Vague memories of an Irish pub

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . February 26, 2010 . 8:19PM

When we last left our heroine, she was at an Irish pub in the awful land of Washington, D.C.: a land full of people with agendas and horribly arranged streets…

We’d moved to a larger room in the back of The Dubliner and our group was gaining people like crazy. By this time, many in the group were inebriated. I was drinking my Coca-Cola (yeah, yeah, I’m drinking caffeine again–I’ll pay for it later) and enjoying the show.

It’s not my job to tell you everything that they did or said. It’s really not fair to them. Truly. They desperately need to be tattled on, but they all have their own blogs and if they can remember, more power to them. What I remember most keenly was our waiter. In an Irish pub, anyone with any kind of European accent sounds Irish. This is particularly true when everyone in the room is inebriated. What happens is that everything is much funnier than it really is.

Because of this situation, when it came to conversing with the waiter, I thought that it was hysterical that he wasn’t really Irish (look, he SOUNDED IRISH–if it looks like a Lucky Charm and walks like a Lucky Charm–yep, I’m kidding and yep, someone is gonna take that personally and yep, someone is gonna call me names). If you’d like to call me sauerkraut, go ahead.

Anyway, I made it my mission to discover the heritage of our waiter. As such, I refused to give him my order until he would disclose. What? I was in Washington. Disclosure is the name of the game. You can’t live there and not carry around your birth certificate, right?

Eventually, he gave it up to me and my friend Sarah that he was English and French. Sarah is French so this was an incredibly delightful conversation that ended with us holding our waiter up for ten minutes while we compared family histories and had a new best friend who was now required to serve all of our food “with love” because it was inevitable that we were somehow related (me being 1/4 English and Sarah being French).

And yes, I required him to say that everything had love in it.

This was much better than the experience we had at a bar later in the week where they wouldn’t allow us in because Caleb’s license had expired and they refused to believe he was over 21 even though he was supporting a full logger beard and it was clearly him on the license. And then when the guy who refused to let us in mouthed off to Caleb and Ben and made the situation ten times worse… Oh, you want to hear about that, too?

It was a long weekend. And I met a girl named Beer.

Walking the dog

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 10, 2009 . 10:38AM

For the last several months, I’ve been “off my program.” My program had been eating good for me foods and losing weight. Unfortunately, I’d hit a plateau, and after a month of said plateau, I gave up the fight. It wasn’t a huge deal for me, but I wanted to keep moving forward on my loss. I hadn’t been motivated until Halloween. I saw my Halloween pictures and thought, “Man, I really wanted to be a Merlotte’s waitress this year.” Yes, Brandon would probably classify it as a slut costume, but I love True Blood and I really want to do homage to the show without being a vampire. When I looked at the costume though, I thought to myself, “Self, you clearly cannot wear that costume in your current condition. It’s about that time.” So, yes. I am going to get myself in shape for a Halloween costume. I don’t see that it’s any better or worse than anyone else’s excuse. Besides, I have been working on getting in shape for me for a long time. This is just the added motivation.

My YMCA card had dust on it, so I blew that sucker off and decided to get back to business. Over the weekend, I’d managed to get ‘er done (yes, I just said it-go on and disown me), but after the car fiasco, I knew there wouldn’t be time to workout. My fitness guru and very good friend, Mike, has been yoda-ing me in this go-round and he’d cautioned that I needed a recovery day for my body. So, I decided that a nice, leisurely walk with Reagan would do the trick.

I don’t play favorites with walking the dogs, it’s just that Sophie tuckers out after a block and Molly is so busy sniffing and marking territory that I’d never get anywhere if I took them. Reagan is built Ford-tough. She has tiny legs and some serious muscle in that little weiner dog body of hers. She went with me today for 35 minutes without complaint. We did have some adventures, though.

-We attacked every crunchy leaf in the vicinity of our walk. As the trees are letting them drop like crazy, this amounted to some serious attacks.

-A school bus full of children waved at us.

-Reagan whined at the school bus full of children because she knows that the school bus might mean AJ is there.

-When the bus went past with no AJ, she pouted, moped, and refused to jump on crunchy leaves until I was ahead of her crunchy leaf ratio 10:1.

-We went around a park and found a small stream that I didn’t know existed.

-A car drove past us with a little dog in it that so desperately wanted to make Reagan it’s “friend” that it almost jumped out the window. I watched as it slowly drove past with the dog hanging out the window and the owner laughing so hard he almost let go of the little dog.

-We saw some beautiful fall foliage.

-A LOOSE doberman came running after Reagan. Apparently my horns came out because I yelled at it “NO!” and “YOU GO HOME YOU VERY BAD DOG!” and it literally turned and ran with its tail between it’s legs. Wussy. I must have a fierce angry face. Don’t mess with anything I believe belongs to me. I will ruin you. I don’t care if you have teeth that can tear me apart. I look really mean when I’m mad. And if I see it again I will have no problem calling animal control and letting those people pay to get that dog back. Leash laws are there for a reason.

-Reagan gave me the biggest, happiest face when she saw the front yard. Dogs can grin, you know? We both got our fitness on.

