I’m Going Somewhere | Love, Jimmie

Kilkenny

04 Aug 2013 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Going Somewhere, Outings, Uncategorized Tags: Humor, Travel

. . . . . but after being awake for 40 hours, sweating like pigs right through our clothes, and walking a total of about 8 miles in one day, we were dunzos. Slept like babies.

We left Dublin the next morning after our first experience with the traditional Irish breakfast. My gosh, they offer you a lot of food in that breakfast: assorted fruit juices, coffee, tea, yogurt, a variety of cereals, fried eggs, sausage, bacon, blood sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, fruit and toast. Toast! Man, I forgot how much I like toast. The last time I bought bread was 2008, I think, so I was particularly enamored of the toast.

We packed up our tiny little car and hit the road.

Let’s talk about the road and our car for a minute. We knew when renting our vehicle that we would get something tiny and something without an automatic transmission. Woney and I both were alright with that. We also knew that we had to maneuver the car on the opposite side of the road from the opposite side of the car. Woney and I both were alright with that as well (although in all fairness, I was doubly alright with that as she did all the driving and I only had to use the imaginary brake on the passenger side). What we did not realize was that while our car was roughly four feet wide, our lane on the road was only roughly four feet one inch wide. Those were the main roads. On the back roads, of which we took many, the road was merely six feet wide. We were ecstatic about that until we realized that the six-foot-wide road was intended to hold two lanes, for two cars. Also, Ireland doesn’t believe in shoulders per se, but more in giant walled structures and vicious shrubbery literally right next to the yellow line. Really, let’s just say there was no yellow line. It was four feet one inch of road per car and then wall. Or, you know, a 400 foot drop off into an abyss. Before the trip was done, I was intimately familiar will all the roadside shrubbery in Ireland.

So Woney and I took off for Kilkenny on those narrow roads. During that drive, I realized just how big America is. I can see it on paper, of course, but everything here is just enormous compared to so many other places in the world. Driving it really drove it home for me. (That was a terrible pun and completely unintentional.) Anyway, in short order we arrived in Kilkenny and found our Bed and Breakfast. Let me put in a kudos here for Mena House. It was utterly charming and the proprietor, Katherine, was the absolute most helpful person I have met to date. Without Katherine, we would have missed so many truly wonderful things on our trip. Highly Recommend Mena House.

Katherine instructed us to walk into town, have a drink at the café on the river, visit the castle, and then make our way to two pubs. We did just that. The drink by the river was glorious. Woney and I took probably 40 pictures of the scenery around us. We could see the Kilkenny castle in the distance and I was pretty stoked about it. A castle! We have nothing that old in America. America was just getting started around the time those castles were getting broken in. We are babies over here. Anyway, we wandered through the little city and into the castle to discover that it was . . . neat. I guess that’s really all I can say about it other than to say it was little boring. They have renovated it only as far back as the Victorian era when a family lived in it so while parts of it felt really authentic, it was only authentic back to the 1800s. Still, it was a nice visit.

The true heart of Kilkenny is in the people, though. That was the best part of this city. Based on Katherine’s suggestion, after the castle we walked straight to Kytelers for a tasty beverage. I already knew that Guinness was not for me so as we plopped down on the barstool, I said to Martin, our bartender, “I’ll have whatever cider you have”. And just like that I got a new tasty beverage. Yerm.

Let’s talk about Martin for a moment. He was the exact sort of bartender for which we were looking, in the exact sort of pub for which we were looking. He was absolutely perfect. We spent the better part of the afternoon hanging out with him and Adam, who is only 19 and is going to school to learn how to create video games and who has promised to develop a character with giant hair and giant hoots and a tiny waist named Jimmie. I love Adam.

Martin entertained us for hours. I’m not sorry to say that I was rather inebriated but even if I hadn’t been, I would have loved Martin. He filled all the water glasses with a hose and made fun of Irish country music. “No one ever writes a song about the bumper potato crop,” he said. I miss Martin. Highly Recommend Kytelers and Martin.

Martin

Eventually we wandered off to the next pub, promising a drink to Martin if he found us. Matt the Millers was the next stop and I enjoyed that pub just as much as Kytelers. “I’ll have a Bulmers,” I said expertly to Shane as I plopped on the barstool. Let’s talk about Shane. What a hottie he was! I took pictures of him cleaning stuff all night and promised him that if he came to America all my friends would find him highly attractive with that dish towel in his hand. Something about a man who cleans . . . . Highly Recommend Matt the Millers and Shane.

Shane

By this point, Woney and I had had a lot to drink. A lot. I was feeling particularly fond of everyone in the entire city but after some time, it seemed that two men in particular were quite fond of us. This is Paul.

Woney and Paul

Isn’t he lovely? He and Woney spent hours chatting on the barstools and when we finally wandered off to find food, Paul escorted us safely. He took turns holding our hands, mostly because I kept stopping to talk to everyone. I loved those people just so much. I loved Paul. Paul loved Woney. I loved Woney. I loved Shane. I loved Martin. And Albert loved me.

