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?

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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!

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.

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.

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* 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??

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."

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?

Jill Knows Her A-B-Cs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Stink or Not to Stink?

Jack washed my winter parka earlier this week, because, as he so delicately put it, "you look like you work at Jiffy Lube". You'd think I could wash my own, and you'd be right, but Jack tends to feel a greater sense of urgency as it pertains to cleanliness, as it were. So anyway, he washed my Jiffy Lube parka, and then returned it in a plastic bag the next day.

Last night I opened that plastic bag and decided that clearly he had put the jacket in there without fully drying it, resulting in a "damp" smell - you know the kind, right? I made him smell it and he detected nothing (or CLAIMED to detect nothing), so I let it go, even though I was pretty sure it was stinky. Later in the evening I felt a little bad for accusing him of doing an inadequate job while doing a favor for me, so I texted him, "I'm sorry I said my coat smelled. It doesn't. Thank you for washing it."

His reply?

"I figured out what probably smelled funny to you: cleanliness. :-)"

Sadly, I think he has a point. Either that or he's trying to make me stinky to deter all my other suitors? Tough call.

I Do What?? Getting to Know Myself...

One of the interesting things about spending a lot of time with someone is that you end up learning more about yourself. Your partner will notice and (if you're as super lucky as I am) point out your odd little quirks - things that you've become so used to you hardly know you do it anymore. These are a few of the things Jack has pointed out in the past several months:

• I have a strange tick where apparently I shake my head back & forth once very quickly, and I quote, "violently". This may explain why I have chronic neck pain, but that's another story. The thing is, I don't notice when I do this. Jack told me recently that for the first 6 months we hung out, he thought maybe I had a mild case of Tourette Syndrome. My own boyfriend thought I suffered from a nervous system disorder. I asked him why he didn't say anything sooner. He was like "well, I don't know, I just figured you didn't want to talk about it." BUT HE THOUGHT I HAD TOURETTE'S. That seems like something you'd mention, you know? Anyway, now every time I do this, he alerts me. I still don't notice, but maybe eventually I will. I'm weird.


• I used to think that the reason I was always covered in bruises was just because I bruise easily. When Jack & I first started dating, he'd see a massive and dark bruise on my arm or something and say "WHAT HAPPENED? That looks awful!" I could never remember, which concerned him more. "I just bruise easily, that's all", I'd tell him. Turns out I am an unbelievable klutz. Like, how did I not know that before? The reason I have massive bruises is because I am always falling down or dropping something on my feet, or running into inanimate objects. Jack is kind enough to point this out each and every time.


• I sweat. A lot. Even when it's not warm out at all. I find Jack's house to be unbearably hot most of the time. Sometimes I wonder if he is just trying to get me out of my clothes, if we're being honest. I mean, who has their house at 107 degrees F year round?


• I sleep. A lot. So much so that Jack thinks I have suffered from mono for the past 8 months. If I had a dime for every time he's asked me "do you think you have mono?" I would have lots and lots of dimes, people.

As for Jack's behavior, I think I'm far too kind to point out his quirks. I mean, sure, he soaks the bath mat every time he emerges from the shower, but do I mention that every time it happens? No, I sure don't. And he puts his milk in the bowl before pouring his cereal, which I think is possibly the most bizarre thing I've ever seen - nobody does it that way, right? But I only mention that to him every OTHER time he does it because I'm nice like that.

Jack's Follow-Up: Unless you (a) don't have teeth, or (b) just prefer your cereal to be really soggy, you should always pour the milk in first. Trust me. Try it once, and you'll never go back.

Readers: What have YOU learned about yourself from your significant other? Did s/he think you had leprosy or something? Multiple personality disorder? Please share!

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.)

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.

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?!?!?

Cooking for Two...Hundred

Let me begin by stating the obvious: cooking for two is hard to do. I'm aware that most recipes are designed to feed four or more people. So when you're cooking for two, it's understandable if there are leftovers. But apparently my idea of "leftovers" is significantly different than Jill's idea.

My idea of leftovers: two pieces of lasagna to re-heat the next day

Jill's idea of leftovers: enough full pans of lasagna to feed a high-school football team.

For the record, I love it when Jill cooks for me. (As do my neighbors, their pets, and the homeless guys that live in the alley behind my condo.)

But these are the cold, hard facts:

- A couple of weeks ago I told Jill that I was in the mood for a meatball* sub. So we agreed to make them from scratch together. Based on the recipe she came up with in her head, we ended up rolling approximately sixty-two meatballs, give or take twelve.

- Last weekend Jill decided that she wanted to make vegan pancakes. To prove my theory that she tends to cook more food than any two reasonable adults could possibly eat in one setting, I made a point of trying to count each pancake that she made. I lost track at seventeen.

