I’m Such A Girl | Love, Jimmie

Once Again, A Story About My Hair

14 Jan 2013 7 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, I'm Such A Girl, Uncategorized Tags: Humor

Martie and I have an arrangement. We have for years, ever since she decided to attend cosmetology school the day she graduated from college. She would learn how to make hair look fabulous and I would let her practice on me. In essence, I am her guinea pig. And now that she is advanced in her career it is no longer called “practice” but “experimentation”.

Over the course of her career, I have been a blonde, a brunette, a redhead, a redhead with blonde chunks, a blonde with orange stripes, a blonde with brown chunks, and finally a blonde with red streaks. I’ve also worn a glitter tattoo, fake eyelashes so long that I couldn’t even wear my glasses, and a feather in my hair. Every new trend that comes along will be tried on my hair unless it interferes with my professional career which sadly eliminates the ombre in violet tones (I would rock that in a heartbeat), the beehive (this disappoints me like you would not believe), and the dip-dye (I’m not entirely sure what this is but I’m pretty sure I desperately want it).

More than once over the years Boss asked “What have you done to your hair?” Once I determined that my new hair wouldn’t get me fired, I dismissed him. Lynnette, on the other hand, has asked more than once over the years “Ooh, what have you done to your hair?” Once I determine that she likes it, we discuss it at length.

So back to our agreement, Martie and me. Every month I give her a date night with her bohunk, Coach, and every time I need new hair, she does it for free. Win/win. This weekend was a win/win for both of us as she and Coach needed their alone time and I needed my roots done before my pending trip to Tampa. I also needed to see my nieces so maybe win/win/win? Oh, did I tell you about Tampa? I’m going to Tampa. I won’t get a tan, as per usual, but I do plan on having fun.

So I was in the beauty shop “helping” her mix my color this weekend. She had already wound my hair up into chunks and cut the foil and draped the cape over me. We trotted off to the back where she got out the chemicals and started mixing. Right in the middle of the mixing she said, “Oh shit.” Being the curious type and also the type that defines herself by her hair, I hollered, “What! Oh crap, what! What did you do?” And she said something in Swahili about mixing one developer with another something or other and basically she was pretty sure it was going to work but it had never been tried because these things had never been mixed before and then she slapped it on the roots of my hair and wadded it up in foil and stuck me under the dryer. I heard her say to one of the other girls in the shop, “At least it’s just Jimmie” and they all nodded in agreement.

I wasn’t really worried. Not really. I trust Martie completely and truthfully, I am her best advertising. I knew she wouldn’t let anything happen to my hair. But I still had a moment of trepidation when she took the foil off. I always have a secret fear, a very small one mind you, that she will take the foil off and my hair will come with it. This day was no different. The cursing beforehand probably didn’t help. BUT! She took the foil off and whacked my hair off into a fashionable cut and put some fancy-smelling hair goo in it and dried into the perfect coif. And then said, “Viola! I knew that would work.” It was then that my stomach stopped quivering.

Man, she’s so smart. See why I trust her?

Also, as a bonus for you because I’ve been gone so long, here is the picture I promised of me and Pooh. I took it over Christmas after I hugged her tight for a while. I love that girl.

I Remain Unchanged

04 Jan 2013 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Health, I'm Such A Girl Tags: Health, Humor

Yesterday was my yearly Doctor Appointment. You know, The Doctor. The Cookie One. The One I Hate. If you are new to me, think about it for a minute. You will figure it out.

I think everyone is always a little hopeful that time will grow me up, that I will no longer act like a two-year-old throwing a hissy fit in the toy aisle at Target when I go to The Doctor. No one is more hopeful than me, though. Every year I gird my loins, so to speak, giving myself pep talks and practicing some deep breathing and also praying. This year I was so hopeful that I did my makeup before stepping foot into that office. Used to I’d cry it all off and have to redo it so I learned that perhaps it was best if I just waited until after my appointment before glamming up my eyelashes. Not this year! This year I caked all that mess on and then drove on over for my appointment.

Want to have a recap of that visit with me? Let’s do this.

