The Top Five (no) Three (no) Four Reasons I like My Neighbor, Luke

The Top Five Reasons I Like My Neighbor, Luke

The Top Five Three Four Reasons I like My Neighbor, Luke

Why I Like Luke, a list by Jimmie (Gah!)

One – His name is Luke.  It’s my second favorite name of all time, right after Daniel.

Two – I never suspected him of stealing my garbage can.  (The neighbor on the other side of me, however . . . .)

Three – He answers every text I send him, even though most of them begin with the words “Hey, I broke something . . . . are you at home?”

Four – Every time I offer him food, he takes it.  You know how I love a man who eats.  Just last week we had the following text exchange:

Jimmie:  Hey, are you at home?

Luke, being a good neighbor, probably rolling his eyes and wondering what I broke this time:  I’m close.  What’s up?

Jimmie:  I have leftovers.  You want them?

Luke, being a man who loves to eat:  Of course I want them!  I never turn down food. 

And then before I could even send a reply text he was knocking on my door, dressed in a polar bear-sized coat, gloves and a hat.  I felt like I needed to explain that I’d begun a “lifestyle change” (not a diet) and that at midnight my cheat day would officially end and that I could not have the fantastic leftovers in my house or I would eat them and would he please take them off my hands.  He probably heard “blah, blah, blah, free man-food” and snatched it out of my hand, hollered “thanks!” and scampered back to his football game (or whatever) he was watching on his giant man TV. 

He is most helpful to me.  For this I am grateful. 

By the way, my “lifestyle change” is going really well.  I’ve lost four pounds, all of them in my butt.  Yay.

(This was supposed to be a list of five but then I struggled so it became a list of three but then I remembered one more so, a list of four. Writing at its finest, y’all.)

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner

Two years ago for Christmas, Madre got me this awesome t-shirt.

Don't listen to my sister - I am the favorite.

Don’t listen to my sister – I am the favorite.

I opened it and as soon as I saw it, I held it up and crowed, “Told you I was the favorite!” 

But to my chagrin, Martie had also opened a gift from Madre which was also an awesome t-shirt.  She, too, was holding hers up crowing, “Told you she liked me best!”

Mom likes me best

Mom likes me best

Well played, Madre.  Well played.

Last weekend Madre and I walked/jogged another 5K together.  This one was the Jingle Bell Run and I’m sure it benefitted some charity or other but Madre and I got jingle bells to tie onto our shoes and so I lost all memory of anything other than my tinkling pretty feet.   Once again, Madre and her legs for days won the race for her age division.  I’m not even going to be surprised anymore.  It has become our status quo.  I, of course, did not place at all.



I did get something pretty cool, though.  I forgot my t-shirt to wear to this race (see post from yesterday) and so had to borrow one from Martie.  This is the one I snatched.


Since I have both shirts in my possession now, I’m pretty sure I WIN! Heh. 

Lynnette? I Might Be Mad At You.

Yesterday morning I went to the gym.  That is a statement in and of itself as I haven’t been what you call regular with those gym visits lately.  But I got a gander of myself in one of the those dressing rooms where you can see the front of yourself and also the back of yourself and let me tell you, that right there will motivate you to get up off your pancake butt and go to the gym.  You’d think it would motivate you to lay off the chocolate also but it seems I need something far more drastic than a back and front mirror.    

Anyway, yesterday morning I went to the gym.  I did a leg workout.  It was a good idea overall, but when I got to the locker room to start my after workout ablutions, I realized I left my makeup bag in the car.  I’ve been doing that a lot lately, forgetting the small things.  It’s what happens when your life gets super busy.  Just last week I forgot my shoes.  I was leaving for work and grabbed my overnight clothes bag as I was spending the night with Martie, my purse, my lunch bag, my computer bag and my computer which for some reason was not in the bag.  I ran out to the car and slung all my stuff in it, not wanting to be late for work. I flung myself into the driver’s seat, backed out of the driveway and drove nearly all the way out of my neighborhood before I realized I was not wearing any shoes.  Nor did I pack any in my overnight bag.  So that was a good morning. 

