Speaking Of Snooty Snotholes . . . .

26 Jul 2012 6 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus, This Will Probably Get Me In Trouble, Weight Loss Tags:

Want to know how my day started today?

Lady at the gym:  Are you working out with a trainer? 

Jimmie:  No.  But I’ve taken a lot of classes from Lynnette.  She taught me well.

Lady at the gym:  Well, you always work out really hard. Well done.

Jimmie: <preen>

Want to know how my day started yesterday? With jazz.  In abs class.  Who plays a jazz soundtrack for an ab workout?  Jazz makes no sense.  How are you supposed to breathe rhythmically to power through 600 bicycle kicks when you listen to jazz?  Everyone knows that you either play some sex music or some Adele in an abs class, because everyone knows you need to be motivated by some kind of sexy or raw emotion in order to not quit after ten crunches.  Ima have a word with the instructor, who by the way won’t be here for the next two classes because he’s going to a class reunion.  I’m pretty sure he’s going to walk around with no shirt on the whole time because I’m pretty sure a 50-something year old man with a stomach like a brick will win the prize for “Most Well Preserved”, and everyone knows that is the only reason you go to reunions anyway – to show off how good you still look and/or how much you have accomplished since you last saw each other at graduation.

And now, speaking of snooty snotholes, I have a story about a lady at the YMCA, where I used to go. Once upon a time, before Lynnette started teaching classes at the Y, I had never been to a Body Pump class.  I really wanted to go, though, so after much encouragement from Lynnette and assorted others I ventured to try it.  I went to the Greenway first and ran about five miles. I was pretty gross, but I didn’t worry too much about it as no one really expects you to be hawt at the gym, right?  I got to the class and set up all my equipment.  While the class was tough, I gave it my best.  One exercise required that we have partners and it seemed to me that everyone in there already knew each other so people already had established partners.  The instructor asked if anyone was solo, I raised my hand, and she asked another lady who was partnered with two other people to even it out and partner with me. 

The woman walked over towards me and we gave each other a look.  She had on some pretty tight spandex-y pants, a tiny little sports bra as a top, a giant well-manicured ponytail that had obviously been washed and styled just that morning, a full face of makeup including lip gloss and some giant hoop earrings.  Her stomach was as flat as a board, her butt perky, her boobs suspiciously firm-looking.  Etc.  What she saw when she looked at me I don’t know, but her eyes rolled from the top of my head down to the toe of my shoes.  She heaved a sigh and then called out to the instructor, “Nope, I’m good” and walked back over to the two people she had already partnered with. 

Needless to say, I never went back to that class until Lynnette started teaching it.  Sweet little old Lynnette who, while even being a hottie when she works out never makes anyone feel like crap about themselves because they sweat.

I was hopeful that my new gym wouldn’t have any snooty snotholes but unfortunately that is not the case.  There is a woman who I see nearly every day, in the gym and in the locker room (Ima call her Bianca which is totally a fake snooty name, in my opinion).  Bianca likes to kind of sashay around the gym, swishing her butt all around and then park on the elliptical machine for her allotted workout time.  She wears a sweat band (70s-style terry cloth) around her forehead and regularly makes unfortunate choices in workout pants.   When her workout is over, she sashays with her swishy butt into the locker room, gives me a once over as I am drying my hair and NEVER SAYS A WORD TO ME.  NEVER.  I know she speaks because I’ve heard her have conversations with others.  Yet there must be something about me she finds aesthetically unpleasing because she routinely ignores me as if I am not there.  I’m guessing that matching bra and panty sets offend her. 

There was a time when that would really bother me, when I could never let her beat me.  I’d do anything to make her talk to me, nay even like me a little even if only grudgingly.  But that was the old me.  The new me could give two rips.  Also, the new me will totally let her sashay around the gym with her swishy butt and never tell her that the unfortunate choice she regularly makes in workout pants really emphasizes the fact that her underwear is all wedged up in her butt crack and everyone can tell.  Suck on that, Bianca!