Jimmie and Albert

Sigh. When Albert told me that I had a nice body and he would love to escort me home, Woney disengaged us from everyone and we meandered to Mena House.

Kilkenny was exactly the Ireland we wanted. That was what we went to do and see. It was absolutely perfect and I will go back. I will also find Martin and Shane and treat them to a tasty beverage of their own. See you soon, boys!

Next stop: Blarney!

Dublin

02 Aug 2013 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Going Somewhere, Outings Tags: Humor, Travel

. . . . . After a long conversation she said, “Sigh. You sound just like Jessica Simpson. I love it.”

And that shut me up for the rest of the flight.

Mostly.

Eventually, Woney and I arrived in Dublin. I won’t give you the gritty details of that entire day because it was the longest day in the history of days. I will, however, tell you about all the stuff we did there because it was fun. Mostly.

Lunch – In an effort to attempt sleeping on the plane, I turned down every food offer the airline made. I missed the memo on the ridiculous amount of time it would take to get our bags, get our car, drive to the hotel and not check in, so by the time we were at a stopping point, I could have eaten a dead armadillo raw, still in its shell. We found a pub in short order and experienced our first culinary adventure in Ireland which consisted mostly of gravy. It was fantastic!

The Guinness Brewery – This was one of three items on Woney’s bucket list. We were assured by the concierge at our hotel (into which we could not check in) that the brewery was just a few short blocks away. This assurance was false. We walked endlessly for blocks and blocks and were slightly lost in a foreign country (pay attention – this is called foreshadowing). We did find it, though, by asking directions more than once although I’m pretty sure Woney would have sniffed it out eventually. It was a fabulous tour. Six floors of beer history, production, games, etc., all housed in a giant pint glass structure. Woney and I opted for the Master Pour section of the tour and once Woney poured her Guinness, the instructor queried “Have you done this before?”

Woney said, “No, I just drink a lot of Guinness.”

Before I ever left the states, I promised a friend that I would drink a pint of Guinness in his honor. I truly meant it. And then I took a swig of Woney’s Guinness. Call me a Philistine but no thank you. Casey, that swig was your Guinness. I raised that toast to you. And then I called it done. Barf.

Butler’s Chocolate Experience – This was not on our bucket list but man, this was fun. A few months ago as we were researching stuff to do in Ireland, we booked the tour for this one. It seemed interesting and you know . . . chocolate. It wasn’t until we were well into the tour that Woney and I realized we were two of only four adults, and that all the rest of the guests were children. Huh. The tour included a lot of samples, though, so we weren’t too upset about that.

Another part of the experience was the opportunity to decorate a piece of chocolate. I was expecting a delicate truffle with miniscule piping bags full of muted pastel icings – a “grown up” experience. Instead we got these:

Woney and I and all the children donned our hair nets and lab coats and set to work, tongues poking out in concentration. After some concerted effort, my bear looked like this. I call her Wilhelmina.

And this is Woney’s creation, Lulu. She’s a little slutty. We didn’t let the children get a look at her. Innocent eyes, you know.

The Church Bar – This is a must see if you ever make it to Dublin. We asked one of our cabbies about a good local place we should visit for dinner, and this was his recommendation. It’s an old Catholic church turned into a bar, which feels slightly sacrilegious, but the food was traditional and delicious. Highly recommend.

Church Bar

Sweating – This was the unexpected portion of our trip. Woney and I were so proud of our full suitcases and the clothes that we packed. I was particularly fond of a new hoodie I recently acquired that I couldn’t wait to wear. It will be February before it’s chilly enough to wear it in Tennessee. Anyway, it was with some dismay that Woney and I received the news about the record high temperatures in Ireland. What compounded the dismay was learning that our hotel was booked at capacity for the night and while we would be allowed to check in, it would be much, much later. Please understand that we had sweated a whole lot in NYC and then we sweated on the plane for a good 8 hours. Furthermore, we sweated in Dublin doing all that walking and getting lost. We did all of that wearing the same set of clothes. I forgot to tell you this last time, but in our freak show rushing around trying to get a cab, my super cute maxi dress got caught up in the escalator stairs, nearly rendering me nude for the cab ride. I saved it, though, with only a few tears and grease stains which now permanently decorate the bottom hem of my dress. What I’m saying is, not only did I look slightly homeless, but I also probably smelled really bad.

We did eventually get checked into the hotel and took the most amazing showers of our lives. Plumbing in Ireland is a bit different than what we are used to, so getting the water to come on was a challenge. Electricity is also a bit different, so turning on the lights was also a challenge. We completely embarrassed ourselves by calling the front desk to ask how the lamps worked.

It was with great pleasure that Woney and I went to bed that night. I have a sneaking suspicion that the beds we utilized would be disgustingly uncomfortable had we had them any other night, but after being awake for 40 hours, sweating like pigs right through our clothes, and walking a total of about 8 miles in one day, we were dunzos. Slept like babies.

