Miss Jill's Compendium of Conversational Grenades: Part 2

"Oh, that's why so and so isn't married, haha." Ok. Osama bin Laden has had 5 different wives. Charles Manson had 2 wives. I think that you are getting the picture.

“I’m so busy, you wouldn’t understand.” Thanks to Julianne’s mom for this one. I am usually kind of skeptical about people's busyness levels, because I think that they don't realize how much time they waste. For example, "Oh, you are so lucky, you have all that time to read books." I usually want to reply, "That's because I don't have time to watch four Tivoed episodes of Millionaire Matchmaker like you did yesterday."

Related is: "You don't understand, I HATE waiting in lines."

"Have you thought to pray about that?" Let's be honest, I accidentally prayed that Jack Bauer would successfully dismantle a bomb and save Los Angeles on 24 (it was tense, ok?).

“Remember the reason for the season.” I am all about Jesus, but just because it rhymes, doesn't mean that you said something new and insightful that has to be repeated every year and put on a magnet.

Background: You did not ask about Jimmy. “We are so proud of Jimmy, he is currently Assistant to the President on his mission. He is such a wonderful young man.” This says more about me than Jimmy, but I instantly wonder what Jimmy is hiding.

Related: "The pediatrician was amazed at Little Emily's growth. She is in the 95th percentile. And she has never seen a child who could walk so early." That one is for all you moms out there. However, I am the first to admit that I love those stupid holiday family letters, because there is usually a lot of quotable material.

“Have you tried Internet dating?" As I do not think that I have ever once, in 30 years, complained about dating, why are you asking me this? Especially since I know someone who accidentally hooked up with a married man from ldssingles.com.

"Oh, I can top that." I know someone who does this to me repeatedly and I usually have to stop and say, “This is not a contest.” And they usually do not succeed in topping you. And I want to add, people who interrupt you to say something less interesting than what you are saying.

"I don't like to judge, but...."

"People are always amazed at how I do it all." When I think of this statement, I think of Obama. Not a stay at home mom with a side job.

"I usually don't talk about this with people..." My friend mentioned this one and we disagreed-she thought that it was bad and I thought that it was good. I also enjoy, "Maybe this is too personal.." Impossible.

"I'm not religious, I'm spiritual." I don't necessarily disagree with the idea, just the tone of condescension employed while saying it.

Anything implying that you make tons of money like, "I don't know how anyone can live in New York for less than $5,000 a month." It used to bother me that when I moved to New York, I dropped to working class, but I am so used to it that I don't even notice it anymore. I used to think that buying drugstore cosmetics was the height of penury, so being low income has been an overall positive experience.

Miss Manners? or Redefining the Meaning of Human Rights Violations

Ok, I want to know what people think is the etiquette in this situation. I went to Barnes and Noble yesterday and started reading the Human Rights Watch report for 2011 (it is in book form). It was pretty interesting, so I decided that I wanted to buy it. Before going to the register, I stopped by the bathroom and dutifully placed the book on the shelf outside of the bathroom that said, "DO NOT TAKE MERCHANDISE INTO BATHROOM. PLEASE LEAVE HERE."

When I came out, an older gentleman was leafing through my book. It was the only copy, so I stood in the fantasy section, pretending to read about dragons and waited for him to put it back. As he read, he nodded vigorously, with strong approval. Then he dashed in the opposite direction, with my book in tow. I was already late to meet someone, so I just gave up and left.

And now, I am sitting here, thinking about how much I wish that I had that book. Do you have a right to merchandise before you buy it?

Quiz: Are You A Nerd?, Or I Hijacked This Quiz Because It Turned Autobiographical Too Quickly

As I started to write this quiz, it quickly deteriorated into "Why Miss Jill is a Nerd." I don't know how I have any friends. I have also come to the conclusion that I was a much smarter kid than adult.

I will try to make a general one too, but I am starting to get the feeling that everyone's nerdiness is unique. You will note that my list does not include anything with Math or Science, because I have not had a Math class since 1997. I would be surprised if I could successfully add fractions.

Here goes....

When I talk about something that is interesting to me, someone interrupts to discuss the price of shampoo. Everyone eagerly grasps onto the new topic.

