Stuff I Lost, Part II & An Open Letter

10 Jul 2011 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, I'm Going Somewhere, Imparting Wisdom, Lost Stuff Tags:

Yes, I’ve lost more stuff.  I need no yelling from you.  What I do need, however, is the following: 

Pepto Bismol

Hairbrush

Comb

Dignity

Water hose

Support

Please send immediately. 

I haven’t talked about things I’ve lost in a while because I haven’t really lost anything of note.  I was lulled into a false sense of security and maturity since I’ve managed to keep hold of my possessions and personality for a few months now.  Yet I am nothing if not true to myself and so begins the story again. 

On Friday of last week, Freddie and I took off on a road trip.  Freddie has a younger sister, Sammie.  Sammie applied to and was accepted into Nanny School which is just about the coolest thing I have ever heard.  Turns out, though, that Nanny School is a long way from Nashville and Sammie, brave little soul that she is, needed a ride up north so that she could attend.  Freddie volunteered and then I volunteered and then three women wearing sparkly eyeliner and carrying teddy bears and extra pillows piled up into a vehicle and took off on the open road.  No how, no way could that ever be a recipe for disaster (or lost stuff). 

The day we left, we got very specific instructions from a co-worker on proper snack etiquette for road tripping.  First, you must stop at Sonic for jalapeno poppers.  Later, you must stop at a gas station for Ruffles.  Finally, you must stop at Wal-Greens for Twizzlers.  By the time you have consumed all that, you will have reached your destination.  She didn’t mention this next part but she should have.  By the time you reach your destination you will also have some intestinal disturbances that require immediate attention.  I’m writing that down for future reference. 

The drive up on Friday was very pleasant.  We stopped at a hotel for the night in Cincinnati.   I inadvertently flashed the nice security man with my full on matching underwear set when Freddie opened to door to receive extra pillows.  If any of you living in Ohio find my dignity, would you please send it back to me? 

Sammie and Freddie and I got up early on Saturday morning to finish our journey and in the interest of “saving time” I was fixing my hair in the reflection of the car window while they packed up the car.  I’m so nice.  Anyway, I put my hair stuff on top of the car for easy access, then buckled myself into the front seat after I was satisfied that my part was straight and my eyelashes looked okay and away we went.  With my stuff still on top of the car.  Sigh . . . I never learn. 

On Saturday night, after we had gotten Sammie all settled in to her adorable “dorm room”, Freddie and I headed for another hotel.  Due to a snafu in making hotel reservations, I almost had to sleep in the same bed as Freddie.  She’s great, really cute and nice and all that.  I’m sure Ian likes to sleep in the same bed as her lots.  But I don’t.  I prefer to snuggle with my own pillows, not my friends.  Freddie thinks I’m really cute and nice and all that but she doesn’t want to sleep with me either.  She wants to snuggle with her husband and her pillows, not her friends.  We managed to eventually secure a room suitable for two non-dating, non-related friends.  I’m writing down for future reference to always double check room reservations before 11:00 pm on the night of arrival.  I think that will be helpful. 

While I luff Freddie and enjoy her company, I was overjoyed to get home.  Until I noticed my tomato plant was on the brink of death due to dehydration.  I should know better than to ever leave my house for three days with my stuff lying around outside.  I ran around the side of the house to get my hose to perform CPR on my tomatoes and discovered my hose was missing.  So here is my first open letter on this here blog: 

Dear Shitweasel –

I understand that today’s economy is tight.  I realize that many people are struggling to make ends meet.  Sometimes we have to do things we prefer not to in order to find our way out of this mess we call “recession”.  Usually that means taking on a second job or even selling off things of value in order to pay the rent.  I myself have found that tightening the belt is helpful.  Your methods, in all honesty, leave something to be desired.

I don’t begrudge you the use of my water.  I’ve noticed you’ve been using it for a while now.  I even appreciate the new and various placements of my two water hoses every day when I come home from work. I’ve left those hoses out for you even, thinking that maybe your need is so great that you would come to harm without the water.

