In Which Miss Jill Flees Her Apartment Just As The Monsoon Season Descends From The Kitchen Ceiling

I can't pinpoint why this is happening, but my kitchen in currently experiencing a tsunami due to the earthquake in Chile:



Another last tidbit from this building is that I was getting on the elevator yesterday and a man came out of his apartment donning a surgical mask. We started chatting and he revealed that he had discovered a massive homestead of black mold in his apartment. He confided that attacking it and removing it made him feel like a superhero.

Goodbye Washington Heights/Manhattan!




Hello Brooklyn!

In Which Some Poor Stiff Got Lucky For A Few Weeks

Over the summer I was talking to my friend about this guy that she was dating, but didn't really like.

I asked, "Why don't you just stop dating him?"

She laughed nervously and replied, "Well, I'm moving in a few weeks and I need the help."

Now that I am moving, I realize that this girl is a genius. I'm pretty sure that helping me move would be pretty rewarding, so if you want to help and are in the greater New York metropolitan area (Sunday afternoon-inclement weather is forcing me to sort of violate the Sabbath)feel free to contact me.

In Which Miss Jill Changes Her Name to Miss Natasha

This morning I naively entered the B train, thinking that the Metropolitan Transit Agency’s intention was to take me to work. As strange stops whizzed by, I became nervous and looked up to confirm that I was in fact on the B train. Based on her panicked expression, the woman next to me appeared to have similar thoughts and queried, “What happening?” I quickly realized that English was not our optimal form of communication and we started discussing the finer points of MTA’s diabolical inadequacy in Spanish. Loose translation, “What is wrong with these people?”
The train stopped at W4 Street and they told us to evacuate the train (without explanation).

My new Dominican friend and I exited the train and wondered if another one would come. As we were pondering our dilemma, a woman with a Monster Truck hat approached me and said “B Train. Yugoslavian? Ruski?” Strangely, it isn’t the first time this week that someone has asked me if I speak Russian (although I am short, not skinny and look like a Hitler Youth). I pointed to the subway map and we finally figured out where she needed to go. I mapped out an alternate route, gathered my troops and went to another train.

As we waited, the Yugoslavian said, “I see you on train every day.” Then she pantomimed a person typing on a laptop. All I have to say is that this blog doesn’t write itself. We got on the train and they were stuck to me like glue. We all sat down in different areas, and as soon as seats freed up next to me, they ran over. When we finally transferred to the correct train, the Dominican woman started celebrating joyfully.

They hugged me as they got off at their respective stops. Thank you New York, for giving me an endless supply of new friends. Sorry if there are typos, I am writing this quickly.

A Trip Through The United States of Miss Jill

Because there are five children in my family and most of our relatives were in the West, we have spent extensive time traveling in vans. This has transformed me into a self-proclaimed expert on the American experience. Today I will be giving the following awards:

State That I Hate the Most: South Dakota. I think that this decision may be influenced by the fact that our van air conditioner broke as we were driving to Mount Rushmore and my fourteen-year-old brother kept touching everyone with his clammy hands.

State That Is Taking Its Sweet Time In Giving Me Back My Tax Return Because The Governor Needs The Cash For Call Girls: New York

Worst Governors: This is difficult because I grew up in the Chicago suburbs and currently live in New York. It’s a tie.

State With the Worst Environmental Practices Whose Governor Became Head of the Environmental Protection Agency: Utah

Most Underrated State: Idaho. I was born in the rural farming community of Preston (ancestral home of Napoleon Dynamite) and while I’m happy that I didn’t grow up there, I strongly disagree with Utahans who make fun of it.

Worst Class I Had To Teach Two Periods Of A Day: Utah Studies. Although I was carefully following the curriculum, kids kept saying, “This ain’t religion class, lady.”

Prettiest States: I think that all of the states are pretty except for South Dakota, but I’m going to have to go with Georgia or Kentucky.

Most Advertised Adult Services on the Highway/Trucker Paradise: Missouri

Best Climate (for me): Arizona. You know that you are going to have a good day when a quick search on weather.com shows that the only place as hot as where you are is Saudi Arabia.

Worst Climate: Illinois, unless you enjoy a nice Moscow winter

Most People in Crocheted American Flag Sweaters: Utah

Most Insular Mormons Who Don’t Realize That They Are Insular: Arizona. Obviously not all of you, and this might just be Mesa.