Next stop: Kilkenny!

In Which We Almost Don’t Make It To Dublin

29 Jul 2013 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, I'm Going Somewhere Tags: Humor, Travel

I gotta be honest with you, Dublin was not my favorite city. However, I have loads of things to tell you before we ever get there and I plan on you being here for a while. Go get some coffee or some ice cream and settle in.

*****

. . . . . After some time, Woney and I wandered off. We made our contributions and left little pieces of our hearts there to mingle with the other left-behind hearts.

We made it back to our hotel, collected our baggage and my pillow and hit the road for the airport. The concierge at our hotel insisted that the bus to Newark was the way to go, that it was only a few blocks away, and that a cab was not necessary. Off we trudged with our ridiculous suitcases and my ridiculous pillow, giving our cankles one last chance to really flourish before leaving the heat of New York, and as we arrived at the bus station, a man fully inebriated took it upon himself to escort us to the proper bus and then held out his hand for a tip. We stood in the bus line for a very long time after giving him a couple of bucks with which he promptly purchased a cheap bottle of something. The traffic was horrendous. The fumes on the road nearly killed us. Once we hit the road, I lost count of how many times we almost died in an interstate-shut-down type of accident caused by our bus. Eventually, after an eternity of horror and stomach heaving, we arrived at the Newark Airport.

Toys R Us Ferris Wheel

Now Woney and I are good travelers. We checked in for our flight the night before but upon arriving at the airline desk, discovered that the flight on which were booked and for which we had already checked in no longer existed. It hadn’t for some time. Like days. Conveniently, we were booked on another flight but inconveniently, it was so badly delayed that we were going to miss our connection in Toronto for Dublin.

Want to know the attendant’s suggestion? “Grab a cab to LaGuardia for a different flight but haul ass because you have less than an hour to get there and still make your flight.”

Molesting a Pig, New York City

As we were running down the hall I began to holler about my feelings for Air Canada. I gotta be honest with you. Not my favorite airline. I was still hollering about it as we clambered down the stairs and frantically looked for a cab when out of thin air, a man materialized. “You ladies need a cab?” he asked.

Oh, the Hallelujah Chorus rang out!

“Yes!” we gasped, and he grabbed our ridiculous suitcases and walked us to the parking lot. Hustled is more like it, especially after we explained our dilemma. The man was moving and we were saved. Except halfway through the parking lot, a police officer stopped the man and said, “Sir, you need to turn around and walk these ladies back to the airport and leave them safely at the cab stand.”

The man said, “But-“

The police officer said again, “Turn around and walk these ladies back to the airport and leave them safely at the cab stand.” So he turned us around and walked us back to the airport. Woney and I were agog. What just happened? Were we almost murdered? He was going to murder us and steal my glitter eyeliner, wasn’t he?

The cop followed us and then met us at the door and asked where we were going. We explained about our flight and the man volunteered, “They are going to miss it.” The cop looked at him for a long, long moment and then said, “Okay. You keep them safe.”

Woney and I were still agog. What just happened? The man hustled us back to the parking lot and escorted us into a swanky black Mercedes and hauled us quickly and effectively to LaGuardia. Let me say here – I’m so thrilled that Woney and I now have a case of black lung and some serious intestinal issues from the Newark bus ride that it turns out we didn’t even need to take. I’m so happy that we did all that hauling of suitcases and nurturing our cankles and sitting next to weird people only to be grandly escorted in style for an exorbitant fee in a Mercedes to our final destination.

Gettin’ some culture, MoMA

Are you wondering about The Man? His name was Tony “Kalifornia” and while we had a dubious introduction, I have to say that Tony “Kalifornia” is probably one of my most favorite people in the world. Not only did he not murder us and steal our glitter eyeliner, he hauled ass to the airport and was charming and polite and handsome and knew all the back roads. I will forever be grateful to him, and if you need his contact info because your crappy airline treated you crappily, I will give it to you. I have his card. He can give you a ride.

Sunburn! Trim

Obviously we made it to LaGuardia. We boarded the plane. I was ROTTEN to the flight attendant and despite her having every right to spit in my Diet Coke, she was lovely to me. But she tried to move my pillow, see, and I was already pretty huffed up about Air Canada and let’s just say that her asking me to give up my pillow space for someone whose suitcase was too large made me act like a real tool. I don’t know how Woney stands me.

Other than the flight being extra long and extra hot and despite the fact that taking a red eye, something we crowed about with pride before actually taking the red eye, was miserable, we did make it to Dublin. Our excitement far outweighed any bad experience we had. Every five minutes Woney would turn around and poke me and say, “We are going to Ireland.” And I would tug on her hair every ten minutes or so and say, “Guess what? We are going to Ireland.”

Hanging out at a castle, as you do. Ballyseede

As a special preview for our trip, I got to sit next to a lovely young woman from Belfast. She was flying home from an extended work trip, and we chatted endlessly about her country and mine. Honestly, I was delighted with her accent so the longer we talked, the less I minded not sleeping. Turns out she was delighted with my accent, too. After a long conversation she said, “Sigh. You sound just like Jessica Simpson. I love it.”