Anyway, I left my makeup bag in the car.  I walked through the gym, a flat surface, and out the side door to the parking lot where I had to step down off the curb, a tiny lip of concrete, and there I nearly fell down.  That’s how weak my knees were after my hard core workout.  (I can call it hard core because none of you were there to dispute it.)  I got my makeup and then realized that I was going to have to walk through the front entrance of the gym to get back to the locker room.  The entrance is all stairs, first up and then down.  STAIRS!  Y’all, I could have cried. 

I did it.  It wasn’t without danger.  That staircase was fraught with peril.  My legs at best were shaky.  At five steps in they were jelly.  At the top of the staircase, my knees said no more and then I had to clutch the rail all the way on the downside of the staircase like a little old lady so as not to collapse in a heap at the bottom of the stairs and embarrass myself in front of the one hot guy at the gym. 

I’m fine now, thanks for asking.  But seriously, whose idea was it for me to do a leg workout every week?  Lynnette?  I might be mad at you.  I’ll let you know tomorrow when I assess my level of pain. 

I Could Use A Little Calamine Lotion, Please

This morning I was having the epic struggle of “do I get out of bed and go to the gym at 5:30, or do I lie here and get porkier whilst sleeping an extra hour” when Murphy decided to stroll across my body.  (He is currently still housed with me. We are trying some new things to see if we can’t all get along without him whizzing on everything.)  He had just put his foot, claws retracted, on my leg when Seamus sneezed, causing Murphy to spaz, dig all million of his claws into my leg and use that traction as the springboard to launch him off the bed and into the window. So if you are wondering if I went to the gym at 5:30 a.m., yes, I did.  I said a lot of bad words first, though.  A very pleasant way to arise. 

There is a new character at my gym I’d like to share with you.  I’ve seen him a few times now, always in the same outfit which consists of tiny little short shorts, a miniscule tank top and royal blue Crocs.  I got behind him on the indoor track a couple of weeks ago and thought he had an odd approach to exercise as he was mincing around the track at warp turtle speed.  When he started high stepping on his toes, sort of swaying his hips side to side, I got the giggles.  I lapped him and noted that he was wearing sunglasses at the indoor track which could possibly explain his strange walk if I were willing to stretch that idea.  When I was approaching him from behind a second time, he suddenly threw his arms up into a ballroom dancer’s pose and began twirling.  My giggles instantly changed to fascination as I watched him practice his steps all the way around the track.   He seems quite talented and he seems to take it quite seriously.  All I can do is applaud him and be slightly jealous as I have all the grace of a thundering elephant. 

I haven’t talked much of my other outdoor activities lately although they still exist.  I choose to flag in my participation of those activities in high summer, see, because I am prone to sunburns and unflattering cheek flushes when I’m overly warm.  Basically I look like a human tomato and I don’t care how you cut it, that is not a good look.  I am not a fan.  I do whatever I can to avoid that look.  Plus it’s been so humid lately that it almost isn’t worth the trip out of doors for walking/jogging as I’m pretty sure breathing in the water we call air down in these parts will give me pneumonia soon. 

I have another Very Important Reason for avoiding the outside in high summer.  In case you are wondering, I am the model of safety when I am outside performing my calisthenics or what have you.  It isn’t that.  I know the dangers of being a lone person in the out of doors with no defenses other than a can of pepper spray.  I always stay on the marked path and never pick up rabid stray animals.  I also don’t waller around in poisonous leafy flora yet do you know I somehow contracted myself a nice case of poison ivy?  Or poison something.  I have no idea where I got it although the Greenway would be the logical assumption.  If I could smoosh all the affected parts of my skin together, it would be an area the size of a dime yet I feel as if I am dying a slow, painful, itchy death.  I wake up itching. I go to bed itching.  And because I am a grown up and can do as I like, I have scratched all the skin off my arms and now look like I have a case of weeping eczema.  I don’t care that it is only a dime-sized area of skin, it is killing me.  (I realize this might be a tad dramatic but it itcheeeeeessss. <whine>) 