Did I unsuccessfully attempt to pee into a cup? Check.

Did I get huffy at the scale when forced to weigh in? Check.

Did I snap “Why in the world does that matter?” when the nurse asked if I was single, married or divorced? Check.

Did they give me a paper towel to wear? Check.

Did I lick the edges of the paper towel and stick it to myself in order to get maximum coverage? Check.

Did they measure my blood pressure? Check.

Did they have to re-measure my blood pressure after the exam to see if it came down to a non-near-death level? Check.

Did I use half a box of Kleenex for my snotty nose and watery eyes? Check.

Did I curse at The Doctor? Check.

Did I call someone a liar? Check.

Did I call another someone a liar? Check.

Did I mouth off to the scheduler and also call her a liar because upon making my appointment she told me that all doctors come in no earlier than nine, that it was the earliest appointment available, yet I could clearly see on the sign in sheet that my physician had been taking appointments since eight that morning? Check.

Did I go to work looking like bees stung my eyeballs? Check.

Katniss, my work friend, sent me a message today after witnessing my swole up eyeballs and beet red complexion and also my crappy attitude that read: I am so glad I am your friend and not your doctor. She has a point. I never cuss my friends like that.

So what did we learn here? That I am rock steady, never changing? You can count on me to be consistent? Check.

I Don’t Know Why Everyone Gets So Worried

29 Dec 2012 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Family, I Will Cut You, I'm Such A Girl Tags: Humor

I think I forgot to tell you that Daddy-O and JiJi got me a new pink pocketknife for my birthday. It was a happy moment. Ain’t it purty?

I’ve toted it around in my purse proudly for a few months but have only had a couple of chances to use it so when Christmas rolled around, I was pretty stoked. See, we are a family that likes ourselves the ribbon. We enjoy twisting that curling ribbon all around the package and tying it as tight as we can. It makes the packages look more festive. We are also a family that enjoys ourselves some tape. We like taping the gift boxes shut and also all the seams of the wrapping paper so that finding a finger hold to rip the paper off is nearly impossible. But the packages look pretty and that is what is important.

When Coach was opening his first package and having some difficulty, I ran to my purse to get my pocketknife. “Here,” I offered, “you can use my pocketknife.”

Coach looked at me with horror. “No,” he hollered. “You put that away! You’ll hurt yourself!”

And then Martie said when I offered it to her, “No, I’m good! I’ve got this, see?” And she sawed away at the tape with her nail.

Daddy-O said, “Lord, go get some Kleenex before you bleed all over the couch!”

Poppa whipped out his own pocketknife and sneered at my tiny little pink one as he expertly flicked his open and sliced through the ribbon.

Madre let me open my knife and use it on one of her gifts but when I had a brain cramp for a minute and couldn’t remember how to close it, Coach took it away from me and stuffed it down between the couch cushions.

I got my knife back and will have you know that all my fingers remain intact. I don’t even know why you worry. I am excellent with sharp things. Except for this one time. Geez, bunch of worry warts.

Men, A Gift Giving Guide

23 Dec 2012 5 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Health, I'm Such A Girl, Imparting Wisdom, Uncategorized Tags: Humor

Alright, boys, I’m here to help. I know that most of you have yet to begin your Christmas shopping. I’m guessing Wal-Greens is your first stop. Actually, I’m guessing Wal-Greens is your only stop. While I personally feel like you should have already scoped out the perfect gift for your girl and ordered it online from Tiffany (or Godiva), I understand that perhaps you operate best under pressure and since you have a full 30 hours left of the holiday shopping season, you feel calm and serene. Amirite?

A few years ago when I was a married woman, I had a husband who felt like useful gifts were a fantastic idea. I’m here to tell you that they are not. He purchased for me one year a Dust Buster. You know, one of those instruments to CLEAN with. As a Christmas gift. For ME to CLEAN with. I did manage to smile and say thank you. He had purchased it before Christmas and wrapped it himself, so A for effort. But my Dust Buster broke in the first year of ownership and do you know he got me another one the next year for Christmas? That was a pleasant experience for him and me both.