Best Airport to Practice Your Spanish and to Change Strange Currency Like Lempiras: Miami

Biggest Hair: Utah

Smallest Population of Blond People: New York City, hallelujah

States I Like That Everyone Hates On: Texas, Nebraska, Iowa

State Where You Become an Old Maid at the Age of 22: Utah

City With the Best Free Museums: Washington, D.C.

Favorite U.S. City: San Francisco

City My Dad Romanticized Because He Was Visiting From a Mexican Farming Community: El Paso, Texas

City Where You Can Be the Only White Person at The Mall And The Only Other Non-Mexicans Work in the Nail Salon: McAllen, Texas

City Where You Start Turning Bad A@# Just to Survive: New York City

City I Always Wanted To Visit When I Was a Kid, Even Though It Isn’t Cool: Kearney, Nebraska. The Holiday Inn had goldfish.

City Where We Found Blood on the Motel Room Floor and People Banged On Our Door In the Middle of the Night: Page, Arizona.

Only City Where I Have Been Robbed, In Spite of the Fact That I Have Lived In Crime-Ridden Developing Countries and the Hood: West Jordan, Utah
Cleanest Subway That Looks Like Creepy Alien Pods: Washington, D.C.
Another Clean Subway: Boston
Subway We Didn’t Know About Until Christmas In Spite of Growing Up There: Chicago

Subway Where You Can Be Stricken By the Bubonic Plague in the Prime of Your Life: New York City

Tranny (not sure on the spelling, I don’t usually read literature featuring that word) Heaven: New York City-when in doubt, look at the hands

Aryan Nation Heaven: Utah Valley

Boringest City If You Don’t Drink or Gamble: Las Vegas, trust me on this one

City I Get Teary Every Time I Leave: Boise, Idaho. My grandparents have always had that affect on me. My grandpa’s favorite story about my childhood is that when we left his house, I always cried and cried while yelling, “But I don’t want to go to Chicago!”

City That You Are Overjoyed to Leave, But Later Mysteriously Miss (when you realize that working isn’t fun): Provo, Utah

In Which Yasser Arafat Inspires New York Fashion Trends

On Saturday I stood on the C train, grasping the pole, lost in a book. Suddenly, I smelled something akin to a rotting corpse and a mist of hot, putrid, breath penetrated my hair, hitting my scalp. “Hey pretty lady,” someone whispered into my ear. I turned around and found myself staring into the eyes of a homeless man who was dressed up as a member of the Palestinian Liberation Organization (he was clearly not Palestinian). I involuntarily shuddered and dashed to the next pole.

A group of seated women started laughing heartily and he became angry and snapped, “What you laughing at?” One of the women replied, “That girl be our friend.” “Yeah, she be our friend,” chimed in the others in support. He shot them an icy glare of death and stumbled away.

“Honey, you best watch yourself on these trains,” counseled my new friend. “ There be crazy people all around you.”

She said it with such distaste that I didn’t feel comfortable confiding that that was the subway’s appeal, so I thanked her. The rest of our communication consisted of her telling me to steal a seat from a toddler, because “a baby don’t need no seat as much as you do” and a heartfelt farewell as she exited at 125th. I regret not getting enough information to add her as a Facebook friend, because I’m pretty sure that she would put me in the “Top Friends” box.

In Which Miss Jill's Roommate Uses Scrapbooking Skills for Evil

Due to the high price of housing in New York City, for many of us, roommates are a necessity. This has its pros and cons. The other day my friends and I were discussing roommate issues and my friend pitched the idea for a reality show where people would nominate the worst roommates that they had ever had. The terrible roommates would live in one house and they would all steal each other’s stuff, cause unnecessary drama and create titanic, pestilent, disasters throughout the house (and refuse to admit that they had done it). They would all slowly starve to death because they were used to stealing other people’s food. The last person to withstand succumbing to the plague would be the lucky winner.

One morning at BYU (since I was an undergrad, it was probably around 2 p.m.), my peaceful slumber was disturbed by a rustling noise. I jerked awake and came face to something with my roommate’s 200 + lb unveiled anatomy. As she didn’t notice me, she felt comfortable enough to bend over, pick up a pair of underwear from the floor, sniff it for freshness and put it on. This was traumatizing for a young teen, but I stayed until my grandma convinced me that she was like those Columbine kids and gave me some money so I would move out.