I’m going to distract myself from the itching by telling you that Daddy-O and JiJi gave me a new pink pocketknife for my birthday.  It excited me to no end.  However, no sooner than I opened it, hadn’t even gotten the box fully torn apart yet, when Daddy-O said, “Quick, someone get the first aid kit!”  Seeing as how I bifurcated my finger within the first five minutes of owning my first pocketknife, and seeing as how I dropped the electric sander on my naked toe last summer, essentially filing the nail polish off that toe in one quick swoop and cracking the nail in a clean break, and seeing as how I contracted the raging case of poison something by touching nothing that was leafy and by barely going outside, I call that a fair statement. 

I was going to have a stellar ending for this, really wrapping it all up and bringing my point home.  But y’all, I just read over all this and have concluded that I am an alluring package.  I don’t get why I am still single.  Do you?  <scratch>

Speaking Of Snooty Snotholes . . . .

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.   

Highly Recommend, By Jimmie – Take Two.

Dear Readers,

I’ve done some fun stuff lately.  Lest you think I don’t have a life anymore due to job hunting and crying and re-budgeting and talking about my sexy hair, I thought I should write it up for you.  Following is my new list of things for you to consider doing: 

Rock Island Playdate – When your friends ask you to drive 2 hours to the coolest place in the world for a day of relaxation and fun, you go.  Do not think twice about it.  Pack up a cooler full of lunch, get some water, throw a towel in the car and take off.  Probably you should spend some real money on proper water shoes and also probably you should dress for hiking as well as floating (can anyone say “upper body support, i.e. bra instead of swimsuit”?) but even if you don’t, you will have the time of your life.  Take lots of pictures so that you can show off to all your friends. Post them on your blog.  Isn’t that waterfall nice? It was gorgeous! 

Not pictured?  The poison ivy I sat in . . . .

Gavin DeGraw – I, too, wish I could explain it.

Kayaking – I’ve waited my whole life to do this but I guess I didn’t know it.  I’d been saying I was going to go for months and last Tuesday was the first time I got to keep my promise.  I put on the ill-fitting life jacket (can anyone say “Stay Puft Marshmallow Man”?) and perched my poison ivy covered butt in that kayak.  After I ran into a couple of docked boats and a couple of my friends, I got the hang of things.  Now while most of you probably prefer the straight line method of kayaking in which you go from point A to point B in a linear manner, you need to understand that I prefer the Charlie Brown sweater pattern method of kayaking.  I like to zig and then zag and take far longer than anyone else to reach the destination.  It’s a much better shoulder workout, see.  Lynnette will be proud.

Maxi Dresses – go to Old Navy and get yourself one and wear it to visit Poppa.  After he asks you why you wore your nightgown to visit him, you’ll throw it in the trash.  (Can anyone say, “You look pregnant in that dress?”)

Urban Hike – for a few months I’ve been participating in something called an Urban Hike.  It’s a long walk through downtown Nashville in which we visit historic sites and landmarks particular to Nashville.  We also climb 248 stairs, ring the Liberty Bell and sweat like warthogs but it’s really quite rewarding.  What I don’t recommend, though, is missing a couple of weeks of the walk, especially when some key elements of the walk are changed (i.e. changing the route from five miles to six) and then not bringing water to the new and improved six mile walk when the temperatures have just peaked at the all-time high of 109 degrees.  Also not recommended is yapping excessively about how fantastic this walk really is to two men who have unreciprocated interest in you.  When you make it sound like the most incredible of hikes, do not be surprised when both of those men show up (uninvited by you) on the SAME NIGHT to walk with you.  (“Can anyone say, “Awkward”?)

Cakes from Freddie – This here is the cake Freddie made for my birthday.  It was delicious!  Because she makes such delicious cakes, she has started a little side business called World Piece Cakes.  Isn’t that cute?  Check it out here.