Men, I care for you. I want what is best for you. I hate to see you spend long, lonely, cold nights in your dog house. Because I care for you and don’t want you to spend long, lonely, cold nights in your dog house, I have compiled a short checklist for you to help with your holiday giving this year.

Small boxes are best. Blue ones (like Tiffany blue, for example) or gold (like Godiva gold, for example) are particularly appealing. Also, gift card boxes are extremely welcome as are small notes inside of big boxes that read: Merry Christmas, baby. Let’s go shopping.
If your gift plugs in and she has not specifically asked for it, take it back. Immediately.
Cookware is not a good gift. Nor are cleaning items of any sort. Anything that we can use to better serve YOU? No.
If you value your life at all, or most importantly your nether regions, do not even consider, nay don’t even breathe in the direction of exercise equipment or diet books. Purchasing gifts of this nature will cause women everywhere to react in the same manner, as if you threw us nekkid out of the car onto 2^nd Avenue.

Following these simple rules will allow everyone to have a safe and happy holiday season. It will also allow you to sleep in your own bed on Christmas night. Isn’t that a nice thought?

Love,

Jimmie

Random Acts Of Kindness, A Favor

20 Dec 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Such A Girl Tags: Humor, RAK

I know I said I was a Grinch this year and in some ways, I am. In others my heart is just a big old pile of marshmallow goo and my eyes are misty with unshed tears of thankfulness.

In the last two weeks, three people have done really nice things for me. None of them were expected, all of them were welcome, and I did nothing to deserve any of them. These acts of kindness, to me, show the measure of their hearts. Want to know what they were?

A kind person donated enough Southwest points to pay for one leg of a plane trip for me. I was invited to visit some friends and I very much wanted to go, but I could not afford airfare and the bus ride was 17 hours. I was disappointed but perfectly alright with missing this trip (I am a grownup who understands the power of a budget, after all). I had mentioned the trip in passing to a friend who had another friend who had a vat of SW points just sitting around. So the miles were donated and my ticket was booked. Oh, I ruined my mascara that day.
Another kind person took me out for a pedicure, their treat. It’s been a while since I had my piggies done but recently I broke a nail in a bad place. I was handling the care of that myself with good results but when a friend asked if I would visit the nail shop with her, I said yes. (She wanted to go, in part, because she heard rumors of how ticklish I am and how it appears that I am having a seizure when they scrub the bottoms of my feet.) I moved some money around and we made our appointments. When I went to pay, my pedi was already covered. Oh, I ruined my mascara that day.
A final kind person sent me a grocery store gift card, and mandated that it was for things I wanted, not needed. I have a new method for grocery shopping now. I make a list of things I need and also a list of things I want. If there is money left over after the list of needed things are in the cart, I can add some of the things I want. I feel like this is an excellent plan and very budget friendly so I shared it with a friend who in turn sent me the cutest Christmas card with a gift card in it. Oh, I ruined my mascara that day.

See? Do you see why I invest in mascara? I cannot tell you how many happy tears and sniffles and hugs I’ve experienced these last few weeks. While I can say thank you and give the best hugs ever, I really feel like the best way to show my appreciation is to pay it forward. I’m on the lookout for things I can do for those around me but I won’t share them here. Those things are best done in secret.

So what is it I want from you? I’d like a favor, please. Will you share some random acts of kindness with me? What I’d really like is a story of something lovely that someone did for you once, not something you did for someone. I’ll also take stories of things you witnessed done to others. Tell me how you have been affected by an unexpected kindness. Don’t you think we could use some of those warm fuzzies about now?

Comment here, on Facebook, in an email or even a phone call. I’ll post the ones you allow me to post so we can all partake. What do you think?

I Nearly Forgot!

18 Dec 2012 6 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Such A Girl Tags: Christmas, Humor

Way back in April when I found myself in a state of unemployment, I began the laborious process of cleaning out my office space. I am a firm believer in moving right into a work environment and what I don’t store at work, I like to schlep back and forth on my person or in my car. I have, at minimum, a purse, a lunch bag, a computer bag and a makeup bag with me every day. You never know when you might need any of those things. And in my car I have a bag of clean Ziploc food containers, a Bible, a book, a sweatshirt, an umbrella and some tote bags. Those are my everyday items.