I moved in with another girl who made her own dress with a vegetable pattern and had a picture of a naked mole rat displayed above her bed. Although I hate homemaking skills and wild-life, she was one of my favorite roommates of all time. Debbie, if you are reading this, I want to come visit you in New Jersey (especially if you live by WalMart-my apologies to any readers who met their spouse at an anti-Walmart rally).

Another one of my favorite roommates was obsessed with Celine Deon and lovingly sent her a Book of Mormon. In the month of June it was Celine month, and that was the only thing that you were allowed to listen to. I lost track of her after she went into the MTC, so if anyone happens to know Aubrey Celine Oman (she’s probably married, but I don’t know her new name), please leave a comment.

However, my most notorious roommate of all time still has to be a woman known only by the moniker “Biggity Brown Shuga.” Her luscious Tongan hair was arranged at the top of her head in the shape of a heart and it once got caught in a tree while she was checking out a guy in front of the testing center. I kept comparing her to Absalom, but no one understood that Biblical reference, so that joke fell flat. In spite of the fact that she called me “honkey” and “cracker” a few times, we all thought that things were going swimmingly. We realized that we were wrong, however, when my other roommate came home and found a seemingly innocuous greeting card on the windshield of her car.

Said greeting card featured the faces of three girls, carefully crafted from construction paper. One was blond, one was a brunette and one was a redhead (just like us). Cute. Then she opened it. The inside dropped down like a scroll and featured a long list of grievances against us-we hadn’t realized that we were living with a veritable Martin Luther. She moved out shortly thereafter, but magnanimously left us a rich legacy of making fun of “The Craft.”

Don’t worry, I’m not going to start a series of defaming my ex-roommates online-I’ve done some jacked up stuff myself and I still like almost all of you (even the ones that I had issues with at the time).
Let’s hear some of yours…

In Which Miss Jill Decides that Honesty Isn't the Best Policy in Weight Loss Contests

The other day I decided that I am going to turn 30 skinny, which luckily gives me an entire year. I’m pretty sure that by this summer people are going to start mistaking me for Shakira. One of my favorite things to do is no treats contests-we come up with some sort of prize for whoever can go the longest without eating desserts. The last time I did this (back in 2003), I won a free hotel room. That said hotel room turned out to be a seedy Best Western in a dangerous part of Las Vegas, surrounded by lecherous old men is another story altogether.

There are a few factors that make me a champion at this game- 1. I invite people with little or no willpower to join (That’s you Bethany “Atkins Peanut Butter Cups are not treats” Cole) 2. I sabotage them by baking their favorite sweets and leaving them on their doorstep with loving notes written by people from “Church,” i.e., “Thanks for all you do, sister. You are a real asset to the ward.”

I recently started a similar competition with my co-worker, “Lilsexygina” (AIM alias from high school) and as we embark on the third day, I am realizing that she is a worthy competitor and just as devious as I am. As I was sending a twelfth grader to the tenth grade classroom with a cookie, a tenth grader came through the door with a Rice Krispie treat. Yes, I must admit that I got served. Later that day I recruited a ninth grader to deliver ice cream with a speech about how much the class loved and appreciated Lilsexygina and wanted to reward her. We practiced the tribute a few times, until it was suitably heartwarming, but it backfired when Lilsexygina was touched and started to cry, but did not touch the ice cream. I even tried texting her pictures of baklava, to no avail. Let me know if you think of anything good-the first few days are the most vulnerable.

This reminds me of a time back in 2001 or 2002, when I was losing all sorts of weight on SlimFast (unfortunately price prohibitive at this time) and my co-worker decided to give it a try. “This diet is easy,” she bragged. “I don’t know why you’re hungry all the time. “Hmmm..” I replied while fantasizing about brownies. When I returned from my lunch break a few days later, I casually observed that her desk had been converted into a Chinese buffet. As she chowed down on sweet and sour chicken and fried wontons I inquired, “Aren’t you on SlimFast?” “Yeah,” she replied and held up a SlimFast. “You don’t see me drinking no pop (authentic Midwestern vocabulary).”