Planning stuff with Woney – I always like to end these Highly Recommend posts with something about Woney.  Have you noticed that?  Anyway, Woney has been working out with Tony now for a year.  Lemme tell you, she looks FIERCE!  That guy knows his stuff. (Can anyone say “This is hard” and “I’m tired”?  Cause Woney can’t.  Tony won’t let her anymore.)  He got her started on some new cardio routines too, and she’s running a lot now, much like I used to.  (le Sigh, but I’m getting there!) We talked for months about doing the 5K Color Run in Nashville and then somehow missed the deadline to enter which, with both of us being blondes and having lives, I don’t understand.  Anyway, we talked about it, got excited about it, missed the deadline and then gave up on it altogether.  Instead, she is coming to visit me *just because* in November.  Also, we are going to Ireland in a year or so to celebrate her birthday and now will begin ramping up those conversations and planning discussions.  It’s just too exciting! 

So now, in conclusion,

The end. 

Lynnette, Tony, Hulk, Jane And Dammit Todd, I Am So Mad At You!

It is with regret that I announce the termination of my contract with my beloved YMCA.  When I lost my job I didn’t feel as if I could afford the membership any longer, not knowing what was in store for me down the road.  I only was allowed a 30-day window to renew without paying a joining fee and because my new job didn’t happen within that window, I missed my opportunity.  Joining fees at the Y will cost you and arm and a leg. Since I am partial to being symmetrical, I looked for other facilities. 

It has been a journey, not quite an emotional one, but a journey I have not relished.  I miss Lynnette.  I miss Jane.  I miss my little old ladies with the blue eye shadow from eyelash to brow bone.  I miss Cathy who told me she loved me every time she saw me even though she says it to everyone.  I miss the guy who hit on me all the time by asking me to meet up in the steam room.  (Okay, that was a lie.  I don’t miss him at all.) I miss my *people*. 

After a time, though, I lit upon a gym I’ve heard good things about.  Hermitage Fitness.  I tossed my hair up in pigtails, threw on some clothes and drove on over there to check it out.  My first impression was, well, not good.  It’s in kind of a ghetto shopping center, very run down.  There is a Dollar General next to it which always makes me feel a little safe, but the Family Buffet looks like a place I wouldn’t take my ex-boyfriend to and I don’t like him at all. I gave it a shot, though, and was pleased. 

I was surprised at how nice the facility was and how reasonable the rates were.  I accepted a week’s free pass and made sure I gave the gym a thorough test.  I availed myself of the locker room, showers and all.  Very nice.  I availed myself of the jogging track.  Kind of boring but handy.  I availed myself of the scale. Sniffle.  I’d really like to avail myself of this machine, mostly because I picture myself sipping on a cocktail and filing my nails while the machine does all work.  Isn’t that what those “fat shaker” machines offer? 

Anyway, finally, I availed myself of some classes.  I thought I’d see how they compare to Lynnette’s classes.  Obviously there would be no contest, but I thought I should work with what I have. 

I have more to say about the classes but first, I want to say this.  You notice how on my list of demands I make of a man before considering a date with him I never list “stomach like a brick”?  There’s a reason for that. I do find that a lovely feature, really meow-worthy, but I feel that if I demand one of those from him, I’ll have to give one back in return.  And there ain’t no way, no how I’m ever going to achieve that.  Still, one class at this new gym was of particular interest to me: the abs class.  Thirty minutes of straight ab work, which in theory sounds like a fantastic idea. 

Then I took the class. 

Aw, hell naw.  It was awful. The instructor was so friggin cheerful and never gasped for breath even one time.  His manner was mild and not at all flustered.  His skin stayed a nice flesh color and never turned tomato red.  His ab moves looked as fluid as melted butter.  As I was his polar opposite, I hated him for every minute of it.  He probably has fantastic abs.  Mine, on the other hand, hurt so badly right now that if I sneezed I would pass out. 

Lynnette, Tony, Hulk, Jane, and Dammit Todd, I suppose you’d like to know why I’m mad at you.  Because you are the ones who tell me I can do this, encourage me to do this and have results doing this.  You changed my status quo years ago (whether I adhere to it or not) and right now, while my abs are making me want to cry, I hate you for it. I just did arms yesterday so I’m pretty sure I won’t get over it any time soon. 