I only went to one college football game, as a freshmen. I quickly realized that it was boring and never went again.

When I was a kid, I cringed when it was announced that the kids were picking the teams. Unless it was in an academic class for a game (I even remember doing this in Seminary a few times).

When I go to movies, I look around the room and all of the other audience members are 60+ Jewish people. It is hard for them to stay awake during the 4:30 show, so there is usually a secondary soundtrack of gentle snoring.

I made repeated calls to Nickelodeon: Kids Pick the President and waited eagerly for the election results.

I wrote a dramatic story about the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 1989.

My Barbies were prisoners of war trying to escape and Jewish slaves in Egypt.

I liked to dress up in pioneer clothes and was Mary Ingalls (the blind one) for Halloween. I think that I would be invited to more theme parties if I still had this hobby.

I made up a song to memorize the capitals of Europe and I still remember it at age 30. This would be a lot cooler/more useful if said melody did not include the Soviet Union, two Germanys (ies?) and Yugoslavia.

When I watch television, 90% of the advertisements are for Viagra or AARP Life Insurance.

When I look up from a book and say, "You won't believe this...," my sister cuts me off and says, "Insert information that we don't care about."

I learned the facts of life at age five because my mother naively left a child development book out. 85% of the time, my reading skills were used for evil. I have a distinct memory of reading some Freud theories in mid-elementary school and they were not PG.

In fifth grade I made my mother repeatedly quiz me on the World History section of the Dictionary of Cultural Literacy. I was sad as an adult when my friend broke up with her middle-aged lover who liked to have Latin America history showdowns.

I am a Spanish teacher and when a student asks me about Libya, I launch into a passionate twenty-five minute explanation of the personality quirks of Gaddafi. My students know that if they ask a question about history or politics, all verbs will remain unconjugated until the next day.

1 = You were also picked near the end at P.E. (luckily there was always a morbidly obese person in class who was even less desirable as a teammate)
2+ = You are Miss Jill

Quiz: Are You A Geek?

When my youngest brother, Baby Troy, was in elementary school, we were going somewhere in the car. Unprompted, he said from the backseat, “Jill’s children will be nerds, they will be bad at basketball and this is what they will they will say (with his nose plugged)- ‘Rocks and minerals inspire me. They are part of the natural habitat.’”

I am not sure that this description of my purported progeny was an oblique reference to my personal qualities or to my taste in men. However, I am proud to say that I was unseated as the nerdiest person in my family when my sister married an actuary who got an almost perfect score on the GMAT.

My friends and I were discussing this in the car today and Scandinavian Siren concluded that we were nerds, not geeks, but when she mentioned that someone at Comicon explained the difference to her, I started to wonder. I decided that this matter could only be settled the Seventeen magazine way.

Am I A Geek?

Do I speak a language that does not exist in the human realm, i.e., Klingon or Elvish?

Am I a Dungeon Master and do I write stories about myself bravely slaying dragons?

Am I despondent because my Second Life girlfriend dumped me?

Do I belong to a guild?

Do I play Quidditch in Central Park?

Have I been shot in the Battle of Gettysburg?

Do I own a set of chain mail or fairy wings and wear them when it is not Halloween?

Did I meet my spouse at a Renaissance Fair and then proceed to have a theme wedding involving pheasants?

Am I a level six warlock in World of Warcraft and have a fairy girlfriend?

Instead of utilizing language to convey my thoughts and feelings about the world around me, do I quote long sections of Monty Python and the Holy Grail?

Am I a furry?



Did I spend the early nineties voraciously searching for cheats and secret worlds for Super Mario Brothers 3 and the Legend of Zelda? Ok, this one is autobiographical.

Scoring Key:
0 affirmative answers. You are not a geek.
1+ Get out your crossbow.

"Are You a Nerd?" will be coming shortly.

Miss Jill's Hipster Reeducation Program

Per American sitcoms, there is nothing more comforting than walking into a local diner and ordering "the usual." I guess that i am kind of weird looking, because on several occasions, waiters or department store clerks have remembered what I have bought in the past (six months after the fact- "Oh, didn't you buy the Lancome pore mask last time?") Ok, maybe this mostly happened in Latin America where not only am I an albino freak, but most of the stores are fronts for money laundering and rarely have customers. However, once in a while it happens here.