And that shut me up for the rest of the flight.

Everyday occurence. Ireland.

Next stop: Dublin! (For real this time.)

New York City

23 Jul 2013 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Going Somewhere, Uncategorized Tags: Ground Zero, Humor

The Big Apple. I’d been there before, once when I was 12 and again when I was 16. It’s been a minute. Woney had never been so when we began planning this trip, it only made sense to visit there first.

Before I ever get to the New York stories, I must tell you that I began packing for this trip long about two months ago. I made Martie come up for the weekend specifically so that we could go through every single item of clothing in my closet to ensure that I picked items that a) were comfortable and b) gave me a butt. Irish lasses have booties is my understanding and I wanted to fit in. Anyway, Martie and I picked out all my clothes and then I packed my giant suitcase. Woney doesn’t have a Martie so she called me often to discuss wardrobe choices. So often, in fact, that we decided she should just bring the entire contents of her closet for us to go through at my house. Which we did. Once we were done, it looked as if her closet puked in my living room, delighting Murphy to no end.

Back when I was married, my father gave me a body pillow one year for Christmas. I’m not sure why. It looked nice on the bed, though, so I kept it and as time passed, I became exceptionally fond of that pillow. I am now so fond of it that I have a body pillow in every house where I regularly spend the night. When I don’t have one, I don’t sleep well. So in our planning and packing, I confessed to Woney that I needed my pillow for this trip. She agreed.

On Wednesday morning we awoke, bright eyed and excited. Rather, we awoke and made it to the plane on time. Who flies at the horrific hour of 6:45 a.m.? Ridiculous. Anyway, we lugged our giant suitcases full of our wardrobes and my giant pillow to the airport and headed off. All the way through security, all the way through the plane, all the way through customs, all the way through New York, all the way through Ireland, and at every location on the flight back home, people commented on my pillow. “Can I borrow it?” asked the pilots. “You ought to sleep well,” commented the Irishmen. “Good Lord, I see why you brought this,” commented Woney when she borrowed it once. I am a smart traveler.

Once we arrived in New York and deposited our luggage and my pillow, Woney and I took off. We had stuff to see. We had pretzels to buy. We had a very fancy schmancy dinner to attend. We rode the ferris wheel at Toys R Us. We found a wall with handprints of famous people. Below is me, holding hands with Clint Eastwood. I did that for Poppa. He would have liked that. Woney held hands with Jason Statham and she is a lucky, lucky girl as Jason Statham is hot.

We rode the subway. We shopped on Canal Street. We fended off the sly Asian women who insisted that they had the best Coach purses in New York, would we please walk with them down this alley. We went to a bar, and yes, I kissed a boy and I liked it. (This is what happens when I drink in a bar.) We went to MoMA. We went to Central Park. We ate at Beauty and Essex, and I’m here to tell you, go there. Go as soon as possible. Get the grilled cheese dumplings, one order for each person. You will think that a single order will be enough for the table but once you taste one, you will realize the error of your ways. My gosh, I don’t think I ever tasted anything so good in all my life.

Before we left on this trip, I worried a little that once I was given free reign with my diet, I’d go off the rails like nobody’s business. But after two and a half days in NYC, I realized that I could eat the entire contents of a pizza shop and be fine. We walked about a hundred miles there. I still have cankles from all the walking. It is a busy place, full of every kind of person you ever dreamed possible. It goes and goes and goes, and never shuts down. It’s glorious and I would HATE to live there.

For our last day in the city, Woney and I planned to go to Ground Zero. We had met up with friends a couple of times during our stay and enjoyed their company but this was something we wanted to do alone. I knew that it would be no party, and I didn’t want to have to fake my charm when my heart was hurting.

We took the subway downtown and walked to the site. Standing in line brought ready tears to my eyes. There were some markers and signs there, explaining how the park was set up, and explaining the Flag of Honor. That fire house above lost every single responder they had on 9/11, by the way. I took a few pictures but more than anything, I just wept. We queued for a while and the closer we got the quieter things were. Entering the park was a somber experience. It’s rather plain, filled with ivy and trees and the two monument pools for all the lives lost. It’s beautiful, though, and absolutely perfect. Please go if you ever get the chance.

After some time, Woney and I wandered off. We made our contributions and left little pieces of our hearts there to mingle with the other left-behind hearts.

We made it back to our hotel, collected our baggage and my pillow and hit the road for the airport.

Next stop: Dublin!

Coming Soon To A Blog Near You

22 Jul 2013 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Going Somewhere, Uncategorized Tags: Humor

Last night Woney and I arrived home from our trip. If any of you asks, “What trip?” I will know that you a) are brand new to me, or b) never listen to anything I say. It had better be the former.