Jimmie, abs of cotton, arms of rubber

P.S. On my first day at the new gym, a much older man asked me if I was single.  Why do I suspect that he might invite me to the steam room soon?   


You guys, this past weekend was the weekend for my half marathon. Apparently I am not a woman of my word because I didn’t run it. I would try to blame it on you for not nagging me but somehow I don’t think that will fly seeing as how Lynnette did nag me as did Jane and no one nagged them and they both ran it just fine. I did, however, run the 5K which is exactly like a half marathon only 10 miles shorter. Go me!

This race marks the one year anniversary of my “racing career.” Ha ha. Hahahahahahahaaaa! That sounds so awesome to say “racing career” but if you could see me run, you’d know that the slogan: Slow . . . . it’s the new fast was totally made for me. Still, I’ve run a number of 5K events and one 10K event over the past year and I’ve learned a few things along the way.

  • Even though it should, it matters not how steep the hill nor how many hills you run up during a race, your butt will never look like J.Lo’s at the end of it. Believe me, I speak with authority in this matter. Unfortunately.
  • It is a fantastic idea for food places (specifically, pizza joints) to sponsor a race. They get their name plastered all over the t-shirts which is excellent advertising and they only have to bring six pizzas to feed 2000 people because no one wants to eat pizza at 8:00 am after running three miles in 22 minutes. Win/Win. (Sidenote: Same principle applies to milk sponsors. Chocolate milk after a hot sweaty run = hurk.) (Additional Sidenote: This does not seem to work as well for beer suppliers. Everyone, it seems, runs for beer.)
  • I will cry every time a service person hands me a medal. Really it’s just too much energy to work up a bunch of tears every time I finish a race. It’s a heady experience when you realize that you just did the whole thing, even at a snail’s pace. So heady, in fact, that you might want to cry. But after a while, you realize that your breathing is more important than your tears and you just stop with the tears already because tears and rhythmic breathing do not go hand in hand. However, when a man in uniform who fights for your country in his spare time stands at the finish line with a medal in his hand just for you, a few tears are in order. (It’s possible that I clutched his shirt and sobbed “Thank you so much, for so many things!” It is also possible that I got some mascara and sweat on his shirt but he took it in stride. Good man, that man, whoever he is.)
  • I can run 3.1 miles without stopping. I can run 6.2 miles without stopping. I can run 7.5 miles without stopping and still feel like I can continue on. But I cannot do those things when the temperatures are in the 90s and the humidity is above 100. It seems that I’m a winter running person which really blows because in the South, daylight doesn’t appear in the winter until about 9:00 am and it disappears at 4:30 pm, leaving me to run in the dark no matter what time I actually get to run which really, really sucks.
  • I will be indignant and outraged when a 75-year-old man blows past me on a race course and leaves me eating his dust. And humiliated. I will react in the same fashion when a mom with a stroller full of babies blows past me also.
  • Sparkly eyeliner helps me run faster.

I’m not sure what is next for me now. I’d still like to run a half marathon but I told you I’m currently hyper aware of my knees. I wouldn’t say they hurt but they don’t feel like 20-year-old knees any longer which is just a crying shame. And since Daddy-O had both knees replaced in recent years (which incidentally made him an inch and a half taller as he is now no longer bow-legged), I know that, genetically speaking, I might want to be careful.

We did start a boot camp class at work. They offer it to us two days a week after work and we have a trainer and everything. She’s awesome, at least for the first five minutes of class. After that she kind of takes on this screechy nasty persona who yells stuff like “You can do it!” and “Give me 5 more laps!” and “That was just the warm-up!”

It is just like me to consider giving up running for a while now that the weather is perfect for it. Hmmm, y’all got any suggestions or words of advice? I can’t rely only on boot camp because even though it should, two days a week of doing 400 million lunges does not a J.Lo butt make.  Believe me, I speak with authority in this matter.  Unfortunately. 

