I wish I had tons of stories to tell you, but Jill has once again fallen off the stupid wagon a bit.
Did I ever tell you the story about her flying cell phone?
One day, while doing yard work, Jill placed her phone on top of her friend's car and said, "Friend, whatever you do, don't drive away with my phone on your car!" So what did her friend do?
She drove away with Jill's phone on her car.
Now by this time it was nighttime and black as pitch. When Jill finally realized that both her friend's car and her cell phone atop it where gone, she despaired of ever finding it.
But then Jill had a brilliant idea, and you know how infrequently that happens to my sister. She thought, I'll jump in my car and repeatedly call my phone. Maybe I'll be able to see it lighting up when the call goes through.
Would you believe she found that damn phone, about a mile from her house, sitting in the middle of a busy road, flashing for all it was worth?
And now that I've written this out, I do believe I've already shared this story. Well crap, sucks for you!
Jill always seems to find herself witness to things that the rest of us would never see in a lifetime. For her, they're common occurrences.
A couple of months ago while driving home, she rang me on her cell and said, "Justine, you're not gonna believe this! I just saw a car EXPLODE!"
Now in Jill-speak that could mean that a car backfired... you just never know. So, I had to be very specific while questioning her.
Me: You literally saw a car explode?
Jill: Yes! Right on the exit ramp! It EXPLODED!
Me: But did you actually see it happen, or did you just hear it?
Jill: Well, I can't remember now if I actually saw it happen at that very moment, but I heard a huge BOOM and then flames shot up in the air!
Me: Flames in the air, huh? Or was it maybe just a smoking, overheated engine?
Jill: Justine! I'm telling you, the frickin' car exploded! It's on fire right now, right in front of me! That's it. I'm hanging up to take a picture to PROVE it to you. Sheesh, you never believe me!
Case closed. Jill indeed saw a car explode. My bad!
Co-cooking with Jill can sometimes be fun, especially when it means I don't have to do all the work. Last month she and the girls were here and I decided to make her a nice meal of chicken cutlet parmesan, and left her in charge of making spaghetti with garlic and oil. I wish I could spell out the Italian way of saying that but I have no clue how. I'll just tell you that it sounds like "Spaghetti ahoyeeoh"
Once the spaghetti was done, Jill was on the hunt for a colander to drain it, but instead she asked me, "Do you have a restrainer?"
Me: Excuse me? A what? You want to put a restraining order against your pasta? What? Is it not al'dente enough?
Jill: A restrainer? A retainer? Shit! What am I trying to say?
Me: A strainer?
Jill: Yes! That's what I need! A strainer!
Me: No you don't you moron, you need a colander. This is a strainer (grabbing one from the cabinet to show the dummy)
You need a colander, dipshit. What kind of Italian are you anyway?
Fast forward (or maybe it's rewind... I can't keep up with this stuff!) to a day when Jill was having our parents to her house for dinner. She was making meat loaf, or so I thought.
Jill called me from Publix.
Jill: "Hey, how much pot do you think I need for my roast?"
Me: Erm... what?
Jill: How much pot do you think I need for my roast?
Me: Well, that depends on how stoned you want to get our parents, you idiot! What the hell are you talking about? You're making meatloaf, right?
Jill: Oh shit, what did I say now?
Me: Oh never mind! Two pounds! Two pounds should do it!
Then another relaxing day with Jill and the girls here for a visit. We were sitting outside in the bitch cave when Strudel ran up to Jill excitedly, shoving her snout at her for some loving. Jill squirms away saying, "Ewww.... Oh how I love having a wet ass up my nose!"
Now the last time I checked Strudel's ass was not plastered to her face, nor have I ever seen it wet, so I have no clue where this Jillism came from. All I could do was laugh and grab my notebook to write down her words verbatim.
I don't know what to tell you, I don't even know what to think about my dear sister. There must be a really wild party going on with the relays in her brain. Maybe her neurotransmitters are dancing the flamingo. Did I ever mention that she honestly thought the Latin dance, the flemenco was in fact called the flamingo?
I shit you not, people. I shit you not.