Currently my non-everyday car items include: a wooden canvas frame, a stereo which is the last remaining gift my ex-husband gave me (we divorced in 2004), school books from when I volunteered at the Adult Literacy Council (have not done that in two years), a bag of towels, a ceramic sheep, shoe cleaner, Tigger’s car seat and some twine. (I don’t know either.) (I don’t have the toilet handle in my car anymore because we used that. And my potty still works!)

Also, and this is where this gets important, my car still contains every item I had stored at my last job. The day that I was delivered the news that they could not keep me (and their loss, btw) was the day I started packing. What a process that was. If my car items are any indication, you can only imagine what I stored in my office. Unfortunately, there was much crying and wailing with cloudy tear-filled eyes as I packed my car so most of that stuff was unceremoniously flung into the trunk with a few curse words but no planning. I haven’t given it much thought since then, mostly because I don’t want to. I don’t like reliving that.

Every now and again I’ll have a vague notion of something I am missing. I’ll remember having a really nice tape measure or the cutest picture of Pooh, and then I’ll remember that I had it at my former office which will cause me to lose any interest in finding it because I will remember what my trunk looks like.

However, Christmas. It rolled around like it seems to do every year. I am decidedly not in the Christmas spirit this year. I do not have a tree decorated. I do not have snowflakes hung. I do not have my Christmas baking items out. I do have some snowmen salt and pepper shakers on the table, though, because they were in a closet and I ran across them one day. Until Sunday, I had baked no cookies or treats and I only did it on Sunday because I had to for a party. I am a Grinch.

Two weeks ago I thought I would bite the bullet and dig in the trunk of my car for something. I have no idea what because as I was digging for it I caught a glimpse of pink glitter.

Oh! Oh I was so excited! Glitzen! I dug him out and he is now standing proudly at my desk, bringing Christmas cheer.

Like last year, my new co-workers are appalled. My new boss, who needs a name, was discussing Very Important Work Items with me and as we were conversing she kept flicking her eyes from me to my reindeer. It don’t know how she didn’t give herself vertigo, it was so fast and furious. Finally she whispered, “What is it?”

I tied a jaunty bow around his neck this year. His horns are a little worse for wear, being smushed under all that stuff I threw into my trunk in my hissy fit rage. But he is here, warming hearts and bringing some much needed color. If I am going to be a Grinch, I will at least do it in style.

Merry Christmas, y’all!

A Memory

12 Dec 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, I'm Such A Girl, Pets

In the places where I grew up, 4-H was a pretty big deal. It was something we elementary school kids looked forward to every month. I always wanted to participate in the poster contest; it was my favorite activity. I never won which was my greatest disappointment. The year I was certain I’d made the best poster Dinah Stafford beat me with her “Burst into 4-H” theme and picture of a giant balloon. I was crushed. I needed a salve for my bitter heartbreak and lit on the perfect thing when they passed out the forms used to sign us up for the spring activities: farm animals! The only thing that would soothe me was a bunny rabbit. I would sign up to raise a bunny rabbit and be healed. Unfortunately, bunny rabbits were bought at a higher price than I knew we could afford. I signed up for the next best thing which was chickens. Actually, a pig was the next best thing but a pig cost more than a rabbit. Chickens it would be! They were free!

I rocked merrily along, knowing my chickens would soon arrive. I was pretty excited about it. Unfortunately my excitement never carried over into a conversation with Madre and Poppa about those chickens. Their first inkling at my new endeavor came in the form of a note I brought home with the date and time I was to pick up my chickens, a whole week away. Oh, I learned some new bad words then.

Poppa spent that whole week building a chicken coop for me. I learned even more bad words during that time. There was a lot of hammering and huffing and swearing but I had the prettiest chicken coop you ever did see by the time those chickens came home.

