In Which Jimmie Discusses Her Feelings Of Self Worth

I had to have some professional headshots taken yesterday for work (you should understand that this was involuntary on my part as I loathe having my picture taken), and I just wanted y’all to know that the photographer told me that my hair photographs beautifully.


Thank you, Martie.

My Word, I’m Boring

Happy Belated Valentine’s Day!  Did you have a good one?  I did, and I wasn’t even celebrating it.  The amount of loot I got was astonishing.  Over the last couple of weeks everyone has been so dang nice to me.  I told you about the chocolates and the lip goo.  I told you about some of the phone calls.  I didn’t tell you about the tote bag that somebody made for me, nor the cards I got, nor the lunch and dinner dates.  Two people offered to watch Magic Mike with me and I’m here to tell you, I’m going to take both of them up on the offer.  Rowr!  If ever I was in any doubt, my heart squish has proven to me that I am loved.  I’m planning on getting dumped every other month or so because I’ve never felt so special in all my life.  Also, I won a book in a contest.  I’m charmed, I tell you.

I’m still on my Whole 30 “Cleanse” and that’s what I wanted to tell you about today.  In my head I planned to say that this here “cleanse” is going to be the death of me because hahahahahahaaaa, but that would be untruthful.  I feel pretty good, honestly.  I’m on day 12, so not quite halfway through, and I still like the food I’m eating.  I’m still experimental with it, and I don’t yet hate broccoli so for a least another week or two, I’m alright.

The chocolates that I got as gift continue to sit on my table in their pretty box, and I’m not even tempted to open it.  I barely think about them.  Isn’t that amazing?  It helps that I accidentally had some sugar one night, I think it was in a marinade, and the sugar headache nearly did me in.  That right there was enough to keep me from wanting any sugar.  Oh, can you imagine the barfs I would get if I ate a whole passel of sugar right now?  Oh, hurk.

So I bypassed the Sugar Headache that was to be Phase One on this here “cleanse.”   I didn’t want to Kill Anything, Phase Two.  Phase Three hit me like a ton of bricks, though.  That was the I Want A Nap Phase, and boy did I ever.  Napping is usually something you’d like to shoot for in the middle of the afternoon but personally, I aimed to nap at about 5:00 a.m., just as the alarm was going off.  I’d have gone to bed at 9:00 the night before, slept like a hibernating bear, and then 5:00 would roll around and I would use every ounce of effort I had to lift my arm from the under the duvet and tap my phone to set the snooze on my alarm.  I did this multiple times every morning.  The cats even stopped freaking out, it happened so often.  If Daisy hadn’t texted me early I never would have gotten out of bed.  Once at work I was fine.  I think that phase has passed, thank goodness, and having skipped right over My Pants are Too Tight (something about a bloat as your gut heals itself?) and The Hardest Days (I didn’t find that to be true), I’m now ready for Phase Six – Boundless Energy.  I hear its coming, and boy am I excited about it.  This house needs a deep cleaning.  There is dust everywhere.  Once that energy train rides in, I’m all over it.

I’ve learned some valuable information during this here “cleanse.”

  1. I don’t like butternut squash.  What a pretentious vegetable yet it is so overwhelmingly unsatisfying.  It tastes like squash.  As much as we hype this mind-blowing super food, you’d think it would taste better than squash.  Blergh.
  2. I really don’t need sugar.  I haven’t craved it yet.  Nor have I craved carbs.  The things I haven’t had I don’t miss.  I don’t even think about them.
  3. I suck at making sweet potato fries.  So not worth the effort it takes to cut each sweet potato into evenly shaped French fry-like shapes.  Nearly lost a finger in that debacle.
  4. I have a serious emotional attachment to food.  No, I’m not craving anything right now but a part of me is mourning the loss of the food I used to eat.  I’m mourning the preparation of it and the anticipation of it.  I’ve used food as an emotional meter for so long.  I want it when I’m happy, sad, excited, hurt, motivated.  I’ve used it to show love or gratitude.  I’ve used it as a comfort or to ease a wound when I’m hurting.  It isn’t normal.
  5. Nashville is home to some very snooty grocery stores.  I feel like this here “cleanse” requires me to be snooty in some of the choices I make, and I don’t like it.  The minute I get haughty and start yapping about how “Whole Foods is really the only market worth my time and money,” and “I eat Paleo,” and “Really, that butter you ingest is soooo passé.  Here, try my ghee* . . . .” y’all shoot me in the big toe.  I’m serious.  One trip to Whole Foods on a Saturday morning has cured me of any airs I might have had or ever hope to have about grocery shopping.  Bunch of men wearing skinny jeans and organic garlic sold for $6.00 a bunch. Posers.
  6. I’m not going to be able to eat this way for any extended period of time.  I didn’t go into it thinking that I would.  I really just wanted to get back to foods as natural as I could get them and also hoped to kick a few bad habits.  Perhaps drop a few pounds before my next big vacation and not feel hideous in my super-cute swimmy clothes.  I’m going to miss brown rice, though.  I can feel that coming.
  7. After this shindig is over, I will not eat another egg for at least one year.  Do not offer me quiche.  Do not offer me crème brulee.  Do not offer me custard of any kind.  If you try to serve me a frittata and disguise the egg under a bunch of cheese and/or tomatoes, I will barf on your shoes.  That’s a promise right there.