Anatomy Of A Pick-Up Line: Men, This Is Not How It’s Done

If you want to hit on my sweaty hot mess of a self at the gym with the flushed face and just-rolled-out-of-bed hair (and why wouldn’t you – it’s an alluring package), please use the following guidelines to do it correctly. The guy from Tuesday should probably have read this before attempting.

Be taller than me:

We have established that this is important to me. 

Ooh, he gets one point

Be cute: 

You don’t have to be conventionally pretty by the world’s standards. 

You just have to be pretty to me. 

Yummy, he gets one point 

Be friendly: 

If you are a stick in the mud, we aren’t going to have a lot to talk about. 

Fantastic, he gets one point

Have giant muscular arms:

I like the gun show.

Purr, he gets a point for each arm.

Don’t hit on me after you have hit on all my friends: 

Minus one point per friend.

Yeeaaaaahhhhh . . . In this case, he loses three points 

Be positive:

When I say I’m gross, you say “Stop saying that.”

I like it, score one point for him

Be original:

“How much longer do you have on the treadmill?” queries he.

“About six minutes,” reply I.

“When you get done, come to the steam room,” commands he.

“What? Why?” query I.

Responds he, whilst staring at my bosoms, “So you can give me a hug . . . I’d like to ‘try that’ <leer>.” 

Minus one point for every time he has used the same pick up line on a friend.

Euw, in this case, subtract three points

But who cares?  He’s a million points down just for skeeze.  

I don’t think he will ever pull it back out of the negative.  His loss. 



Also, two funnies for you. 

Seamus would die if he knew I posted this picture.


And, a conversation between co-worker Hulk and Jimmie 

Hulk:  I would share my umbrella with you but your hair is too big.  It won’t fit.

Jimmie:  My hair is too big?  Really?!  That is FANTASTIC!

Food, I Loves It

This morning at the gym I amended my no-eating-raw-cloves-of-garlic requirement for the men I date to encompass not just potential suitors but everyone around me.  If you feel the need to ingest an entire head of garlic and also bathe in another entire head of garlic for any reason at all and not just in the name of “good health”, go away from me.  Please do not stand next to me at the gym.  Please do not use equipment next to me at the gym.  And for the love of all that is holy, please do not excessively sweat next to me at the gym.  If I can taste how you smell by simply working out next to you, we are not gonna be besties and I will most likely barf on your shoes.  The end. 

Okay, that isn’t the end.  I don’t know how I thought I could get away with being so stingy with my words.  I have lots of words.  I want to use them.  Today I want to use them to talk about weight loss and more specifically, the food part of weight loss. 

I am passionate about food.  I love it.  Most of us do.  There is a rare exception and his name is Pee-tah.  Do you need a refresher on him?  From a previous post: 

Pee-tah:  Pee-tah belongs in my heart.  I can’t imagine life without him.  I’ve almost seen him naked and we are still friends!  That is true friendship, right there. 

Pee-tah is tall and thin and has been known to forget to eat.  I don’t understand that.  I also don’t understand when he says things like, “I wish we didn’t have to eat.  It’s such a waste of time.  If I didn’t have to eat, I could get so much more done.”    I just stand there frowning at him with a blank look on my face.  It’s like I understand the possibility that people like this exist, yet I cannot fathom that one of them is in front of me.  I do not recall a time in my life when I forgot to eat.  Not once.  Ever.  I had to probe deeper, naturally, because I am a curious creature who is fascinated by cultures other than my own.  Even though he was born in North Dakota, clearly Pee-tah is not of this world and more specifically not indigenous to America, the nation of excess. 

Jimmie:  Don’t you crave foods?  Anything?

Pee-tah:  Not really.  Maybe my spaghetti . . . 

Jimmie:  Do you have comfort foods?

Pee-tah:  <pause> I like ice cream, I suppose. 

Jimmie:  When was the last time you had ice cream?

Pee-tah:  I don’t know.  Maybe a few months ago? 