So I have something in Park Slope every week and I found this delicious falafel place in the neighborhood. It is owned by a gregarious Israeli guy and he always remembers how I like things. I don't want to feel pressure to talk to have a heart to heart with him every time, so I don't starts convos with him like I do with most random people, but he is a nice guy. Unfortunately, at times it is a bastion for yippies and hipsters who want to show off how multicultural they are.

While I was peacefully reading and eating last night, two hipsters walked through the door. One kind of had a Rasta look going on and the other was the typical white guy with a mane that emulated the cleanliness and texture of the fur of your dog that you put to sleep four days ago. I was pretty sure that they were eating en route to a Free Mumia rally.

Rasta was pretty friendly and immediately grabbed my arm and pointed out the window and said, "Look, a pimp just walked by." Unfortunately, I need subtitles for Caribbean accent, because by the time I figured out what he had told me, said pimp was long gone. I am pretty sure that it was just a man in a fur coat. Dog Corpse Hair started perusing the menu board (what is this called?) and loudly saying, "That is way too expensive, I should just go to one of those cheap carts. I can't believe Park Slope."

The Israeli's eyes started to burn with rage and he yelled, "What you mean, I just go to these trucks? They just be giving you two balls of falafel and a piece of lettuce? I give you four! Four! No one does that!"

In spite of the verbal onslaught Dog Corpse Hair's eyes stoically maintained the glazed expression of someone who has never filled out a W-2. "Uhh yeah," he replied. "I am an expert on falafel. I think I can get the same thing cheaper."

"What you saying? I have been eating this since I was born! No one cooks pita like me! No one! Do this truck give you free hummus?" This went on for a while, but Dog Corpse Hair had no perceptible change in mood. Finally the Israeli screamed, "This is the best falafel in the entire world, you will try it right now. Just ask that woman over there and she will tell you everything!"

Well you can guess who "that woman" was and I felt everyone's eyes boring into me. As my experience is rather limited, I felt a bit inadequate in nominating the best falafel in the entire world. However, he never gives you a thin, cardboard-like pita, so I knew that I owed it to him. I let out a nervous laugh and nodded earnestly while saying, "Uh yeah, it is great."

They took my word for it and started to eat. Rasta asked his friend, "What kind of food is this?" Dog Corpse Hair replied, "Turkish."

The Israeli almost jumped over the counter, full of indignation, "THIS IS NOT TURKISH!"

Dog Corpse hair looked up, with minimal interest and replied, "I know a lot about Turkish food actually."

My book was kind of dry, so I decided that I couldn't leave the apoplectic falafel maker without backup, so I jumped into the fray and started arguing with Dog Corpse Hair too. He was not interested in our passionate arguments and a few minutes later he stood up and said, "Thanks for the good time, guy, this was delicious." Rasta unexpectedly stroked my back and muttered something indiscernible.

And then they were gone. As the Israeli ranted for several minutes, I experienced a moment of gratitude that my parents didn't give me a trust fund for buying cannabis.

In Which It Might Be Time For a Twitter Revolution To Hit Italy

This morning I was watching CNN videos while I was doing my makeup, and one came up about Silvio Berlusconi, (D.O.B. September 29, 1936), the prime minster of Italy. They were interviewing one of his homegirls about his alleged tryst with a 17-year-old Moroccan girl and they described her as Nicole Minetti, a former showgirl and dental hygienist turned politician. I did some research and discovered that his cabinet includes a former topless model, a contestant from Italy's version of Big Brother, several actresses and former Miss Italy contestant. Besides Turkey, Europe is not my area of expertise, so I have no idea how well this is going.

And Italians are worried about their reputation getting soiled by Jersey Shore?

Miss Jill's Compendium of Conversational Grenades

The Apocalypse must be coming, because my mom just forwarded me and my sisters a rap video with Jimmer clips. I only know who that is because it kept coming up in Facebook statuses, so I asked. I watched it for 5 seconds and then remembered that I don't care about basketball (although I am not sorry whenever we beat the U) and neither do my sisters or my mom. She later wrote, "Sorry, wrong video." However, that has nothing to do with what I am actually writing about today.


