Stupid romance

I had a few minutes to kill this morning before heading out to catch the bus. When I have these extra moments I use them to play with the phone. Today, I decided to send a sweet little text message to Tyler while leaving the house.

10 days till the long weekend

(turning off lights)

10 hours till I see you again

(leaving the house, closing the door)

…and crap I just locked myself out of my house

See, while typing out my little e-love note, I forgot to grab my keys, and as soon as I closed the door I realized what I had done. Stupid romance.

When I got to work I called my dad to tell him what I did, because he likes to hear funny things first thing in the morning.

“We’ll have to give Tyler a key,” he said after I told him the story.

Normally, the exchanging of house keys is a huge step in a couple’s relationship. It means they have reached a high level of trust and comfortableness. It means that they come and go from each other’s places freely and often, maybe water each other’s plants or feed each other’s pets. Apparently in my dad’s eyes, this is all irrelevant. It’s simply become a necessity to make his life easier, given the number of absent minded episodes I usually have that he inevitably ends up helping me out with.

While I was waiting for the bus, Tyler replied to my message with, “oh my god! Ha ha do you need help?”

Sigh. That's a question far too big for a Monday morning text message reply, but, knowing that it wasn't really going to be a problem until 4:00 this afternoon, I simply wrote back,

"Not yet :)"

Get my drift?

I came home from work today to discover a foot and a half snow drift across my driveway and in front of the door to my house. It sure looked like a job for the snow blower, if it were not for the fact that due to the thaw/flood/freeze shenanigans going on last week, the snow blower was frozen to the floor of the garage in a puddle about two inches deep.

Dad came over. He pushed on the garage door to try to get inside to get the shovel. He broke the door. He managed to get in eventually.

"I broke the garage door," he told me. "No big deal, I'll have to fix that later."

He got out the shovel and started on my driveway. I ate an Oreo Ice Cream sandwich that Tyler had brought for me one day. It was the best tasting treat ever. Then I got dressed and joined my dad outside. He was tired of shoveling.

"Go start the truck. I'm going to try to get the snow blower out."

I grabbed the keys, started Truck and hit the gas. It was stuck. For the next twenty minutes or so, Dad and I tried to dislodge Truck from the ice rink that is my garage floor. Dad just left to go home and get his traction mats. I have a massage appointment at 6:30 p.m. if I get out of my driveway and if I get down my street and manage to not slip and slide all the way down Portage Avenue the whole six blocks to my appointment.

On another note, I think the mob is after me.

I got out of the shower this morning and noticed I had a text message waiting. I figured it was Tyler, saying good morning or something sweet as he often does. It was not him. The message was from a 718 area code (which I tracked down to Brooklyn, NY) and it said:

I know what you did...

So, either I am Jennifer Love Hewitt and I need to beware of guys with hooks for hands, or someone knows that I cheated on my taxes last year. (That's totally not true by the way, I just honestly spent the last eight minutes trying to come up with some even mildly heinous act I have done recently and drew a blank. My dad is on his way back here so I have to wrap this post up.)

So yeah, that's my day. Frozen assets and text messages from the mob. Good thing this snow storm will probably keep them from flying in to town any time soon.

Blogging on a Sunday morning when I should be running

My west coast blogging sista, Kasia, recently tagged me with a Love Ya blog award.

These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.

I don't think I can officially accept this award since I cannot pass it on to eight more bloggers (seriously, I don't know eight blogging friends! I am such a nerd in my social group) however, Kasia said some very nice things about my blog, which I will graciously accept, and she has sent me some new traffic, which I will also accept and try to entertain with a new post. Done and Done. (Oh, wait, not entertained yet? okay, sit tight.)

Hi. My name is Jill. I am the permanent writer in residence and Vice-President of Marketing here at ajillstory.com. I work together with Fate, Mother Nature and Commentors to collect and entertain our readers with honest stories about love, life, friends, work, travel, fashion, cooking, and things that make us happy. 2008 was a pretty good year for us here and we are hoping to continue the momentum as we charge through 2009. We are always looking for new readers and commentors, so please feel free to drop by any time.

Here's a little bio on me that I did with myself recently so I could have something on hand in case the good people at say, Chatelaine magazine or Chevy Truck Owners Network wanted to do a little article.

