The Jill You Have Not Met Yet

She babbles. She really, really does. We don't let her near the blog, because the Jill that's in charge of the blog, the Artistic Director of JillWrites, if you will--and if you won't, then what? Nothing. That's right. Nothing. Powerless we are. (Insert muppet giggle.) Do or do not. There is no try.--uh...she likes to have a plan before she posts something. She likes to have An Idea.

But she's got nothing today, folks. Nuthin'. Kinda like "I'm Nuthin'", that ridiculous Ethan Hawke number on the Reality Bites soundtrack that causes people to think we actually like Ethan Hawke, every time they click through our iPod (or you can just call it The Pod, as we have taken to calling it, a nickname picked up from Thinking Violet) when, in Reality, (which Bites), we've never actually listened to it, that we can remember. So how do we know it's ridiculous? Guess we don't. Let's listen now.

Yes, it sucks.

So where were we?

Oh right. The Artistic Director of JillWrites, the Jill In Charge...you know, kinda like Charles in Charge...which had Nicole Eggert...you know, we think we had more of a girlcrush on her than a boycrush on Scott Baio? Even though he was Charles. And he was In Charge. But if you were Charles...come on! Fine, I'll stop with the Nicole Eggert now. But you boys don't really want me to stop talking about that, do you? Sorry. We've got to move on. You know, get to The Point. That show has a great themesong, by the way. We put it in our second tier of favorite television themesongs, just below those of WKRP in Cincinnati, The Greatest American Hero, and possibly The Dukes of Hazzard.

Right. So you might have noticed by our usage of the royal "we", that Jill In Charge has--in a move possibly more desperate than chloroforming a giant ape to try to recoup your reputation and all the money you owe people for hijacking a ship but yet failing to return with a film--allowed Babbling Jill to join her today. Because Jill In Charge has nuthin' today. Nuthin'. Like Ethan Hawke. Who no longer has Uma Thurman. Doofus.

The Royal Jill turned in all the final grades for the classes she was teaching on Tuesday, so technically Royal Jill is on vacation. But Jill is never on vacation. Because Jill Writes all the damn time. Jill worked on her new play throughout October and November, and combined with other writing, including the blog, often spent 16 hours a day at the computer, or in a combination of being at the computer and teaching. You might have seen her reading your blog in the middle of the night. You might have received emails from Babbling Jill. She only (usually) comes out at night. Kinda like Hall & Oates' "Maneater". Which is not as good a song as "Rich Girl". You're a rich bitch, girl.

So after a few months of that, Royal Jill is Royally Exhausted. We've been sleeping at least ten hours a night since the day, two weeks ago, when our body said "no more, you crazy bitch. Chill out." Which has been rather enjoyable, all the sleeping. But it's had some side effects.

Like the "not having bought any--that's right NOT EVEN ONE--Christmas presents." Or the "not having RSVP'd to at least three holiday parties that have already passed." Or the "not having put away any of the clean laundry so we're just getting dressed out of the pile of laundry in front of the bed."

You see, Royal Jill made the Royally Shitty Decision of going to graduate school, and not even holding out to go to a school which would have been free, but to actually, in a Monumentally Shitty Decision, take out student loans to go to graduate school, which of course means paying off student loans, which of course means it seems like a reasonable idea to live with your parents at the age of 30, because New York Fu*kin' City is New York Fu*kin' Expensive. And for the most part, this is not a bad choice, because it truly does not stand in the way of any of the important things in Royal Jill's Royal Life, like gettin' her toey-ness on, or eating ice cream, or writing.

But then there are days like today. When there's...oh...let's say, a transit strike...and let's say her super-efficient parents are working from home while still trying to prep for hosting 20 people on Christmas Eve. And let's say...maybe...Royal Jill's Royal Wireless Router has gone Royally Nutty and won't work, so now Royal Jill and the Royal Laptop have run a wire to the kitchen table in order to post a blog entry...

And let's say...oh, I don't know...Royal Jill's family are all standing around Royal Jill right now expecting us to do Christmas stuff like go grocery shopping, decorate a tree, do all the Christmas shopping they have not done, wrap all the presents for the nine zillion family members we will see this weekend, and cook and set the table for the 20 people who will be here in 48 hours. Let's say that! Would you let Babbling Jill get her hands on the keyboard then? Huh? WOULD YOU? WOULD YOU? That's what I thought.


And we are totally--and unfortuntely--completely sober right now.

It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye.


Oh, and Maurice Whatever-Your-Name Is, currently broadcasting on CBS local news, "frac-TU-ous" is NOT a word. The word is "fractious". Say it with me. "Fractious". Not "frac-TU-ous". "Fractious". But let's look on the bright side--if you continue embarrassing yourself like this, maybe the network will consider you a suitable replacement for Dan Rather.