My Mouth Is Requesting A New Home

So I have some problems in my mouth this week. And they are all self-inflicted. If I hurt my mouth one more time it will surely pack up and leave for good.

INCIDENT ONE
Early in the week I accidentally took out a big chunk of my lip/cheek while inhaling falafel and baba ganoush. It hurt so bad! But not bad enough for me to stop eating all together. Oh no, you can't stop eating a vegetarian combination once you've started. All week I kept making the wound worse. I re-injured my painful boo boo 6 times during one meal. 6 TIMES! All because I HAD to eat a salad and of course it was drenched in balsamic vinaigrette. I'm evil.

INCIDENT TWO
I am in love with one item from Einstein's Bagels--spinach/egg/bacon panini sandwich. This thing is amazing! I get it at least a couple of times throughout the month. Fortunately, the sandwich is always hot. Unfortunately, I'm always starving. It is physically impossible for me to not just wait a few moments before I eat the damn thing. Yesterday, I burned off a big portion of the roof of my mouth as a result. It hurt so bad! But not bad enough for me to stop eating all together. Oh no, you can't stop eating the panini once you've started. It still hurts and I keep running my tongue over it which also must be aggravating. Mr. Jarcy also confirmed I did a number on it. I opened my mouth up and he said, "Oh yeah, you did burn it off. I can see a pink spot where the skin used to be." AHHH! Somebody lock me up, I can't be trusted.

INCIDENT THREE (ON DECK)
I'm about to eat a frozen pizza. I bought the cheese and sauce variety and then topped it with green olives and red bell pepper. I hope I can just give it a moment to cool before I dig in or it will hurt so bad! But I won't stop. Oh no, you can't stop eating a green olive and red pepper pizza once you've started. I better get the first aid kit out, it could be a long night.

Three Confession Friday

I like to brush my teeth in the shower. Some people probably think that's gross. Mr. Jarcy doesn't know I do this. He's one of those people who probably thinks it is gross. It's a habit I started in college and dormitory showers are the absolute perfect place for it. If I stayed at your home I'd want to brush my teeth in your shower too. If we were showering together I'd wait until you got out and then I'd do it. I don't like an audience.

Big Fat Booty

When it comes to love, marriage and all that fun stuff, there really is one overriding rule you must adhere. A very wise woman (okay, its my mother) told me this and I've passed it on among the ranks (I mean my friends). Now I share with you (anyone who is reading):

NEVER SETTLE FOR POTENTIAL.

That's it. You can vary it up if you like with "Never marry potential," or "Never move in with potential and then financially support" but the message remains the same. All bits aside, it is easily the best advice I was ever given and implementing it can save you loads of heartache.

Now I've taken my mother's words a step further and I think you'll appreciate it:

NEVER SETTLE FOR SOMEONE

WHO WEARS A FANNY PACK.

Men sporting a fanny pack by definition fall into the "just potential" category. They can be moved into a "more than potential" bracket but not without a lot of effort on your part and even then may not be worth the trouble. This applies to women as well. With so many more stylish options out there--pocket, purse, hell even a backpack--there is no reason to don the fanny pack. So unless you are camping or hiking--and only if you are camping or hiking--fanny packs are a "just potential" accessory. I'm not being catty, don't misunderstand. In my experience, that fanny pack is simply the tip of the iceberg. There will be loads more of "just potential" quirks and red flags to follow. Let that fanny pack act as your guide, it will not steer you wrong. If there is more clarification needed on this sage advice, just drop me a line and I will be happy to assist you. And in the meantime, follow my mom's rendition because it seems a little more all encompassing.

I Miss Ruth, David and the Whole Gang

Cat 1: Is she ever going to stop crying? Jesus, it's been hours!

Cat 2: It was the emotional series finale of "Six Feet Under." Give her a break, she thinks she's a Fisher.

Cat 1: Did you just mention fish?! Yum yum. I hope she gets tilapia tacos from Burrito House to numb her pain.

