I Suggest That No One Mess With Me Any Time Soon

26 Aug 2012 9 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, I Will Cut You, Pets Tags: ,

For real.  No one needs to tick me off in the near future.  I don’t know what exactly God has me going through lately but I can tell you what it’s doing for me.  It’s making me so damn strong right now.  And slightly pissed off, frankly, which is why I suggest that you all be kind to me.  I will come out of this a total badass but the ride is bumpy and not that pleasant.  Watch out. 

This picture is the view of my car from the back window of the tow truck.  This time it’s my starter.  Is anyone counting with me?  This makes four high dollar car fixes in less than three months.  For the record, I am not made of money so in addition to you being nice to me, you need to not need to borrow any money from me. 

A guy at the car place asked me, “What’s wrong with your car?  Why are you here?”  Bless his heart.  So I told him. He just kind of sat there with his mouth agape at the word vomit that poured from my mouth, and finally, he snapped his mouth shut and then said, “Good luck.  I mean it.”  And then he left.  Quickly.

There are some positives in this, at least one.  Believe you me, I’m looking for them.  Six years ago I decided that it would be a good idea for me to have a roadside assistance plan.  Being a single female in Nashville makes that a smart idea, right?  Today I didn’t have to pay for my tow.  I mean, I’ve paid Verizon $3.00 a month for that plan for the last six years but TODAY I didn’t have to pay for that tow truck.  That’s some savings right there.  When I come up with another positive, I’ll let you know. 

In truly happy news, Poppa came home on Saturday.  He sounded tired, just plumb worn out, but he’s doing alright.  Martie went to visit him right away and when she got there, Poppa was laid out on the couch with their cat, Sonic, in his lap.  Poppa isn’t what I call a gruff man necessarily, and he’s always been very kind to all of us, but seeing a virtual Viking of a man with his arms wrapped around a furry gray cat and snoozing was enough to make us all realize that life is a fragile thing. Sonic, often affectionate anyway, was so kind to Poppa, like he knew that he was needed, so he sat stoically in Poppa’s lap, completely upright while Poppa napped. 

In other happy news, I realized that I never showed you a picture of Miss Kitty.  I took this today. This is how she sleeps although I caught her in mid-yawn.  It must be exhausting to be a house cat.

 

And in unhappy news, Murphy is being relocated.  He peed on Kasi Starr’s stuff again.  This was after he peed in her gym bag, in my gym bag, in her second gym bag, in Roommate’s gym bag that he left behind, and after he attacked Seamus two nights ago.  He cornered him in the bedroom and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and just bit him.  Kasi Starr found them and separated them. Murphy acts all innocent when I’m around him, meowing and wanting attention, but lately to get attention he’s been doing more than just tapping me with his claws. He nips at my arm with his teeth, and it seems like any amount of attention is never enough.  I probably don’t want to talk about this again, so you’ll understand if I never mention it further. 

In conclusion, I’d like to tell you that the hours spent at the car fixing place were spent typing all this up and watching my first ever Clint Eastwood Western.  I’ve got say, I didn’t love it.  It was awful.  I see his appeal, though, so that’s something and I do feel like all of that testosterone oozing out of that movie should make me smarter about my car and perhaps this time I won’t get cheated.  That would be awesome. 

UPDATE:  The guy at the car place knocked $50 off my bill because I questioned some things.  Thank you, Clint.  I owe you one.

I Am A Civil Servant! On A Jury! For $10 A Day!

23 May 2012 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack! Tags:

You guys!  I know this is going to make me sound like a big old nerd but I got called for Jury Duty and holy moly, I was excited.  I’ve always wanted to be called and for years wondered what was wrong with me that I never got picked.  Everyone I know has been picked and they all lamented about having to go and there I sat, wanting desperately to be called.  You can see why I was doubly irritated that I never got picked before.  Well now that has all changed!  I am now an experienced servant of the court! 

The week before my duty, I received a parking pass and the worst map of the city I have ever seen.  Probably the map part is not entirely fair because we all know how handy with directions I am, but still, even after working downtown for two years, I had the most difficult time finding the parking spaces and the court building.  (Madre and Daddy-O, this should please you.  I have never had to visit that court building for even a traffic violation.  I know I’m your favorite.)  After being lost for approximately fifteen minutes, I found my way into the proper building and went through the scanner and the pat down.  You can yell at me all you want, but I never even thought about my pretty pink pocketknife and my pretty pink cuticle cutters being in my bag.  Sure enough, they were confiscated.  I know it is my fault but the guy who took them was kind of a turd about it and I’m totally glad that when he rifled through my small bag of girlie supplies he got embarrassed and I hope he cuts his finger open on that pocketknife because I know he took it home.  Anyway. 