I guess I’m telling you all this to tell you I’m still fighting over here.  I’m still kicking and all is well.  This here “cleanse” is the only item of note in my life right now, so this is what you get.  Yee-haw!  Let’s all pray for something exciting to happen to me, yes?

* Ghee is a super snooty, pretentious butter.  It’s clarified within an inch of its life and it is ridiculously expensive.  I better love the heck out of it because there is no way, no how any of that is going in the trash.  I’d shoot my own self in the big toe before I do that.

I’m A Tough Cookie

In my lifetime I’ve seen my mother cry only a handful of times.  When you talk about a tough broad, you think of my mother.  At least I do.  In times like this, with the car and the boy and the new job where I’m still learning my way, I want to be like my mom.  I want to take the bull by the horns and wrestle it down and stand on it and shout about how I did it.  I’ve done a lot of fighting lately and I’ve got to say, I don’t like it, but I think I’d rather be the bull fighter than the delicate, simpering flower.

Right after the break up where I got my heart smashed four years ago, before I really began the healing process, I went home for a visit with my mom.  Actually, what happened was she called me in the middle of one of my crying jags and as I gurgled to her about my horrid, horrid life, Madre realized I was Not Okay.  She instructed me to come home immediately which I gratefully did and while I was there, we went shopping.  During this shopping excursion we ran across a woman whose husband made deer stands.  That woman wanted to talk to my mom about those deer stands and I wanted nothing to do with deer stands because the douchecanoe ex-boyfriend was an avid hunter and used those deer stands more than once.  I kept yanking on Madre’s arm, trying to quietly explain to her that talking about deer stands made me Not Okay, that there was a panic rising inside me I could not control and that I needed to leave immediately.  That woman kept droning on, and Madre kept saying, “Yes, okay, see you later,” and finally I’d had enough.  To the surprise of everyone, including me, I screeched at the woman, “You need to shut your fat f@%*-ing mouth!” and sure enough she did, with an audible snap.  Matter of fact, everyone in the Dollar General did, and my mother, her eyes as big as dinner plates, ushered me out of there so fast you’d have missed it if you blinked.  That’s how bad that break up was.

This break up is not that bad.  Sure, I was down for the count and there will be times where I still suffer from feelings of “All hope is lost and I’m a worthless cow”, but overall, this is not bad.  It helps tremendously that everyone has been very supportive of me.  My brother called.  My friends bought me chocolates and lip gloss.  Dammit Todd had lunch with me.  One friend or another checks on me every day and several have offered to do bodily harm to Slim’s person.  (I’m secretly tickled that people feel so strongly for me but I understand that those lovely gestures must be declined.)  What I’m saying is, you are very sweet to worry about me, but I’m not going to be screeching obscenities to anyone at the Dollar General this go round.  I’m alright.   I’m tougher than I was four years ago.

You know what else is alright? My car.  It only took every penny I had and a three and a half months for it to be alright but my car runs right all the time now, and I got a new BFF out of it.  Kwame, of the Hyundai dealership, has walked me through every step of this repair process even though I really didn’t want him to, and in doing so has given me knowledge I never wanted.  He called me every day that he had my car to tell me what they looked at and what didn’t work.  After his first three minute monologue I said, “Kwame, I have no idea what you just said.  I’ve been in my happy place for the last two minutes and 45 seconds.  What I did hear is that you have no idea what is wrong with my car, correct?”

