Did I Just What??

The other morning I got up to take Spot out to relieve himself. When I returned, a half sleeping Jack asked, “did you just poop?”

“Did I just poop?”, I asked, wondering if he had really just asked me that.

“Yeah, I want to know if YOU just pooped,” he replied, sarcastically. “No, I said, 'did he just poop?'.”

“Oh, yeah, he pooped. I didn’t, in case you were wondering, though.”

“I wasn’t and I’m still not, thanks.”

The Moment I Knew

In all my past relationships, I’d at some point have moments where suddenly I’d think “wow, this guy is a real d-bag.” Those moments were usually precipitated by certain events…like him saying something really insensitive, or, you know, cheating. Things like that. I’ve heard, though, that when you are very much in love, you will instead have a moment where you stop and think to yourself “wow, I think I could actually spend the rest of my life with this person.” Friends of mine have stories about these moments:

• “It was when he told me he couldn’t imagine his life without me. I just knew we were perfect together!”


• “It was when he met my INSANE family, and he actually managed to charm them.”


• “It was when my grandpa died, and he was the most supportive person ever – I knew then that I could spend the rest of my life with him.”

Sweet, right?

Well, guys, I think I had my “moment” last week with Jack. Here’s the story:

I had the week off work, so of course I spent my time wisely—largely by sleeping half the day away. Poor Jack had to work, but had stayed the night at my house. He was quiet as a mouse getting ready so as not to wake me….until he needed 2 things:

First, he walked into my room and loudly said “Jill, are you OUT OF PEANUT BUTTER?” The rage was evident in his voice – a house without peanut butter is to Jack what a house without Spot is to me. Unacceptable. But, yes, I was out of peanut butter.

Twenty minutes later he returned to my room to share this: “So…um, your toilet is kind of clogged. I’ve spent about half an hour trying to fix it with no success. I can’t take it anymore, so I threw some Drano in there and I was hoping you could try to un-clog it when you get up.”

Oh, really? Well that sounds exactly like what I had in mind for my day off!

“Wait – you’re telling me that you clogged the toilet and now you’re LEAVING IT?” (This seems like a slightly harsh retaliation for running out of peanut butter, doesn’t it?)

“Well, yeah. I mean, I think it’s actually a problem with your toilet. There was nothing notable about what I was trying to flush, if you know what I mean. And I have to go to work.”

“Mmm-hmm, it’s obviously my toilet’s fault. OK. Well, have a good day at work. I’m going back to sleep.”

I went back to sleep, and a couple hours later got up, having forgotten all about our earlier conversation. Then I walked into my bathroom. This was the moment I knew that Jack and I probably have a future together. If you can walk into the bathroom where your partner has left a plunger sticking out of a toilet that HE clogged and not run away screaming, you probably have to admit that maybe you found someone special.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I knew.

Jack's Take:

After the "incident" Jill told me the following: "When you go #2, you should always flush before you begin to wipe. My toilet sometimes struggles when you ask it to flush your business and toilet paper."

Umm...so apparently whenever Jill poops, there's a half-time? Does an announcer's voice come over a loudspeaker and announce: "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a 5 minute intermission."

Jill's toilet needs to be repaired. Period. Therefore, I don't feel too bad about leaving her toilet clogged with a plunger sticking out of it. It wasn't me, it was the toilet.

Being Green

No, this isn't going to be about how to save energy or stop global warming or how to make friends with Al Gore. It's about something much more important: Me and The Hulk. Kind of.

Last summer, quite early in our courtship, Jack and I went to see the Pixar/Disney movie, Wall-E. As we walked through the lobby on our way in, Jack looked over at the life-sized Hulk replica and said, "Would you still like me if I were green?"

"Like the Hulk?"

"Yeah. Like, green skinned."

"Of course I would. Would you still like me?"

"Probably not."

"HEY! You can't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because I said I would still like you!"

"Well....would you be really big and muscular like the Hulk?"

"No, I think I'd just be green-skinned."

"Then I'll stick with my original answer."

"Why do I hang out with you?"

"Because I'm cool?"

"Well it's certainly not your modesty."

End scene.

As punishment I made him hold my hand during the whole movie. I think that showed him.

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

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!

Smell This!

This weekend Jack and I were in his car on our way to a restaurant when, per usual, I cranked up the air conditioning. You see, for some reason my body temperature seems to run about 10 degrees warmer than Jack's.