But now you’ve gone and pissed me off.  While you thought you were being helpful and friendly by curling up my one admittedly crappy hose into a perfect circle and placing it gently next to my water spigot, the fact that you stole my good hose with the snazzy sprayer on it has put you on my poop list. 

I’m now going to “Impart Wisdom” to you, my friend.  You reap what you sow, shitweasel!  Your stealing my hose will come back and bite you where the sun can’t get you.  I laugh now in anticipation of that!

Smooches,

Jimmie

And finally on Monday I ran a 5K and it was the worst one in my running history.  I ran with Jane who is always a blast but the race itself wasn’t great.  My time sucked and it was too late in the day and too hot.  Community support was lacking.  Water stations were only okay.  And while the offer of free beer after the race may appeal to some, the thought of it made me want to barf.  However, Jane and I looked adorable in our running gear. We were very festive and very patriotic and while we may have sweated like hogs, we sweated like stylish hogs.  Plus the race benefitted the organization Not Alone and we ran simultaneously with our service people in Afghanistan.  That in itself made it worth every drop of sweat, every cramp, every tear that would have fallen if I had had the energy or the water reserves. 

 

I really did have a very nice 4th of July weekend despite all my whining here.  Sammie, I send you well wishes for this journey.  Mostly I send them because you promised me to land a position for a single fabulously tall wealthy man whom you will give to me as the best present ever seeing as how he won’t want me to birth any children because he already has some.  I remember that. I’ve written it down.  See you soon! 

Photography by Carter Andrews at Music City Faces. 

 

Proposal

06 Jul 2011 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Going Somewhere, Imparting Wisdom Tags: ,

Before I propose to you, let’s get the pleasantries out of the way.  Happy Belated Fourth of July!  I hope you all had safe and fun holiday weekends.  I went on a road trip and have a post about my weekend in the lineup.  Since I’m having trouble getting it to come together you get this one today. 

I’ve noticed that a lot of you out there have a shortage of rain.  Here in Nashville we often have more than we know what to do with, especially in the parts of town that I frequent.  (See:  Nashville Flooding 2010).  I’ve been knocking this conundrum around in my head for some time now partly because every time I post (or whine) something about rain either here or on Facebook I get a reply from someone saying SEND. IT. HERE.  And I always respond with something unhelpful along the lines of “What I wouldn’t give . . . .”  But since I’m a genius, albeit a slow one, I’ve come up with the perfect solution.  This here is what I propose:   

I want you, the rain-needer, to invite me, the rain-bringer, to your city.  I can almost guarantee that this will work.  There are several scenarios in which we can do this.   

Scenario One:

  1. You determine that you need rain.
  2. We book my tickets to fly to where you live.  (I prefer interesting places if it’s all the same to you.  I mean, I’ve been to Hohenwald.  I don’t really want to go back.)
  3. I arrive, rest a bit, see the city, take in some sights, eat some good food and do some shopping (because it can’t be all work, you see).
  4. On the morning of the chosen monsoon day, I prepare for a half marathon-training long run.  I will put my hair up in pigtails, lace up my running shoes and head out the door.  Just so that God gets on the same page as us, I will holler down the driveway, “I’m heading out for five miles today!”  And then I will go for the run.  Guaranteed rain – The end. 
  5. Bonus rain points if we can time it just so I am at the furthest point away from the turning-around-to-go-home marker when the rain begins and I have to finish at least 2.5 miles running in it.

Scenario Two:

  1. You determine that you need rain. 
  2. We book my tickets to fly to where you live.  (I prefer interesting places if it’s all the same to you.  I mean, I’ve been to Hohenwald.  I don’t really want to go back.)
  3. I begin preparations to see the city, take in some sights, eat some good food and do some shopping (because it can’t be all work, you see). 
  4. Preparations will include applying expensive treatments to my hair, using the curling iron that will scorch me raw in a split second if I accidentally hover it near my skin (ask me how I know this and why it looks like I sometimes have hickies on my neck) and then shellacking my perfect coif into an unmovable helmet with the toughest hairspray on the market.  Just so that God gets on the same page as us, I will holler out your front door, “My hair looks marvelous.  I’m so happy about that!”  And then I will leave in a taxi.  With no umbrella.  Guaranteed rain – the end. 
  5. Bonus rain points if we can manage to make the man of my dreams appear at exactly the moment that my hair takes on the crunchy papier mache quality and plasters itself fetchingly to my skull.   