Name: Jill/Jillian/Jilly/Jilly B(ee)/Jillifer/Pal
Age: 27
Height without heels on: 5'4 3/4"
Height with favourite pair of Betsey Johnson black satin peek-a-boo toe heels on: 5'7 3/4"
Day job: (Sr.) Communication Specialist at Good-Wooden Leg, on term while friend and co-worker is on a mat leave
Status: currently dating professional flower buyer and Special Man Friend, Tyler.
Family: A sister, Tracy, and parents, Mom and Dad
Pets: A goldfish named Bill and Elmo, a beagle who lives with Mom and Dad
Resides in: a modest 1940s style home in Lower West Side Winnipeg
Drives: 2006 Chevy Colorado, extended cab (Truck). Sunburst Orange
Currently Listening to: The rattle of my furnace, the traffic on Ness, the low hum of Mac, Jim Croce singing Bad, Bad Leroy Brown on the MTS TV weather channel
Guilty pleasures: The Hills, Oreo ice cream, Sunday morning pancakes

Okay, now that you know me, I will tell you about my Saturday night. Tyler and I went to see Propagandhi, a locally formed, internationally popular punk band. I had never seen them before, but I felt that I should see them at least once, to call myself a true Winnipegger.

Tyler was very worried that I would not enjoy myself at the concert. When I drive or when we are at my house, I make him listen to 80s rock and adult contemporary radio, but I like to believe that my appreciation for music makes room for all genres and a variety of sounds. Except for the Grease megamix. I cannot stand a single note of that shit.

We arrived at the show late enough to have missed one of the opening acts, but not late enough to miss Putrescence, a death metal band (to put it mildly). This was my first death metal experience. Oddly enough, I kind of hope it is not my last. Would I add death metal to my play list? Not likely. Would I pay more than $10 to see a performance? Probably not. But was I entertained? Oh most definitely.

Putrescence is, by my observations, comprised of five men who were not loved by their parents very much. They play an aggressive metal sound and the lead singer doesn't sing so much as emit a low growl from a deep, festering ulcer in the pit of his beer-filled and decaying stomach. The set list included hits such as Sledgehammer Holocaust, Eye Sockets Venting Black, Rotten Blood, the power ballad Gutted, Coated with Malignancy and Re-Embowled, and my personal favourite, Moonlight Illuminates Limbs Forced into Impossible Directions (Tyler held my hand through that one. I think it is the leading candidate for being "our song").

After Putrescence left the stage, presumably to go hang themselves upside down in a rat-infested dungeon somewhere, Propagandhi was up. At this point, I was all warm and cozy in my seat and vegan-approved hoodie and jeans. I was sleepy, yes, but I perked right up when lead singer Chris Hannah came on wearing a Ronald McDonald costume. He made some subtle references to Ronald McDonald House. I don't think he's enjoyed a Happy Meal in some time.

I did in all honesty enjoy Propagandhi. I think they are talented and I would go see them again.

Tyler drove me home and came inside to say goodnight. He kissed me in the living room and told me he would miss me on Sunday. He had made plans with friends. We often spend Sundays together doing crossword puzzles, eating breakfast and bopping around town. Not being with him today means I have time for blogging. I am supposed to be going to the park to check if the ice has melted from the bike paths to leave a nice, safe, surface for running on. So far it is 12:45 and I am still in my pajamas, watching Mad About You on Deja View. I had forgotten what I used to do on Sundays. This isn't so bad.

You kneaded me

Today was my massage appointment. I decided to check out Knead to Unwind since it is in my neighbourhood. Normally, I do not like cutesy business names. In fact, they turn me right off. But the place is really close by, so I let the name slide.

I was the last appointment of the day. I don't know why, but I had my guard up. I was all cool and business like as I talked to the massage therapist. In the room, as she asked me the "new client" questions, I leaned against the wall and avoided eye contact. I was feeling skeptical I guess, since my first experience wasn't so great.

Her technique was a bit different, and there was no butt massaging, but I think she was actually good. She wasn't chatty. She told me what to expect in terms of pain, and explained what she was doing. Apparently, I have a rib that's popped out. I would make the guess that that was a major contributor to my pain the last time I went for a massage.

I actually wasn't in any kind of pain this time when I booked the appointment. I just figured it was a good time to go and try again. But after the session the therapist basically told me I was a small mess. There is a lot of tension in my shoulders and neck. She asked me if I had a lot of stress in my life.

I shurgged. "New job, new relationship. I had a pilates class on Monday that left me pretty sore."

"Yeah, I'd say this is more than a hard pilates class. What you have has been building up for a while."

It's interesting to think that your muscles can tell a story. With her hands, the therapist could read me and tell that I was carrying around some emotional baggage. That alone was a comfort and made me want to book another appointment with her.

She recommended that I take a bath with Epsom salts when I got home to prevent soreness the next day, like I experienced last time. So on the way home I stopped at Shoppers and bought what must be a one kilogram bag of the stuff. Lavender scented. I don't really like baths. It feels weird to just sit there in a shallow pool of water. I can never get the temperature right either. But if it meant I wouldn't feel like I was beaten with a baseball bat the next day, I was willing to give it a shot.