“Correct,” he said, and then launched off into another monologue about my car’s engine.

This went on for over a week.  Every day.  I finally resigned myself to the fact that Kwame was going to tell me everything he could about my car, and at the first ring from the dealership, I’d drape my elbow over the back of my chair, kick my feet out under my desk and lay there like a wet noodle until he got done with the lesson.  I know more about actuators and starters and batteries and bolts and catalytic convertors than you do, I bet.  Overall, though, this has not been that bad.  Pee-tah let me use his car whilst he went on a luxury vacation and after that, one of my lovely new co-workers whom I shall call Serena lent me her spare car.  Also, because Kwame and I are so close, he knocked a whole chunk off my bill when I asked questions about it.  See, not bad?

I’ve got one more fight in me right now, and I’m hoping it goes the same way as the others.  I’ve started a new eating program.  For those of you in the know, it’s called Whole 30 and for those of you not in the know, I’ve cut out all processed foods, all dairy, all legumes, all grains and all sugar for 30 days.  I figured that while everything still tastes like sawdust and while I’m still carrying injured feelings, I can do some good for myself with regards to what I eat.  Plus, the jeans I bought after the last break up don’t fit quite right and since this is the only thing I can fully control, I’d like to get back in those jeans.

I’m on day five of this cleanse (that’s what I’m calling it – a cleanse, not a diet), and so far I’ve done well.  If you can count the fact that I was victorious with myself after a 16-hour fight over whether or not White Castle would be consumed, that is.  This is how bad my thinking is, you guys.  Seriously?  White Castle?  That’s the arm pit of all food and that is where I focus my craving?  I’m in bad shape.  I have never wanted White Castle in my whole life and I internally war for 16 hours over it?  Bad, I tell you.

There’s a timeline for this 30 days, and in it is the explanation of how I should feel during each phase.  Currently I’m in the “I Want to Kill All Things” phase.  Since I skated through the “Sugar Hangover” phase with relative ease, I’m hopeful that I don’t actively fantasize about mowing down anyone with my fully functioning vehicle.  I haven’t wanted to yet and after the 16-Hour White Castle War, I feel like I can accomplish anything.  (For the record, next up is the “I Want A Nap” phase and I’m here to tell you that that phase is one I’d be willing to embrace.)

I look at all this glorious mess in my life and I see myself becoming my mother.  I see myself toughening up and taking all this on and winning, even if by the tiniest of margins.  I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m not saying I enjoy it.  I’m only saying that if I’m going to have to fight this hard for anything, a car, a boy, a badass pair of jeans, I damn well better win.  My momma did.  She won her fights.  I know I can too.

And Then It Wasn’t

Ashley, Dammit Todd’s girlfriend and winner of my giveaway (the prize is coming!  Really, really!), asked for an update on Slim.  She is adorable.  I don’t usually take requests but I’m going to venture to say that’s because no one ever makes any.  This is all so unprecedented.

Because Ashley asked, and because I have a story to tell, I’m complying with her request and giving you an update.  You know how girls are.  We want to moon over all the new stuff we discover about our person and because I’m mouthy and a wide open book, you know I was just looking for any excuse to share it with you.

I love the feeling of a new relationship.  It’s so hopeful and fresh.  You spend so much time getting to know each other, and although Slim and I were friends first, we still have a lot to discover about each other.  I never asked all my girlie questions of him, like “what’s your favorite color” and “why are you so cute” and “tell me again when things changed for you” because we were just friends and that would have been weird.  I couldn’t hold his hand unless I was about to fall down but in a new relationship, you hold hands all the time.  You spend a lot of time thinking about Slim and he about you and you text each other schmoopy stuff on the reg.  It makes one giddy and we laugh a lot.  My happy knows no bounds.

I also spend a lot of time flirting with Slim and because he is hopeless at flirting, he spends a lot of time being practical with me.  He began buying paper towels for me by the 6 pack instead of the single pack (paper towels are his thing), and I am now fully stocked in batteries and super glue.  He calls me every time he goes to the store to ask if I need anything.

“Just you,” is my standard reply and then we both grin like idiots.

There’s other stuff that we say to each other but I know boys read this blog as well as girls so I will spare you those details.  As time passes, I realize I was right to wait for this.  This is something worth waiting for.

It was anyway.