I’m so nice.

P.  S. Tony, I just want you to know that that other day when I was running on the Greenway, I saw four men IN UNIFORM running in front of me.  I’ll have you know, that phenomenon really did make me run further and faster!  Put that in your pipe and smoke it.  You’d better *bring it* next time I come out there.   

As It Relates To Job Hunting

10 Jul 2012 1 Comment

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

Y’all remember when I got lambasted for not having pearls to wear at an interview?  Look here at what Auntie Anne sent me.  My grandmother’s pearls!  Every last strand of them!  She sent them as a birthday gift with a note that said, “If you don’t want to look like a lady, wear them all at once.”  That is just like her . . . I plan on taking her advice and wearing every last strand of them over to the staffing place that was so snooty about my hair and while there, I will swan about with my brand new paycheck.

Speaking of hair, I have a story. Surprise.

A few years ago, when Boss and I were still a team, we ran into a travel snafu of sorts.  He had an evening meeting in St. George, Utah on a particular night and an interview at the Nashville airport the very next morning at 9:00.  I don’t know if you are good at geography and/or math but you should realize that getting from Utah to Tennessee in just a few hours is no easy feat.  Boss had to take a red-eye, get off the plane, and almost immediately go into an interview for a job we really wanted.  Because no one is pretty after an all-night flight and because no hotel will accept a reservation for 7:30 a.m, Boss had to find a place to shower and shave and generally get presentable.  The only logical choice was my house.

Our receptionist picked him up at the airport and drove him over to my house so that he could ablut before doing his dog and pony show for the airport executives.  When he came back to the office after his interview, we all noticed that he smelled a lot like girl and grapefruit and that his hair was exceptionally volumized.  After making fun of me a whole lot for the array of hair products I had in my bathroom, he swilled down some Red Bull, propped his eyes open with toothpicks and sat in his office pretending to work.  The staff, in turn, spent the day walking by his office, tossing around comments about his fruity scent and his poufy hair, and pretending to work.  (Coincidentally, we all got huge raises that year.) 

Before I finish my story, let me share another photo.

This here is my hair stuff.  And I think I see the problem.

We did not get the job at the airport.  I did not get a job through that staffing agency or even a single phone call from them.  What are the chances, do you think, that the snooty snothole over at The Hadden Group was right – that one will never get a job in Nashville if one has sexy hair?   Hmmm.  I’d believe it if I hadn’t been offered a job THAT VERY SAME DAY.  Obviously some people are enamored of my big sexy hair and want to pay me to bring it to work every day. 

Your loss, Airport.  Your loss, snooty staffing agency.  I’m not sure you could have handled us anyway. 

Birthday Wishes

17 May 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus, This Will Probably Get Me In Trouble Tags: ,

Perhaps this will come as a shock to you as I know I have never mentioned it here, but I’m having a birthday soon.  A doozy – the big four oh.  You’ll be proud.  I didn’t cry at all as I typed that.  I don’t plan on crying on the big day either but as I’m learning lately, my plans almost never turn out the way I planned them.  More to come on that but maybe not today.

I’ve heard rumors that 40 is a great place to be.  I’ve heard rumors that your 40s are the sexy years, and quite frankly, I could use some sexy in my life.  I’m looking forward to new chapters, to new maturity, to more wisdom, definitely to a better job.  And some sexy.  Woo!

I mentioned once that I had my first and only hangover at age 37.  I have no idea why I waited so long but after I experienced it, I wished I had waited 37 more years.  It was not a pleasant experience.  I recall trying to get out of bed and realizing instantly that upright was no place to be.  I recall crawling slowly from my bed to my bathroom and moaning the entire way while my friend laughed hysterically from the sofa where she was experiencing her own hangover.  I recall eyeballing my friends in disbelief when they told me that I really needed food, that food would make me feel better as would a Diet Coke.  I recall that they were indeed correct.  I recall going to the pool that afternoon and I recall that when Dammit Todd came over to join us, I was filled with shame and embarrassment, so much so that I could not even look at him.