In Which Miss Jill Bids Adieu to the Homies With a Solitary Tear in Her Eye

The big news of today is that I am moving to Brooklyn before the end of the month and I am feeling nostalgic about all of the beautiful moments that I have enjoyed in Upper Manhattan. So nostalgic, in fact, that I have compiled a list:

What I Will Miss About Washington Heights
1. I get to relive study abroad (I went to the Dominican Republic) every day of my life.
2. “Hey Goldilocks, nice legs. They are big like I like them.”
3. “¿Cómo tu ta mami?” translation, “¿Cómo estás?”
4. Street cred from having your neighbor stabbed to death on the south end of your building.
5. The melodious serenade of meringue music, child abuse and Call of Duty rocking you to sleep every night.
6. Really awesome Central American food. Only Salvadorians truly understand that my food budget is $1.50 USD.
7. Pineapple and mango stands in the summer.
8. Not being able to walk five feet without tripping on a huge pile of trash. When I was in the actual D.R., I got to the point where I didn’t see it anymore. After returning home, however, I realized that 75 percent of my pictures featured piles of trash as the backdrop.
9. Kids who attack me with light sabers.
10. Fort Tryon Park, a great place to go after you have dumped your swinger boss by e-mail.
11. All of my awesome friends!

The move is inevitable, since we haven’t paid rent since December, due to numerous human rights violations on the part of the management. A few weeks ago the apartment manager left me a message that said, “Every night at 10:00 p.m., the boiler automatically turns off. There is no heat at this time until 6:00 a.m.” Unfortunately for her, that is against the law and I have a recording of it on my computer. If I could figure out how to post an audio clip, I would put it on the blog.

In Which Miss Jill Enters Her Name for Cannonization

I have an undiagnosed mental deficiency in which I obliviously leave things everywhere. More information on my inspiring fight against this disorder can be located here. I have to figure out the cure for this before I drive myself to insanity. On Friday, I took a bus to D.C. and when I got off, I was disoriented because I had just woken up. I ran out to retrieve my luggage and sped away with my friend Big B. After several minutes, I realized that I did not have my purse, which contained the following key items:

1. $40 cash
2. $89 MetroCard
3. Checkbook
4. Debit Card
5. Gift cards from my birthday
6. Temple Recommend (I’m not trying to be s.r. about this, but last time I had to wait more than an hour for the interview)
7. Drivers License (I would need I.D. to get any money from the bank)

This created a slight problem. It was pretty late so no one answered the phone at their office, so I calmly drew this picture, knowing that I have special powers. For new readers, my special power is that 90% of what I draw happens (the 10 percent occurred before I really figured out how to control the universe and some of it could still happen).



When we went to bed, I felt pretty good about things. I woke up and called the Lost and Found and they told me that I wouldn’t be able to get any information until 5 or 6 p.m.. I tried randomly calling other offices, but to no avail. A few hours later, a nice Vamoose employee named James called and told me that he had found my purse and that I could retrieve it in Maryland. Everything was still there.

Later that weekend I was commissioned to draw true love for several girls in the age range of 28-30-I truly believe that we should use our gifts to benefit humanity.
Another fun game I learned is to tie a ring onto dental floss and dangle it over your wrist to discover the number and gender of your unborn children. If it moves back and forth, you will have a boy, if it moves in a circle, you will have a girl. Sounds simple, but the first time we did it (two different test administrators), I had 3 children, then second time, I had 5 (which may be a strain for my decaying uterus). I will try it on a woman who already has kids and report back to you.

If you have any special needs, please leave a commment and I will draw you a picture.

Update on the Turkish Siren Song

First, I need to give you an update on the Turkish music that was left on my voice mail at 12:14 a.m. Yesterday some girls slyly asked me if I had received any strange messages the night before and I replied, “Yes, someone left a message with some kind of Turkish music.” One girl replied, indignant, “Miss! That was us singing Happy Birthday to you, in English!” I backpedaled, “ Umm…., there was lots of static, I couldn’t really tell what I was hearing.” Whoops.

I was thinking yesterday about how fortunate I am to have twenty-nine years of awesome, crazy people in my life.

In Which Miss Jill Marks A Day That Schoolchildren Will Eventually Have Off

I decided that I would celebrate my imminent rendezvous with the Grim Reaper by highlighting important birthdays of the last 29 years. If you have ever done something nice for me on my birthday, know that I appreciate it, but this is not a blog for heartwarming stories.

1981 (I probably should have changed this to 1986 to improve my marriage prospects)- Born under Aquarius in Preston ,Idaho-proud home of Napoleon Dynamite. I had a cone head (I’m the oldest) and my parents were terrified that I was deformed. My doctor was later convicted of arson.