I Always Cringe When I Hear..............

Just another day in paradise. This phrase is said exclusively by office workers with mind numbingly boring jobs.

You are so lucky that.... This is usually in reference to somewhere I have been or lived. How is it luck that you lived in a foreign country when you applied for jobs there? Or people say it to other people about skills-i.e., you are so lucky that you play an instrument or a sport well. How do people think that this happens?

No offense, but or Don't take this the wrong way, but

That could only happen to me! Yeah right. Ten percent of China probably just missed the subway by five seconds or spilled their coffee too.

Anything an MTA conductor says, if I can understand it (it usually sounds like "ajldkfajdslkghvadiofbnsadoifhasodifjiaosdifjoasd"). Last week the conductor stopped the train for fifteen minutes and said, "We must stop because we are ahead of schedule." I yelled, "I want to see that schedule" and the lady across from me said, "Youse mean dat you gotta go pee." She must have felt a connection with me, because when she got off, she grabbed my shoulder and wished me a blessed day.

Don't you be disrespecting me Just kidding, I love this, because it means that something magical is going to go down on public transportation.

As my dad/mom always said, fill in the blank with a cliche Once I tried to convince someone that her dad did not come up with The Golden Rule: He who has the gold makes the rules, but I am pretty sure that she didn't believe me.

The passive agressive smiley face My roommate used to run a call center for teens out of our living room and once I saw a post-it note that said, "If anyone turns down the thermostat, they will be fired immediately : )."

I'm not married because men are so intimidated by my strength and independence. This makes me want to slap people, because it is usually said by someone who is 100 lbs overweight or really overbearing. Most of my college friends were pretty high achieving and independent and guess what, almost all of them are married to Mormon men. Some men want hair school girls, some men want academics-there is just too much variation to make blanket statements like that.

Valentine's Day should be called Singles Awareness Day
Seriously? I don't understand why people have such strong feelings of hatred for Valentine's Day and I think that making it so obvious that you are bitter and lonely is kind of embarrassing. I am always single and I don't mind getting some residual candy and wearing red or pink.

I deserve.............. Why is that?

Long strings of "witty" comments on Reply all

I graduated from the school of hard knocks, with honors. My cousin brought up the idea that whether someone is Obama or a trust fund kid or a housewife, they feel like they have the same perceived stress level. I think that the same thing goes for problems. Once I was in Relief Society (Mormon women's organization) with my cousin and a woman turned around and pointed to us and said, "People that age haven't experienced any problems, so they can't possibly understand." I had never met her, so for all she knew, my entire family had been slaughtered in the Balkans. And another thing, my dad has cancer and it has been a nightmare, but he still has a better attitude about that than most people I know have about being single or not dating.

Happy Valentines Day!

In Which Miss Jill Bites the Hand That Feeds Her

The following is a text from a student last night. I always forget that texting with students is not normal, but our school is so small and lots of the parents are in Turkey, so things run a little differently. I highlighted the scary part:

hi miss jill : ) Happy birthday!! : ) don't be sad because of u are 30.. u are beautiful and u have 15 year old BFFs : D that makes u younger : P

That kind of makes me sound like the fifty-year-old lady who tans and shops at Forever 21 (which I wouldn't even do when I was 21). I know that this girl calls it as she sees it though, because once a student said something and I laughed, to which she responded, "You do not think that is funny. You are just laughing to be kind."

Caught.

I also have a separate Facebook account just for Turkish kids, so I can post projects and make announcements and know their relationship status. The other American high school teachers did the same thing, but I don't understand what kid in her right mind would be Facebook friends with her teacher. Once a kid's status said, "If your Spanish teacher says that she hates you, do you have to go to class?" Of course, it came up on my feed and of course, I never said that I hated him. I think that the last time I told someone that I hated them was in 1992 when my mother watched some figure skating competition and didn't tell me it was on.

Another time a girl wrote "I'm so bored" in her English class and the teacher responded underneath, "Get off of your phone." Yesterday I got a barrage of "Happy Birthdays" on my wall during 3rd period (I didn't have a class) and I texted another teacher, "Who has 11th grade? They are all on Facebook on their phones." She replied, "I do, @#$#@$@#$." Yes, I threw them under the bus for wishing me well.