Madre drove me over to the co-op (or wherever I was supposed to go – it’s been a few years) and there we got 25 baby chicks. Oh, mercy, they were cute. Little yellow balls of fluff that made tiny little noises and had no equilibrium at all. They fell over each other and slept on top of each other and got stuck under the water bottle. They pooped everywhere. I didn’t mind. I fed and watered them every morning and night, cleaned out the newspaper in the bottom of their box and tucked them in under the warmer for the evening’s rest. When they were large enough, I put them into their new chicken coop and again, fed them every morning and night.

Those baby chicks grew into the prettiest Rhode Island Reds, if you can call chickens pretty. They had roosting boxes where they laid eggs. Have you ever had farm fresh eggs? The yolks were so yellow they were almost orange. Also, it takes chickens a while to lay eggs correctly so sometimes you’d get a weird oblong cylinder egg, sometimes an egg with two yolks, sometimes an egg that would barely crack it was so tough. I collected and sold those eggs and bought my first ten speed bike with that money.

In the fall, I had to take five of my chickens to the fair to be judged. I sort of knew this would happen but I didn’t know that those five chickens would be auctioned off to purchase the new chicks for next year. I gathered up my five favorites, fat little birds with some serious attitude. We loaded them up and took off for the judging. When we got there, we watched in fascination as the judges weighed each chicken, measured the breast bone, checked the combs and the feathers and the feet and the beaks. I didn’t really understand why the judges kept coming back to my five chickens until the winners were announced. I WAS THE GRAND PRIZE WINNER! I WAS THE MASTER OF RAISING CHICKENS! I WAS SO PROUD! It was probably best that I didn’t tell them that the one chick who got stuck under the water bottle when it was a baby suffered a broken leg that never healed right and was crippled as an adult.

After the judging, they began the chicken auction. I remember looking at Madre with confusion. “What are they doing? Why are they acting like they are going to sell my chickens?” Madre gently explained that the money would buy chickens for a 4^th grader the next year. I got teary-eyed and shy. Those were my babies. Madre, a farm girl herself, seemed to understand without me saying a word and so she began to bid on my chickens. Someone kept bidding against us and we ended up paying $40 dollars for those five chickens that I had gotten for free.

With relief I rode home with Madre in her truck, clutching my purple grand prize ribbon and my trophy with the chicken on top, every so often looking in the bed of the truck at my award winning chickens.

Madre and Poppa still have chickens today. All that cussing and swearing and hammering Poppa did? I’ll have you know he is the one who every night wanders out to lock those chickens in the chicken house to keep them safe from predators. He is the one who collects the eggs. He is the one who makes sure every scrap that would be remotely appealing to a chicken is saved and tossed into the pen with their nightly dinner. Big old softie.

Adios, Amoebas! (Or, Tying Up Loose Ends Before I Leave For A Month)

28 Oct 2012 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Guest Post, I'm Such A Girl, Philanthropy Tags: Football, Humor, NaNoWriMo

Well, guys, this will be my final post before leaving for a month. I’m going to miss you. I wonder how many times I’ll want to make fun of myself over the next 30 days when I won’t be able to share here. I’ll try to save them up for my 30 days of blogging in December.

I will check in periodically to post my guest slots and to give you updates on my word count. 50,000 is the goal. To know me is to know my love of words so you know I can reach the count. Let’s just hope they make sense. You know, I signed up for NaNoWriMo two years ago. I wrote 250 words on November 1, 2010 and then got a phone call from a friend. We started talking about boys and that was all she wrote, literally. NaNoWriMo was dead to me.

Oh, I chose a football team! I know you’ve all been waiting to hear that. It took me a while. I had lots of input from you and most especially from Coach, who taught me how to look at stats and how to look up helmets and logos. What really helped me, though, was Martie. She said, “You can’t be a fair weather fan. You pick a team and you support them through the good and the bad. No waffling and changing to the team that plays better.” And then Coach chimed in with the same advice. He’s a long time Alabama fan and a longtime Cowboys fan, rabid even through the lean years. So, okay. I have no choice but to be a Titans fan. Nashville is mine. The Titans are mine. They play like doody most of the time, and even though the lean years will last for ages, I will support them. I was never more proud in all my life than when they beat the Lions and then the Steelers (!). I realized I really want them to do well. So call me a Titan. The end.