I piled into the room with the other jurors and after a time, I was called for a courtroom. Then I was lucky enough to get pulled as one of the first fourteen contestants and then was even luckier enough to make it all the way through the final cut.  For the first time in my life, I was on a jury!  I looked around in wonder at all the members of the court, the equipment, the defendant.  I loved it.  I loved answering the questions for the attorneys.  I loved listening to the judge. I loved the swearing in part.  I loved hearing “All Rise!” when we walked in to our seats.  Ah, the formality of it!  My biggest disappointment, though, was that nary a single member of the court had on a seersucker suit or a bowtie.  I realize it isn’t July yet, when seersucker suits abound (Right?  Please tell me I’m right.), but aside from men’s golf wear, attorney wear is next in line for radical deviations from the norm and I was sorely disappointed in the legal teams’ choice of attire. 

I’ll answer the question before it gets asked – the case involved the sale of a controlled substance, the sale of that substance within a thousand feet of a school, and contributing to the delinquency of a minor.  Nothing too dramatic really, but fascinating to me nonetheless despite my never hearing a shout of “Objection!” nor any sparring between the legal teams.  I was sold on the entire process until a couple of things happened. 

Firstly, the defendant stood up to enter his plea of not guilty.  He was a big man and he looked angry although that might have just been his look.  Here’s what got me, though.  He was overweight.  He was wearing a baby pink shirt and nice dress pants and he was overweight.  He said, “Not guilty” and stood there in his nice clothes and put all his hopes in us, the jury.  Secondly, they brought his uncle in to testify against him.  He walked in wearing an orange jumpsuit and leg chains and his voice cracked with nearly every statement he made.  It cracked while he admitted to his many, many crimes.  It cracked when he accused the defendant of the actual sale of the drugs.  Truth or lie, it was sad and it hurt. Both of these men displayed their humanity to us, the jury, and that humanity just slayed me.  The belly in the pink shirt. The voice that cracked.  The breakdown of a family, right in front of my eyes. 

Y’all, I totally got overwhelmed with this.  I got teary-eyed in the jury box over this whole mess.  I was so gung ho about the process that I forgot about the man.  This was a man’s life and he put his fate, at least a chunk of it, into my hands, into our hands.  Twelve people got to decide what happened to him, and when we adjourned for deliberations, I realized that I no longer wanted to be a part of the process.  I no longer had any starry-eyed notions about the courtroom.  Make no mistake, I feel that both of these men are guilty of the crimes accused against them, and that both of them willfully chose to commit those crimes.  I have no doubt that finding our defendant guilty of at least something was the correct and just thing to do, but my heart cracked and broke and bled for these broken men and I didn’t want to be the one responsible for them.

It would surprise me not even a little to hear that neither of them had known an earthly father.  It would surprise me not even a little to know that they grew up in poverty.  I have no doubt that the chances they received were far fewer and less glamorous than those most of us receive.  They have given themselves over to this sordid life and I wonder if they can see past it to find any glory at all. 

I dried my tears quickly in the jury box and gave my civic duty an honest effort.  We all did.  But these men stayed with me.  Reginald, our defendant, was found guilty on lesser charges and will be sentenced soon.  Michael, the uncle, is awaiting trial and things probably won’t go well for him.  That part is alright with me.  What isn’t alright is that I’m afraid they will stay there, in the battered broken life they have chosen, and that they will never look for or find their way out of it.  I have prayed for them a lot, but as time passes, I find that I think of them less often.  I think that is the way it falls sometimes.  People are brought in to your life for a season, great or small, and then they move on.  But for a while, they had my full attention and I hope in some small way, I was a part of doing something good for them.  God knows they need it.   

Welcome To The Masses, Jimmie

10 Apr 2012 8 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack! Tags:

I have a new Boss story, and let me tell you, it’s a doozy.  First, though, you might like a refresher on Boss.  Boss and I have an unconventional relationship.  We act as if we’ve been married before or as if he’s my big brother.  I hold all of his personal information including credit cards, social security numbers, mother’s maiden name, etc. and in return, he makes sure that I am paid well and have lots of benefits.   We often fuss and argue like old biddies.  We don’t take any crap off of each other and make fun of each other on a regular basis.  Remember, he once offered to christen my grave with pink sparkly champagne that he first filtered through his kidneys.