Mid-Life Crisis: In Which Miss Jill Shares More Than Just An Accent With Sarah Palin

Have you ever got really bad news on what was supposed to be your special day? Like, for example, when a well wisher on your thirtieth birthday tells you that you share a birthday with Sarah Palin? Thanks, Marie. And I just looked it up, and I just barely missed sharing with Glen Beck on February 10th. The terrible irony is that if I had been born just 18 minutes later, I would have the same birthday with Abraham Lincoln. This was actually nice when I was a student in Illinois (Land of Lincoln), because I always had the day after my birthday off, even if it was on a Wednesday.

Reprint from last year:

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 instead of staying home with me.

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: I had a bad attitude about my birthday, but suddenly changed and told my friend Emily that I wanted to have a party at the last minute. She was a good sport about it and pulled together a dinner for 20+ people in like twenty-four hours.

2011: Woke up at 4:30, like it was the first day of elementary school and wrote this post. To be continued.

If anyone is ruminating about what to get me (as I am sure you are), give me Delta miles or a book that looks boring (that is my style).

This Is What A Green Card Wedding Looks Like

I'm not going to pretend like I knew who was competing in the Super Bowl prior to seeing this picture in my friend's Facebook wedding album. The only time I have cared about professional sports was when I wore a Chicago Bulls Threepeat shirt to elementary school.

The Cheesehead Bride, Kristina, was my neighbor for two beautiful years in Honduras and in honor of her recent nuptials, I would like to share some of my favorite memories:

* As far as I know, she is the only person alive or dead who has heard me swear. I was quoting someone in a story and got so into it that I forgot to substitute the word. I have rarely seen another human being look so happy.

* She asked me if the Mennonite men swimming in long johns and hats were my boyfriends (apparently not everyone knows that Mormons wear modern clothes).

* Once we accidentally got into a car with an inebriated man who bragged that his children appeared in an episode of Alf.

* We spent my 26th birthday in the San Pedro Sula Hilton, raptly watching a European prince claim to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's lovechild.

* Every morning we boarded the bus for school at 5:45 a.m. and spent the next twenty minutes in a confined place with the CRAZIEST people in the entire world. I do not know who reads this, so I will not elaborate on that at this time.

* We went to see a movie once and were the only people in the entire theater. A teenage girl entered, popcorn in hand, and in spite of a plethora of options, sat down next to me.

* She comforted me at a Belizean house party where the only two entertainment options were looking at a Playboy magazine and watching Soul Plane. I also vaguely recall a random man wandering through the house in a towel.

* She was also the recipient of a loving Christmas gift of lingerie from a 7th grade boy, as well as numerous fruitcakes from a fluffy haired aspiring rockstar.

* She possess the intellect from which sprung the logic chip theory.

After Honduras she moved on to Shanghai, which was obviously a good decision, because she met the Canadian man of her dreams. Congratulations and miss you, girl!!!!!

Welcome Cougars!

If you are stopping by from BYU, you might want to check out this post and this post.

And the vodka is a joke

In Which Miss Jill Reluctantly Admits That She Is Not A Teenager Anymore (Ten Years Past the Fact)

The good news is that I realized that my supposed midlife crisis was actually just bad timing and I always feel like this the first week of the month. Sorry for the overshare, just mentioned that in case anyone was worried about my mental health. Now that I am hitting a milestone, I figured that I should reflect on some of the habits that I may need to shed this decade.

Things That I Should Probably Not Do Now That I Am 30 (in 2 days)
1. Prank call my mom
2. Play MASH during church and teacher meetings. I should have known that I was too old for this when I made one category, "The student that you have to adopt." Do kids still play MASH?
3. Use teenage Brooklyn slang that I picked up at school. U mad tighttttttttt.
4. Say "BRB (be right back") and "LYLAS (love ya like a sister)"
5. Hang out at my parent's house watching reality tv with my brothers (I knew that I had a problem when the opening credits of "The Amazing Race" gave me chills once).
6. Encourage my brother to misbehave during church or play Pictionary using people in the ward for inspiration.
7. Waste two hours playing online geography games. Do I really need to know the location of random cities in Russia and Australia?
8. Get bored, quit my job, and move every two years. The other day I was fantasizing about moving to South America and I couldn't decide if I am too old.
9. Laugh at "yo momma" jokes. In my defense, I suffer from overexposure.
10. Spend inordinate amounts of time talking to weirdos. Actually, I might have to wait until I am 40 to drop that habit.