Scenario Three:

  1. You determine that you need rain.
  2. I go on a road trip to your city.  The crucial bit here is that it needs to be a trip in which I have to stay in a hotel room at least one night.  (Ha! Ha!  Hohenwald is too close for an overnight stay!)
  3. Along the way, I will see the cities, take in some sights, eat some good food and do some shopping (because it can’t be all work, you see).
  4. Timing and intent are critical for the next part.  You must book a room for me that is entirely inappropriate for the journey meaning you book a single bed for two females who are not dating nor are they related. It must be the last room in the entire hotel.  And there must be no roll-away beds available.  Once you discover your mistake, you must then have the clerk send me to the wrong hotel for the second attempt to get the appropriate sort of room.  Make sure that the second hotel only has a single bed with no roll-aways available for two females who are not dating nor are related.  Only then can you have that clerk send me to the correct hotel with the correct sort of room which includes two beds for two females who are not dating nor are related.  During all of this process I will make sure that God gets on the same page as us by hollering out the car window, “I’m so tired!  I cannot wait to sleep in a bed all my own tonight and not have to share.”  Guaranteed rain through every step of the outside process – the end.
  5. Bonus points if we can manage to have me scurrying from the car to the hotel THREE TIMES in the rain clutching all of my overnight possessions in my grubby little paws with no plastic or anything to cover them.  

I am certain that any and all of these situations will work to clear up your crusty grass issues.  They work for me EVERY TIME.  Call me.  We can work out some payment arrangements.  I look forward to hearing from you. 

 

This Is How Woney And I Get Into Trouble

26 Jun 2011 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, Imparting Wisdom, Outings Tags:

Good-bye savings.  I didn’t need you anyway.

 

Good-bye waistline.  You will be missed.

 

Good-bye sensibilities.  Hello, stranger.  You are so cute!

 

Good-bye filter.  That was an awesome make out session, stranger.  Of course you can have my number.  No, of course I don’t mind that you don’t have all of your teeth and are brave enough to show those gaps to the world!  Right on!  Be yourself! 

 

Good-bye camera.  Woney didn’t need those 45 pictures she took on this trip.  Her mind is like a steel trap.  She can remember every single event with no photographic evidence whatsoever.

Disclaimers and Items of Note: 

Using new sparkly eyeliner on your eyelids and accidentally getting some on your eyelashes can be distracting and quite mesmerizing, especially when driving.  Operate vehicle carefully. 

Giving Woney a video option on her phone while Jimmie gets a pedicure can be damaging to Jimmie’s reputation.  Also, there is no evidence to be found on youtube!  Do not search!  Computers will be infected with the most horrifying viruses if those searches are attempted! 

The dropping of the camera into a fountain (which looked as if it happened in slow motion, it was so horrifying) had nothing to do with any alcohol consumption. Still, DO NOT RECOMMEND operating camera after tasty beverage consumption.

Reputations were scarred a bit when tourists from all over the world witnessed the falling of the camera from Woney’s hands.  Muffled snickering ensued. 

No fishes were harmed in the retrieval of the camera or the batteries (which somehow never made it into the water) although a bug or two might have been squished. 

It pays to be kind to the nice boys in the Engineering Department at the Opryland Hotel as you not only get your personal water-logged equipment back from the depths of the fountain but also the sunglasses dropped by an unknown stranger probably months beforehand.  Score! 

No fabulously tall men with gorgeous big arms were molested over the course of the weekend (sadly). 

No dentally challenged men with exquisitely short stature were molested either (thankfully). 