Boss can be such a pain in the rear sometimes (see above).  He’s irritating, even when he isn’t trying to be. See, he leads what I call a charmed life.  Everything seems to fall orderly into place for him, without effort or conniving.  If he has accidentally double-booked himself for an evening, for example, he never has to make a call to let someone down.  Inevitably, one of the booked parties will call him with fawning excuses to back out of the evening and promise him something ridiculous like free flights to Costa Rica for the inconvenience.  It annoys me, mostly because those things never happen to me.  When I’ve double-booked myself I end up making no one happy and have to make my own fawning excuses and ridiculous promises to make up for the inconvenience.

Also, Boss seems to have a “way” with the ladies, except I’ve never seen him actually DO anything to or near the ladies to have this “way”.  He’s not what I call a conventionally attractive man.  He never appears to flirt or make excessive eye contact with women.  Still, I can’t tell you how many times he’ll come into the office, greet the new receptionist or new client (both female, of course), and walk out of the room having no idea that he’s leaving these women all atwitter and starry-eyed.   I get immediately bombarded with giggling, breathy questions like, “Is that your boss?  Is he single?  What’s he like to work for?”  It’s ridiculous.  I stand there agog, mouth open and answer truthfully that no, he isn’t single and that he’s pretty cool to work for. I’ve never swooned over him or really understood why women get goofy over him – I think of him as the engineer version of Austin Powers without the glasses. 

Just last week we drove through a fast food place and ordered a burger and fries at the squawking box.  “I’d like a number three,” he says, and the woman in the squawking box replied, “Okay, baby, drive on around.”  Already I was raising my eyebrows at the “baby” but seeing as how the only communication was squawking thus far, I gave him a pass.  However, when we arrived at the window the woman purred “Thank ya, sweetie.  Did you have a nice visit with us today?”  as she looked directly at me, cocking her eyebrow and  all but dipping her cleavage into his French fries while raking a nail down his hand.  She had only heard his voice!  And I was in the car! I could have been his wife! Or girlfriend!  Yet his “magnetism” made waves through the squawking box, into her headset, permeated the French fry grease and oozed out of her very pores as she gave him a come hither glance.  These women are brazen.  Really I should be thankful he has no effect on me.  I’d never get any work done. 

I have followed Boss from company to company.  When he moves, I move.  We work well together despite his pheromones or whatever it is he possesses, and we have done so for a very long time.  He has taken very good care of me, and it has always been clear where my loyalties lie.  He lives in Kansas, I live in Tennessee. I support him remotely and it works well for both of us.  Or it has until now.

Boss has received an offer from another engineering firm.  It is based in Kansas and with the new work, he will have new staff.  Staff that does not include me.  Over six years of my life have been spent working with Boss, maintaining his travel schedule, his credit card balances, some of the demands his kids and girlfriend make of him.  And now we are parting ways.  There has been much chaos at work over this, and our group has been whipped about like a rag doll trying to figure out our direction, our new leadership, our purpose.  It has been emotional and confusing and certainly trying.  After many weeks of this chaos, a plan has been hammered out and a direction focused upon, and everyone has wished boss well as he embarks on this new perfect-for-him journey that literally just fell into his lap.

What happens to me, you ask, now that the person who has taken such good care of me is leaving?  Ah, I have not fared so well.  I am what you call “collateral damage”.  I was shot down in the crossfire.  I am unemployed.  There is no space for me at his new company and as I just learned, without him there is no space for me at mine. 

I won’t lie to you – crying is a part of my daily routine now.  I do my very best to remain hopeful, to fight my panic, to not be angry, to look forward to a new adventure.  It is trying and promises to be exhilarating, but the transition from trying to exhilarating takes its toll.  May I ask you, readers, to think of me?  If I weigh on your heart would you send up a prayer for me? And of course, when you hear of an Austin Powers kind of man, a kind of man with unexplained charm and extreme unending good fortune, a man who needs an assistant, won’t you send him my way?  My resume is waiting for him.

 

Heartburn

06 Mar 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Family, Health, Imparting Wisdom Tags: ,

That title is not a euphemism for a romance gone awry.  Nothing that complex here. This post really is about heartburn and since it’s the only thing of note I have experienced lately, this is what you get. For those of you who have gently reminded me that I have not written anything since Feb 20th (and I luff you guys for it), you are welcome.  We now all get to hear about my stomach.

To begin, I’d like to present a list of things that cause Martie heartburn:

  • Little Caesar’s pizza
  • Beans
  • Krystal’s
  • Do-si-dos and milk
  • Mexican food
  • Chinese food
  • Olive Garden
  • Alcohol
  • Grandma’s spaghetti
  • Meatloaf

As you can see, Martie suffers from heartburn a lot.  Because she suffers from heartburn a lot, she generally has a nice supply of antacids stashed at every home she regularly visits (much like me and my toothbrushes – I have one at every house I regularly spend the night in).  My house is no different which is lucky for me.  See, recently I found myself in need of an antacid or two which is really weird because my list of things that cause me heartburn is as follows:

  • Bananas

I have eaten no bananas so I’ve been a little concerned about my new condition.  Maybe I have some underlying stress that I’m not fully cognizant of or maybe there has been some profound hormonal shift in my body, but whatever it is, I’m now a proud sufferer of heartburn.  (An FYI – the first person that suggests to me that my excess acid production is a symptom of getting old gets a box in the kisser.) I’ve raided Martie’s stash these last few days which has helped tremendously but I remain puzzled.