"Sweaty?" he asks me.

"Of course. Ooh! But I got this new deodorant that I just love. I got it at Etsy.com and the person who sells it has all these all-natural products, and some are vegan!"

"Does it work?"

"Well, yes - but it's just a deodorant, not an anti-perspirant, so it doesn't stop me from sweating."

"Clearly."

[Rolling eyes] "Whatever! It smells so good. Like baby powder."

"Let me smell."

So, without hesitation (I think a normal person might have hesitated?), I held up my arm so Jack could take a whiff while we were at a stop light. As soon as he did, we both looked at each other, looked out our windows, and realized that the occupants of the cars on either side of us definitely just saw this very inappropriate intimate moment.

"Those people definitely think we're weird."

"Yes...yes, they do."

And This is How My Day Started....

I'm a snooze button gal. Every morning the alarm rings at 6:40 and I hit 'snooze' again and again until 7:00 or 7:10. Since Jack usually doesn't have to be up until 7:45 or so, he finds this somewhat annoying (no idea why). This morning, I actually got up after hitting snooze once because Spot was asking to go out anyway. I took him out and then decided to snooze on the couch for a few more minutes. I was joined by my darling cat, Kitty.

Now, I've shared my home with Kitty for 8 years, and with Spot for 5 and a half, so as you might imagine, I've had my fair share of gross or unappealing pet-related experiences (Spot just peed on the recycling last week, for example - indoors). But what happened this morning takes the cake. Kitty was walking all over me making sure I was petting her in just the right places when all of a sudden I smelled something that wasn't so pleasant. "(Sniff, sniff, sniff), what is that?", I asked myself. Then for some reason I decided to touch my face - I don't know why. It was simultaneously a good and bad decision. The bad part of the decision was that in touching my face I got cat poo on my hand. The good part is that I got cat poo OFF MY FACE. Kitty must not have cleaned up very well after dropping her last deuce, and somehow managed to leave the remnants of that last potty visit on my cheek. In a state of shock, I rushed to the bathroom, turned on the light and checked my face for more poop (I hope that is the only time I ever say those words). Seeing none, I washed the watery brown goo off my hand with an excess of soap. Then I did the same to my face - soap, soap, soap it up!

Given that Jack sometimes thinks my pets are difficult to deal with, part of me didn't want to tell him what had happened. But the bigger part of me - the part that had just gotten cat poop on her face and needed to tell someone - won. I ran upstairs, woke him up, and told him this story. Then, despite my many assurances that I had scrubbed my face excessively, he refused to kiss me goodbye. Rude, don't you think?!

His love is so conditional.

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's Brilliant Blog Idea

So, I have this great idea for a blog, but there is no way I could possibly follow through on it, because I am too easily embarrassed. If anyone else wants to do it, by all means go ahead, and then give me the URL.

I was thinking it would be really funny to do the following: I'd create a totally normal Match.com profile. I'd schedule dates with unsuspecting lads via emails that were also totally normal (or "normal" by my definition, which Jack would say is anything but normal, but whatever). Then I'd show up with the goal of being the strangest date that guy has ever had. Maybe I'd wear moose ears and speak completely monotone; maybe I'd tell him at the outset that I have narcolepsy and then "fall asleep" every 5 minutes for a few minutes; maybe I'd dress up like a clown and make balloon animals for him. My favorite, though, would be much simpler than that: I'd bring a note pad on the date and start asking him standard first date questions. As he answered, I'd write down everything he said and then make commentary under my breath: "Likes to work out....can't really tell by looking at him though", "not close to family...RED FLAG", "likes to hang out with friends in free time....I question if these 'friends' really exist" - you know, insulting stuff like that. Then I'd blog about each date's reaction to my nuttiness. I think it would be absolutely fantastic - if I could actually pull it off.

I brought this idea up to Jack, and to my surprise he was all for it. I thought he'd protest because it would mean I'd be going out on dates with other men, but apparently Jack is in no way worried about another man being interested in a clown who says insulting things. Frankly, I'm hurt. I mean, I make some pretty impressive balloon animals. I really think he is underestimating my allure!

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.

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.

Jill Brings Jack to the Birthplace of Rock Picking

Just last night, Jack and I were talking about how different our backgrounds are. He grew up in the suburbs of a large metropolitan area, where he was exposed to things like "rap", "hip hop", "stylish clothing" and "diversity" from a young age. He spent his weekends going to concerts, using public transportation, and learning all kinds of slang words that I still don't know and probably never will.