In my defense, at least I don't think Zac Efron is a reasonable celebrity crush. You know who you are. However, to my eternal shame, I agreed to take the dorm girls to the Justin Bieber movie next weekend.

In Which The Teen Next To You On The Subway Is Just A Friend You Haven't Met Yet

If you can't tell, I don't have a very intense screening process for who I will have a conversation with on public transportation. Sometimes you don't even have to have a conversation to have a connection with someone-there is plenty that can be expressed by a well time eye roll or eyebrow lift.

A few months ago, I was sitting on the N train and a woman in the car embarked on a 10,000 decibel, high emotion conversation in Chinese. I wanted to steal her phone and check it for a megaphone app. There is no way to say this p.c., but I have to say that Chinese has about the same soothing qualities as a Third Reich motivational speech (ditto for Dominican Spanish, but at least I can eavesdrop in that case). The person could be talking about what bread to buy, but it would sound like they had caught their spouse in an act of infidelity. I didn't get enough sleep the night before, so I loudly said, "No please, anything but that" in her general direction. The teenage boy across from me nodded in assent.

A Chinese man down the aisle heard my plea and decided to come to my aid. He leaned forward and started loudly shhhing the woman. She was undaunted. He leaned forward, shhhed her even louder and then turned and waved to me with an effusive grin. For several minutes he alternated between the shhhing and amiable waving. The teenage boy and I could not stop laughing. Then the train went underground and she angrily realized that her verbal tyranny was cut short.

After that, the usual cavalcade of weirdos cycled through, and the teen and I exchanged mocking glances at them. When I got off, he told me to have a great day-that is usually how train encounters with strangers end (unless you are like some of my friends and it ends in a pregnancy scare). I thought that the incident was behind me, until I went to a movie a few hours later and the person taking the tickets was no other than my adolescent amigo.

Self-indulgent Moment: When Scandinavian Siren turned thirty a few months ago she pledged to me that we would celebrate her thirty-first (when you get unceremoniously kicked out of Mormons singles congregations) by drinking a bottle of vodka. I thought that she was being melodramatic, but now that I am a mere three days away from the dreaded thirty, I see the wisdom in her vow. I realized that something was wrong last night when I was looking wistfully at someone's pictures of her lovechild with a gang member, so I watched a movie about Colombian drug mules to cheer myself up. It put life in perspective, because there is a very low probability that a cocaine pellet will rupture in my stomach.

Sister Sweat Lodge

A friend of mine was experimenting with Native American religions and found that there were many like minded individuals in New York. Apparently these groups find empty warehouses in Queens and the Bronx and construct giant teepees inside. I don't know exactly how it works, but it involves chanting, eating peyote, violently throwing up the peyote and then having a vision that helps to clarify your path in life. Maybe someone else knows more about this.

So he was at one of those ceremonies and started talking to a random girl. As they were enthusiastically nibbling on hallucinogens, she mentioned that she was Mormon. He told me that he got excited and asked, "Oh, do you know Jill?" She denied it, but I wish that he had had the foresight to snap a cell phone pic. Who knows, she may have even been sitting by me at church yesterday.

He eventually tired of this spiritual pursuit when a shaman and his concubines moved into his house, uninvited.

PS: Mom don't worry, I'm not doing anything bad. I just like hearing stories.

Happy Birthday Ronald Reagan, Even Though You Betrayed Me At An Inauspicious Time

People are always shocked to find out that I used to be the biggest Republican of all time. Click on that link, it is a pretty good one. I laughed when I realized that I broke one of my "Are You Pretentious?" rules.