Help Me Help You

Eldest Mrs. Jarcy: How's work, Mrs. Jarcy?

Mrs. Jarcy: Good...uh, good.

Eldest Mrs. Jarcy: Which job are you referring to? I know you have a handful at this time. Which job is good?

Mrs. Jarcy: Hmmm...all of them?

Eldest Mrs. Jarcy: Have you had any more thoughts on which career you'd like to pursue next?

Mrs. Jarcy: Yes.

Eldest Mrs. Jarcy: Great! What would you like to do in life?!

Mrs. Jarcy: Nothing.

Eldest Mrs. Jarcy: Nothing?

Mrs. Jarcy: Yes, nothing.

Eldest Mrs. Jarcy: Hmmm...uh, well, hmmm... Would you like some more coffee?

Mrs. Jarcy: Oh yes please!

SCENE

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Ah, the stuff little girls' dreams are made of, right?! Right. While the above scene does come from Mrs. Jarcy's own life, the content is not completely in earnest. The truth is, I've held many positions in life. And that may be the root of my problem--I've enjoyed variety.

An at Random List of Mrs. Jarcy's Past and Present Modes of Employment:

• Hostess
• Voice over artist for automated phone systems
• Yoga Instructor
• Prevention Specialist for addictions counseling center
• Fish Breader (yes, I meant breader and not breeder)
• Babysitter
• Office Manager for graphic design company
• Waitress
• Office Manager for business consulting firm
• Bartender
• Coordinator of Volunteers for social service agency 1
• Caterer
• Manager of Volunteers for social service agency 2
• Box Office Attendant for a theater
• Health Educator at inner city clinic
• Corporate shows actor
• Salad and Pie Server for cafeteria-style restaurant in a mall
• Beverage Cart Girl for a golf course
• Office temp for psych office
• Dog walker/nanny
• Nonprofit Middle Manager
• Events Coordinator
• Beer Tent Saleswoman
• Gymnastics Instructor

Okay, I can't say I LOVED doing all of the above, but nonetheless, I have done them.

It is not always the case that opportunity outweighs ambition as I have previously stated. Sometimes you just can't figure out what to DO with that ambition. And in all honesty, I've met very few people who are doing what they truly love and feel is their life's calling. Maybe my calling really is to nanny a puppy two hours a day. Maybe my calling is to voice automated phone lines. Maybe I just need to pick one and make it my calling. Just pick one and do it well. Period. Enough already.

Mrs. Jarcy better do some sun salutations now before her head explodes.

When Did Moms Get So Hot?

Mrs. Jarcy doing her best Seinfeld impression--"What's the deal with all these hot moms?!"

Yesterday I strolled through my neighborhood and encountered a cluster of small children, hot nannies and equally attractive moms. The nannies you may expect to be hot because 1) they're often times au pairs and by nature au pairs are hot, 2) they're usually young and 3) they're in shape from pushing those semi-size strollers all around town. Even Mary Poppins is sort of hot. Moms, on the other hand, are a different breed. They've put their bodies through tremendous strain, dinner consists of whatever is left on junior's plate and sleep is a thing of the past. But this is not the case with the moms of today. I don't recall them being all so drop dead gorgeous growing up and today they are just that...super duper hot.

Now I do live in a neighborhood that boasts a large community of young families with tons of disposable income. There are boutiques popping up all over catering to hip moms, hip moms-to-be and children of hip moms. But these are not the only evidence to support the theory that moms are hotter than ever. There is more:

I have hot mom friends. Korn, beloved best friend of Mrs. Jarcy, just had baby number two and she sent me some pictures taken shortly after baby two was delivered. And guess what...this woman looked better after that trying ordeal than I do after two hours of primping. Sticky, other beloved best friend of Mrs. Jarcy, manages to exude hotness while trekking back to Chicago from her new home in China with two small boys in tow. Yes, two boys under the age of 6, practically two days of flight each way, without an assistant or husband...and she looks super hot. Does this defy the laws of nature? I think so.