Jimmie:   If all foods had the same nutritional value, would you change the way you eat? 

Pee-tah:  Sure.  I would eat more fast food. 

Jimmie:  Right! Because it tastes good!

Pee-tah:  No.  Because it’s cheap and easy. 

See ?!  I don’t get it! Doesn’t this seem foreign to you? 

Unfortunately I am nothing like Pee-tah.  I love food.  I love going out to eat with my friends.  I love the salads at Panera.  I love talking about new recipes with Martie.  (While we are on the subject, let me say that Martie is an excellent cook and can make up all sorts of yummy recipes. I can follow one excellently and maybe make a modification or two, but Martie can just create stuff out of thin air and a jar of olives.  It’s amazing.)  I love trying new stuff and searching out unusual things to sample.  Eating can be fun, and it’s a nice way to spend time with your friends or to celebrate or to commiserate or to just do on a Friday night. It encompasses just about anything.      

Unfortunately I am nothing like Dammit Todd either.  Remember how I said it was no fun working out with Dammit Todd because he can kick your butt at any workout no matter how long you have been doing it and how little he has?  It’s enough to make you want to hate him.  He does have a redeeming quality and it’s that he likes to eat.  He likes to eat a lot and believe you me, for such a fit guy, he can put away the food.  Give him a bottle of ketchup and watch him work.  He’s methodical and serious about food and if he has a plate of ribs, its best to hold off on any conversation which would include him.  It’s also best to keep your hands on your own plate as he never learned to share.  I like that he’s creative when it comes to food.   Lynnette once witnessed him make a cookie/cake sandwich.  A hunk of cake between two chocolate chip cookies and he was good to go.  He probably ate two of them.  That sounds great, right?  Like you would love to be friends with him because of that, right?  WRONG!  He never gains a pound.  He eats a bunch of crap and he drops a pants size.  I eat one brownie and go run three miles and I gain two pounds.  I do hate him a little. 

Honestly, I relate more to Quan who says eating is his favorite part of the day. 

Because I love food (unlike Pee-tah), and because I cannot eat whatever I like without gaining weight (unlike Dammit Todd), I have found myself with more lumps than I want and I am unhappy with the quantity and magnitude of those lumps.  I need to make more of a change than just running  and going to the gym.  I need to change my lifestyle, permanently.  I am beginning Weight Watchers again.  I’ve used the program with great success as long as you count losing a ton of weight and then gaining half a ton back and then losing ¾ of a ton and then regaining a few more pounds a success.  I’ve been round and round with this weight and I’m sick of it.  I’m ready to do this once and for all. 

I’m telling you this for three reasons.   

1.)  If you see me eating cheesecake you can come take half.  I’m not into deprivation – I think that is dangerous.  But I am into eating less and making better choices and sharing my cheesecake and half my small bag of M&Ms.  If you come take a bite of my cheesecake and I stab you with my fork, you should know that I am not following the plan and you should just go ahead and take that cheesecake away from me altogether.  Sharing is encouraged and I’m planning on being held accountable for this lifestyle change. 

2.)  I need you to not tempt me.  When I’m on this program, I’m on. You cannot get me to cheat, to taste a cookie, to even smell a single chocolate chip if I have not planned for it. But when I’m off, I’m really off.  It only takes one thing trigger it.  One unplanned chocolate covered strawberry.  One sneaky Pop-tart.  One single solitary donut and I’m off the rails like nobody’s business, going to The Cheesecake Factory frequently, purchasing M&Ms in the medium sized bag.  . . . . okay fine, the large sized bag, and eating peanut butter like crazy. 

3.)  I will want to post losses and stuff here so you might see that from time to time.  Encourage me and never tell me that I’ve lost too much. I have a goal in mind and it is a healthy one, a doctor recommended one.  I am in no danger of being too thin, trust me.  And we will all like me with less lumps. 

Feel free to nag me or to join me.  (Why come no one nags me?  I’m great at nagging and I do it often.  I don’t get y’all.  I’d be all over the opportunity to nag you.)

For real now, The End. 



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