In spite of the fact that I was not even allowed to listen to NKOTB, I will always remember that Jordan Knight's birthday is May 17th. And in spite of the fact that I no longer celebrate it by covering every inch of the wall with posters, I will always remember that Ronald Reagan's birthday was February 6th. So, Happy Birthday Ronnie, wherever you are!

In honor of the event, I would like to recall an incident in which my former devotion to Reagan nearly cost me my life. I went to Nicaragua a few years ago and the whole time I was there, I experienced this eerie, oppressive sorrowful feeling. I think maybe the history of violence and Civil War was freaking out my subconscious. This is not a history blog, so you are going to have to look up the Iran-Contra affair if you need more information. Suffice to say, the Reagan administration financially supported and trained a group of rebels called the Contras that fought against the government, in spite of the fact that they were committing countless human rights violations. There is still plenty of evidence of anti-imperialist sentiment:



Unfortunately, I am the physical manifestation of stereotypes of how Americans look (minus the fanny pack and jean shorts), so I was a little self-concious there. I felt like the people were a little colder than they were in Honduras and Guatemala, but I did not really blame them. Things were going well until I was searching through my backpack for something and came across a "Reagan/Bush: Taking America Back" election pin. I couldn't believe that it had chosen until I was in Nicaragua to reenter my life. I quickly hid it in my makeup case and prayed that no one would search it. Maybe I should have taken a page from the left wing traveler playbook of the Bush era and purchased maple leaf patches to act as a decoy. Luckily, security agents at the Managua International Airport had nothing in common with the TSA agent who publicly fondled me in Chicago a few weeks ago and I escaped.

Gigante verde alegre?

With the exception of Cafe Rio, I really hate pork. Especially ham, which in lunch meat form makes me dry heave. Luckily, I work with Muslims and never find myself in situations where the only thing to eat is a ham sandwich on Wonderbread with processed cheese. I can't help but think of Youth Conference (an emotionally charged Mormon teen convention) lunches, which are often a human rights violation. I was never a big Youth Conference fan (I am pretty sure that EFY would have given me a nervous breakdown-no offense to you career counselors out there, you know who you are), but there was this entertaining year in which we pressured a girl to let us pluck her unibrow. Don't judge me for that, because it was like fifteen years ago and if I still had this weakness, I would bring wax strips to work every day. And she looked so much better afterwards, so it was actually a service project of sorts.

So because they are so strict about meat, most people at my school have not tried very many dishes from foreign cultures. Last year I asked the sixth graders who had tried Mexican food and there was not one raised hand. I could not imagine a greater tragedy than a life without Taco Bell. J/k sort of, I really do love T.B., and support them in spite of their current legal difficulties. I just don't want any snobby comments from waspy people who are "from Southern California/Utah (ed. note: don't get that one) and really know what Mexican food is." What they don't realize is that sometimes "real" Mexican food is a fish head floating in broth or a grasshopper casserole. I've already written about this due to my passionate feelings on the subject, so back to the point.

We have started having taco parties at school and they have been super fun, but I keep having to buy halal meet and it is SO expensive. Yesterday I bought six pounds of ground beef (because it is easier just to freeze some of it than keep going back to the Turkish store) and it cost $23. While I was at the store, I called my landlady's twelve-year-old son, who is in my class, and asked him if I needed to get anything else. He told me that he had gone to the store by himself and bought all of the vegetables that we needed, so it should be ok. When I got home, I asked to see how much he bought and he showed me his interpretation of taco toppings:



Luckily I don't have a class today until fifth period, so I can go to the Russian supermarket down the street. I try to avoid it, because people constantly speak to me in Russian (so I don't know what the total is and just hand them my card), but it is a worthy cause.

What cuisine do you guys think that everyone should try at least once?

The Saga of the Scandinavian Siren

The friend that I mentioned in my previous post sent me this unsolicited note enumerating the details of the transcontinental love pilgrimage that was her twenties.

For people who do not read carefully, THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME

She mentioned:

The time I spent four days with a street musician in Poland who was a farm boy from the country trying to earn enough money to become a doctor. He played the klezmer.

The time I was kidnapped by a Bedouin on a donkey.

The time I fell in love with a Chechen refugee because he told me he’d killed a Russian and I felt sad for him.

The time I met an Australian on Zanzibar and ran away on safari with him.