See, the night before was my birthday.  And I had made demands of all my friends with which they complied.  Shut Up Marc had to dress as Wolverine.  Miguel had to dance for me for six minutes. April had to make me a jell-o shot birthday cake (with whipped cream).  Billiam had to bring me a store bought present wrapped in birthday paper.  Bootsie just had to attend.  Pee-tah had to be my wingman.  And Dammit Todd had to be my shirtless bartender.  I was really going for a cummerbund and bowtie look but I settled for baby oil, a Sharpie and a shirtless Dammit Todd.  When Dammit Todd came to the pool the next day, I had flashbacks of me rubbing the baby oil all over him the night before and writing MINE across his chest with the Sharpie, which incidentally did not come off in the shower.  I know because he took his shirt off at the pool, too.

HOWEVER, I have grown up now. I am no longer that person who wants those sorts of childish things for her birthday.  This year I’m more mature.  And I’m celebrating with a giant 80s party .   See, totally mature.  You all are invited but only if you come dressed for the part.  I want big hair and lots of black eyeliner.  I want some neon.  I want some jelly bracelets and shoes.  I want white lipstick and George Michael.  I want foofy prom dresses.  And for crying out loud, I want some Billy Idol. Dancing with Myself, woo!

Also, I’ve been working on a list of things I want from you people.  It follows:

Freddie – I’m gonna need a cake from you

Felix – your choice of either a hug (whilst you are wearing yummy cologne) or a painting (done just for me).  Also, I will take both.

Phranke – I get a whole day with you, preferably at a spa

Quan – you need to buy me a GiGi’s cupcake and NOT EAT IT before you give it to me

Martie – I’m gonna need a cake from you

Coach – please fix my broken toilet

Dammit Todd – you are a lucky, lucky man this year.  This year I only want to meet your girlfriend.  I say that because I do not believe she exists.  Why else would it take you so long to introduce us, your two favorite people?  If you do not produce such girlfriend, I require you to be my shirtless bartender, this time with bowtie and cummerbund and black eyeliner and Flock of Seagulls hair. 

Madre – you get a pass because you birthed me, although I will take a cake from you

Daddy-O – I really don’t want to tell you this but you need to get me a new pink pocket knife (story later)

JiJi – I’m gonna need a banana pudding from you

Daddy-O – (because I forgot earlier) a stir fry and some spaghetti (these are to be separate occasions)

Javier – Wolverine sideburns.  You had better already be growing them out. 

The Squirt – I need for you to write something for me

Kindle – lunch, just you and me and possibly Phranke

Lynnette – a pedicure day

Jane – a pedicure day

Woney – a training session or five with you and Tony

Jonquil – a card with a rainbow on it

Aunt Judy – I’m gonna need a cake from you, a red velvet one

I have one final request.  This request is for the anonymous person who read my entry about how I’m overly concerned with running out of toilet paper and sent me this, right to my front door: 

Hahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!  I love it.  Thank you very, very much.  Anonymous person and other assorted persons who have interest in my well-being, please know that I am inordinately concerned with running out of this now and am making a request for:

  • A man, of the Christian variety which means simply that his heart beats for God
  • This same man is 6’5” or so and has nice teeth
  • This man knows how to fix toilets and such
  • This man does not wear old lady cologne
  • This man does not live at home with his mother
  • This man does not sleep on NASCAR sheets
  • This man eschews excessive garlic, onions and coffee
  • This man prefers a woman with curves (see above: all the requests for cake)
  • This man has nice taste in shoes

I’m pretty sure I saw one of these on Amazon so if any of you are stuck with no ideas for a good birthday present for me, you can take that as a very subtle hint.  Just point, click and buy.  Free delivery is included for orders over fifty bucks. 

P.S. – Jonquil, seriously, thank you for the potty paper.  I truly have the best people in my life. 