Except it isn’t. I also have a secondary team. I just can’t seem to get over the Ram’s horns. Seriously. Those helmets with the horns just slay me, and so those of you who lecture me about perpetuating the stereotype, get over it. I picked a team because of a helmet that turns me on. At least I didn’t pick a team because of a hot guy. For the record, I also read the team’s history and would like to share with you that they were the first NFL team to add a logo to their helmet (swoon) and also the first NFL team to add black teammates after the WWII era. Suck on that, haters! (And also, while I’m being Fickle Fanny over here, I really want to see the Texans win the Super Bowl. The longhorns! Those uniforms! It’s Texas, y’all. I am moved.) (And yes, I realize that the Texans were not even on my nominated list but I hadn’t seen the logo yet. I had no idea . . .)

And just because I can, because you expect it, and because this is me we are talking about:

Hottie Titan

Hottie Ram

Hottie Texan

I haven’t talked about my dinners with my seniors in a while either. I had dinner with them last week and as per usual, had a blast. I love those people so much. I want to tell you about a couple more of them. JoAnne, who has only been two or three times, just embarrasses me to death every time she attends. She’s adorable. She wears a fall (a chunk of hair you attach to your head to make you look like you have more hair) or a funky hat every time and so you look at her and think, “Well, isn’t she cute. Full of spunk, that one.” And then she opens her mouth and proves it and you could just slam your forehead into the butter dish, you are so horrified.

“NO! I don’t want a SALAD! I have GALL BLADDER issues! Take it AWAY!“

“This is the WORST coffee I have ever tasted! I can make better at home! BRING ME more sugar!”

“Those CHILDREN need to be SPANKED! My meal is RUINED!”

I can honestly say that I agree with her in nearly every instance but I prefer to keep my opinions if not to myself, at least confined to the guests at my table. Not JoAnne. Everyone knows where she stands.

The other person I want to tell you about is Bob. Bob has only missed maybe one or two dinners the whole time I’ve been doing this. He’s in his 60s, I guess. He’s never been married. He purchased his house in one lump sum, no payments, ever. He’s terrified of being late and being left behind. He ends every sentence with an “uh?”

“Hey, Jimmie-uh? Do I have enough-uh money-uh for dessert? Uh?” He brings $28 to every dinner and we figure out what he can have for that price and still leave a fair tip. He’s the gentlest soul and I love him. He was the first of the group to realize that I knew how to work a standard cell phone and so asked me to program some numbers in for him. Now we all spend the first ten minutes of every dinner shuffling phones back and forth to me so that I can clear out voice mails and add contacts. Once a month everyone gets squared away.

I probably have so many other things to share but I’m out of space and time. A whole month. What will you do without me?

For those of you who are helping me this month, THANK YOU! Boss, Prom Date Will, Jonquil, Esteban, Woney, and Studio Bukowski – thank you! Boss and Esteban have already sent goodies over and I just hee hawed. I cannot wait to read and post your stuff. Anyone else in? I still have a full grown cat up for grabs.

Pass The Toilet Paper, My Toilet Is Fixed!

03 Oct 2012 2 Comments

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

What an ordeal. Have mercy. The drama is really over. I’ve waited a whole week before telling you, just to make sure.

Before I tell you how that stupid ceramic bowl was finally repaired, I have some other stories. About two years ago, Daddy-O and JiJi came for a visit. While they were here, the handle on the potty broke so Daddy-O, being handy with the tools and the plumbing, trotted out to Lowe’s and purchased a new handle for me. Upon taking the potty apart, he discovered that the old handle was merely loose, so he fixed that and gave the new handle to me for return to Lowe’s. Being the good, obedient daughter that I am, I stuck that handle in the backseat of my car and drove it around for two solid years. All my friends and my nieces, every time they got into my car, would ask, “Why do you have a toilet handle back here?” Yet I never felt compelled to take it back.

Also, after I posted that last potty post in which I lost my mind with bad words, I received three phone calls from three very handsome men who tried to tell me how to fix it.