Anyway, last night we arrived back from Dublin and this morning when I got up, my nose was peeling. I got sunburned so badly that the skin on my nose was like the hard shell of a bug. Like a cicada. Who gets sunburned in Ireland, I ask you! This girl.

Remember that tropical cruise that Woney and I took two years ago wherein we froze to death? Remember how we packed all our cute summer things and our swimmy suits and then we spent hours on the deck of the boat in those tiny little clothes but also under four beach towels each because the sun never came out? Right.

Ireland is currently experiencing record high temperatures, temperatures that they haven’t seen since 1963. It’s like 90 degrees over there every day. There is no rain. They are experiencing a drought and while the forecasters are calling for rain today and tomorrow, Woney’s and my vacation ended before today and tomorrow. Everyone called us lucky. Everyone exclaimed over our good fortune, over our experience of Ireland with these record making sunny days. And really, we were lucky except for the fact THAT WE PACKED CLOTHES FOR THEIR TRADITIONAL GLOOMY, CHILLY WEATHER. In other words, we sweated. A lot. We never get the weather right. It’s annoying.

I have a lot to say about this trip. My plan is to write a post for every day we were there. I’m going through pictures now because everyone knows that pictures tell most of the story anyway. And everyone knows how frustrating it is when you get a gob of pictures from a co-worker or a friend and they want to hog them all, holding them in their hands and giving you every excruciatingly small detail about every person in the picture. Truthfully, I don’t really care a whole lot about your great uncle Tom and his second step son and their dog, Marvin. Please just let me look at the pictures I want to look at.

Speaking of pictures, here’s a good one for you, taken right after our flight into New York City. I was attempting to have big hair. It was a fail.

Muh Hur

I’ll type at you tomorrow. I’ve got a lot of work to do.

Love,
Jimmie

A Post About Nothing – The Seinfeld Edition

20 Jun 2013 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, Home Improvement, I'm Going Somewhere, I'm Such A Girl Tags: Humor

When I began this blog, lo those many years ago (two), my Auntie Anne told me that eventually my friends would gently nudge me to write something had it been too long since my last post. She was right. Roxanne is pretty good about it, sending me notes that read: “I don’t mean to alarm you but I think a link is broken on your sight. Nothing has been posted for weeks!” Lynnette is also on top of things, saying, “Jimmie, seriously. What are you doing over there?” Katniss has been known to remind me and most recently, Dammit Todd has jumped into the fray.

Messages of that nature make me realize that I am a lazy creature sometimes. Or a thoughtless one. My reaction is either, “I know! But I was reading this really great book, see . . .” or one of complete surprise. “What do you mean? I have so much to say! How have I not written that down?” Both scenarios prompt me to go to Panera right away and scribble down some words.

Unfortunately, lately I have had no words. Nothing’s wrong, but no one has fallen down in front of me and no one of a questionable nature has asked me for a date. Actually, that isn’t true but lately I’m only interested in throwing myself under the bus, not earnest men wanting my number even though they are miles shorter than me and live 3 states away.

I asked Katniss if she could manage a strategically placed fall-down-face plant right in front of me. She screeched, “Do you not remember the time I fell face first out of the elevator?! With a full Coke in my hand?! That stain in the hallway? That was me! Do not ever ask me to fall down! I will do it, spectacularly!” And then I asked Dammit Todd to fall down, hahahahaha, no. Dammit Todd is the most athletic, agile, coordinated person I have ever met. So, no, he did not comply either.

Essentially what I am saying is my life is a bit dull now. I’m going to Ireland soon (23 days!) and everything seems to pale in comparison. I did buy a new vacuum cleaner. That was exciting. It was a birthday present from my sister and to myself, and yes, I know that last year I was all upset about Miguel buying me old people stuff and this year I went and did it to myself. But you should see how this thing works! My gosh, my old one must have died months ago because I could have stuffed a king size quilt with all the cat hair I vacuumed up. It was horrifying. Let me take a moment here to apologize to all my houseguests of late. I’m sorry you were drenched in fur. While I know that Murphy is a shedder, I had no idea that he left his entire pelt all over the house.

Also, I went to Florida with Freddie. That wasn’t dull but it did rain a whole lot. I managed to burn my backside, every area that I cannot possibly reach with the aloe vera gel, so not only did I cook my skin into bacon, I’m now peeling and I have thousands of new freckles.

Speaking of Freddie, I realize I have not updated you on my friends lately. I asked for prayers for some of them when Poppa was so sick and I now have happy news to report.

Quan is moving to Nashville. Hallelujah, it’s about time!

Freddie is a free woman, meaning Ian is no longer in the picture and hot men can apply here for dates with her.

Lynnette is a mommy now. This was the most unexpected but for at least a little while, Lynnette gets to mother the cutest little boy in the whole world.

And finally, Pee-tah (remember Pee-tah, of the I Almost Saw Him Naked story?) is going to be my roommate. Yes, I know I already have a roommate who buys me paper towels and garbage cans (I know! I got a new garbage can, too!) but, Pee-tah! I already vacuumed all the cat hair out of his room and tried to make it less girlie in there but quite frankly, that is a hopeless task. I am the girliest person I know.