Overall, my walk today was simply breathtaking. It helped remind me why fall is my favorite season. I hope that all of you are spending some time outside just enjoying the scents and beauty of this time of year. I want to take a second and thank Mike, one more time, for the time and effort he has been putting into me. My friendships mean a lot to me and he’s holding me accountable this time and it is what I needed. I’m one of those needy, hard to be friends with people because sarcasm is my defense mechanism, so it really is hard to put up with me on a regular basis. I’m also sensitive, so I take things the wrong way a lot. To be “in charge” of anything I’m doing, especially when I’m such a type-A, has got to be a pain in the butt, so thank you, again.

Prom and bad 90s hair

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 6, 2009 . 10:57AM

Other events that were important to my life coincided with the break-up with green eyes. One of the miracles of my life happened right before my junior prom in the form of a teeny, tiny preemie. Livvy, my only sibling and 16 years my junior, came into the world with serious struggles. When I finally got to hold her, through an incubator, she fit into the palm of my medium-sized hands. Rarely have I loved a person so much in my life and they were taking her from me. Our small town was not equipped to handle preemies and she would have to go to a larger hospital. It would be her home, and that of my mother and step-father, for many months. I will always be thankful to the Ronald McDonald house for allowing my mother to be with my sister.

Livvy was born three weeks before my junior prom. As such, my mother didn’t have time to go dress hunting with me or even see me before my junior prom. Thankfully, my aunt stepped in and green eyes and I had a fine night. I think. I don’t remember much of it because there was so much emotional turmoil around that time, both with his absence and Livvy’s health.

Livvy eventually came home and green eyes eventually drifted away and a new normal came to me. It wasn’t without much resistence on my part, however. I lost 30 pounds simply because I wasn’t interested in eating. I was depressed and had lost interested in most everything and everyone around me. I was starting to finally feel like myself when I developed what felt like the worst cold ever. My nose started dripping like a faucet and I’d rubbed the thing raw. My best friend, at the time, was a boy we later determined was related to me somehow. He and I went to Wal-mart, where I worked (I have SO many stories about that place) and saw the new guy stocking the shelves. A cute new guy. One I’d only seen in passing while we were zoning the area at night. I’d been lucky enough to help him a couple of times.

I’d never been a forward kind of girl. I’m shy, especially where my looks are concerned and even with the weight loss, I was sure he wasn’t interested in me. Nevertheless, I went up to him with my dripping, peeling nose and started talking to him. He talked back and seemed amused by what I was saying. Eventually we made a date. One date turned into several and we dated on and off, though mainly on, throughout my senior year of high school. He was a few years older than I was and was very different from the guys I went to school with. He introduced me to “No diggity” (which is still one of my favorite songs) and was probably one of, if not THE nicest person I’ve ever dated. He also took me to Olive Garden for the first time in my 17 years.

I don’t know anyone that didn’t like Aaron. He made friends with all of my friends and the people at work adored him. The girls at work really adored him. He kept his eyes on me. I felt adored. His sister and brother felt like my family. I thought a lot of them and still do. I have no idea what my senior year would have been like if his kind spirit hadn’t been a part of my life. My family was dealing with a lot of issues, not just a new baby. He was there for me and I will always appreciate that about him.

He was also my prom date that year. Strangely enough, I remember most everything about that night. I remember sitting in the chair at my salon and watching my stylist place mini-flowers in my hair and wondering if they looked Asian enough. Would Aaron like them? Was it too much? Were my bangs too high? The answer to the bang question was YES, THEY WERE TOO HIGH.

I remember the moment he saw me and the smile he gave me. I remember that his hands are really strong and when he held mine to walk me into the convention center that I couldn’t stop smiling. We sat with our friends and there was much dancing and laughing. When prom was over, we went to a friend’s house and, in my typical party animal fashion, I promptly fell asleep on the couch.

I’m a winner.

Three weeks later, I broke up with him for a guy who truly believed that there is a dark side and he was a jedi knight. I still have a lot of guilt about this and I’m so, so sorry, Aaron. It was among the most stupid decisions I’ve ever made. I’m a firm believe that things turn out the way they should, though, and I’m really glad that we are still friends. You were the best prom date ever.

This one’s for the dorks

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 4, 2009 . 10:26AM

I’m a dork.

Full-fledged geek extraordinaire.

I’m ok with it and I’m not sure why others aren’t, especially when I’ve embraced this aspect of myself. Is it no longer cool to go with the self-acceptance? Dork has such a negative connotation, but there is something to be said for people that are eccentric, quirky or don’t go with the flow. We tend to stand out. Some may say that it’s not in a positive way, but I don’t think that the way I am presents itself in a bad manner.

Last week, I was in class and one of my friends was talking to another cohort about the highlights she’s had all semester. She has spent a lot of time on her outer beauty this semester and I’ve really noticed. She’s beautiful. I don’t swing that way, but if I did, I’d give her a second glance. She’s a precious, sweet, amazing, funny woman and I think that she is special. She’d commented that it took almost the entire semester for this other person in the cohort to notice that she’d had her hair done. I made the comment that I’d noticed and that I’d “been digging on her all semester.”