I'm not done, there's even more: Friends who have expressed the desire to start baby making are (drum roll, please) SUPER HOT! And it is not just my perception that these ladies are hot, no, no, no! I've asked the men in my life as to their thoughts on these moms-to-be-to-be and the men unanimously agree my perception is correct. Hot actress, hot nonprofit manager, hot saleswoman, hot entrepreneur...they are every man's dream MILF in the making.

There were no MILFS in my years of growth or at least I was not at all conscious of them. Come to think of it, I don't recall dads looking so hotsy totsy either. Whatever, that's not the point. The point is I now cannot wait to be a mom. Yeah, yeah, I'll have a cute little bundle of joy to nurture and love, blah blah blah. More importantly, I too will lose my troll-like figure once and for all and join my fellow sisters in blissful MILFdom! Once considered an end to hotness, motherhood has now been shown to be just the beginning. Good work ladies, I am sold.

(Side note: Jerry Seinfeld's wife is totally hot.)

"Slim Sister" Has Taken The Lead...Whore

Mrs. Jarcy is overcome with grief for this most unfortunate circumstance cannot be...

Star Jones Reynolds is in better shape than me.

Well crap. Why god, why? Star has spent the last few years surgically altering her body, dieting and exercising and now looks better than I do. I have done very little to stay in shape unless eating only half a pumpkin loaf slice from Starbucky's counts. Now I have to add her to the list of those who are better than me. Yes, there is a list. Those who have been able to slim down and look fabulous are better than me.

So far the list is as follows:

1. Star "Slim Sister" Jones Reynolds
2. Kirstie "Almost Anorexic" Alley
3. Muffin the Dog

Muffin the Dog irked me the most. This little thing was a plump ewok at one point. I was astonished to see him one day all svelte and energetic. I asked his nun owner (yes, he was owned by a nun and a boy) what had catapulted Muffin's weight loss...could it be cancer? A bad intestinal infection? Adversity to his new senior dog food? No, she replied, he had been taken on many walks by other nuns and, therefore, lost weight! Evil little thing. I could lose 10 lbs. too if a whole community of nuns was rooting for me! I was so pissed off that I walked the 4 miles home from work that night in heels.

I might start dressing in long waist-cinching corsets and gowns from now on. Can anyone recommend a good tailor?

Can I be Jane Austen? Why not?

Mrs. Jarcy has returned! Oh what a joyful day it is indeed.

Well, well, well...it appears that Creepy the Cat and TJ the brother-in-law DID NOT hold up their end of the deal and post on my behalf. Mr. Jarcy and I were at times near a computer but I must confess I enjoyed the break from technology. My phone was rarely on and even the TV seemed repulsive. This is just one example of why I should have been born in 18th century England.

Yes, that's right, I said I should have been born a woman in 18th century England. I could be more general and say the 18th century anywhere but I fancy England so England it is. Here's why:

AIRPLANES--THESE DID NOT EXIST IN 1775.
I don't like them. You can tell me how safe I am in them and I will believe you for the most part. I've done the research--my chance of dying in an airplane is 1 in 65 million. I do yoga breathing, I call upon higher powers for protection, I grab the leg of whoever is near me, etc. That doesn't mean, however, that I enjoy being in them.