I, on the other hand, grew up in Hickville, Midwest USA. I spent the first 18 years of my life on a farm outside a town of 130 people. My high school class consisted of 10 people, and I went to school in the same building from kindergarten through 12th grade. Everyone around me was pale and blond just like me, with the exception of 1 adopted kid who stood out like a sore thumb (he could play basketball and dance, you see). I spent my weekends doing things like driving grain truck for my dad, mowing our lawn (a 6 hour job), and combining during harvest. Sometimes we'd mix things up and my dad would drive us along in a field while we "picked rock" - it is exactly what it sounds like: we picked big rocks out of the (~50 acre) fields and threw them into the back of a pick up truck*. I know, it sounds truly magical, doesn't it? Try not to be jealous.

Anyway, I've been to Jack's childhood home a few times, but due to the fact that my childhood home is a 7 hour drive away and there's absolutely, positively nothing to do once you get there, he hasn't been there yet. Well, that won't be the case after this weekend.

I am not sure either of us is ready for this. I mean....I've told him stories but I don't think he quite gets it. Yesterday I texted my uncle (who's only a few years older than me) to see if he'd be around to meet Jack this weekend. He texted me back "I will be. Do I need to bring any guns?" I wrote back "Haha nah, he's a good one. See you this weekend then!" Unlike in the past (where he seriously would have brought guns in an effort to intimidate my boyfriends), he was actually kidding, and wrote back: "I was thinking more like he'd want to shoot them than me having to shoot him!" Oh. Woops! Jack has decided he really sees no reason for guns to be around at all . Probably wise.

__________________

* They make machines that do this for you, but my dad said that with 4 able bodied daughters, why on earth would he spend money to buy a machine??

Hawaii Recap

Hi friends! We have been back from Hawaii for nearly a week now, and Jack still hasn't broken up with me, despite having spent 5 days with my family (they are crazy - like me - but delightful - also like me), and having claimed he was just waiting for the trip to call it quits on us. What a jerkball!*

A couple stories about Hawaii before we continue with our regularly scheduled program (i.e., more nonsense):

• We learned that you should never rent a Dodge Charger. Did you know that all you need to break into one of those is a screw driver? Apparently there is a youtube video that shows you how. Anyway, Jack got a new pair of sneakers at Niketown in Honolulu and left them in the back seat of the car while we did some shopping in the Waikiki area. We also both had our digital SLR cameras in the trunk. Some d-bag broke into the car and grabbed the shoes, then opened the trunk to make sure he didn't miss anything. Upon seeing the much more valuable cameras, he left the shoes in the trunk and jacked our cameras! While you'd think Jack would be highly upset about this loss, he was actually more upset that the burglar didn't appreciate his good fashion sense enough to steal his very cool sneakers. He is thinking about wearing a shirt that says "Reject" whenever he wears the shoes now, and pouts a little when you mention that they aren't worthy of being stolen. (I mention that frequently, incidentally, because I'm sweet like that.)
• Our last night there we were lucky enough to witness a beat down. We were sitting on the porch of a restaurant and across the street some punks just started beating the crap out of another punk. Police were there within 2 minutes. Apparently they are great at catching violent teenagers, but not so great at finding our stolen cameras.
• I convinced a very hesitant Jack that we should do some snorkeling. He finally agreed, then promptly dropped part of the mask into the ocean. "Are you going to get that back, honey?", I asked, to which he replied, "You do it. I don't dive." We were in 4 feet of water - not exactly "diving", really. Anyway, after a little while with the snorkel, I had a Snorkeling Monster on my hands. It was all he wanted to do. It was fun, though, and we got to see a turtle! I named him Frank, and we followed him around for quite some time.
• Jack and I were together for 9 days straight, with almost no time apart. I bet we spent a total of 3 hours apart. In that short amount of time, Jack was hit on by a gay guy who did not believe him when he said he was there with his girlfriend (i.e. yours truly). He was also hit on by the girl who had been sitting next to ME at the pool for hours. I got up to go get a massage (mmmm, lomi-lomi) and she starts up a conversation with him, asking if he's married, and blahblahblah. The NERVE! I was hit on zero times....although being hit on by my massage therapist would have been pretty awkward, so I'm not complaining. Anyway, I can't let him out of my sight at all or the competition - female and male - swarms like a bunch of little sharkies! Hmph!