1985- My mom blew up balloons and wrote the letters for “Happy Birthday Jill” on each one. Because it was my birthday, I was allowed to watch whatever show that I wanted and I chose a prohibited one-Transformers.

Sometime in the 80s-My mom gave me a picture of my crush, Fred Savage.

1989-While picking out a new dress, I threw up spaghetti in Kohls.

1993- I sat at home alone, watching Dances With Wolves, tears streaming down my face. I can’t remember the details, but I know that it involved my mom instructing ladies to decorate Keds with puff paint.

1994- My Aunt Penny sent me TeenBeat magazines to mark the milestone. Those were the early days of Leo, Zach Morris and Macualy(too lazy to look up spelling) Culkin. I started subscribing to “Teen” and one month I realized from the Table of Contents that my mom had torn out an article along the lines of “Everything You Need To Know About Sex.” It was a valiant effort, but at the first opportunity, I ran to the library and read it.

1998- My friends called me one by one, bailing on my birthday. As I sobbed uncontrollably, my friend Sylvia called and convinced me to go to a restaurant with her. When we arrived, my friends were there. I was happy, yet ashamed that I had cried off all of my makeup.

1999- I passed out while donating blood and concluded that I was being punished for doing it to get out of class. My crush that year was too skinny to donate blood.
2002, Santiago, Dominican Republic-I was enrolled in a class that was half American (I know, not p.c., but I’m not saying United Statesian), half Dominican. Mid-lecture, another student raised his hand and said, “Jill y yo somos novios (basically “Jill and I are dating”).” This was not true. The Cuban teacher had an expression of panicked confusion on his face and the Dominicans in the class started chanting “Beso! Beso!”
In a rare recognition of my existence, my host family gave me a jewelry set.

2003, Provo, Utah-My friend Drea and I went to a BYU devotional (speech), where the speaker talked about how each year that you get older, the quality of your marriage options rapidly decreases. Later that night, my cousin, Brandon, gave me clam juice as a gift and my friend chugged the entire thing.

2006, San Pedro Sula, Honduras-The toilet in my bathroom broke, so my parents paid for my friends and me to stay in a hotel- it was a good way to forget where we were for a second. My class ordered pizzas in honor of my birthday, and ended up chucking the empty pizza boxes into the fan.

2007, San Pedro Sula, Honduras- For inexplicable reasons, I was very depressed about turning 26. But my fate was better than Anna Nicole Smith’s, who died that week. A few days before my birthday we did the hotel party again, and ended up watching several hours of the paternity drama on CNN.

On my actual birthday, my Honduran friend Thania made Mexican food (trust me, it is hard to get decent Mexican food there-people always put sick cheese all over everything) and somehow found root beer to honor my cultural heritage. The ladies from church were learning how to make jewelry at the time, so I got some pretty sweet gifts. This birthday receives an A+.

2009, New York, New York- I worked for a heinous devil, so I did not mention the blessed event. I do remember that my boss left work at 1:00 p.m., which was all the present that I needed. Luckily, someone who shared the office suite with us had a birthday, so I got some cake.

2010, New York, New York-Yesterday my friend, Japanese Eye Candy, took me to a new play called Fela. My Black History snow day is getting its own post, so more on that later.
Not much has happened yet, but someone left me a voice mail of Turkish music at 12:14 a.m.

Thanks for reading!!

In Which Miss Jill Relies On the Kindness of Dicey Middle Aged Men From the Carribbean

FYI, today is a snow day for New York City schools, and I'm rather excited about it because it isn't even snowing outside right now. Suckas!! Because I live with a teen, I have been awake since 3:30, when she came home and turned on all the lights. I can never go back to sleep after that, so you are the lucky recipient of this post.

Because I’m so short, I’m not a big fan of long skirts, so it is no surprise that on Sunday I stood outside waiting for the bus in a rather short skirt. As I was on the brink of hypothermia, a gypsy cab (independent cabs that I think are registered with the city, but I’m not sure) pulled up to me and the driver shouted, “Get in here, you’re freezing your expletive deleted off.”

Miss Jill: I don’t have any cash, sorry.
Philanthropist Gypsy Cab Driver: I don’t care, I’ll give you a ride, hop in. It’s on me.
Miss Jill (realizing that he isn’t offering the frail elderly woman next to her a lift): No thanks.
Philanthropist Gypsy Cab Driver: You want to freeze to death or something?
Miss Jill: Sure.