Used to I suffered from heartburn all the time.  I spent lots of days feeling burny and uncomfortable, and I took lots of over the counter remedies for it.  My list of heartburn causes back in those days consisted of:

  • Bananas
  • An unfortunate combination of 75 pounds of excess weight and an unwise choice in marriage partner

Eventually I ditched the weight, both 50 pounds of fat and 180 pounds of husband, and eventually all things seemed to regulate.  But before that, there were days of acidic agony that I just never seemed to conquer. 

One day in particular, I could feel the acid bubbling around in my stomach.  It felt black and lively, and I distinctly remember thinking “Oh, so this is what hydrochloric acid feels like as it eats through your stomach walls.”  I was miserable.  We had no money and I had no remedy.  I tried milk, water, everything.  You know what I remembered, though?  I remembered that Poppa had a home remedy for acid indigestion.  I’d seen him use it a thousand times and it always seemed to work.  See, Poppa’s list of thing that causes him heartburn includes:

  • Everything

Poor man.  He’s always got something rumbling away in his tummy and when you find yourself awake in the middle of the night with no easy access to a store, you find what works in your house.  His remedy was to mix baking soda and water into a thin watery mixture and then suck it down.

Now baking soda is used for loads of things.  It makes cakes bake up nicely.  It whitens your teeth when you brush with it.  It cleans out funky smells in your refrigerator.  All of these things relate in some fashion to stuff that goes in your mouth but generally the taste is masked by sugar or minty toothpaste or something.  Drinking it mixed with water is  . . . . interesting.

Yep, interesting.  But let me tell you, that stuff works.  I mixed up a batch of Poppa’s home remedy and I swilled it down.  The absolute moment it hit my esophagus, I could feel it start working.  I felt it go all the way down into my stomach and I could feel it surrounding all that acid in there.  It was the strangest feeling, like the bubbles were racing to the top of the liquid and those bubbles were ANGRY.  It only took a few seconds for my baking soda to make its way all the way down to the bottom of my stomach and for me to feel like something big was going to happen and happen soon.

Suddenly, I burped.  That sounds so innocent and small.  Let me tell you, it wasn’t.  Not this burp.  It came up from the very depths of all my internal organs and made its way forcefully and urgently all the way through my body and out of me.  It literally felt like I had ingested an entire Coca Cola and shot the full acidic, bubbly can of liquid out my nose.  I thought my head flew off and was never more shocked in all my life to find it still intact when the belch ended.  My eyes were watering and my nose was running and my stomach . . . . well, my stomach was completely settled.  Nary a drop of acid left.  Not one.  It was amazing. 

So there, boys and girls, is my story about heartburn.  I hope you all enjoyed it immensely and learned something new today.  Clearly I am having some writer’s block issues but I’ll be back just as soon as those clear up.  Anyone got a home remedy for that?

 

Venting – A Customer Service Story.

07 Feb 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Health Tags: ,

I’ve waffled a little on writing this post.  I don’t want to be unfair to a business because of my one bad experience.  Also, the service industry I’m going to discuss is rather an emotional one for me so I realize that I may not be entirely fair.  However, they have gone and ticked me off for the last time and I’m not going to be nice to them anymore.  I feel like they have fully earned this.  Congratulations, LifeSigns.  This is for you.   

Back story:  I signed up for a new type of health coverage this year.  I went with an HSA plan which, to make a long plan short, means only one thing of importance here:  1) all preventive care is paid at 100%.  Yearly physicals are considered preventive and I heard about a company who classify all of the tests (ie: blood work, pap, mammo, vitamin levels, etc.) as preventive.  As a matter of fact, that company has often visited our office to give Lunch and Learns, participated in our health fairs and regularly brings us general healthy information.  I liked them a great deal and the representative who visits with us is great. You can see why I was swayed.

I was excited as one can be about having a full physical when I made my appointment.  What I was really looking forward to was getting it all done in one fell swoop and working with the staff that I had heard great things about.  Unfortunately for them, I need great staff.  Actually, I need exceptional staff. 