 

Fatherly Advice, From the Best Fathers I Know

18 Jun 2011 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Imparting Wisdom Tags:

The best advice I got from my Daddy-O:  Go to bed.  Your house will not burn down. 

I’d only been married for a few short months when I had to call my Daddy-O for some advice.  It was a middle of the night, freak-out panicked call, full of hysteria and rapid heart beats and excessive crying.  I’m certain I woke him out of a dead sleep but I didn’t care.  And as the best Daddy-O ever, neither did he.

Right after I got married, my husband and I bought a Spanish-style house that was built in the 1930s and as such, all of the vents and electric sockets were built into the floor.   We got a couple of cats to add to the family. Because my husband was a sucker for cats in general, we also provided foster care to some other cats who were in between owners.  Sometimes foster kitties have difficulty adjusting to new environments with other established kitties, and not surprisingly, we had one of those challenged foster kitties.  Once he came out of hiding from behind the shower curtain, he peed everywhere, a lot.    

A particularly memorable urination is the focus of this story.  Challenged Kitty was mad about something and stalked into our bedroom, poised right over one of the electric sockets on the floor and let a stream go.  In retaliation, the socket shot out a spark the size of a roman candle and zapped that kitty on the butt.  Oh, the howling!  Oh, the hysteria! Served him right.  But I was left with the smell of burned cat butt, scorched electric socket and panic.  My husband worked third shift and I was alone in a house I was certain would burn to the ground because of faulty electric wiring due to cat pee.  I called the husband, he came home and checked it out, reassured me, and went back to work.

The only problem?  I wanted my Daddy-O.  I wanted him to tell me it was fine.  No other man would do.  So I called him in the middle of the night in a panic to babble incoherently about omigodcatpeedbigsparkburnedi’mgonnalosemyhouse – waaaaaaiiiilllllllll! And Daddy-O was very calm.  He said, “Go to bed.  Your house will not burn down. I love you.”  With that, I was appeased and slept just fine.   

That’s what daddies do. They calm their daughters no matter how old they are.  And just because Daddy-O says it is so, Jimmie knows that everything will be okay.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy-O.  I love you.

  

The best advice I got from Poppa:  It is your born Christian duty to lie to nosy people.

I don’t think that advice needs any explanation, do you?  

One of my favorite things about Poppa is the way he talks to us.  He calls us “love” and that endearment is usually followed by a gentle hand to the cheek.  It is one of the sweetest gestures in the world and I’m happy to report that he taught his sons the same endearment.  His boys, my brothers, treat their wives and children the same way that Poppa treats us – with so much love and respect.  I cannot imagine my life without that man.    

Happy Father’s Day, Poppa. I love you.   

 

The best advice I got from Coach:  I’m here for you too.  Please call me if you need me.   

I’m going to tell you that for the most part, I am a pretty level-headed person.  I’m calm in the face of panic and usually handle big catastrophes pretty well.  One exception would be when cats pee into electric sockets.   

Another exception is a bad break up.  I had one and it was horrible.  I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.  I called Martie daily to cry and to yell.  She was perfect; she knew exactly what to say every time.  The surprise was Coach, though.  I never really thought about his reaction but I guess I expected him to react like a lot of men do:  eye-rolling, big sighing, rolling hands to get you to hurry up to the end of the story.  Coach never did any of that.  Not once.  Instead, he waited a couple of weeks to let the emotions level off and then called me to say, “I know this is hard.  I’m sorry.  I’m here for you too.  Please call me if you need me.” 

It was so comforting, so nice.  I’m certain it made me cry but in that case, it was the good kind.  I know that Pooh and Tigger are in good hands.  They have a daddy that will not do the eye roll and the big sighing but will hug them and tell them he is there and that it will all be okay.   

Happy Father’s Day, Coach. I love you. 

Knowing that I will forget some, I want to say Happy Father’s Day to all of the other daddies I know:  Vaughan, Boo, Adam, Will T., Keith, Marris, Brad, Damon, Stefan, Will B., Stan, Zeb, Casey, Aaron, Brian.  I send big puffy hearts to you all and wish you complete control of the remote for the day. 

