Even Stevens, do you hear me?

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . February 16, 2010 . 10:10PM

So, my karma has been on the evil side of bad lately.

Frankly, I knew it was coming. I’ve been a bad girl and I was due. When it came, it came and hit me horribly. Without going into all the details, life came crashing down and the effects are long-lasting and hard. Sickness and horror upon friends and acquaintances, hard times, school frustration, you name it. The business of life has been quite a lot to bear lately.

However, I’ve taken my licks like a woman and not a child and I think that I have just about had enough. Tonight, we’re in the black, karma. In. the. black.

I just went to take a shower. I was stank. Truly. My hair was greasy. I have been inside with the dogs all day due to snow and I just needed to feel clean. I leave tomorrow for a conference and if I don’t shower tonight, my long, thick, wavy hair will never dry in time for me to make my flight. It’s why I take my showers at night unless I want to have a bad 80s perm all day.

After making my way upstairs, I gathered my pajamas and went to the bathroom where I noticed that one of my two major sources of light was out. This wouldn’t be a problem but I needed to shave my legs. I know this is too much information, but bear with me. You have to know this part of the story. I’m 5′11″ and my body is all legs. I need that light to see and, quite frankly, I’d been waiting to shave until the night before the trip so I’d be silky smooth. Ladies, you know what I mean.

With a dubious look to the light, I started the water and figured I’d soldier on. How difficult could shaving be in the semi-dark? I could still see the legs, just not the hair.

This is the part where karma laughs at me loud and long.

We’re all good until the shaving part. I’ve put my conditioner in to set while I shave. With the first stroke, I know I’m in trouble. My blade is dull. It’s the last blade I have left before a trip I’m going on tomorrow and all I have is a dull blade, hairy legs and a dark bathroom. I make the unwise decision that if I shave MORE SLOWLY the blade will still do the work of a sharp blade.

I’m a smart person. This was not a smart moment.

I cannot see the leg, so I shave some areas and not others and then shave over some parts and make then sensitive and tender to touch. Nicks are everywhere.

This is when karma and I become even.

Someone in my house, either the 9-year-old or the 32-year-old, makes the unwitting decision that I need to be put in my place once and for all: They turn the water on. As I’m sliding the dull blade up my leg, yet again, the water goes from luke warm to scalding in about 2 seconds. I jump, the blade skips up my leg and…you can see where this is going.

I still have conditioner in my hair.

I’m hurt.

I’m angry.

And this is not funny.

Eventually the water turns lukewarm and I throw the razor across the bathroom and wash my hair out.

We are even, karma. Even Stevens. Do you hear me? It’s over.

Stairmaster, you elusive mistress

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . December 9, 2009 . 8:33PM

For a while now, I’ve been working on my fitness and thus far, it’s been a productive measure. I feel things toning and fat is burning and unpleasant things are happening to my body that I’ve been reassured are GREAT! Those unpleasant things mean that what I’m doing is working! Woot!

Last week, I was on the phone with my trainer and he scolded me. This is becoming commonplace. I need a little scolding now and then because, quite frankly, I’m bad. I have horns. Don’t be surprised when I do bad things. I’m not good. So, yes, sometimes I get scolded.

The reason for the scolding this time was that I’d become comfortable with the evil, wretched treadmill and the *heavens open up and light shines down* amazing, wonderful, beautiful elliptical machine. I was alternating them and frankly, my dear, it wasn’t enough. I needed variety. [insert scolding and I told you's here]

My response was “Yeah, yeah, yeah but stairs scare me! When I climb the stairs at school I end them in the fetal position and rocking.”

My trainer, Mike, was not impressed, yelled some more, and told me to get my butt on the stairmaster.

Whatever.

So I have thrown in it the mix.

It’s going to kill me yet.

When I’m on the stairmaster, I don’t get the nice feelings or the high that I get on the elliptical or the numbing, dulling zone out of the treadmill. I get the tired legs and the “you’re going to die mwahahahahah” of the stairmaster. I admit: I want to give up. Here’s how I don’t: I make up elaborate fantasies and schemes as to what will happen if I can complete my 25 minute stairmaster rotation.

“If I can just get through the next 10 minutes I can have that condo in downtown Nashville that I want! Floor to ceiling windows, baby. Decorate it any way I want it and my drive to both work and school is down to 10 minutes. Boo-yah!”

“If I can just get through the next 20 minutes, the minute I step off this stairmaster, a swarthy pirate named Hugh Jackman is going to come out the bathroom, growl, “MMM, I always liked ‘em chubby” and throw me over his shoulder while I meekly say, “Help. I’m being abducted.” Then he will buy me my condo in Nashville.”

Wait. What were we talking about? Oh, the stairmaster. See? That’s how I get through it. Man, I love me a pirate.

You haven’t conquered me yet, stairmaster. Hugh and I are going to get through this. We always do.

Runners

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . December 8, 2009 . 11:18PM

Dear 5am runners,

Before Thanksgiving, I had the opportunity, NAY, the privilege of being up around 5am. The reasons why are unimportant, but, needless to say, I’d rather stay up all night than get up at that time and my thought was that I’d rather run laps over hot coals than get up at that time in the near future ever again.

Anyway, I was driving at the unholy hour and it was foggy and colder than a chicken nugget in a freezer in the South Pole and I thought to myself, “Self, what kind of person would subject him or herself to this weather and this hour on purpose?” And then I saw you running and it came to me.

A crazy person.

A crazy person does this.

So, I salute you devoted runner. You take it to a whole new level. I appreciate your dedication to getting your buff on when even icecicles wouldn’t go outside. I’m sure your muscles appreciate thawing out in -1000 degree temperature and waking up at 4:30am to “get in the morning run.”

Yep.

You enjoy that.

I’m just going to go back to bed.

Sincerely,

Female dog attacks

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 23, 2009 . 4:17PM

Sometimes our friends want to know how Leon and I argue. We generally are both pretty good humored and seem like our relationship is even-flowing. We’re like any other couple in that we have lots of ups and downs. Things aren’t always as flawless as they may seem. I’d like to think that we handle things with a certain finesse, however.

Here’s one example.

In the middle of a disagreement…

Leon: (begins laughing uncontrollably)
Jillian: WHAT?!
Leon: I was just thinking “Maybe if I stay very still she’ll think I’m dead and attack something else.”
Jillian:…
Jillian: …
Jillian: I don’t even know what to say right now
(Later he admits that he thought “It’s not working, run away!”)

Yep. That’s our marriage.

The ice cream truck

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 21, 2009 . 4:23PM

I was going through my old journal entries and I found some that I decided Blueshelled.com would be remiss without. That, and I’m pretty lazy and I haven’t been writing enough lately. This one was from September of 2008.

Our life is like a sitcom:

*softly tinkling music in the background while Jillian and Leon watch a movie. Adrian is upstairs*
Jillian (looking up at Leon): I hear the ice cream truck.
Leon: Uh-huh (back to the movie)
…2 seconds later…
Adrian, from upstairs: ICCCCEEEE CRREEEAM TRUCCCCCK! *sounds of crashing and running legs going down stairs, the door flies open and we see a flash of red going out the front door*
Jillian (barely looking up): Give me a second to pull out my money.