Would any of you have taken the ride? I just didn’t feel right utilizing my chubby legs and blond hair (a deadly combination in the hood) for personal gain.

In other news, this woman was loudly clipping her nails on the B train, as her son sleeps peacefully. When she got off, there was a pile of nails on the seat.



If you read this in google reader or any other reader, could you please click on the site itself so I can see where you are at? THANKSSSS!!!

DISCLAIMER-It has now snowed

In Which Miss Jill Has An Ill-Fated Flirtation With the Occult

When I was in elementary school I was really good friends with “Lola,” the girl from across the street. Her mom spent the entire day on the couch, rotating halter and tube tops, and smoked and drank while watching several hours worth of soap operas. One day on the swing set Lola lamented, “You are so lucky that your mom doesn’t dress like someone from the seventies.” I’m pretty sure that my luck didn’t end there.

One day I was over there playing with Lola and her mom took a brief break from Days of Our Lives to Say, “Kids, I have a super fun game for us to play. Come into the dining room.” We went into the dining room, where a board with random letters on it and “Yes” and “No” was waiting for us on the table. “Put your hands on this device (I don’t know what to call it) so we can ask it questions about our future. It told me who to marry.*” As I was seven or eight at the time, it seemed like a good idea.

When I got home, I told my mother about the fun game that I had learned and was surprised to discover that I had spent the entire afternoon calling on the powers of the Destroyer. Even randomly reading encyclopedias to learn about forbidden topics was not sufficient preparation for a Ouija board encounter.

I didn’t learn my lesson from that experience and at a seventh grade sleep over it reared its devilish head again. This is a story that goes against everything that the New Era (Mormon magazine for teens that once featured several articles about choosing a spouse) holds dear. Middle School isn’t necessarily the best time for people to assert their unique beliefs, so I stayed silent as my friends crafted a Ouija board out of cardboard and a glass. As they started to ask it questions, I panicked and started singing church songs in my head. The Ouija board didn’t work and my friends started to get frustrated with the spirits for not revealing the truth about their crushes. I left the room for a few minutes to go to the bathroom and when I returned they announced enthusiastically, “It worked! You missed it! As soon as you left the room it started moving!” Amen.

* He would prove to be abusive and I have some distant memory of police involvement.

In Which Miss Jill Succumbs To The Deteroriating Effects of Father Time

Because of my looming 29th birthday on Thursday, I have had to face some undeniable truths.

How I Know That I’m Getting Old
1. I go to parties and don’t recognize any Top 40 music. The only way that I recognize any songs is if I am at some kind of Latino activity or a 90s theme party.
2. My roommate comes home for the night when I am leaving for work.
3. I go to movies by myself sometimes and I like it.
4. I see opportunities to move abroad again and I don’t take them.
5. When I watch tv, I see advertisements for Depends and Cialis (ok, I’ve always liked news channels, but it is starting to hit closer to home)
6. I have been capable of conceiving a child for almost twenty years (freakishly early bloomer).
7. I am an expert on how to achieve optimal intestinal health
8. Last week I paid a chain smoking, jean vest wearing Russian to scrap off the top layer of my skin.
9. My friends and I ask each other questions like, “Would you rather marry a divorcee or a widower?”
10. I remember having records and She-Ra, but my mom wouldn’t let me get a slap bracelet.

While we are on the topic of my insidious decline into middle age, I think that you are probably curious about my birthday wish list. I believe in using the direct approach. Here it is:
1. Pens-I find myself writing with lipliner more than I would like to acknowledge.
2. Instant Oatmeal
3. Granola Bars
4. V05 99 cent shampoo for thin hair
5. Taco Bell gift cards
6. Old books you don’t want anymore. College History and Humanities textbooks a plus
7. Omega 3 fish oil pills
8. Magnesium supplements
9. Those swiffer mop pads. Love them (this request is further evidence of the aging process)
10. If you are rich, Target or Barnes and Noble gift card
11. Tickets to long, slow moving art films
12. Frozen fruit
13. Bagged spinach
14. Hand-me-down clothes in size 8P or shoes in 6
15. Hairspray
16. Bobby pins

Thank you for your courtesy and cooperation.

SAT Vocab Word: Oblivious

In English class, the students were making illustrations of SAT vocabulary words and a girl made this for oblivious:



The funny thing is that it's true. In Spanish class she randomly yells out "Me llamo!" at intervals, because she doesn't know what is going on.