Mr. Jarcy and I had quite the experience on the way home from our desert getaway (that will be my next post). Chicago was covered in fog on Friday night as we were to land. This was the unfortunate news we received after flying in rainstorms for 3 hours. The pilot circled over the lake for 30 minutes or so and then was given the go ahead to land. Keep in mind there is no ground to be seen at any point due to this heavy fog. The pilot took us into our descent, the wing flaps came down as they always do upon landing and then unexpectedly we shot back into the sky like a rocket. The pilot then announced he had to for he could not see the runway! Let me repeat that...OUR PILOT COULD NOT LAND BECAUSE THE FOG PREVENTED HIM OR ANYONE FROM SEEING A RUNWAY! Yes, that is what happened. And I already do not like to fly. Then we circled more. We attempted to land again. The fog got worse. So we flew to St. Louis and stayed the night. The next day we boarded another plane and guess what...there was only one mile of visibility as we landed. Yes, more fucking fog. I was a mess. But we did land and now I am home in beautiful weather and able to blog to you about how I don't enjoy planes.

OTHER MODES OF FAST TRANSPORTATION--THESE DID NOT EXIST IN 1775.
While we're on the subject of planes, I must confess I don't love other fast moving things such as cars, buses, trains or motorcycles. I drive a car but get freaked out by other people driving. I'll hide it as best I can except with Mr. Jarcy. I don't always like how he drives. Sorry my love.

I LIKE TO WALK--PEOPLE DID THIS IN 1775.
I love to walk, not just like. I would love to roam about the countryside alone or with a friend or sister. Yes, to me that sounds lovely.

I LIKE HORSES--THESE ALSO EXISTED IN 1775.
Why aren't horse drawn carriages more popular these days? I would be fine if it took me 2 hours to reach downtown Chicago. And horses are pretty. There's even research on how they can help those who have experienced trauma. Don't ask me who conducted this research though, I don't know. But they are pretty.

Is it me or do all of my reasons for wanting to be an 18th century Englishwoman revolve around transportation issues? I'll come up with more. Its good to be back! Well sort of...

Warmth Awaits

Woohoo! Mrs. Jarcy is very excited to announce that she and Mr. Jarcy will be traveling for the next five days!

I am thrilled to break out of Chicago for a little rest and relaxation (or as much as one gets while visiting parents in the desert). Creepy the cat and TJ the brother-in-law have ASSURED me they will be posting on the blog while I'm away and I have no reason to doubt their capabilities. I'm excited to come back and see what they have created in my absence!

Sunshine and extremes in temperature await, toodles!

Two Confession Friday

I've been having super vivid dreams this week. I used to write them down and there's a whole section at metaphysical book stores instructing one on how to journal dreams. I'm too lazy though so I stopped.

Last night I dreamt it was my job to pick up Justin Timberlake's poop while he sang NSYNC's "Gone" to a large concert audience. Yes, that was the job. While others were lighting techs and other various roadie positions, I was the poop picker upper. And I didn't seem to mind, it seemed perfectly natural a man of his stature would need this task completed.

Is this dream one of those gems I'm supposed to write down and interpret?! Oh god, where do I begin?

Crops of the Americas

This might be the silliest thing I've ever seen. I'm zoning out here at my desk and have just noticed that the postage stamps I bought recently are titled, "Crops of the Americas." Each stamp has a different...uh crop. (What's a different word for "crop?") There is a stamp dedicated to the sunflower and sunflower seeds. Another stamp has three varieties of corn. There is the pepper stamp--only green and red made the cut. And a squash stamp-or what looks like squash to me-and then finally a stamp densely landscaped with legumes.

My question: Why?

Seriously, why is there a stamp dedicated to crops grown in the Americas? This territory called the Americas--doesn't that cover practically half of earth's land mass? (I'm not counting Antarctica because in my limited knowledge of it there is little to no land to crop.) So now I have to guess which area of the Americas squash is cropped? I really don't know, do you? I could guess Brazil but it's probably some remote island off the coast of Greenland for all I know. I live in Illinois and I've seen corn grown here but what about that black version on the stamp? Where is black corn grown? Mexico? No, not Mexico. Mexico is where some of those 50 different legumes are cropped, right?