Okay, that’s it, folks. Oh wait, I did have a birthday. I didn’t even bother typing up a list of everything you guys were supposed to get me. I’m 41. Who cares about 41? 41 is officially middle aged, and since I had all the big parties and shirtless men and cake last year, this one slid right on by without so much as a whimper. I think everyone was mightily relieved about that, even me.

I will leave you with one final bit of very exciting news. I’m getting a new roof! Isn’t that exciting?! Apparently some storm ripped through my neighborhood and shredded a bunch of roofs and mine was one of them. If a whole passel of roofers hadn’t repeatedly knocked on my door and offered to fix it once I signed on the dotted line and turned over a retainer (and no, I was not that naïve), I never would have known. I don’t know what I thought those shingles were doing in my yard, but roof damage? No way. So anyway, new roof!

I’m really 41, aren’t I? Crap.

Back In The Groove?

09 Apr 2013 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Going Somewhere, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus Tags: Humor

In 91 days, Woney and I are leaving for Ireland. Actually, we are leaving for New York first, then two days after that we are leaving for Ireland. When things are on an even keel, it is pretty much all I talk about anymore.

So I was on the elevator, talking about Ireland with a co-worker, when one of the maintenance guys riding the elevator with us asked, “Are you of Irish descent?”

I said, “Of course. Can you see my freckles? That is the Irish part. The giant calves I have, that is the German part. So I’m both.”

Here’s where my story takes a tragic turn. The maintenance guy twinkled at me and said in his best flirty voice, utterly proud of himself, “There is nothing wrong with a sturdy woman.”

Sturdy. Woman.

Sturdy.

I don’t even want to talk anymore.

The end.

A Trip To Tampa, Part One

24 Jan 2013 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, I Will Cut You, I'm Going Somewhere Tags: Humor, Travel

So I went to Tampa. I didn’t get a tan. This should not surprise you.

This also should not surprise you. I met some strangers. Woney flew out to meet me there, but other than her, I knew nary a one of these people I was to hang out with for three days. I am an excellent judge of character when I get to know you over email and/or Facebook. I totally know the difference between someone who says “I promise not to steal your big sexy hair products and to leave your virtue intact” and someone who says “I am in Nicaragua with my mum who is sick. I am sad. I love you, please wire money.” What I’m saying is you do not have to worry about me meeting strangers and picking roommates from Craigslist.

There’s a lot to discuss about this trip so I’m going to have to do this in parts. It’s a lot to process. Plus I had a tasty beverage or two while there and so some things are fuzzy. I’m such a lightweight.

The flight out was lovely. Fairly uneventful. Crowded. The flight attendant in my section of the plane was a nice man, although a bit of an Eeyore. I usually fly Southwest and if I’m lucky I’ll get a flight crew full of fun. I like the ones who sing, tell stories, and generally put some pizazz in the safety messages. This flight attendant was nothing like that. Following is the conversation he had with me and my seatmates.

Flight attendant, clutching his drink order pad, to those of us in my aisle: What would you like to drink?

Seatmate1: Ginger ale.

Flight attendant: You said Diet Coke?

Seatmate 1: No, ginger ale.

Seatmate 2: I’ll have a Diet Coke, please.

Me: Do you have diet ginger ale?

Flight attendant: No, we have Diet Coke.

Me: I’ll have water.

Time passed. We ate peanuts. We waited.

Flight attendant, clutching his drink tray, to Seatmate 1: Here’s your Diet Coke.

Seatmate 1: I ordered ginger ale.

Flight attendant: I wrote down Diet Coke.

Seatmate 1: I’d prefer a ginger ale.

Flight attendant: <heavy sigh>

Flight attendant to seatmate 2: Here’s your Diet Coke.

Flight attendant to me: Here’s your Diet Coke.

I opened my mouth to say, “No, I ordered water” but I saw his face, his Eeyore countenance, and the sigh that was coming, so I took the Diet Coke and clutched it in my hand until the garbage bag came around.

Then I arrived in Tampa and met some strangers and had the time of my life.

And then I had a flight home. Boy, it was a doozy. The flight itself was fine, no worries there, I’m alive. But Woney and I ran into something interesting as we arrived at the airport. We saw loads of people wearing black and bright green clothing and on all that black and bright green clothing was a green sparkly logo. Now I’m a big fan of all thing sparkly, of course, so I was instantly captivated until I realized that the logo didn’t really say anything. Then I caught on. Ohhhhhh. Stare at the logo, ask a question about it and immediately get sucked into a sales pitch. I hate that! Even though my eyes were drawn to the shiny, I walked quickly and firmly away from all those people. It was a chore, let me tell you. They were EVERYWHERE.