 

I Have A Bone To Pick With You, Tony

12 Apr 2012 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Health, This Will Probably Get Me In Trouble Tags: ,

*For my new readers and also for my readers who have the memory of a gnat, Woney is my friend in California.  She has a personal trainer, Tony, who is a Navy man in his spare time.  I got to work out with Tony and Woney once and while the workout nearly did me in, Tony was a joy ogle. 

Dear Tony. 

I’m quite angry with you, for several reasons.  For starters, I’m still upset that you flat refused to use your Navy uniform for good during our memorable workout session.  Uniforms have a single purpose, correct?  To define those who do good for our nation?  (Excluding prison uniforms, of course.)  Obesity is rampant in this country, Tony.  We are approaching a national crisis status with it and yet you refuse, nay even argue with my logical and compelling request to stand at the end of running paths as ladies jog toward you in an effort to drop pounds and improve health.  Your shining chiclet teeth do provide some light at the end of the tunnel, yes, but just imagine how much faster and further we would run if you would merely stand there in all of your uniformed glory, a shining beacon of goodness.  I thought you were an American, Tony.

I was perfectly content to be angry with you for your lack of uniform, at least for a while.  I figured if I whined about it enough to Woney and through her, to you, you would at last give in to my pleas and wear the uniform the next time I come work out in California.  (I’ve got whining skillz, yo.) But then I saw some pics from your fitness website and now I’m mad at you because I think you are pretty stingy with the shirtless workout, too.  Tony, do you know what those abs could do for America?  Do you have any idea the good you could do?  I’ve been struggling with my gym visits these last couple of months.  I lack what you call “motivation”.  Four a.m. comes awfully early and since Lynnette is very sweet and a girl, it becomes easier and easier to blow her off when the alarm rings in my ear.  However, if your abs greeted me every day at 4:30 in the a.m., I believe I could find motivation aplenty each and every day to be a good, healthy American citizen and leap eagerly and spryly out of the confines of my cozy bed.  Because have you seen your abs?

Finally, I’m angry with you because someone stole my garbage can.  It’s the second time in a month that it has disappeared and I’m really beginning to wonder about the mental stability of my neighbor.  If you would come here, Tony, like I’ve nicely asked you to do (and bring Woney, of course) you could solve my garbage can problem.  You’ll need to strut around in my yard sans shirt, really swagger it all around, and I’m certain that my neighbor will either a) be so taken with your gleaming abs and chiclet teeth that she forgets all about stealing all my stuff or b) be so terrified of your manly physique that she forgets all about stealing all my stuff. Either way I get to keep my garbage can and America wins because stealing is wrong.  We don’t want a country founded on crime, do we Tony?    

To make it up to me, Tony, and more importantly to your country, you can do one of three things. You can wear your uniform at our next workout session for which I will leap eagerly out of bed at four in the morning.  You can loll around shirtless at our next workout session for which I will also leap eagerly out of bed at four in the morning.  Or, and this is my favorite option because it does not involve me leaping out of bed at four in the morning,  you can move to Tennessee and make yourself at home on my sofa either in your uniform or shirtless.  Or both.  I think Navy pants are quite fetching when worn alone.   Show us your patriotism, Tony!   Or at least your abs!

Your favorite,

Jimmie

 

This here is Tony. Do you see?! My argument is even more compelling with photos, right? <whimper>

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

31 Jan 2012 6 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, what’s that?” asks Jimmie. 

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

“Oh,” Jimmie says faintly.   

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

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

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

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

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

What say you – was she hit on?     

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

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

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

I’m Just A Stereotype Waiting To Happen

05 Jan 2012 5 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

Look at this picture. 

 

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

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

I Am So Spoiled

06 Sep 2011 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus, This Will Probably Get Me In Trouble Tags:

Today, I’d like to talk about work.  Sort of.  I have worked for Boss for about five years now.  I will follow him from one company to the next as our working relationship, while unconventional, works well for both of us.  Much of what I do is book travel for him.  He lives in Kansas and since our work involves designing things for airports in various cities outside of Kansas, it makes no sense for him to stay in Kansas.  You don’t get much work without schmoozing clients and to do that, you must actually go to the client.  As much as I love to travel, even I would have a hard time being away from home that much.