Phranke is Wise

29 May 2011 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Imparting Wisdom, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus

Remember when I told you that Phranke was a smart cookie?  Take a look at the email exchange below:

Phranke:      OMG.  18 months without changing your air filter.  Who are you?  Have I taught you nothing?  You don’t listen to me when I speak. 

Jimmie:       Crap.  I was hoping you would put that off for a while and read it when you were drunk and hopefully not remember that part  . . .

Phranke:      I am in shock.  There are just certain things in life you are supposed to do. 

                           Shave your underarms. 

                           Put oil in your car. 

                           Brush your teeth.

                           And. 

                           Change.  Your. Air. Filter.

Clearly she does not subscribe to the philosophy of “Boy jobs” and “Girl jobs” when one becomes a homeowner either.  Noted.

Responsibility Blows

25 May 2011 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Imparting Wisdom, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus

Once again, I am responsible. Dammit.

Being responsible means that no matter how much you want this

You will have this instead, because it is a better choice. 

 

There are three things you should know about me, which of course I will share now. 

To begin:  Martie and I grew up in an old house with no cooling system at all, unless you count the two windows we could open in our ATTIC BEDROOM and the decrepit ceiling fan that lazily stirred around a bunch of thick, hot air. Attics are notoriously warm in summer months and boy could we attest to that.  We were only able to open two of our windows because one of the brothers (I won’t tell you which one because I luff him and I don’t want anyone yelling at him for this) cut some holes in the screens so he could pee out the window instead of going down the 12 steps to the bathroom in the middle of the night.  If you are familiar at all with Tennessee, you know that there are some big-ass bugs that can worm their way into those holes in the screens and those big-ass bugs will scare some little kids, particularly if they are the buzzing, fly-in-your-hair kind of bugs.  I’m fairly certain that Martie and I gave each parent at least one mini-heart attack every summer when a bug would fly in our near vicinity – we screamed like, well, like little girls.  To prevent big-ass bugs from attacking us and to prevent our parents from having mini-heart attacks on a regular basis, we only opened two of our four windows during the summer months.  We sweltered because of it. 

Next up:  I would consider myself easily technologically spoiled.  I had the first inkling of this truth a few years ago when my snazzy Isuzu Rodeo crapped out on me.  I had to borrow Poppa’s vehicle for a couple of weeks until I could figure out what I wanted to do for my transportation needs.  He had a fancy car with the key fob that unlocked the doors.  I was in raptures over this.  My Rodeo just had plain old keys.  Now I had a button I could smash to unlock the doors! (I also had a button I could smash to set off the car alarm which I did with great regularity but never on purpose.) After about two weeks of having this fancy car with a fancy buttoned device, the key fob croaked.  It quit working.  And I was completely at a loss.  I had no idea how to get into the car anymore.  The idea that a KEY would UNLOCK THE DOOR didn’t occur to me for a few terrifying minutes.  I know you all luff me, otherwise I would never share this with you.

Finally:  I adopted my two kitties from New Leash on Life.  They are older cats and came together.  Apparently Seamus does not do so well without Murphy and they needed to be adopted together.  I had to sign papers and make promises that I would never, under any circumstances, let them outside.  That was no problem in theory.  Seamus could care less about outside or anywhere but under the bed and the feeding places.  In reality, though, Murphy will bolt outside that door at every single opportunity, no matter if he just came in from a long stroll or has woken up from a nap.  He’s red headed and Irish and male – in other words, he’s a big fan of carousing outdoors until all hours of the night.  If he hadn’t had his neuters cut off already, I’d suspect a girlfriend.

And now, onwards:  Apparently monsoon season is not over.  Every time I drive out of my neighborhood I notice a huge change in the landscape because another tree has been taken down or another branch has smushed a car.  Thank goodness my lone tree is fairly small and unassuming.  It does not seem big enough to attract the windstorm or the lightning like those other too-big-for-their-britches trees do that must be taken down a peg or two.  These last few weeks have been just riddled with thunderstorms. 