The time I was romanced by an Italian ice cream vendor in front of Buckingham Palace. I got free ice cream out of it. And some smooches.

The time I met a red-headed Costa Rican on the side of a mountain highway and went to his sustainable lodge. In the off-season.

The time my cousin and I snuck out of my grandmother’s attic at midnight to meet boys. We were 13. They were 12.

The time my Finnish boyfriend proposed so I would stay in Finland instead of coming back to the US after summer vacation. I came home instead.

The time I fell in love with my traveling companion when we were quarantined in an airport for SARS and I took care of him when he got food poison in Cambodia.

The time I went to Norway and was brave enough to tell the cutest boy I saw at a concert that I thought he was darling. And then I became a groupie and he wanted me to sleep with him and then I stopped being a groupie.

The time a tour guide in Jordan told me he'd fallen madly in love with me and cried because I wouldn't return his affections. Or take him back to New York with me.

The time I didn't hook up with the Finnish men's ice hockey team, a silver medalist ski jumper, OR a gold medalist speed skater during the Salt Lake Olympics because I had just started dating someone.

The time I almost eloped to Thailand with a writer. But we broke up instead because we were too happy and that didn't give him sufficient writing material.

The time I almost eloped with a filmmaker to San Diego. But we broke up instead because we were too miserable together.

The time I kissed a Sundance film festival documentarian because he was cute and taught me how to do a cartwheel.

The time I dated a puppeteer then my little sister dated him too.

The time I met a Sikh on the train, fell in love with his beautiful eyes, had an intense conversation that ended with us yelling our first names to each other through the closing subway car doors, and then finding each other on facebook.

The time I met a boy visiting from Santa Barbara at a rock show in Salt Lake City but we lost each other in the crowd. We were both really sad about it, until word got back to me that he’d told all of his friends around the country about me in the off chance that someone would know me and put us in touch. It worked.

The time a man named Mohammad started courting me in Zanzibar but I didn’t realize we were in a relationship until he told me his mom was excited to meet me.

The time I went ice skating with Genocide Ben, who would maybe be better called anti-genocide ben but that doesn't roll off the tongue as easily.

The time i was a missionary and had deep discussion with an undocumented Mexican roofer/former Catholic priest about God. And then he gave me green and gold earrings that he said reminded him of my eyes and hair and told me he was in love with me. ed note: Everyone who has spent more than five seconds with Mexican men has had this experience.

In Which Miss Jill's Student Would Be A Useful Addition to Camp David

I lost the picture of this when I accidentally gave my phone to the Chinese laundromat, but I hope that you can imagine it properly. I have a really cute, little student, let's call her Firozah, from one of the Stans and she has been in the United States for less than a year.

The first test was about numbers and in the middle of it, someone called out, "Firozah has the answer written on her hand!" I asked Firozah to show me her hand, and sure enough, on the back of her hand "ciento" was written in size 42 type. Apparently she had decided that discretion was not of the essence. I am not proud of this, but it was so ridiculous that I started laughing uncontrollably. "Firozah," I said. "Can I please take a picture of your hand?"

She was shy at first, but eventually posed her fist. Just as I was about to snap, she made a peace sign and placed it on her wrist so that it was in the photo. Insert platitude about how even though we might seem different, people all over the world are truly the same.

In other news, I received a new MacBook in the mail today while I was at school. I am semi-poverty line, so it was kind of a sacrifice to buy it and it took me 4 days to push "add to cart" on apple.com. However, I am turning 30 next Friday, so I figured that I should probably ring in the new decade with a computer that turns on regularly. It was all worth it when I got excited and opened it at school and the students looked on with approbation. One girl hugged me and said, "The only word to describe this moment is fill in the blank with a long Turkish word that I am unable to transcribe. I don't think that there is a word to describe this in English, but it means that the most wonderful thing in the world has happened to you."

And lastly, I nominate my anonymous friend to start a blog, because her crazy stories put mine to shame (although I have to give myself some credit for the delivery). On Sunday she said, "I have always felt relatively safe, in spite of all of the risks that I have taken. Except for that time when I got drugged in Poland by Chechen refugees and had to hide in a field."