Because his time almost exclusively involves being away from the office and from home, someone needs to keep him grounded and organized.  That person is me.  I’ll wait for you to stop laughing.  I spend most of my days looking at flights on Delta, checking out hotels and booking rental cars.  The customer service agents for these companies know me well.  Once I type in his frequent flier numbers, they answer the phone with an “Oh, hi Jimmie, what can I do for you today?”  It’s ridiculous. 

A few years ago we had a flurry of booking then cancelling then changing then re-booking a trip.  It happens often.  I never think my work is done on a given trip until he arrives and gets settled into a hotel – changes are part of the process.  This particular week, though, I booked a car for his Vegas trip.  Except I booked it in Kansas.  Whoops.  Two weeks later, I booked a car for his Texas trip, also in Kansas.  He called and said, “You know, booking a car in the wrong city was funny the first time. It’s not the second time.”  Mostly he was ticked because the only car left at the rental lot was a baby blue super girlie SUV and he had to drive to his appointments feeling completely emasculated in his foofy vehicle.  It took me a while to live that down.

Now let’s talk about Administrative Professional’s Day.  It happens every year in the spring.  Truthfully, it is another of those Hallmark holidays designed to get people to spend money on other people for virtually no reason at all.  If you don’t, those other people get all bent out of shape, claiming things like “You don’t appreciate me!” and flouncing off in a snit.  Score one for Hallmark.   

This year one of my co-workers who is extremely thoughtful sent a message to Boss about Administrative Professional’s Day.  He said:

Should we do anything for Jimmie? I know we don’t need to “spoil” her, but I figure she may appreciate a small gesture.  Then again, to pay her back for booking you a car in the wrong city, we can get her a spa gift certificate to somewhere out of state. 

To which Boss replied: 

We probably should do something. It’s in a couple of weeks, right?  Surely we can come up with something to embarrass her completely. 

I’m such a lucky person.  Thanks Heavens this is what I got because I did hear rumors of singing telegrams . . . .

Used to, I was the one who took care of the gifts on Administrative Professional’s Day.  I made sure that everyone in the aviation group received at least a small token of appreciation and a nice card.  No one was left out.  It would have been awkward for me to send myself a gift and card and Boss understood this, so every year he would do something nice for me (most likely because his girlfriend reminded him).  One year I received a necklace, the next some very fine chocolates.  My favorite year was the year we were on a business trip in Las Vegas and he offered (read: I made him) buy us tickets to Cirque de Soleil’s Mystere.  I was awed; he was mildly entertained.  And if you’ve never seen a Cirque performance live, I highly recommend it.  Last year we were on another business trip, this time in San Diego, and I wanted to go to the zoo.  Unfortunately, the business poop hit the business fan and the zoo never happened.   

I took this blow graciously (after throwing the mother of all fits); however, my graciousness did not allow me to let him forget the failure to buy me presents.  So when his vacation rolled around that summer, his girlfriend who knew that I had planned most of the vacation called to ask if I had any special requests.

“Buy me something pretty,” I said, “since Boss ditched me in San Diego.”  I have a mind like a steel trap, y’all and had no issue with throwing him under the bus. 

“Okay, great,” says Girlfriend, and she comes back with a lovely beaded bracelet from Costa Rica.  She was quite excited about the colors and the charms, just knowing I would love it.  She was particularly charmed by silvery palm trees and couldn’t wait to show Boss what she had purchased for me to get him out of the Jimmie-imposed doghouse.

 

“Those are not palm trees,” said Boss.

“Sure they are,” said Girlfriend. 

“Nope, honey, they aren’t.” 

“What are they then?” she asked.

 

Oh, she’s so cute.