A few weeks ago when Martie and Coach and family were at my house we were all sleeping soundly in the middle of the night when the biggest boom and flash of light hit my house.  That is probably not proper terminology, but it’s what it felt like.  Big thunder and big lightning and all of it seemed to happen inside my home instead of outside it.  There was much screaming from children and mini-heart attacks all around.  Since then, my heating and cooling unit has been working only when it feels like it. Mostly I didn’t notice because until this week, our temperatures were in the 50’s and 60’s.  But this past week has been, shall we say, “sticky”.  It’s warm in my house.  Disgustingly warm.  It’s like bath water all the time.

It would make sense that since we grew up with minimal heat in the winter and no cooling system in the summer, Martie and I would be heartier now.  You’d think we’d be able to withstand high temperatures and freezing toes with the very smallest of complaints.  You’d be wrong.  We have since become grownups and thus, spoiled.  I have sweltered enough in my lifetime.  I have earned the right to not do that anymore. 

I pay an electric bill faithfully every month.  I also pay a gas bill faithfully every month.  In return, I expect all appliances to work all the time, exactly like I want them to with no hiccups, key fobs and air conditioners included.  When they don’t, I flail around wondering what to do and how to do it and generally look like a moron, at least in my own head.  As a first time solo home owner, I’m learning that things sometimes break and that I need help.  Enter Coach.  I call Coach a lot with various issues I run across.  I also call Felix, a handful of co-workers, my neighbor Luke, Jose, Daddy-O, Poppa and sometimes Dammit Todd.  And a couple of other folks.  It’s a good thing that I’m a good cook. 

Sunday night was the first of a series of lengthy phone calls with Coach about the state of my cooling system (lucky guy).  I’ve flipped switches and reset buttons and checked for ice and hosed it down.  Those things didn’t work.  I was also instructed by Coach to go outside and listen to make sure the unit was at least doing something.  I opened the screen door just a smidge to squeeze my way out in an effort to keep Murphy in the house because I promised a year and a half ago.  Ha ha. Let me just tell you, I almost died. Murphy bolted out that door so fast and was gone like a streak, after he got all tangled up in my feet and tried to take me down. 

Later that night we had another monsoon.  I fully expected Murphy to be caterwauling at the door after a couple of hours, wanting to find shelter from the storm, but nope.   I kept waking up all night because of the heat and the worry over my damn cat.  He still had not appeared by Monday morning.  Or Monday night, even during another monsoon.  And I still had no air conditioning.  Needless to say, I was Not Happy. 

Some resolution, though.  Tuesday morning, after two nights of having a rock in the pit of my stomach over a missing cat and a broken air conditioner, Murphy bolted in the garage door as I was leaving for work, forty shades of pissed off because I had not let him immediately in the front door when he caterwauled outside of it.  He stalked around the house letting me have it for a good long while.  Damn cat. 

And tonight, the HVAC guys are coming over to have a look-see at my unit and tell me what is wrong with it.  This is the part where I hate that I’m responsible because it means I’m the one who will pay that bill.  It also means that I’m the one who will have the mini-heart attack when they tell me my unit is fried due to a lightning strike.  I really hope that isn’t the case.  I really hope they just tell me it ran out of gas and they can juice it up for a nominal fee.  Keep your fingers crossed for me.

UPDATE:  Lessons learned in responsibility . . . .

Crying does not fix broken appliances.

As a homeowner, one should take responsibility for changing the air filter on a regular basis. Regular basis is more often than once every 18 months. 

The HVAC guys will laugh at you when you try to explain that some things are “Boy Jobs” and some are “Girl Jobs”.  According to them if you live alone, those jobs become “Homeowner Jobs”.   No exceptions.   

As a cat owner, it is best to keep cats inside at all times.  I will be purchasing flea treatment this evening.

Good night, all.  Please learn from my mistakes. 