See, I have this issue about going to the Cookie Doctor. (Think about it for a minute.  You’ll get it.)    I’m not a fan.  If you want to know the truth, I’m an emotional hot mess about it and have been known to curse like a sailor, throw a tantrum, cry until I burst a blood vessel and say horrible, horrible things like, “No YOU calm down!  If you would get naked, too, and put on this damn paper towel and let me position the headlight and the platypus and the mile-long q-tip near YOUR nether regions, I would calm down!  I don’t give a rat’s ass that it would be unprofessional for you to do that.  You do it and then you can tell me to calm down!”  I’m such a joy to be around.

Next up, though, are all the reasons they failed and truly, have nothing to do with my bad behavior.

  1. They lost my appointment.  This is why I never received a reminder call or the emailed paperwork I was to bring with me for my appointment. I was relieved, honestly.
  2. They called me 30 minutes before my originally scheduled appointment to ask me if I had indeed fasted.  I was bewildered, seeing as how the day before they admitted that they had no appointment for me.
  3. We rescheduled my appointment and they asked me to bring a check for the services I was to receive.  I was indignant.  All the information I had received from them indicated that my tests would be considered preventive and thus, covered 100%, no co-pay, no deductible.
  4. I lost the argument and promised to bring the $35 it would cost me for the appointment, an amount we had debated at great length and an amount they assured me would be all I would ever need to pay. I was resigned. 
  5. I arrived for my appointment and was asked to pay $45.  I was angry.  Turns out they forgot to tell me about the administration fee despite my asking repeatedly if there would be other charges.
  6. All exams were performed, all veins were stuck, all ultrasounds of vital organs were completed and I left, exhausted, cried out, and without any lingering mascara.  I left it (along with my pride, my dignity and my good graces) on the  roll of coloring paper they let you lie on as a nice sanitary crinkly table cover. I was a mess. 
  7. The physician (who, even after experiencing the loveliness and calm and raging blood pressure that is me when they hand me the paper towel to put on for the exam, handled me beautifully and never once felt compelled by my arguments or cursing to don her own paper towel while performing all my exams) assured me that I would have all results within the week.  I was gullible.
  8. I did receive my results.  I did.  But only after being promised that they were mailed twice, emailed once, emailed again, and then found in some long lost archive that IT had managed to institute with the implementation of a new program.  It seems that only my results had been sent there, though, and no one could figure out why I could never get them.  Boy howdy, I was ticked. 
  9. Turns out I’m not slated to die any time soon but apparently, I could use an attitude adjustment.  I was thankful.   
  10. Yesterday, and this will be a complete shock to you, I received a bill for the services LifeSigns performed.  You know, those services that fall under the 100%-paid preventive care and also the services that I paid for in advance.  I am speechless.   

Possibly speechless is the wrong word.  There was lots of this: @##%^$%!!!!! And some of this: &^%**$##@@#!!!!!!! And then more of this:  @#$$%$!#@#$$%%)*! And then I calmed down and wrote it all up for you. 

Really, I feel as if I’m being noble and merciful by giving LifeSigns an F++.  Don’t you?

Pop Quiz! Or, There’s Nothing To See Here, People. Everyone’s Virtue Is Intact. I Think.

31 Jan 2012 6 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Imparting Wisdom, This Will Probably Get Me In Trouble Tags: ,

1.       Lynnette’s husband is a handsome man.  He is tall and has no unaddressed dental issues.  He’s also a snappy dresser.  He fully and faithfully belongs to Lynnette.  Jimmie met him once and treated him with respect and friendliness, talking to him and including him in the conversation and festivities.  What is your assessment of Jimmie’s behavior with Husband-of-Lynnette?

          a.      She was being true to herself by being friendly and chatty, hoping to include Husband and make him feel welcome

          b.      She is a dirty filthy skank who was clearly hitting on Husband and is the reason why Lynnette never brings him to parties and such

2.      Freddie’s husband is a handsome man.  He is tall and has no unaddressed dental issues.  He’s also very generous in lending his bicycles out to his friends.  He fully and faithfully belongs to Freddie.  Jimmie met him once and treated him with respect and friendliness, talking to him and including him in the conversation and the festivities.  What is your assessment of Jimmie’s behavior with Husband-of-Freddie?

          a.      She was being true to herself by being friendly and chatty, hoping to include Husband and make him feel welcome

          b.      She is a dirty filthy skank who was clearly hitting on Husband and is the reason why Freddie never brings him to parties and such

3.      Martie’s husband is a handsome man.  He is tall and has no unaddressed dental issues.  He’s also one of the nicest men you’ll ever run across.  He fully and faithfully belongs to Martie.  When Jimmie first met him she treated him with respect and friendliness, talking to him and including him in the conversation and festivities.  What is your assessment of Jimmie’s behavior with Husband-of-Martie?