As it turns out, Slim and I are no longer a couple.  He is no longer my person, and this was not my choice.  The man who told me good night every single night without fail has now stopped all communication and virtually disappeared from my life.  Had I been notified this was coming, I’d have been better prepared.  Instead, I was blindsided and left with a million questions, the foremost being “Why?!”  Lest you worry, he’s fine.  Everyone tells me he’s fine.  Everyone except Slim, that is.

As a whole, I believe I’m authentic here.  I’ve not been afraid to lay it all on the line in an effort to get something off my chest or share my life with you, whether good, bad, or barfy (Murphy!).  The thing is, I’m not sure how raw I want to be here now.  I’m not sure that if I get this all out I’ll be able to reel it back in when I’m better and less beat up.  Truthfully, I feel like I owe you an apology.  Everyone likes to read about new love, the happy story, and I really thought I had a story to tell.  I waited so long for it and I was so sure.  Turns out, I don’t have anything happy to say at all.

Right now I feel . . . . . gray . . . .  Bland.  Flavorless.   For the second time in my life, I have no appetite.  I eat because I’m supposed to and I laugh because it is expected and I do the daily grind because it makes the end of the day come faster.  Someone once said that things were more fun when I was around and asked me to attend some function so I could bring “me”.  I get that.  I try to have fun, to be joyous, to make others feel welcome and appreciated.  I understand that my personality is big and bold yet the thought of being “on” right now makes me tired.  I’m tired.  I don’t want to be on.  I want to . . . . . I don’t even know.  I’m not happy in my house.  I’m not happy out of my house.  I’m uncomfortable everywhere.  I’m not gutted, but I do have a constant rock in the pit of my stomach and it feels awful.

I’m trying very hard not to make this about me, how I’m less and not good enough and undateable and old and never thin enough and mouthy.  Rejected.  Hopeless.  I’m trying to understand that this transition was hard on Slim, a man who gives his servant’s heart to everyone and takes nothing in return.  I’m doing my best to realize that he is likely hurting, too, that he feels depleted by the demands made of him and that perhaps there is nothing left in the coffers to give.  I’m trying, but I’ve taken a hit and don’t feel like coming up swinging.  I guess I just want to lie down and sleep and ask that my brain be wiped clean.  No memories.  No hope.  No nothing.  Just sleep, and I’m sad to say that I can’t even do that.

I’m sorry for those of you looking for a happy update.  I’d give anything to be able to accommodate you.  I wish I could have ended this on a disgustingly sappy note, the kind that makes you want to stick your finger down your throat but also the kind that makes you longingly remember what your relationship was like when it was new.  I can’t, though, and that’s that.

If you see Slim and you want to yell, please don’t.  Don’t be too hard on him.  He’s living without me now.  It can’t be easy.  Right?  Somebody tell me it can’t be easy.

Drama: Daisy’s Car – A Guest Post Of Sorts

The day I took my vehicle in to the shop to begin its lengthy and expensive repair process, Daisy sent me this email about her own car experience she had that very morning.

Daisy:  My brakes are making a bad grinding noise in either the front driver or passenger side.  Sounds like metal to metal grinding in the front.

Mechanic:  We checked your brakes and they look good.

Daisy:  What?  How is that possible?  I know the sound of metal grinding on metal.

Mechanic:  Miss Daisy, your brakes are still good.

Daisy:  Put new brakes on my car.

4 hours later

Mechanic:  Miss Daisy, we put new back brakes on your car and your car is ready.

Daisy:  Back brakes?  What about front brakes?  Do you remember me telling you this morning my front brakes were grinding?

Mechanic:  Well, I was wondering about that.  I took it for a test drive and when I pulled up there was a horrible grinding noise in the front brakes.  We inspected them and there was no brake pad left, just metal rubbing metal. 

Daisy:  Uh huh, right.  We discussed that this morning.  Why did you tell me my brakes were fine and then put new back brakes on?

Mechanic:  I can’t believe I made a mistake like this.   Did you know your front brakes were bad?

Daisy:  Hello, do you suffer from Alzheimer’s?   We talked about my front brakes this morning. 

Mechanic:  Do you want me to put new brakes on the front?  It’s metal to metal.   I will find every coupon I can and give you as many discounts that I’m allowed to give.

God bless America.  Jimmie, if you had a TV you might see me on the news this evening.  Did I have dollar bills shooting out of my butt when I dropped my car off?  WTH is wrong with these people? 

Hahahahahaaaaa, I love her.