Love, Jimmie



Next weekend one of my girlfriends and I will go to the beach.  The weather in Nashville has been gloomy at best over the last couple of months and we regularly lament that fact while we are working.  Our email exchanges look something like this:

Jimmie:       I want to be on a beach.  This weather is killing me.

Freddie:      Yep, me too.  I’m dying.

Jimmie:       The sun . . .

Freddie:      Why aren’t we there now?

Jimmie:       Because we are dumbasses.

It took us a couple of weeks before we had our light bulb moment and had the following exchange:

Jimmie:       I want to be on a beach.  This weather is killing me.

Freddie:      Yep, me too.  I’m dying.

Jimmie:       The sun . . .

Freddie:      Why aren’t we there now?

Jimmie:       Because we are dumbasses.

Freddie:      We could change that you know . . . (a ha!)

In a furious flurry of internet searching we found flights and a studio bedroom-type condo and had it all booked, before our minds or checkbooks caught up with us.  It was only then, when all of the non-refundable stuff had been booked, that I remembered to ask for the time off work.

This occurred about a month ago, and needless to say, every weekend leading up to the beach weekend has paled in comparison to the forthcoming glorious 3 days on the sandy beaches with girlie drinks and sun and bathing suits and shorts.  And sunscreen, because I am careful. I have roasted myself like a pig on a spit more times than I care to admit with the end result being a body literally covered in freckles and a hyper-sensitivity to some sort of skin cancer, I am sure.  Have you ever seen the cartoon of the pig lying on a beach towel next to a strip of crispy bacon, also on a beach towel?  The pig says, “I told you to use sunscreen . . . “ Yep, that’s me. 

I’ve wanted to pack my suitcase since the day we booked the trip. I’ve had an abnormal number of houseguests lately, though, and feared that they would make fun of me for packing for a trip a month in advance.  Plus, Murphy and Seamus fight over which one gets to actually wallow in the suitcase full of my stuff and the resulting scuffles usually end with me having to lint-roll my underwear, my shorts, the liner of my suitcase and finding a random cat claw in the padding of my push up bra. 

So this weekend was the final free time before we take off into the wild blue yonder, also known as “Jacksonville” via “Southwest Airlines”.  I was lazy this weekend for the most part which makes me feel bad but not bad enough to do anything about it.  And sometimes, my laziness can also lead to my sadness.  I hate that.  I try not to do that to myself but sometimes misery calls. I don’t pretend to understand it but I do sometimes succumb to it.

After rolling around in the misery for a while, I thought to myself, “Self, screw this.”  So I got up and started cleaning.  Always a tonic.  And then I took a shower, which was beneficial for everyone.  Even the cats had started to eyeball me with disdain. This from the animals who puke on my carpet and then come back later to inspect it and see if it is worthy of an afternoon snack.  I had plans to go out for a friend’s birthday but I couldn’t be arsed.  I didn’t want to get all gussied up and make nice and pretend like everything was grand when I really wanted to face-plant in my margarita and have myself a good cry.  Nothing kills a festive mood like someone crying into their drink with salt crumbs flaking off their cheeks at every wail.  So I cancelled and then headed out for some dinner where I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone or be festive.

As I was backing out of my driveway, I almost ran over one of my neighbors out walking his dog. He’s a nice guy, we’ve chatted a few times.  I don’t know him well but I do know that he is dedicated to his dog so he can’t be all bad.  I stopped to say hi and said, “Well, aren’t we a couple of losers staying in on a Saturday night . . . .”  We both wheezed at this and then to my complete surprise, I said, “Want to go to a movie, maybe?”

Maybe to the surprise of both of us, he agreed.  Still, I had taken a shower so I couldn’t have been terrible.

So I got out of my car and we chatted and made plans and I said, “I’m not changing clothes. I’m going like this.”  And this was: sweatpants, a hoodie (only the greatest invention of all time and I have far too many of them), giant pirate hoop earrings and pigtails.  He looked me over and said, “Okey.”  And I assured him I would come back to pick him up and then zoomed off to have dinner alone where I could regroup and ask myself what the hell I just did. 

Later, dog-neighbor came over and we piled up in my car and took off for the movies.  I told him, “When you tell your friends about this, feel free to make up whatever you like about me.  I don’t mind if you make me younger and hotter and more likely to feel you up in the movies.  It won’t happen, but just know that I will support whatever story you want to tell your friends.”  I believe at this point he started to rethink his decision to say yes to my invite.  But he gamely stayed in the car, even at the red lights.  We went to the movie and laughed.  We talked about all kinds of stuff, mostly fluff and nothing too deep, much to the enjoyment of the other movie-goers. Apparently the novelty of a night out with an almost stranger did not lend itself to Inside Voices for us. So now all 7 people in the theater can speak with authority about our lunch habits and our current living arrangements and the last movie we saw in a theater. 

And now an apology and an explanation:  Yes, I realize that I ditched very good friends for someone that I barely know.  I know how bad that sounds.  I traded dinner and drinks in a swanky place for dinner alone and a couple of hours in a dark movie theater with an almost stranger where, if I face-planted in my popcorn and cried, no one would know except an almost stranger. You can yell at me later.  It wasn’t my intention to do that but if you have ever been in a funk, you can relate.  And I promise to make it up to my friends. They know I’m good for it. Because they know I will wear my best push up bra to their band performance and throw granny panties onto the stage, Tom Jones style, and generally be charming because I care about these people.  I want to give them my best.  And hopefully that makes it all better.  Felix, I am sorry for missing your birthday party. Truly.

Plus, Freddie and I are going to the beach where I can buy presents and take pictures of hot people in their Speedos (as if) and bikinis and send awesome postcards to friends back home to rub their noses in it as gifts.

BTW, Seamus was the winner!