Those feisty Irish...

A little round Irish lady with flaming red hair, apparently drunk, came up to the Scotsman at a reception during his Canadian conference last week, and asked if he was wearing his kilt in the traditional manner (called "regimental", meaning "with no underwear). He swore that he was regimental, serious kilt-wearers don't do it any other way, and the Irish woman said she didn't beleive him, he was an American, and couldn't possibly be that serious about his heritage.
THEN SHE LIFTED UP HIS KILT, right in the middle of the conference, to reveal...his regimental status!
But, that's not all she did. She ran and got a friend, saying, "He really isn't", and... SHOWED HER!!!

i told you i was worried about his hotness, and how it'd affect the ladies! at janeh928@yahoo.com

Get me a pineapple, stat!

The Scotsman and I spent the weekend MELTING!
It was damn-awful hot, and his airconditioner was putting in a half-hearted attempt at staying alive.
The Scotsman(standing on the bed, looking at the ceiling vent): "I think it's sending out some air, but it's not cold. I think it's the same temperature as the room."
ME (standing on a chair): "Maybe the vent needs cleaned?"
The VENT: Shudder, Gasp, WHeeeeeeZZEE....clunk, raa-tttle, puff.
The Scotsman: "Um, no. It's dead."
So, we spent most of Memorial Day at the pool, or in the Man Cave with the lights off, in our swimsuits, plastered to the floor, in front of a fan, watching Animal Planet's marathon of "The Little Zoo that Could".
AWWWWW, tigers and baby monkeys with brain damage. GOOD television, people!
And then, the Scotsman became just a little bit more wonderful in my eyes. He is 1.)Brilliant 2.)Very sexy when covered in sweat and swearing at the sun for producing heat-rays.
We go to the store, and very mysteriously, the Scotsman fills our cart with: a pineapple, three oranges and two bananas. At home, he gets a blender, frozen strawberries, ice and some rums (lots of kinds of rums in his cabinet, surprise!), and right before my eyes:
HE MADE FRUITY PINEAPPLE RUM DRINKS!!! With straws! In an actual pineapple!!!
It was delicious, and almost made us forget we were living in an oven for five minutes.

All that sun, and I managed to produce three freckles at janeh928@yahoo.com

There is no such thing as a perfect week of reporting...

I pursue a dream, a lofty, unreachable dream. A dream made impossible by uncooperative people, hurried editors and the fact that one page of copy goes through five or six different hands before it goes to print, and inevitably something gets changed somewhere.
It will be a day of great rejoicing should I get a paper out with all my work perfect, with no angry phonecalls, or even worse, the people who call not to yell, but to "helpfully" point out all your mistakes. Like today:
Lady on phone: "My dear, I'm sure it's not your fault, but you referred to Ms. Jones as " a school librarian" in your article. I just called to correct you because Ms. Jones is not, in fact, the "school librarian", but is the "assistant school librarian". She only checks out the books, she doesn't organize any of the programs. But, I saw that you were very young, you must still be learning... Do you think it would be possible to run the whole article again, with that correction?"
It's difficult not to reply with the following:
"A school librarian implies that there are more than one persons in that position, not that Ms. Jones is the only one who works there. But thank you for nit-picking. I'm sure everyone was horrified to find that I may have given Ms. Jones credit for doing anything other than checking out books. Your helpful comments have certainly helped me to learn, since I am so young and inexperienced. It's difficult to handle the pressures of reporting for an elementary school after only having three years of experience in criminal reporting. And sure, we'll take a whole page next week, to correct that glaring error and just hold the story on the town council's decision to do away with random drug testing for town employees (including themselves) for another edition. NO PROBLEM! Have a nice day, you old grizzle-hag!

Now, I will go running at the gym for a year and a half, follow that by drowning in a strawberry sundae and end my day with equal torture to being a reporter: plucking stray eyebrow hairs!!

Why doesn't anyone ever call about the good work I do?? at janeh928@yahoo.com

The Farmer's Market

It was such a lovely weekend. We made the most of it, because the Scotsman is making a trip to Canada-land this week, and we won't be able to talk, and I will miss him.
The best part: Saturday.
We went to the farmer's market in his town and were there forever, just browsing and making fun of people and eating good samples of things like: cuban sandwiches, french roast garlic soup and homemade on the farm breakfast sausage. We talked to the wine snobs in the wine area, and bought a few bottles.
The Scotsman: We don't need any wine, do we?
ME: No, we've got a lot at home.
Him: Okay.
(Talking to wine guys, trying several wines, time passes.)
The Scotsman, setting two bottles on the cash register: Okay, we'll take these.
Me: Umm... okay!
That's why we like each other.
We went to an International Festival after that, and ate our way through the world.
Good things: Spring rolls and Iced Coffee from Thailand; Guiness from Ireland; shortbread from Scotland (YUM), practically anything from Italy, China, Greece and Germany. Some lovely items from the middle-east.
BAD things: Haggis from Scotland (sorry, honey); Blue corn punch from Guatemala; Indian curry!
For a late-evening snack on Saturday, we had some cheese, strawberries, Boujoulais from his cousin Sarah and bread we bought from the market, out on his patio. VERY romantic.
VERY European.
On Sunday, we went shooting, and the Scotsman showed good form at his softball game.
I do worry about him being at this Canadian event this week. He is such a hottie!