I handled the walking away marvelously until I walked the gangplank to get to my plane. There, in the bouncy walking tube, I was accosted by a husband and wife team as I began the slow crawl to get to the plane. She was decked out literally from head to toe in her bright green and he even had his sparkly logo on a baseball jersey. Die hards. They were all up in my personal space, yapping at me about their product*, handing me crap that I clutched in my sweaty paw until the flight attendant came by with the garbage bag. They wanted my contact info, etc., etc. and I politely declined as I boarded the plane, grabbing the first seat I could find in relief to be away from the vultures.

I sat down with a whoosh in aisle two and do you know I sat right next to another one of those varmints? She tricked me. She had on a regular old black jacket over her sparkly green logo and only unzipped it after I sat down. I just sighed and took the information, clutching it in my hand until the flight attendant came by for garbage pickup. I hate that mess. If you are going to sell something and turn into your product, losing all your former personality and charm, go away from me. I do not want what you are selling.

Oh, and speaking of flight attendants and charm, on this flight I had a Ricky Martin-type guy who was adorable. He rattled off his safety spiel and suddenly, right in the middle of it, said “If you have any questions, please find a flight attendant. Unless they are naked. Never trust the naked ones.” And then he went right on about his business.

So I’ve given you the bookend information on my trip. There’s more to come. I just have to get over my lazy haze that I got when I was down there so that I can write it all up for you.

*I’m not going to tell you what the product was because they annoyed me. It isn’t a product you want anyway unless you like people eyeing you critically and giving you low self-esteem with their suggestions about how they can fix you. I like you guys too much to subject you to that.

Guest Post: Boss

01 Nov 2012 10 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Guest Post, I'm Going Somewhere Tags: Humor, Travel

Hello folks, its Boss. I have known and worked with Jimmie for a long time and she has graciously offered to let me expound a few thoughts. (Editor’s Note: Oh, goodie!)

As you may or may not know, I have made a career out of being a handyman. Not the kind that Jimmie constantly needs to fix the niggling stuff around her house. No, my job is to basically fly around the country (sometimes the world) and fix things. Sometimes it is a project, sometimes it is a client relationship, sometimes it is an employee and sometimes it is the whole company culture (particularly when run by a CEO with no experience, no maturity, no eggs, and, inexplicably, an ego the size of Tennessee). (Editor’s Note: Perhaps Boss is talking about the last company we worked for, the one that let me go. Or, perhaps not.) The fixes vary from item to item, and it is my job to figure out a fix that is most advantageous to all parties. It’s a job that requires a lot of independence, a lot of flexibility and a little luck (or as Jimmie would have you believe, a charmed life).

All of those things are threaded together with literally millions of frequent flier miles and hours of time spent on airplanes and in airports. One thing that I have noticed is that the vast majority of the American travelling public is completely ignorant of the basics of air travel. As a PSA, I would like to take a little time to offer some helpful tips that, when used, will make the flying experience better for all of us.

1. Thanks to the advent of terrorism, you will be going through a metal detector prior to boarding your plane. The metal detector’s sole purpose is to make a loud annoying noise when a metallic object is passed through it. When this happens, the line comes to a screeching halt, the security agent (typically taking a semester off from Harvard rocket scientist school to recharge) asks you to devoid yourself of metal, then pass through again. This is repeated until no metal is detected. Knowing this should help you when you get dressed in the morning. Believe it or not, it is not necessary to travel with metal snuff can lids, belt buckles the size of dinner plates, pocket knives, railroad spikes or other miscellaneous metals. Yes, your cell phone will set off the alarm; put it on the belt prior to walking through the device. No, your newspaper, book, and money that folds will not set it off; walk on through confidently. No, once you get to your destination, you will not be driving your car; therefore there is no reason to carry a wad of keys bigger than a Toyota. Hey, here’s an idea, put them in your briefcase. Yes, if you are wearing as much jewelry as Mr. T, the alarm will go off. No, you don’t need to stop immediately on the other side of the detector if it doesn’t go off. Keep moving and get the hell out of the way. Yes, I realize that there is a chance a loaded pallet will fall out of the overhead bin and onto your foot, but the odds are low, so you probably won’t need those steel toed boots. Speaking of shoes, you will have to take them off so don’t come to the airport wearing elaborately buttoned boots that take 45 minutes to take off. And guess what – if you go outside the secure area, you have to go through the process all over again.

2. If you have a boarding pass, you don’t have to check in at the gate. Get out of line, sit down and shut up. Yes there is a size limitation on what you can carry on, so no you can’t carry on that body bag. Yes, your purse counts as one of your two allowable carry-ons. Now, believe it or not, it does you no good to huddle up at the front of the hold room as you are waiting to board. All you are doing is clogging up the entry and forcing a physical confrontation with the people who board before you. (Editor’s Note: Boss only wants a physical confrontation with you if you are a hottie female. All others, move out of the way.) Yes, they are going to board by zone and, if you ask nicely, some friendly person can likely read your zone to you from your boarding pass so you can figure out what zone you are in. Wait for that zone to be called. Don’t get up until then.