Stamps are interesting to me and by interesting I mean practical and boring. I simply use them to mail bills and belated birthday cards. Now I'm realizing there is a whole community of folks out there who probably lobbied for the crops of Americas to be on stamps. Those people are still celebrating this victory. And then there's another community that is collecting these rare finds ("My God, have you seen how remarkable the legumes stamp turned out? I must add it to my food-inspired stamp album!") Wikipedia states that stamp collecting is an important source of revenue for small countries. Really?! Since when? If this is true then can we have a book of stamps created with all these countries displayed? Let's really make stamps educational. I'd like to see some simple algebra and french verbs conjugated as well. Or what about helpful tips like, "Add distilled white vinegar to your load of whites and laundry will come out clean and odor free!" Now that could really be helpful to someone I bet.

I have to go call the U.S. Postal Service now before one of my blog readers steals my "educational stamps" idea...

The Irish Are Disappointed In You

Everyone is running outside. We've had three days of amazing weather and by amazing I mean above 40 degrees.

The same people out running today were not able to do so this past weekend. Why, you ask? Because Chicagoans find it necessary to begin celebrating St. Patrick's Day a week early. It's more like St. Paddy's Month in these parts and the reasoning behind it is beyond me. Yesterday there wasn't a sober individual in all of Lakeview neighborhood. Everyone had goofy green hats on and stumbled down the street from one bar to the next. St. Patrick's Day actually falls on a Saturday this year, do we all realize this?! Whatever, this is Chicago and tradition is tradition--we all must drink the weekend before.

Today, however, is a different story. Everyone with legs is running outside. Yesterday was stumbling and today is now for triumphantly running.

Okay, what is happening? Now you're all just freaking me out, this is not normal! I am out and about all the time and never have I seen such mass cardio exercise taking place. Never! Is there a gas leak I'm not aware of? Did you all get memos about it at work? I don't work in an office so I didn't get the memo!

This behavior is unacceptable. Do you know why? Because it makes me feel bad about myself, that's why! There I admit it. I walked on a treadmill today--correction, I POWER WALKED--but I did not run like you which means you are the winners in this race called life. And my legs still look like tree trunks while yours resemble long, slender sticks. What I proudly counted as a workout this morning was just a warm-up in your book. Well, that's just not fair.

Oh, now this is great! A man wearing khakis and clearly headed home from a day of work is running down Leavitt Street. He has a briefcase and office appropriate shoes on but he too is running. Thanks a lot, asshole.

That's it, I've had it. I'm reporting you all to Mayor Daley. Tonight you'll need to decide if you want to be a beer-guzzling Chicagoan or a runner. All you runners need to pack up the Sauconys and sweat-resistant clothing ASAP! I've phoned ahead and Portland is expecting your arrival later in the week.

Enjoy your running out in the land of health and fitness, Mr. Khaki Pants! Us Chicagoans will be here celebrating St. Patrick's Year.

Cats are Posting on My Behalf Today

Cat 1: Why does she insist on taking our picture every 30 minutes?

Cat 2: I don't know, just go with it.

Cat 1: She needs a new hobby, I'm signing her up for tennis.

One Confession Friday

Friday is the most perfect day to bare your soul's deepest desires, demons, hopes and fears. Here's to secrets--

In 7th grade I answered collect telephone calls from an incarcerated man.

He was randomly dialing in hopes of finding some easily manipulated individual like myself. I think he was just lonely but how would I really know? He called on at least a few occasions and we talked for a substantial amount of time. He even sent me a letter with photos of himself with his daughter. So, yes, I even gave this stranger my name and home address. I don't remember why he was locked up but vaguely recall it being for a good while.

I mean, you don't go to jail for more than 8 years for accidentally running over the neighbor's cat, right?

Anyway, my mother nipped the relationship in the bud once she scanned through the month's phone bills. I'm imagining this behavior is high on the list of things you don't want to catch your children doing, along with shooting up heroin and making out with a cousin. She made me promise to never accept this man's calls ever again. With that command I answered one last call to tell him my mother was ending our friendship--it seemed like the polite thing to do after all. He agreed and that was that.