Ate too much and had to roll myself home at janeh928@yahoo.com

Humble pie...

Right after I posted my last nasty blog entry, glorying in the misfortune of my friend Monk, I went out to the parking lot to find: my car had a flat tire, caused by a nail in the tread.

In the words of Earl, "karma came up and bit me in the ass." (NBC's, "My Name is Earl". Long live Jason Lee!)

I was a mean person, and deserve now the frustration caused by having to change a tire and go get the real tire patched while driving on a hideous spare that officially transforms my vehicle (also in desperate need of a bath) into the GhettoBlaster.

From now on, I promise to be nice to people with chronic diarrhea.

bad, bad jane at janeh928@yahoo.com

Just desserts...

Ah! It is so nice to see a crap-weasel like Monk get what he deserves!
And what he deserves is: chronic diarrhea!
Oh yes, it is true, and it is totally the most funny thing that has ever happened In. The. World.
Monk can't stop pooping, and his tummy is bloated to a permanent basket-ball size pooch.
He had to cancel a date because he couldn't get out of the bathroom!
(Take that, you jerk, for calling me "a thick girl" and cheating on me!)
He went to the doctor, finally, after 4 or 5 days of non-stop bathroom breaks, and was told that he might have an INTESTINAL PARASITE (horrors! the OCD clean-freak has picked up something much worse than a germ! how did that happen? he can't even touch plants because they grow in dirt!!)
The doctor (now my BEST friend) gave Monk a plastic "top-hat" contraption to poopy in, and four tiny plastic vials that he must fill with the runny hat-poo then take to the hospital for evaluation.
That was four days ago, and the hat still sits untouched on his dresser. Monk can't bear to touch the poo, though it may cost him his life, or his small intestine, if he doesn't.

And the best part: little four-year olds running up to the bathroom door to inform Monk that he's "stinkin' up the hallway. Don't you have some Stinky Spray to use?"

BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA at janeh928@yahoo.com

Garage sales and Rhubarb pies...

I love the Scotsman. He took me to his grammy's this weekend for an all town garage sale and we spent Saturday looking at antique tables, drinking glasses from the '60s, Craftsman workbenches and all the weird stuff people think you'll buy from their backyard.
It was a lot of fun. Mainly because he's so enthusiastic about things like tin snips and axe handles.
And he got so excited about the workbench that I thought he was going to die.
(Lumberjack, the yard sale thing, it's another reason that you'll love the Scotsman!)
We also went to the church breakfast, lunch and bake sale. I had just the BEST rhubarb pie ev-ar. THAT was what I was excited about. (It's a wonder I'm not a whale, in all honesty!)
On Saturday afternoon, because we had attended a party on Friday night, then drove to Illinois immediately afterward, I took a long nap.
The Scotsman chainsawed wood in the backyard, then went to help his dad move farming equipment, and that took forever, but I think he even had fun doing that. He came home covered in dirt! And smelly! But I still wanted to kiss him!
(Lumberjack--that's your cue to come over to G-field and hit me for being cheesy and in love!)
On Sunday, he got to experience for the first time ever, Jane: Crying for No Reason. (It was hormonal, and he's glad he's not a girl) But he was very nice about it, and hugged me and asked if there was anything he could do, which, in this kind of a situation there isn't, except for being nice and asking what you can do, so he did the right thing and he didn't even know it.
I want to marry him.

I feel like one of those people who you see kissing on the sidewalk as if no one was watching and getting grossed out.

get a room for crying out loud! at janeh928@yahoo.com

Get your Ice Cream Here!!

Today, I was at Waldenbooks, buying a birthday present for a friend, when this rapper-guy loped into the store. He stood next to me for a minute, munching on an icecream cone, then he asked me what book I was looking at.
I said: "'Mother' by Maya Angelou, it's for a friend."
He took a bite of ice cream and, with his mouth still full said: "mp#0phhier398"
And I said: "What?"
He replied: "When you're done in this store would you come out so I can buy you some icecream?"

It was hysterical! I sort of felt bad for his pathetic existence.
So I said: "Oh, well, I don't think my boyfriend would want me to do that, but thank you for asking anyway."
He said: "Ok, I was just wondering" and walked out.
We saw each other later, as I was leaving the mall and both of us sort of smiled and laughed!

didn't your mom ever tell you not to hit on women while your mouth's still full? at janeh928@yahoo.com