I smell like an old lady now. My shoulder feels agrivated again, but I'm hoping that will work itself out by tomorrow.

I called Tyler before I went into the bath. We try to talk every night before we go to sleep. I miss him when we're not together. It's weird for me because usually I get sick of people pretty quickly, even people I really really like. Tyler doesn't seem to have that effect on me though. The other day he grabbed a chocolate chip cookie for me while getting one for himself. I held my hand out to accept it. When he placed it there I looked at it, frowned, turned it over, and frowned again. He burst out laughing. Then I started laughing. Tears rolled down my face I was laughing so hard.

"Why are we laughing?" I asked.

"Because I gave you a cookie and you were upset that it had hardly any chocolate chips." He was right. He was exactly right. How did he know? He just did. It's why I love him.

He grabbed me a replacement cookie, by the way, with more chocolatey goodness, so please don't send him angry letters for giving me a lame cookie.

Love me tender

"Others appreciate you more than you think"

Finally, a fortune that has some insight. Two weeks ago Tyler and I checked out the grocery stores in China Town. I picked up a whole bag of fortune cookies. Yay! A sweet treat and a peek into my future! The fortunes have mostly been lame--yesterday's was, "You have a great appreciation for beautiful things". Is that opposed to ugly things? Are you calling me shallow? Cookie! How rude.

I feel accomplished today. I phoned my dad this morning. Dear God, I just realized, it's snowy out today, I hope he made it home alright or else my last words to him were, "OH SHIT! MY BUS!" Whoops. I love you Dad. (And yes, I made it onto the bus.)

I also called my mom this afternoon. Apparently she misses me. "Don't you have pilates anymore?" She asked.

"Yeah, I had a class on Monday." I actually haven't been to one in a few weeks.

"Oh, well how come you don't stop by anymore? You used to come by on the way there or on the way home."

"Hm, I don't know. I guess I was busy that day. After class I went to Tyler's."

"Oh."

Whoops. I love you Mom.

I also made some appointments. I made a doctor's appointment, an eye doctor's appointment, and a massage appointment (yes! I am trying it again! New place though. I will give my review later this month.) I already have a dentist appointment scheduled. Weee. I don't much enjoy appointments. So if I'm grumpy one day, I probably have an appointment, or just had one, or have to make another one as a follow-up. Grrr.

This weekend I am dragging Tyler to a social for an old high school friend. There will likely be some people there that I have not seen in 10 years. Look at me! I have a cool job! And a cool boyfriend who knows a dahlia from a daisy! Maybe if I am lucky they will play a slow song and Tyler will ask me to dance. Maybe if I am really lucky it won't be Elvis. (I happen to know the bride loves Elvis. Okay, I kind of like him too. Only at weddings.)

Amara had her baby on Saturday. It's a boy. I guess because Amara's my first close friend to have a baby the first e-mail update I got from her was surreal. It's finally sinking in that she has this new little person in her life. He has a name. He likes to cry all night. He doesn't like being changed. Babies usually don't interest me, but I'm excited to meet this one.

Fear and loathing it

Fear is an interesting thing. Like a python it can lay hidden for a while and before you realize, it's got a binding grip on you. The more you fight to overpower it, the tighter it holds you. It can paralyze you and make you frantic.

I know that recently I entered a new chapter in my life that is full of excitement and grand opportunity. It is called Buy a House, Land a Cool Temporary Job and Get Someone to Fall in Love With You. I am thankful everyday for this fortune. But I am also scared out of my mind.

I feel like others expect a lot from me, so I put a tremendous amount of pressure on myself to deliver on those expectations. Of course, I am sure that their expectations are much more realistic than I perceive them. Still, when I feel like I haven't risen to the occasion, it devastates me. Naturally then, I am afraid of failure. I have been this way for as long as I can remember.

So right now I am afraid that my fear will end up destroying these beautiful, wonderful things I've got going on in my life right now. I am afraid to make a move for fear that I will do something wrong. I am afraid that I will do my best and it won't be enough for me to still be deserving (and really, since I am truly humbled by my fate, how am I even deserving of this in the first place?).

I always believe I can do it until the moment I actually get there. It's like my head cheerleader always seems to take off right before the big game. Then what? Then I realize that my confidence was really coming from the chatter around me and I have to look a little deeper to find the strength to actually get the job done.

Whether it is buying a house by myself or maintaining a relationship for 61 days (because every day counts, for me), some how these things have a way of working out. But like I've said before, in the back of my mind where that bit of fear lives on, I'm always on the lookout for that bus to hit me the moment I've found happiness.

I suppose failure is at least a relief from my own expectations.

(and because I know people have come to expect me to be the cheery optimist, I promise you, this is all just a moment in passing.)