In Which Miss Jill Reveals Instant Weight Loss Secrets of the Fashion Industry

Did anyone else watch Gone With the Wind and long to wear a corset?

Last night when I returned home, the nineteen-year-old model (NYOM) was preparing for a night on the town. She asked, “Do I seem like I’ve been gaining weight?” “I have no idea,” I replied and even if I thought that she had, there is no way I would say it-I’ve never adopted that Latin American habit. I only notice weight if there is a gastric bypass involved. If someone looks skinny at all I inquire, “Have you lost a few pounds?” It’s almost never the wrong time to say that one.

“I figured out a way to disguise my weight gain,” she bragged. My mind was assaulted by haunting memories of the Christmas season. “Tell me more.” She lifted up her skirt and revealed several layers of duct tape wrapped around her lower abdomen. “It was sticking out,” she said. “And now it isn’t.”

In unrelated news, I might have mentioned that people utilize our elevator as a urinal/barf bag and it reeks accordingly. A tenant decided to take matters into his own hands by lighting an incense stick and taping it to the wall:

In Which Miss Jill Becomes Co-workers With the Sword Swallower

September 2005: San Pedro Sula, Honduras
As I am half Mexican, my co-worker invited me to a special Independence Day celebration at the Mexican consulate. We had special dresses made and when the big day came, we decided to get our hair done at a salon. However, it was also Honduran Independence Day that week and most of the nicer salons were closed. We found a rather humble one that was open and asked if they could help us. 90% of what happens in Honduran salons involves blow drying hair straight, which is not a vital task when you are Scandinavian and your scalp is host to like three straight blond hairs. We even got a gift certificate for a blowout from my school for a holiday and I felt disenfranchised.

The woman glanced at me with disgust and declared, “You have the hair of a baby. What exactly do you want me to do with it? It’s impossible.” After several minutes of emotional pleas, she agreed to give it a try. To this day, I don’t know how they got the word out, but for the next hour every single neighbor they had ever had dropped by to “ask for coffee” of to “drop something off.” I had been a carney one summer, but even after myriad trips abroad I had never had aspirations to seek work as an albino sideshow freak until that day.

This is my friend Kate and me on my first day of work at the Coney Island Freak Show:



Don’t worry, she and my friend Pamy have agreed to stop torturing me and grow out their hair.

In Which Miss Jill Fondly Remembers Jesse and the Rippers

1990, Friday

DOL, the Mad Minute times tables, playground bullies-the travails of elementary school were no match for the promise of a beautiful night of TGIF. Steve Urkel and Kimmie Gibler were hilarious in a way that only a nine-year-old could truly appreciate (ok, I guess that I am dating myself here, but it is worth it).

One of life’s greatest tragedies is the “Where are they now?” of the Full House cast. Ok, Uncle Jesse is still hot somehow, but Steph became a meth addict and Uncle Joey was the inspiration for an Alanis Morrisette song about indiscretions in a movie theatre. I thought that Danny Tanner’s only post-1995 accomplishment was a raunchy stand-up comedy routine, until now. I have discovered that he is actually an international superstar in his own right.

On Thursday a student approached me and mentioned that it was her birthday on Friday. Birthdays can be a little bittersweet at my school, because many of the high school students are boarders and their parents are in Turkey. We do our best to ameliorate the homesickness a little bit, which is my excuse for what I am about to reveal.

Birthday Girl: It is my birthday tomorrow.
Miss Jill: Awesome, what do you want to do?
Birthday Girl: It would make me really happy if we watched funny videos.
Miss Jill: What kind of funny videos?
Birthday Girl: Ones where people get injured.
Miss Jill: Nervous Laugh.

Friday came and I let Birthday Girl pick out some clips on youtube and her face glowed from anticipation.

As it loaded, I quickly realized that her quest for the perfect 16th birthday included America’s Funniest Home Videos. I had no idea that anyone still watched that. As Danny Tanner wittily narrated dozens of falls, babies making weird faces and people getting hit in the crotch with a baseball, joyous laughter rang throughout the room. Distant families, crush drama and low grades were immediately forgotten. I guess laughing at other people’s misfortune is truly an international language. The great equalizer, if you will.

As a monologuer, I don’t ask for much reader participation on this blog, but I’m curious, what are everyone’s favorite shows from the Golden Age of Television (80s to early 90s)? I am undecided, although I taught myself to play the “Perfect Strangers” theme on the piano.