          a.      She was being true to herself by being friendly and chatty, hoping to include Husband and make him feel welcome

          b.      She is a dirty filthy skank who was clearly hitting on Husband and is the reason why Martie never brings him to parties and such

4.      Casual Acquaintance’s date is  . . . .  interesting looking.  He is tall and has loads of unaddressed dental issues.  Loads.  For starters, the teeth he does have are not a normal color but more blackish. He’s also greasy and shy.  He fully and faithfully belongs to Casual Acquaintance as far as Jimmie can tell.  Jimmie met him once and treated him with respect and friendliness, talking to him and including him in the conversation and festivities because he seemed intent on holding up the wall for the duration of the evening and she felt kind of bad for him.  What is your assessment of Jimmie’s behavior with Date-of-Casual Acquaintance? 

          a.      She was being true to herself by being friendly and chatty, hoping to include Date and make him feel welcome

          b.      She is a dirty filthy skank who was clearly hitting on Date despite the fact that unaddressed dental issues turn her off completely and the fact that men who are already romantically attached hold no appeal for her.  Her behavior was so bad that she deserved an email stating that she is the reason why Casual Acquaintance never brings him to parties and such. 

If it helps, you can do this test Open Book.  The Book reads like this:  All husbands and attached men are 100% safe around Jimmie, even the hottie ones like Dwayne Johnson and Tom Selleck and Denzel Washington.  No exceptions, especially for ones with very bad teeth. 

BONUS QUESTION:  Jimmie was at her café, writing and being quiet and obviously busy.  A man who smelled quite strong although not unpleasant arrived and set up shop near her.  He worked diligently at his computer for a while and occasionally peeked back at Jimmie.  He asked a question or two of her, and when she was packing up to leave, he started a full blown conversation.   

“Can I get your help with something?” asks the man.

“Sure, what’s that?” asks Jimmie. 

“Come look at this?” he says and points at his computer screen which is emblazoned with the header for DATEHOOKUP.COM.  A profile has been started.

“Oh,” Jimmie says faintly.   

“You see what I’m doing here?  My wife, well she left, and I don’t want to be alone.  What should I say here?”  he says, looking up with hopeful eyes.

“You see what I’m doing here?” he says again. 

“Ah, put your picture on it, leave out the baggage because no one wants to date someone who talks about how their spouse did them wrong all the time, and talk about what you like to do. Those are my suggestions. Good luck.”  says Jimmie.

“You see what I’m doing here?” he asks. Again.

“Yep,” says Jimmie and she left. Quickly.    

What say you – was she hit on?     

          a.      Yes, of course.  Stop being so naive.

          b.      No, of course not.  Ego is out of control.

For real, Jimmie has no clue.  Please weigh in.  

You Can Now Eat Off My Floors

26 Jan 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Home Improvement Tags:

I just did the laziest thing ever. Or the smartest thing. Depends on how you look at it but I’m going to say it’s a little of both.   

I hired someone to clean my house.

Normally I’m not a very messy person.  Normally I’m very neat.  This was not always the case.  When Martie and I were little, we shared a room.  You could tell which side was hers and which was mine.  It was almost like tape had been run down the center of the room – the floor to the right of the “tape” was pristine and held Martie’s bed and dresser.  The floor to the left was chaos and held my bed, dresser, every outfit I owned, magazines, books, nail clippers that I borrowed from Madre and then had to search for in a panic when she asked for them back, stuffed animals, shoes, hair accoutrements, school books, notebooks, craft books, trophies, ribbon, and a lot of dust.   

Martie learned the neatness lesson the hard way.  Madre always said that we could do whatever we wanted in our room as long as it didn’t creep down the stairs (remember, we were in the sweatbox called the attic bedroom). Once it crept down the stairs, though, whatever was on the stairs and the bedroom floor was free game.  We were in high school, full of angst and daily drama about our clothes and hair, and one week our room became unmanageable enough that a bunch of crap ended up on the stairs.  Madre swept through the stairs and room with a few garbage bags and within 15 minutes Martie and I lost everything we had to wear, only excepting the clothes we had on and the unfortunate, unflattering, ill-fitting wardrobe choices still left in our closet.  Oh, you’d have thought the end of the world had come we were so dramatic about it.

It took us a few weeks to earn back everything we had lost and we eventually stopped looking like homeless people in school.  It was embarrassing and one would think after that sort of experience, one would learn to keep one’s room picked up.  If one were Martie, one would have learned it after the first time.  If one were Jimmie, one would not.     