Smooches,

Jimmie

 

Rump Shaper, Booty Blast, Shape Shaker – Ultimate Exercuses

26 Apr 2011 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Health, Imparting Wisdom Tags: ,

Today’s topic, boys and girls, is exercise.  I’d love to be able to rhapsodize about it but honestly, I’m not sure I can.  I have more of a hate/indifferent/sometimes-like relationship with it.  You know what, though?  I’m going to give it a go.  Maybe that is how this post will end, one of those “you never know till you give it a try” sort of messages.  This might be the most positive thing I’ve ever written.  Is it scary that I don’t have an end point in mind yet?

 

Oh, this is gonna get wordy.  I can feel it. But I’m here to “Impart Wisdom” so let’s get to it.

 

How does one choose an exercise program, you ask.  Well, first you must be facing forty in a few years.  And you must have some extra curves that you want to get rid of.  It also helps if you have any kind of desire to actually BE healthy but honestly, age and fat will knock some sense right into you without all that “living healthy” garbage. 

 

There are many types of exercise programs out there.  You just have to pick something you like and that you can sustain.  Me, I get bored.  I try lots of things, most of which scare the pants off of me at first (not literally).  Currently I’m into the Body Pump/Spin/Running (read Jogging, slowly) phase of my life.  But I’ve gone through several phases over the last few years. 

 

You already know that I’m a devoted member of my local YMCA.  Before I joined the Y, though, I was the member of a girlie gym.  It was for women only and the program suggested attendance three times a week.  I enjoyed it, I suppose, and give them props for getting me started but after a year or so, I outgrew them.  I needed more.  Plus, the gym burned down so I guess my needing more really just meant I didn’t want to sift through the char and rubble to find a jump rope. 

 

I tried something called I Chi Chin (I think) with a former co-worker for a little while, mostly because he was completely stoked about it and asked me repeatedly to join him.  Let me kindly say that Tai Chi is not for me.  I felt like a complete dork what with all the hissy breathing.  Plus, people made fun of it (always behind his back) and that right there will cause an extra curvy, almost forty-year-old to have a re-think.  No, thank you.  Also, I have no desire to put my foot behind my head.  Ever.  So, pass.

 

Rickkster does a self defense-type thing.  The funny part about that isn’t the workout.  It’s what happens to him during the workout that makes me giggle.  Before we knew he was learning all these specific movements and tricks, we thought he was just getting lucky with a new girl because he had what looked like hickeys on his neck and we were all like, “Way to go, man.” But when he started coming in with bruises in odd places like the giant one on his forearm, we got a bit concerned.  “Rickkster – uh, is she large?  Is she mean? Beefy, maybe?” He finally told us that it was not a new girl but a self-defense class which in hindsight makes a lot more sense.  He’s scrappy but wiry so I think it is perfect for him.  Also, he mentioned that he might have been smushed against some girlie parts during the lessons so my guess is that Rickkster is completely happy with his workout choices.  Wow, total tangent there.  Anyway, self-defense is also not for me.  I don’t want hickeys and bruises and smushing up against girlie parts of any kind.  Plus I’m nearly 6 feet tall so I don’t really feel the need for any self-defense moves.  Pepper spray works just fine. 

 

For now I’ll stick with the running (jogging) thing.  I like it. And one day I will run a ½ marathon.  Just one.  I don’t want to get too crazy.

 

And what does one wear when working out, you ask.  I can tell you what not to wear, specifically if you are man.  If you choose running as your activity, the bicycle short is not for you.  Just no.  No.  N-O spells no.  Please.  I don’t care how seriously you take your running, there are no excuses in the world valid enough for you to showcase every nook and cranny, or bump, that you own in spandex.  Please, if you have any love at all for humanity, do not wear this garment and most especially, do not tuck your t-shirt into this garment. Same goes for those of you that wear the tiny flappy running shorts.  Imagination is a terrific thing. Let’s not ruin it by putting all you have on display, mkay?  Oh, and for the record, only Michael Phelps looks good in a Speedo.  No one else even needs to try.