So, those were some of the highlights of the trip. We had an amazing time and would go back in a heartbeat. In fact, we wish we were still there...sigh.
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*This is our new insult to each other. Jack made it up. He doesn't have the vocabulary of a sailor like yours truly, so his insults are always adorably child-like.

Jack's Annoying Habits, Vol. 1

Whenever we write something on this blog and people agree with me instead of him, Jack insists that I am secretly friends with everyone who has agreed with me. We "probably sit on g-chat all day long" and are "facebook friends" according to Jack, and somehow I am bribing you all to agree with me -- apparently I do this with my superior facebooking and g-chatting skillz ("OMG! LOL!" and so forth). Oddly enough, whenever people agree with him, it would be preposterous to suggest that he has these same types of secret friendships.

This makes no sense. What does make sense is that 95% of the time it's easy to agree with me because I AM RIGHT. I mean, who does crap like this anyway and expects to get a lot of support from sane, intelligent, wonderful people like you?*

____________

*And Jack, don't look at me like that. I said I'm not bribing anyone - I said nothing about blatant flattery.

Let's Talk About POOP, Baby!

Jack and I will often walk Spot together in the evening right before bedtime. If the weather is nice, this can be a lovely ending to the night, and we dilly dally while Spot finds the place that is special enough to receive his waste. We chat, we stroll, and it’s all very nice. When the weather is NOT nice, as has been the case for the past 5-6 months, we are not quite as patient. In fact, we are downright impatient, and want Spot to hurry it up and go as fast as possible so that we can run back inside and be warm and comfortable again. Spot usually doesn’t care what we think, so he takes his sweet time either way.

The other night was one such evening, and it occurred to me that I have a habit of yelling strange things during my conversations with Jack when I want Spot to do his business:

“Jack, don’t forget that tomorrow we said we’d go to – SPOT, POOP ALREADY! - that happy hour with Katie and her husband, okay?”

“Yeah, I remember. That should be fun.”

“I think it will, yeah. – POOPY POOPY POOP, SPOTTY WOTT! – Also, we should think about what we want to do this – I SAID POOP – weekend. Any ideas?”

“Well, I was thinking we could maybe go on a bike ride at some point.”

“YOU ARE SO SLOW, JUST TAKE A CRAP – Ooh! Great idea. We should also – SERIOUSLY, GOOOOO POTTY! – grab a drink at that new bar downtown.”

The conversation doesn’t miss a beat, which I think might be odd. Like, if someone walked by and heard this and didn’t see the dog, they would think I was mental, right? Or maybe even if they did see the dog?

Anyway, this whole scenario gets even funnier when Jack and I are having a more serious conversation … you know, one that shouldn’t be littered with screams about fecal matter (as opposed to all the many conversations that should be). It sort of concerns me that Jack doesn’t even notice this happens. I mean, I had to point it out to him how strange it is. I guess he’s just getting used to how weird I am, and that’s probably good. I’ve been holding back the really weird stuff for when we got to this point, so I think it’s about time I can really let loose now…

Sometimes It's Just Better to Say Something

"Remember back when I used to think you grew dark chest hairs sometimes?"

Having just heard this for the very first time, I practically yelled at Jack: "You thought I what??"

"Well, you know how sometimes you'll hold Spot, and then you'll get some of his hairs stuck on your chest? I thought that was your own hair. Your chest pubes", he explained.

"You thought I was capable of growing man-hair on my boobs and you just kept that to yourself?"

Thinking this was funny now, he said, "I would have said something eventually...you know, when we got to be more comfortable with each other. But early on I thought it would hurt your feelings if I asked you to pluck your chest hair. I mean, what if you wanted it there, like you were proud of it? That would have been rude of me to ask."

"How many girls with hairy boobs have you dated?! I mean, this is just ridiculous! When would you have said something? I am embarrassed now that you thought I was all manly and you never said anything!"

"Well, finally I realized that sometimes the hair was there and then it would just disappear, so I figured out that it must have been Spot's. Don't worry, it wasn't THAT long that I thought you were masculine, honey."

"Oh, great. Just great."

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?

It's a Jack-Attack!