After a few years of losing clothes due to stair creepage, I learned lessons and now like a home that is clutter-free and clean.  I don’t mind cleaning.  Some days I find it relaxing and kind of enjoyable.  However, judging by the state of the dust in my house, I have not found cleaning to be relaxing or enjoyable in recent weeks.  Evidence:

 

Eek!

I heard a rumor about a cleaning crew in Nashville that does such excellent work that you can eat off their cleaned floors and that they do this work for not a lot of money.  Needless to say, I called them up and begged them to come out and give me a quote. 

Want to know what will send you to the floor with embarrassment and shame?  When the cleaning man comes over and makes comments like this:

     “Ooh, look at all that dust!” – said with genuine excitement. 

     “Wow, that is some nice dust – do not worry.  We can get it.” – said with a certain amount of glee.

     “Maybe we should come more often at first, just until we get established.” – said with a slight look of panic. 

     “How many cats did you say you had?” – said in disbelief whilst looking at the accumulation of cat fur on everything.

     “Do not worry.  We can manage this.” – said reassuringly, as I melted in a pool of shame.   

Then you know what else will send you to the floor with embarrassment and shame?  When the cleaning man sends you an email after he is done cleaning your house detailing everything he had to do:

     1. Clean the carpet

     2. Dust the blinds and clean windows in every room

     3. Dust furniture, pictures, pictures frames and a big bed upstairs.

     4. Clean both bathrooms

     5. Dust the fan located in the living room

     6. Clean the main glass door at the entrance

     7. Clean the kitchen floor including microwave, stove and the white trashcan.

     8. Dust the AC unit vents.

     9. Clean baseboards and handrail.

     10. Play with the cats (just one) 

You know, I felt almost a compulsive need to clean last night before his arrival today, yet I restrained myself.  It wasn’t all that hard. I’ve practiced restraining myself in the cleaning arena for quite some time.  Plus I don’t really understand why women feel the need to do that – clean before the cleaning people come.  What is that? 

When I got home to survey my sparkling clean house, I noticed that all of my toilet paper had been folded into a point.  I suppose I’ve just hired myself a permanent housekeeper.  I luff him. 

No, I Did Not Die.

19 Jan 2012 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Imparting Wisdom Tags: ,

See this here picture?  I took it at Kroger one day last week. 

 

Is it because I’m a woman that my thought process went like this as I walked by? 

Wow, that’s a LOT of M&Ms.  Gosh, they look good.  What a colorful display.  Kind of wasteful though.  I wonder how many bags they had to open to get that thing full. What are they going to do with them once they take the display down?  Hopefully, they will put them in the break room and the employees will get them but they’ll have to include a scoop because no one will eat them once everyone has had their paws in them.  Gosh, that is just SO wasteful . . . all that chocolate . . . Cute, though. 

Is it because he’s a man that the guy in the store who stuck his whole grubby mitt down in the jar had this thought process: 

Ooh, snack! 

And after he finished the first handful, he must have thought Yeah, that was tasty because he went back for a second handful.

FYI, men, public decorative displays of food are not for snacking.   I just thought you should be aware. 

I’m Just A Stereotype Waiting To Happen

05 Jan 2012 5 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Pets, This Will Probably Get Me In Trouble Tags: ,

Picture this:  A woman goes into a convenient store and purchases a Dr. Pepper.  She opens it, takes a swallow, gets into her car and puts the Dr. Pepper into the cup holder with the lid still off.  Her car is FULL of dogs and every one of them makes a beeline for either her mouth or the Dr. Pepper, licking both with full open swabs of the tongue.  She doesn’t seem to mind at all that she shares her bottle of Dr. Pepper and her kisser with all of her dogs and their germs. 

What is your initial impression or assumption?  (I mean other than “Gross!” of course.  You can tell me all you want how dogs’ mouths are cleaner than ours but when I see a dog with his tongue all the way down inside a Dr. Pepper bottle, I’m not going to listen and I will make judgments.)  Do you automatically think she is single and assume that those dogs are her family and that she gives them liberties that other dogs don’t have?  I’ll be honest – I did.  Call me what you will but that was my first thought.   

Now picture this:  A woman owns two cats.  Those cats tend to hog the bed on a regular basis and can spread out like nobody’s business, even though they only weigh 10 and 14 pounds, respectively. She is not wired mathematically on a good day, much less in the middle of the night.  She cannot figure out the logistics of spreading out in a nice slumber with the two cats and spends most of her nights huddled into one corner of the bed with one foot awkwardly bent under one cat’s butt and the other tentatively touching the other’s head in an effort to keep everyone all unharmed and comfy. 

What is your initial impression or assumption?  Single, right?  Crazy cat lady?  She gives them liberties that other cats don’t have?  That this is Jimmie and she is this ( ) close to being a stereotype?  I’ll be honest – that is my impression too.   