Not only did she smile, but she came over to me, hugged me tightly and then she and another girl made me an “Oreo sandwich.” Apparently, this is where two amazingly precious African American sweethearts hug a confused Caucasian girl and make her the cream filling. Needless to say, there were some interesting comments about what I said, but I shrug them off. I’m an equal opportunity flirt and this girl deserved what I said. Yes, it took cajones to say it, but it’s part of being quirky: You say things that others might not and it changes the outlook of the group, one way or another. She needed to hear that she is adored and accepted. I met the need and was rewarded by her, kindly.

It’s part of being a friend.

I sing in the car. Loudly. With hand gestures. Cars around me either laugh and point or join along.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and it gets me into trouble more often than not. I get hurt a lot. It’s who I am.

I will eat chicken pot pie 4 days in a row and then convince my twitter friends, they should, too. Don’t lie. You know you ate the pot pie.

I laugh at fart jokes. I tell them in public.

I’m the girl who doesn’t wear the camisole under her shirt and doesn’t realize she’s flashed people until after the fact. It wasn’t that I was trying, I just didn’t realize the shirt went down that far. It didn’t occur to me. I’m glad you enjoyed the show. They ARE beautiful.

I rarely spend more than 5 minutes on my makeup and if my hair takes more than 10, I leave it where it’s at.

I wear sneakers most every day. Screw dress up shoes.

I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl.

My perfume smells like lemons. Not a girlie smell, a CLEAN smell.

I hate to cook and clean.

I literally just played rock, paper, scissors with a presenter while the professor took over her presentation and we got bored.

I make inappropriate jokes. All the time. At the wrong times. In company where it’s wholly inappropriate.

I named my car “Betty” because anything I spend that much time with deserves to have a name.

I make fun of my education. I have to. 22 years of education makes me a nerd, along with being a geek and a dork. Yes, it also makes me smart. I’m proud of it, but not so proud that I have to make you feel stupid. I may be stupid for sitting my butt in desks made for a 7th grader for so long. We can all be happy about our education.

I wear braids, pigtails and buns. I go out in public like this. I think I look cute.

I wear the friendship bracelets my 13-year old sister made me with pride. I’ll wear them until they wear out. If you don’t like them, don’t look at them.

I want people to be my friend. Including my professors and people that may not necessarily want to be friends with someone as free with their words as I am. I have no problem joking and cajoling until people give in and become my friend. I can be charming when I want to be. Not in the typical manner. I will run up to people and invade their personal space by hugging them before they know me. Sorry about that.

I’ve done the time warp.

I’ve made, worn and given out warm fuzzies.

Butterfly and eskimo kisses are my favorite to give and receive.

I spend way too much time on my computer, but I do it because I miss the people I’ve met on here when I don’t.

I text more often than I should.

When I have my sunroof open, I feel invincible.

How are you a proud dork?

A fairytale: Green eyes and brown eyes Part II

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . October 26, 2009 . 10:40AM

Green eyes was a computer programmer in his spare time. For someone so young, this was a pretty big accomplishment. The brown-eyed girl didn’t understand the fascination, but she was into green eyes and watched as he explained the coding sequence for a program he’d completed on his computer. She leaned forward and tried to understand what he was saying. As he pointed to the screen, he turned to her, smiled, leaned in towards her and….

Perverts. I’m not telling you about that. It was a special moment and you can go make your own.

The brown-eyed girl smiled and took his hand. From the other room, she heard his friend yell, “Did you kiss her yet? Have you asked her out? Is it official? C’mon man, I don’t have all night. Just do it!” She laughed and blushed, as did he.

Days turned to weeks and over the winter holiday they spent much time together. They had the same group of friends, so they were able to spend time apart without it overwhelming them or feeling threatened, as so many do at that age. However, they found it hard to find time alone and decided to get creative.

Just outside of town was a farm area that sat atop a hill and next to a wooded area. The snow was crisp and she would slowly pull her crimson colored car to the edge of the woods. He would sit on the hood of her car and she would lean against him as he held her. They would make up stories of wolves and ax-men and all of the things that might be in the woods. Really, it was an excuse to look at the stars and the trees and the beautiful, snow covered hilly area. Never in her life had the brown-eyed girl been happier.

However, all good things must come to an end. At the end of the holiday vacation, Green eyes called her. It was clear from the tone of his voice that he’d been crying. He told her that his father had been relocated and that they were moving in less than a month.

She was crushed. She was losing him just as she’d found him. She was also losing her best friend.

Their parents were very supportive; Perhaps moreso than they should be have been in a situation with teenagers so young. You don’t need to know the details, but they tried to make it work. They tried desperately, but with over 600 miles separating them, and before free nights and weekends, it was not possible to maintain the relationship. Reluctantly, the brown-eyed girl said good-bye.

Both moved on and found happiness elsewhere, but years later, with the accessibility of the internet, found one another again. The brown-eyed girl was newly married and the green-eyed boy was, again, miles and miles away. They agreed to keep in touch.

And they do.

Some connections remain, regardless of time and circumstance.