Zorro called first. He’s a friend from Alabama who would have come over the very first day to fix it had we lived close enough. He instructed me to sit backwards on the potty, lid down of course, and take off the back so I could tell him what was going on. Our conversation went something like this:

Zorro: “Okay, look at the flusher and tell me what it does when you push the handle down.”

Jimmie: “What’s the flusher?”

Zorro: “It’s the mumblemumblemuble in the back.”

Jimmie: “I go by color. What color is it?”

Zorro: “Well it could be either white or black. It does mumblemumblemumble.”

Jimmie: “Right.”

So we got a lot accomplished.

Then Javier called and the conversation went much the same way. I’m so fun.

Then Daddy-O called, after consulting a real live plumber for help, but since our conversation tanked (haha, I did that on purpose!) due to my lack of knowledge of working toilet parts, we all decided that I probably just needed a new toilet. Awesome.

THEN! In one final hurrah, Freddie and her father (both engineers, btw) came to my house last week to fix that blasted thing. Initially Freddie and I had conversations similar to the one above, and Freddie, who really gets me, said she would just bring her dad over to see what was going on. It helped that I promised margaritas.

I won’t drone on about how we fixed it but I will tell you that even the engineers were stumped, at least for a minute. We did have to take it apart twice and there was much holding of tanks and much screwing in of bolts. Mostly I stood around and looked pretty but I was there, offering support and reminding them of the single margaritas that I purchased for each of them.

Halfway through the evening, after we thought it was fixed only to be denied as we watched the water, once again, drain completely out of the tank in just a matter of minutes, Freddie’s dad said, “I really wish we had bought a new handle when we bought all the other parts. That would really help.”

I said, “I have one in my car. I’ll go get it.”

I trotted out to my car and came back in brandishing my (nearly) brand new toilet handle. Both Freddie and her dad looked at me, eyes huge, like anime characters. “What? Why? Jimmie?”

“Viola!” I said.

Do you know how funny that is? That I, Queen of all Things Sparkly, had a toilet handle in the back of my car? I amuse myself. Never underestimate me, people. I will always pull through. When will you learn?

In one final toilet comment, last week I had to purchase toilet paper for the first time in six months. Between Phranke and my anonymous toilet paper donator (Jonquil!), I haven’t had to buy any in that long. I have the best friends!

Also, who do you know that blogs about their potty as much as I do? I should win an award.

P.S. So that no one gets mad at the handy man who fixed it last time, please know that he gave me some money back because it didn’t work. Aces, man. That was awesome.

Coulda Been A Contender

27 Sep 2012 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends, I'm Such A Girl, This Will Probably Get Me In Trouble Tags: Humor

Let’s get ready to RRRUUUMMMBBBBLLLEEEE! Am I allowed to say that? Is it trademarked? Don’t any of the 43 of you who read me tell on me if so.

I got a lot of nominees for my soon-to-be-football team. I’ve also done a lot of research on my own. Did you know, by the way, that Googling the term “Hot Shirtless Football Players” will take you to some sexual sights designed for gay men? Me neither. Then I learned that Googling plain old “Hot Football Players” would take you to a bunch of soccer websites, and I got all distracted for a while looking at those guys and nearly forgot my mission. Wow, soccer players are nice looking.

Anyway, first thing I did on my own was have a look at the NFL site just to get a feel for the teams available to me, and I must say, some of the logos are plumb awful. Right away I discounted anyone with a stupid logo which meant that the NY Jets & Giants, the Cleveland Browns, and the Buffalo Bills were knocked out. Then I eliminated poor color choices which removed the Saints, the Buccaneers (any team that willfully chooses to clothe their athletes in pants that are African American flesh colored so that major chunks of the team look naked as they run down the field deserves to be cut), the Packers and again, the Cleveland Browns (how are they even a team?). THEN I did the Googling which nearly got me arrested/fired and found some cuties which almost put the NY Jets & Giants and the Greenbay Packers back on the list; however, I defined standards and I will adhere to them so those three teams remain disqualified.