Look at this picture. 

 

Do you see?  Do you see how I can’t even say all the stuff that single people say like “I love being single!  I get the whole bed to myself!”  Because I really don’t.  I have to share it with two cats, one of whom invades my personal space so very much so that I’ve woken up with his nose on mine and the other of who regularly snores in a loud squeaky honk. 

By the way, I refuse the stereotype.  I won’t be the single crazy cat lady who shares her Dr. Pepper with her cats.  I’m gonna get married.  I’m not really sure to whom yet, but I’m gonna.  I’ve got plans for that man, and I know his name is not Chuck.  He does have nice teeth, though. 

This One Isn’t For Everyone. Also, Happy New Year!

01 Jan 2012 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Family, Home Improvement, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus Tags: ,

Happy New Year, everyone!

I fully intended to write a more serious Christmas post and had one started.  I worked at it a couple of times but it never came together and on one of the most special of days, I didn’t want to turn in shoddy work.  Jesus deserves better than that on His birthday so it will wait until next year when I can hopefully get it right. 

I trust that if you are reading this, you survived the holidays and the ball drop.  I almost didn’t, you’ll be happy to know, because there is a story and I’ve written it up for your entertainment.  However, this post is not for the faint of heart.  If talking about blood makes you squeamish you should probably skip this one.  Seriously.  I won’t be offended. 

On my About page, I told you all about why I started writing in the first place.  I received a Christmas letter a few years ago that could most likely be classified as the worst Christmas letter ever.  One of the topics was “Illness” and in it, the author discussed in minute detail all the sicknesses her family had over the past year.  I got all arrogant and thought that I could do a far better job and write something that people would want to read so three years ago, I began that tradition.   

This year I wrote a beautiful letter detailing all that I had learned over the past year about home maintenance and the injuries I received in that learning process.  In all fairness, I only lost one toenail and had only one pretty serious bout of nausea when I learned how to snake a drain for the first time.  Still, I think Daddy-O and JiJi realized that I was going to continue to make small home improvements on my own and bought me two really nice gifts to help me along:  an electric screwdriver and my very own pocketknife (a pink one) which I had mentioned wanting more than once. 

With great excitement, I realized that my new pocketknife would be helpful in opening the mountain of gifts I had.  See, JiJi likes to use the curling ribbon on all her gifts and getting that off the package is no easy feat.  (She also likes to shop. See: mountain of gifts.)  I whipped out my knife, cut off the ribbon and promptly sliced my finger open.  The blade was so sharp and the cut was so clean that I barely felt the cut so it took a few milliseconds for my brain to catch up.   

“Oh,” I said and then realized that I really had quite a lot of blood to contend with.  Like really a lot.  I had cut the index finger on my left hand and so when I cradled my left hand in my right, I started collecting a nice little pool of blood in my palm. 

JiJi immediately sent Pooh and Tigger into the bathroom to get me something to compress the wound and off they went after staring for a moment in total fascination at the blood that was nearly fountaining from my finger.  From the bathroom we heard all manner of clanging and banging and opening of cabinets yet no child appeared with a wad of gauze or a box of tissues. 

Overall, I’m very good in a crisis.  I’m calm and level-headed when catastrophies happen.  I rarely panic until it is all over.  But this time we all became slightly panicky as the pool of blood became harder to contain, you see. I was starting to worry for the state of the couch and my clothes when someone, I can’t remember who, asked in exasperation, “Girls, what are you doing?” 

Tigger innocently replied, “Getting the first aid kit.”  Aren’t they the cutest?  They have learned all the safety rules and will be the first to yell “STOP, DROP AND ROLL!” when the smoke alarm goes off.   

Anyway, JiJi roared, “Just bring something,” and Pooh, after another enormous clang, ran into the living room with two squares of toilet paper. Two tiny little squares for the fount of blood that was now gushing forth from my finger and pouring down my arm.  Tigger finally dug out the first aid kit and brought me a tiny band aid.  I couldn’t help but think it was like someone set me in front of a full bathtub and gave me a single cotton ball and instructions to soak it all up.

We finally got me all squared away.  JiJi and Martie had a look at my injury, told me I wouldn’t die and slapped some band aids on it so tightly that I could feel my every heart beat.  Daddy-O said jovially from his perch in the living room, “Well. She’s bifurcated her finger.”  It was such a statement; it spoke volumes.  I don’t think anyone expected any less of me.  I do know that for the next few months, I will explain away every dumb thing I do with my new electric screwdriver by saying, “I lost a lot of blood that one time.  I can’t help it.” 

 

 

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