This year I got to help plan his vacation again.  I told you, I’m nothing if not a planner and I love this stuff, even if I don’t get to go.  This year Girlfriend, wiser than she was last year, bless her naive sweet soul, bought me another bracelet from the wilds of Belize.  Isn’t it pretty?  Methinks we have started a trend.

 

 

Well, That Was Awkward

31 Aug 2011 6 Comments

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

My Potential Roomate has now become Roomate, at least for the month of September.  I thought you’d like to know.  Mini has adjusted well to living with me and my felines.  She has doggie toys in every room of the house and feels secure in coming to my room for a middle of the night snuggle.  The felines have adjusted well to two added beings.  Murphy ignores that quivery dog while he stretches out like a mini sultan on my bed and Seamus still just looks at her with disinterested interest.  Both kitties hit Roomate up for food when he comes home, all meowing and fluttering their eyelashes.  We are going to have the fattest animals on the planet what with their begging and Mini snatching every single crumb that falls onto the floor.  Last night she darted under my feet to catch a hunk of shallot in midair.  Only after she chomped on it one good time did she realize that shallots are kind of gross for dogs and abandon it in a slobbery mess for me to discard.

Me, I like Roomate because now I can hand out “Boy Jobs” and keep the “Girl Jobs”.  He takes out the trash and listens to my hot water heater when it makes funky noises.  I dictate how the pantry is to be organized, lie around on the couch reading books, and hang my undies in the laundry room.  In short, we get along fabulously. 

Last week, Roomate asked me if I could help with a favor.  He prefaced it by saying it was an odd request which of course made me immediately say yes.  I’m a big fan of saying yes before I even know what I’m agreeing to which has more often than not gotten me into trouble.  But Roomate so faithfully takes out the trash without being asked so I trust him.  Trust is always based on faithful garbage carrying.

“Will you measure me for a mountain bike?” he asks.  “Sure”, I say, figuring I’ll just whip out a yardstick when I get home, mark his height with a pencil against the wall, and be done with it.  Not odd at all. 

Then he sends a link to a video on how to properly measure one for a mountain bike.  Y’all, this is a process, a lengthy one.  Still, it’s fine.  I was rocking along looking at pictures and diagrams of how to measure when I run across this one. 

Oh my.  It appears that I have found the odd.   

Before you get your panties all in a twist, thinking that I’m going to be all up in a stranger’s business with a measuring tape, you should know that Roomate is my cousin.  However, now that I have typed that in black and white, I’m not sure if that makes the measuring better or worse. 

Anyway, last Wednesday night Roomate trotted around the house in his bike shorts (really? who invented those?) and I measured (nearly) every measurable part of his body.  I figure he’s already seen my underwear that lives in the laundry room and we share a washer and dryer so it can’t get any worse than that. It is obvious that he trusts me to bandy about a measuring stick while he holds a level in his nether parts.  We spent a lot of time with that measuring tape and the level, making notes in a notebook and figuring numbers.  Turns out one of his arms is longer than the other and that I am quite the expert with a measuring tape.   It also turns out that you can only awkwardly giggle for so long before you just get tired of being awkward and stop with the giggling already and just get the job done.   

His mountain bike arrived yesterday.  We’ll see how well I did.

For those of you who want to ask if I am for hire with the measuring, the answer is no. As if . . . I reserve that sort of thing for men who are related to me and who take out the trash.  A girl has to have standards. 

The Dating Game

30 Jun 2011 7 Comments

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

Apparently I struck a nerve.  It appears that I am not the only person who is passionate about the height of the men I date.  I post one little thing about a guy being too short, and receive more comments that I ever expected: here (although these were the nice ones), on Facebook and personally.  It seems only flashing people at public swimming pools gets me more feedback but since I’ve already done that and already died a little, I don’t think I’ll venture down that road again. 

I suppose it is time to talk about what makes me tick on a more personal level, on a dating level.  I tell you about funny stuff that happens to me, and sometimes sad stuff.  I tell you about people I luff. But it’s possible that telling you those things still don’t let you “get” me.  Now I want you to “get” me.  We all may be sorry.       

