500 different men over the age of 50 in their underwear. And guess how many of them have been wearing briefs? Every. Single. One. Their commitment to briefs is impressive. So impressive that it's become a part of the uniform for the 50+ club. "Oh, look, he's wearing briefs; he must be one of us." Similarly to how I don't want to wear the same style of jeans that my dad wears, I don't want to wear the same style of undies, either.

The only other time it would make sense to wear briefs is if your pants were so tight that the excess boxer material bunched up and made it look like you were wearing a diaper. But since I don't wear TIGHTS to the office, this isn't really a concern of mine.

One other point worth noting: briefs look A LOT like girls' underwear (e.g., the "boy cut" panty at Victoria's Secret looks exactly like a pair of briefs). So maybe your obsession with briefs points to a bigger underlying issue that the two of us should discuss offline, perhaps?

In summary, if you're a fan of briefs, deep-down you're probably attracted to old men, really tight pants, and/or women.

Jill's Follow-Up:
Dear Jack,

There's something I've been wanting to tell you: I think maybe I'm attracted to old women in tight pants. I've thought a lot about your response to this question and I see no other possibility. I thought you should know.

Love, Jill.

Are briefs on men as awesome as Jill thinks they are?
	HECK YEAH!
	Only if you're over 50, like Jack said
	Um, NO. Not awesome at all.
Free polls from Pollhost.com

New Feature Coming on Jack & Jill!

Hi there. We'd like to get you all hot and bothered about something. We've decided to start a new feature here on J & J. Well, it's kind of two new features, but the concept for each is the same:

Jack Asks Jill

Jill Asks Jack

Basically we'll be posing questions to each other, which are to be answered by each party in such a way as to speak for that party's entire gender. Simple, right? Yep, Jack will ask Jill things about women and Jill will ask Jack about men and whatever we say is representative of all men and all women.

I think this will be a winner.

If anyone out there would like to suggest a question or topic, we are open to borrowing and/or outright stealing your questions, so feel free to put them forth!

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.

Take Two: My Pantry Could Beat Up Your Pantry

Jill's Take

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?

Jack, on the other hand, is a firm believer in never having "extra" food in the house. Sometimes I wonder what he would eat if he got snowed in for a week. You know what he'd eat? Some crackers, peanut butter, and 43 different kinds of beverages. I laugh every time I open up his fridge because it's all very neatly organized by beverage type. On the right side we have the juice - grape, orange, etc; on the left is the milk (and soy milk for me!) and some organic healthy soda things. Below that we have bottled water. It's all lined up very nicely and you always know with just one glance what your options are. But they're ALL LIQUID, so if you think you're going to satisfy any kind of hunger at all, think again.

Bottom line: should there be a snow storm or a natural disaster of sorts, everyone who hasn't stocked up on their food (JACK) is going to be awfully hungry. Hydrated, sure, but still hungry. Meanwhile, I'll be smugly lounging in my house, eating something fabulous with not a care in the world.

Jack's Take

I have to admit: I just read Jill's take and it sounded rather rational. But then I remembered that Jill is notorious for leaving out key details.

Details such as...

- Jill often buys items at the grocery store only to return home and find that she already has 13 or 14 of the very item she just purchased. "Oh, I guess I didn't need to buy this can of black beans after all. It turns out I already have enough cans of black beans to open up a legume retail outlet."

- Jill has absolutely positively no idea what items are in the back of her refrigerator. For fun, I put a dog toy and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure in the way back of her fridge a few months ago. Of course she never noticed.

- Jill and I recently got blood work done and the stats don't lie: my cholesterol, sodium, etc. were lower. Now whenever Jill makes fun of my empty pantry or fridge, I point out the fact that most foods that can be stored for a long period of time have preservatives and/or additives. My pantry and fridge may look a little lonely from time-to-time, but that's just because I prefer to eat the fresh stuff. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

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)

Making a List, Checking it Twice

Remember that post I wrote about Free Passes? (If not, click here.) Well…based on suggestions from some of you, Jack (reluctantly) and I (more reluctantly) agreed to document our lists of celebrities we'll be able to hook up with guilt-free. And, of course, these lists wouldn't be complete without snarky commentary from each other, so here you go!

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!

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....

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.

Take Two: Stink in an Elevator

Jill’s Take

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.

Spot: (Pffffft!)

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!


Jack’s Take

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.

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.

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...

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.]