3. Look at your seat number prior to getting on the aircraft. If your seat is in row 34, don’t stop three steps into the aircraft and start squinting at the row numbers. Move quickly to your seat, sit down and shut up. Hey, if your damn carry-on is too heavy for you to lift it into the overhead bin by yourself, check it. (Editor’s Note: I once heard Boss say this to a lady on a plane. He wasn’t kidding.) And guess what – if you board the plane 30 seconds prior to the door closing looking like the Beverly Hillbillies moving west, don’t get pissy when you can’t find overhead bin space. Give your bags to the flight attendant so they can be checked, then (yes, you guessed it) sit down, and shut up. When you get to your row, don’t park your big butt in the aisle and spend a half hour rummaging through your luggage looking for books, games, cough drops, money, a clue, or any other nonsense. Stow your carry ons and sit down.

4. Believe it or not, I am not interested in your life story. (Editor’s Note: He really isn’t.) I really don’t care that the last time you flew the airplane had two sets of wings and the highlight of the trip was “buzzing sheep”. Nor do I care that you are on the way to visit Aunt Millie, a woman who would make Lil Abner look like Charles Boyer. The airplane gets plenty of lift from the airflow over the wings and doesn’t need the help of all your hot air. Let’s take the chance and see if it will fly without your constant inane droning. When I pull out my laptop, that is your clue that I have better things to do. Shut up and go to sleep.

With these few simple concepts in mind, all of our flying experiences can be so much more enjoyable. You will be able to fly with the confidence that you know what you are doing, and I will get to my meeting without working up a sweat caused by my clubbing you like a baby seal.

(Editor’s Note: See why it made me sad to leave him? I got all that, every day.)

How Quickly I Get Spoiled

16 Oct 2012 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Family, I'm Going Somewhere Tags: Humor, Travel

Sigh. I had to go back to work yesterday after being off for an entire week. Again, happy to have a job but am slightly resentful that I am not a self-made millionaire right now. I think I could be a lady of leisure, don’t you? I’d spend my mornings at the gym, doing all kinds of crunches and butterfly moves so that I could have abs of steel and then I would go get massages. I’d be the most relaxed, fit person you ever met.

You know, that’s probably not true. I’d be as big as a house and lazy as a cow cause I feel certain I’d be able to justify lounging around in sweats while I ate bon bons all day as a “noble endeavor”. Good thing I have a job I need desperately to pay all my bills so that I don’t get fat and lumpy.

This trip was to South Beach, in Miami. I yapped about it a lot to anyone who would listen before going and the reactions I got fell into one of two categories:

“I’m so jealous, you guys will have so much fun!” and,
“Don’t get killed. I can’t believe you picked that place.”

Don’t rain on my parade, people. (It’s possible I’m speaking directly to snooty snothole Bianca here. She’s so lovely.)

So, yeah. It was fun. My two sisters and I went, for my 40^th birthday. Martie, The Squirt and I have never taken a trip together, just the three of us and I’m proud to say that I like them better after returning. That doesn’t always happen you know. Sometimes you realize that the ones you love have awful snoring habits or they really are high maintenance about a bathroom, so much so that you spend half a day trying to find one that meets some obscure and ridiculous standard. Not the case here! We had a blast!

I’m going to cover the basics of our trip here. Items of note:

Martie and The Squirt are the fortunate sisters with regards to complexion. Both of them can get as brown as a berry in short span of time and I, well I burned myself in nearly every available place on my body. Some of those places were rather unfortunate which made sitting on the plane home big fun! Also, the red and pink and freckled streaks across my body look beautiful.

Three women tooling around in a Mustang convertible, (color: red), hair blowing in the wind, get a lot of attention. Especially when The Squirt drives. She has a lead foot, that one. We got a lot of blown kisses and from braver drivers, other more vulgar displays of admiration.

Tasty beverages do not make getting your fingers slammed in a car door hurt any less.

The Speedo is making a comeback. Either that or loads of European men frequented South Beach. I found myself not nearly as offended as I thought I might be, probably because these men wore them with extreme confidence. However, nary a single one of those men checked the elastic bands in their Speedos before donning them. Men over 70, please note that gravity has already worked its magic on you. Elastic can help.

Seriously, this was such a fantastic trip. My sissies . . . ah, they are so great. I just can’t get over how much I love them and how much they love me. Combine that with gorgeous sand and sea? I’ve said this once before but it bears repeating. I love the ocean. I cannot get enough of it, especially with views like this. How can you not love it? How can you not see God’s hand in that, in all that love and beauty? Happy sigh.

For those who had varying reactions about my vacay? Final judgment: You should be jealous! We had a blast!

Love, Jimmie

Kilkenny

Dublin

In Which We Almost Don’t Make It To Dublin

New York City

Coming Soon To A Blog Near You

A Post About Nothing – The Seinfeld Edition

Back In The Groove?

A Trip To Tampa, Part One

Guest Post: Boss

How Quickly I Get Spoiled

Jimmie

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