- Then came "pasta night." Jill's idea was to make a homemade pesto, which sounded great to me. When we went to the grocery store beforehand, however, I questioned Jill's insistence that we get THREE CUPS of basil. "Yep, I'm positive we'll need that much," she assured me. People, the next time you're at a grocery store, please make a point of noting how many leaves come in a one cup package of basil. And then please multiply that amount by three. And then remember that we were cooking a dish for TWO PEOPLE. I'm convinced I actually went into a "basil coma" that evening. I also had pesto breath for the next four days.

- Last night Jill innocently told me that she was going to "whip up something simple." When it was finally time to sit down, she served me a BBQ rib* sandwich, asparagus, corn on the cob, and enough sweet potato fries to feed a family of sixteen. After stuffing myself to the brim, I noticed that there were roughly eight ears of corn on the cob still available. Did I already mention it was just the two of us?

She's officially out of control.

If you or anyone you know has suffered from this serious condition known as "IsecretlywanttobeajuniorhighlunchladyandsoIcookmyproportionsaccordingly," please let me know of any possible treatments. Thanks.

_________________________
* Jill is vegan. So the meatballs were really veggieballs. And the ribs were really soy ribs.

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!

Spontaneous Verbal Diarrhea

I’ve met Jill’s parents. But she hasn’t met mine. And there’s a reason for that. Actually there are two reasons: my dad and Jill.

You see my dad and Jill both suffer from spontaneous verbal diarrhea (SVD). At any given time, they have both been guilty of blurting out random comments uncontrollably.

In Jill’s defense, my dad’s case of SVD is probably more severe, if only because he’s been afflicted longer. To illustrate my point, here’s a near-verbatim excerpt from a conversation that took place between my parents (AROUND OUR DINNER TABLE) the last time I brought a girl over to meet them.

My mom: “Did you hear on the news today that they arrested a man for a murder he committed three years ago? Apparently they found the body…”

My dad (interrupting my mom): “See, that’s what I don’t get. Why do these guys have such a hard time getting rid of the body? I mean, come on! If I ever killed anyone, I can assure you that nobody would find the body. Would it be that hard to chop a body up into little parts and put it down the garbage disposal? Or how hard would it be to burn a body? Throw it into an incinerator. Collect the teeth and stuff that didn’t burn and then throw that stuff into the garbage disposal. I mean this isn’t rocket science, people! I just don’t get it!”

Again, this was the FIRST time this girl met my dad, who in reality is one of the sweetest men on the planet and winces when he has to kill a wasp with a rolled-up newspaper. Nonetheless, my girl’s eyes were the size of the hubcaps on my ’87 Accord when she heard him spouting off like Ted Bundy.

And yet if it was only my dad that I was worried about, I would have facilitated this introduction already. But Jill also suffers from SVD.

For example, this past weekend Jill and I were at an OUTDOOR concert where people were smoking. Apparently Jill doesn’t appreciate smelling secondhand smoke, as she casually informed me:

“If this girl doesn’t watch where her smoke is going, I'm going to stab her in the neck.”

It’s important to note that Jill said this loudly enough that pretty much everyone around us heard her. Now was really going to pull out a shank and slice someone? Of course not. I knew it was the SVD, but what if the others didn’t? I quickly made a point of nervously smiling at everyone nearby in an attempt to restore the peace.

Sigh…I’m sweating just thinking about the possibility of my dad and Jill in the same room. Does anybody have any advice as to how I can make this happen without either party saying something I’ll regret?

Get to Know Jill Just a Little Bit Better

Jack says I shouldn't share things like this, but I can't help myself. Plus, we're all friends here, right? No? Well, we really should be...

Last weekend I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things. One of those things was toilet paper. I grabbed a 12 pack and headed to the checkout. As I was standing in line, I noticed that it said "6 Rolls" on it. I thought "well that was stupid, there's 12 rolls in here - how did they let this get through production with that big of an error?!" I shook my head in disbelief that a multi-million dollar company could make such a big mistake. Um....yeah, the thing is I actually bought 6 rolls of paper towels and zero rolls of toilet paper. I actually, really, truly thought they had made a mistake. Because obviously that makes a lot more sense than me being an idiot, right? Right.

A couple weeks ago, Jack took me out for a nice dinner at a local Indian restaurant. Within minutes, I managed to spill my glass of wine all over the table. After the server cleaned it up, I went to pour some more---but (surprise!) the cap was on. I'm a genius. Now anytime there is something to be poured he reminds me that I should check the cap. Isn't he helpful?

A few weeks back as Jack and I were leaving a yoga class he says "wow, that car is awesome!" I look over in the general direction he was pointing to and say "the Ion? I didn't know you liked Ions so much." I cannot adequately describe the look with which that was met. Probably 2 cars down was a fancy classic car of some sort.

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

In my defense, the Ion was really shiny.