To begin, I’m going to tell you that I’m no stranger to dating.  I’m no stranger to marriage.  I’ve done my fair share of the romantic relationship, sometimes to my detriment and sometimes to my joy.  Secondly, and at the risk of sounding like a floozy (which I am not), I will tell you that I have dated an assorted cast of men.  I’ve run the gamut from older to younger, stoner to business professional, intellectual to . . . not so intellectual.  There is an entirely new story to tell within those parameters, but I’m thinking more of “book” than “blog post”.  I will have a lot to say. 

For now, I want to set the record straight.  I have dated men shorter than me, for a significant amount of time even.  I have given it a shot, let my guard down and given in.  And I hated it.  Despite the fact that most of those men were very nice and charming and whatever, I felt awkward and uncomfortable.  While I am 39 now, surely an age where I’m mature and happy with who I am, I can still feel awkward and uncomfortable with the best of them with no help at all from a shorter boyfriend.   I choose not to deliberately do that to myself.

Shorter-than-me is not indicative of non-hotness.  I know this.  Look at Lenny Kravitz – Meow!  Michael J. Fox – adorable!  Mark Wahlberg – yummy! Dammit Todd  and Rickkster – I nod at you here.  I give these men their due.  I can look at these men on the big screen and drool with the best of them.  But cuteness only goes so far for enticing me to want to make out with you.  There are so many other qualities that you must possess before I take an interest, and so many things that can turn me right off of even the tallest man.  Shall I share my list with you?  Indeed, yes.   

Before I begin, I should inform you that I’m an equal opportunity discriminator.  I realize that there are millions of men who have millions of fabulous qualities that should counteract my stringent requirements.  I’m not saying that these men don’t deserve a second look.  I’m just telling you they won’t get one from me.  I have every right to do this seeing as how I have been discriminated against more than once for my height, my weight, my dislike of certain recreational activities, my age, etc.  You name it, I’ve been there.  Plus (and not to beat a dead horse here) I’m 39.  I have earned the right to be picky.  Lord knows I should have been picky MANY times in my life but chose not to for whatever reason.

So on to my list.  If you want to be my new bohunk, please read carefully.     

If you don’t love God more than you love me, do not apply.

If you smoke anything at all, do not apply. 

If your name is Gerald, do not apply.  Wait, I’m not done here.  If your name is any of the following:  Phil, Herbert, Chauncy, Dwight, Melvin, Barry, Chuck (or any variation of Charles), Kenneth, Ralph, Larry, Moe, Richard, George, or Howard and/or you have an inmate number after your name, do not apply. Dwayne was on the list originally but then Dwayne Johnson got those big old arms and those pretty teeth and I had to remove it from the no fly list.   

If you think watching NASCAR on television is a nice date, do not apply. 

If you still live with your mother because “It’s awesome”, do not apply.

If you have unaddressed dental issues, do not apply. 

Ah, a big one!  If your feet are smaller than mine, do not apply. 

If you think a comb over actually hides your bald spot, do not apply. 

If you are currently attached to someone else romantically, do not apply.

If you think video games are “amazing!”, do not apply. 

If you eat cloves of raw garlic daily in the name of good health, do not apply.

If you are an axe murderer, do not apply. 

If you want me to birth children, do not apply.

If you are not old enough to rent a car, do not apply.  Honestly, it is shocking how many young men are willing to embrace the Cougar phenomenon.  Shocking.   

Yes, I realize how picky I sound at this point . . . tough.  It’s my list. 

Lastly, and we have covered this, if you are my height or shorter than me, do not apply. 

I think that is a tidy list.  Please understand that I reserve the right to add to it as I see fit.  I hope I have offended no one, but if I did what are you gonna do about it?  Not ask me out on a date?  Been there, done that, your loss.  ☺

Smooches,

Jimmie 

 

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