From there, I dutifully studied all the nominated teams which included the following: Pittsburgh Steelers, St. Louis Rams, Carolina Panthers, Dallas Cowboys, Tennessee Titans, Cincinnati Bengals, Miami Dolphins and the Baltimore Ravens. I’m giving them all a fair look before making a final decision. Here’s where I stand with my quest thus far:

STEELERS: I have a new work friend, the one who gave me the Steelers jersey to wear, and she invited me to partake of a Steelers game with her and her family. I’m naming her Katniss, primarily because she seems kind of scrappy, like she could do some damage to your guts if you ticked her off, but also because she’s pretty. Katniss took me over to her brother’s house for the Steelers/Raiders game, and we settled into the Steelers man cave for the afternoon. I peed next to Troy Polamalu a few times (life size sticker on the bathroom wall),had snacks out of a Steelers helmet and off of Steelers plates, wiped my mouth with a Steelers napkin (which I was afraid would get me hurt as I felt that they might view that as a desecration of Steeler property), and finally, I smacked hands with a giant inflatable football player wearing Steelers gear every time a touchdown was scored.

I also watched a video of this nature and was pretty enamoured of it:

Steelers Renegade

The logo is fancy, the colors look good on me, and Polamalu has pretty hair. Also, that coach of theirs, Mike Tomlin, is a lovely man. Still contenders.

TITANS: I had a lengthy discussion with a man I’ve named Thor (because I like the name Thor) about why the Titans would be a good choice for me. His best argument is that being a Titans fan teaches us patience and perseverance. This man is a high school teacher so why he needs more things to teach him patience and perseverance is beyond me, yet he was quite passionate about his fandom.

I will have more chances to see a Titans game live than any of the other teams, plus I like the logo and the colors. Blue is my favorite color, you know. Still contenders.

COWBOYS: This team was nominated by two men, both of whom I trust absolutely, and that is saying a lot. Coach has been a longtime fan of the Cowboys and follows them faithfully. But in traditional Coach fashion, he gives the soft sell so he hasn’t done much to push me. Quan also nominated this team, noting the appeal of the monstrosity they call a stadium.

I really dig that Texas star. The colors are lovely and I have silver eyeliner to match. Pretty boys play for this team. Still contenders.

PANTHERS: Lynnette and Freddie volunteered this team, simply because the QB is Cam Newton. I’ve stared at his picture a lot. It’s quite distracting as it’s my desktop photo now. He sure is pretty.

Photo credit: GQ, of course

The team colors are gorgeous! Cam Newton is gorgeous! His teeth are gorgeous! (You know how I feel about teeth.) Still contenders.

RAVENS: My experience with the Baltimore Ravens consisted of watching the movie “Blindside”, which everyone knows is about Michael Orr, a Ravens player. Great movie, but I have a policy on all movies I watch: no scary movies, no movies that make me cry and no movies that make me want things I cannot have. Blindside, unfortunately, violated my movie policy, giving me chapped cheeks because I cried so much.

The colors are nice, the logo is nice, but the crying did me in. Sorry, Ravens. No longer contenders.

RAMS: I need to do more research here. I am quite moved by the horns on the helmets. Still contenders.

BENGALS: This team was nominated by another man that I trust, except he moved away to Atlanta so now I’m mad at him. He makes the best enchiladas ever. I like the colors, I like the logo, some hotties play for the team, but I’m going to have to pass. No longer contenders.

DOLPHINS: This team was nominated by an old friend because she thought I would look pretty in the colors. She gets me! She understands what I’m going for here! I’m going to have to do more research on the Dolphins. Still contenders.

A final thought or two. While watching the Steelers/Raiders game, I saw the Raider who got knocked out in the end zone. You guys, I loved watching this game. I loved the excitement of the fans (Katniss’s family). I loved their dedication. Football in general appeals to me. But when that guy got hurt and just laid there, my stomach was all up in my throat and I felt sick. I prayed and prayed and prayed for him and was a hot mess inside until he gave the thumbs up. Do I have the fortitude to be a football fan? Still contending on that one . . . .

Also, I think someone needs to make me some brackets for all this mess here. I’m getting confused by my own self. Coach?

Love, Jimmie