Last night I had a session with a personal trainer. Ironically, this man's name also happened to be "Jack", though he was not nearly as adorable as my Jack. (Just ask Jack - he'll tell you himself, even though he's never seen Personal Trainer Jack in his life.)

Anyway, somehow I got suckered into this thing, which wasn't such a bad thing since it resulted in the best workout I've had since the late 90s, but what's funny is what happened when I told Personal Trainer Jack that my boyfriend is also named Jack. At first he was just like "oh, yeah? Cool." Fast forward to the end of the session and he starts asking things like, "So, how long have you and your boyfriend been together?" and "is it going pretty well then, or what?" and so on and so forth.

I told my Jack about this, and he was like "he was hitting on you!"

Yes, yes he was.

This morning he mentioned it again, jokingly, and I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. You see, whenever Jack gets hit on (and this happens a little more often than I'd like--it's flattering until it gets annoying), he makes up some excuse for the girl, just to drive me nutty:

"Honey, I don't think she was asking if I had a girlfriend because she wanted to date me. I bet she was doing a sociological study about relationships or something. She's just academic is all!" or "She didn't call me hot and then ask me out for drinks because she was romantically interested in me, she's just looking for more friends....who happen to be attractive..."

These excuses used to be genuine naivety on Jack's part. Never in my life have I met anyone more clueless about a woman's intentions and ability to manipulate. I had to give Jack some serious schooling on just how awful (creative?) we women can be when we see something/someone we want. At any rate, despite this extensive education, Jack still likes to say things like this just to get me riled up...and sadly, it always works.

So this morning when he mentioned Personal Trainer Jack again, I said, "Honey, I think he just wanted to make sure I was in a healthy, happy relationship so that my fitness will in no way be compromised. He's looking out for my health!"

Outraged, Jack replied: "HEY! That's the kind of stuff I say---you can't say it!"

"Why not?"

"Because when you say it, it's not even genuine. I really am that naive," he whined, trying to hide a little smirk.

"YEAH RIGHT! You just don't like that I'm using your own tricks against you!"

Then he just made a pouty face and threatened not to kiss me goodbye. But I got my kiss, don't you worry. I also got a new strategy for dealing with his nonsense, and I have to say, I am pretty happy about it.

Jack says: For the final time, I WAS NOT BEING NAÏVE. When that girl at the bar asked if I could "help her get out of her pants," she did NOT have an ulterior motive. Her pants were quite form-fitting, Jill, and I could tell that she was starting to get genuinely concerned about cutting off circulation to her feet. I mean...if a girl was choking and asked me do the Heimlich maneuver, would you accuse her of trying to get me to wrap my arms around her?

Health Nut Jack

I'm not sure I've mentioned this, but Jack is a very health conscious eater. He is convinced he is semi-diabetic and will have his first heart attack at the age of 40, and these fears keep him chomping on spinach and whole grains and all that good stuff. Now, I'm vegan, and while you can certainly be a very unhealthy vegan (think Coke & french fries for every meal), I'm actually a healthier eater now than I was in my omnivore days. But while my main question prior to eating anything is "are there animal products in this?", Jack's first question is always "is this going to clog my arteries and send me into immediate cardiac arrest?" Or at least that's what I imagine his first question is.

Ok, where am I going with all this?

Butter. Yes, butter. So, Jack mentors this kid at a local junior high, and he went there for an assembly a couple weeks ago. The assembly was supposed to teach kids about dog sledding (not up my alley, but whatever) and how the mushers survive in impossibly cold temperatures. Because mushers need to consume a lot of calories to stay warm, they said they eat things like entire blocks of cheese or sticks of butter in one sitting. So, as a contest, they had 3 students compete to see who could eat a stick butter first. Three chubby kids volunteered and went to town.

Whenever Jack tells this story, you would think that the assembly was about "how to dismember a toddler in 3 minutes" or something. He was so horrified. He wanted to run up on stage and stop the kids from doing this. He waited & waited for a teacher to intervene. And no one did...and so a sweet little toddler was dismembered entire sticks of butter were consumed before his very eyes, bite by buttery bite.

He was outraged. "If my kid went to that school and ate a stick of butter, I'd be on the phone so fast!.....No, I'd drive down to the principal's office to complain! Maybe I'd start a protest or something. I mean, that was one of the most outrageous things I've ever seen in my whole life!"

Me? I was just annoyed it wasn't vegetable based margarine.

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?