 

And now for the ladies.  I can only speak with authority for the busty girl.  Get a harness, preferably one that does not skew uni-boob.  The objective here is to have something so tight and confining that you cannot breathe properly. Then and only then will you have enough support to not damage your eyes while running. If you have to sort of shimmy in and out of it with the help of some grease, even better.  You are now ready to tackle any method of bouncing, jogging, or movement you choose.  Oh, and get good shoes. 

 

Otherwise, I suppose you should just buy whatever you like.  I know I don’t look my best when working out but it does help to have a t-shirt that reads “You ♥ me” with the heart in red sequins. 

 

And who does one choose for workout partners, you ask.  Not the former co-worker who was so excited about putting his foot behind his head, I’ll tell you that right now.  Mostly because he has an odd grunting sniffle that sounds a bit like he’s strangling but that’s my personal hang-up, I suppose. 

 

Also, not people like Dammit Todd.  Dammit Todd can eat fast food for months and lie around on the couch being lazy for months and in one week will begin and excel in an exercise program that surpasses everything you ever wanted to accomplish in your entire life.  It isn’t fair. So to feel good about yourself and your accomplishments, let Dammit Todd go do his own thing while you go do your own. He currently subscribes to the “Body by the Hulk” program which was designed by a mutual friend who has arms bigger than my head.  I cannot sustain that kind of fortitude.

 

Funny story. When I first started walking in Nashville I was on the Greenway which is this really nice system of walking trails that run throughout the city.  Now this should come as no surprise to you, but I don’t meet a lot of strangers.  And one day I was walking along when a largish woman with a corkscrew-curl wig asked me if she could walk with me.  I had never seen her before but of course I said yes. I was fascinated by the wig and I like talking.  We plowed along getting to know each other and when we got to the big monster hill she started praying. She prayed all the way up the hill:  “Lord Jesus, help me up this hill.  Lord Jesus, please get me up this hill.  Lord Jesus, I need You now.”  It worked. She and I made it up that hill and still had enough breath to continue on.  I learned a valuable lesson that day.

 

Pick people that you like and that challenge you for workout partners.  I prefer Lynnette and Jane.  And Lord Jesus, seriously.  You should exercise with people that give you good encouragement and training.  Sometimes I call encouragement and training “yelling” but that’s usually when I’ve got PMS.  As you get better at it, it’s nice to be the one doing the encouraging and training.  It’s never called “yelling” then, but “motivation”. 

 

To end, I’ll tell you a story about my first and only 10K I’ve run thus far.  I had trained for it and really wanted to do it. But race day was cold and I was second-guessing myself.  Martie was there as were Coach, Lynnette, Jane, Pooh and Tigger.  And Martie gave me a scolding (which she calls “encouragement”) when I said that I would just do the 5K instead of the 10K because I wasn’t ready.  Because she’s the younger sister and because she’s bossy, I ran the 10K.  Towards the end of the race, I came to a sign that directed the 5K runners in one direction and the 10K runners in another longer direction, and right there I started to get teary-eyed.  I was tired.  I didn’t want to run anymore.  My chest hurt and my legs burned and I was wiped out.  But I didn’t cheat.  I sent up a tiny little prayer and I kept running.  I paused to walk about 20 steps up one hill but otherwise I ran the entire way.  And when I made it to the track for one lap around as the finish, I was just so proud.  I ran with all I had in me for that last lap and I crossed that finish line and I did not die.  And Martie, Lynnette, Coach, Jane, Pooh and Tigger were all right there, waiting on me.  We had all run races that day that challenged us, 1 mile and 5Ks and 10Ks. None of us died and we all completed our runs.  And it was amazing. 

 

See there?  I did get a positive message out of this after all.  And I thought I should share an email here from Quan, who I’m learning is quite wise:  I had a great workout last night…. Went home and took a 2 hour nap then ate pizza.  I feel great about it.

 

Sending best wishes to Jamie, Jane, Laura, Julie Ann, Judy, Ginny, Chandra and Christina.  Good luck on the half and whole marathons this weekend!  And full credit goes to Lynnette for the title of this here post.  Thank ya, baby!

 

 

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