A few years ago I was home for the weekend and answered the phone. The phone never rings in my parents' home now that teenagers no longer live there. To my shock and horror, there was someone from a prison praying I would accept his collect call! I squeaked out a "No" and hung up. I never told anyone this happened. My mother has never mentioned this happens any longer and now that umpteen years have passed. Was it a fluke I was home and answered the phone? I don't know. Did the imprisoned man pass my number off to his cell mate upon his release, therefore, forever leaving my parents answering criminals' collect calls? Oh, I'm sick just thinking about it.

I pray this guy doesn't show up on my parents' doorstep some day and kidnap them. I can feel guilt over eating more than 3 cookies, imagine the guilt and shame I would endure for that.

Please Mr. Prison Friend, please just forget there was ever a "we."

Love Is In The Air

I am having an affair.

It's not a secret, Mr. Jarcy knows.

It's like nothing I've ever experienced before.

I knew I would like it but wasn't prepared for such intensity.

He's sleek and black and just so friggin smooth, I cannot get over it.

I turn him on...all the time. My needs get met over and over and over.

I didn't enter this relationship lightly. I looked around, he's the best.

He's got his shit so together, always evolving to make me happy.

My commitment to exercise is stronger than ever before.

Mere minutes with him and I am relaxed.

He lets me dress him up in hot pink.

He's the only one I trust.









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I love my baby...

Honoring Our Own

Before I delve any further into my own union with blogging as a wife, there is something that must be done. I'd like to take a few moments to honor my friends who courageously endured this crazy thing called marriage but in the end succumbed to it's demise. I have navigated the rocky road to divorce right there with them all. In return, they have asked me for nothing but privacy. As a matter of respect and the need for anonymity, I have shortened last names to just the first letter. These wives have endured enough hardship after all.

To our fallen wives of 2006, may you spread your wings and find new forms of identity. You gave it your all and that's all you could do--

• Jessica S.
• Carmen E.
• Whitney H.
• Sandra O.
• Christina A.
• Selma B.
• Britney S.
• Kate H.
• Reese W.
• Heather M.
• Heather L.
• Denise R.
• Pamela A.

If you would like your celebrity wife added to the list, please drop me a line at EmailMrsJ@gmail.com. We will honor these women together.

In the words of a former agent...

"I don't know what to tell you...I really don't."

Hello, I'm Mrs. J! I don't know how this happened really. I find myself married, working several jobs or projects and, yet, still having more free time than any man, woman or child should ever get to enjoy. So you know what I do? Well for starters I do NOT enjoy it, no, no, no...there's no time for that. Instead I worry and wonder and analyze and scheme as to how I might relieve myself of this burden.

Mon Dieu!!! Oh my god!!! Someone help me get rid of my time!!! I don't know what happened, I stumbled into this great place in life and now have too much time!!! AH!!! weeping, weeping, weeping...

Come on, I know it's not like a bad case of head lice, I'm not that bent out of shape. But this new found freedom is not always as wonderful as you might suspect. I've always been so busy that I can barely breathe--day job, night/weekend job, classes, parties, dating... (God, dating alone is a part-time job and I worked lots of overtime.) My lack of time began to wreak havoc on my life. For years my friends would begin voice mails with, "Look, I know you're probably not free but I thought I'd ask just in case..." or "Hi, it's the beginning of the year so please call me back no later than Easter." My cats began to hiss at me on the rare occasion I might stay home for more than the nightly 6 hours of sleep. And that was life, it was just really packed with stuff do to.

But here's the thing--now I am free! I'm busy here and there but mostly I am free. I did some rearranging. I took up yoga and learned how to breathe. I mastered the art of saying "no." And now I've gotten so good at these things that at times I feel I'm not doing enough! Somebody check, do I still have a pulse or did that leave with the pressure-cooker career?

I bet a bad case of head lice would be rather time-consuming...