Love, Jimmie

See You Later, Kasi Starr

01 Mar 2013 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, I'm Such A Girl Tags: Sniffle

I promised you a story about Kasi Starr but I haven’t wanted to write it for a while. See, she left. She moved to another state. We both knew she probably would, even from the beginning, but it didn’t make it fun for either of us.

For weeks before leaving, Kasi Starr planned her move. She packed boxes and gave away stuff and sorted and packed her car then unpacked her car then repacked her car. She got boxes from the post office and mailed them to her new address. We took some stuff to less fortunate people. She bought calming spray for Miss Kitty, so that putting her in her crate would not be traumatic (didn’t work). She cancelled her gym memberships and had parties with all her friends. Etc. However, not once through this process did either of us remember that the end of this process would bring her departure. Until the day that she left, that is.

(An aside here – Murphy got it. He knew what was going on, as evidenced by the urinary soaking he gave everything near her stuff before she left. The limerick I wrote? About him peeing on stuff? Yeah, that was the weekend after she left and I cleaned out from under her bed.)

So the day rolled around that she was to leave. She had been so excited about her move, the new stuff she was going to do, and I was excited for her as well. Excitement quickly waned when reality hit. This was our conversation.

Kasi Starr: Well, I’m all packed. I’ll be gone by lunch so I’ll give you a hug now.

Jimmie: Wait, what?

Kasi Starr: <silence> <small tear>

Jimmie: <silence> <small tear>

Kasi Starr: So . . . . good-bye?

Right in the middle of the good-bye, she choked. And then:

Jimmie: No. Not good-bye. <choke> How about, see you later?

Kasi Starr: Yes. <choke> See you later.

And then we hugged the tightest of hugs and it was fabulous and awful all at once. Neither of us wanted to cry because we both knew that once the waterworks started they wouldn’t stop for a while. I was going to work, the place where I don’t want to look like someone used my eyes as punching bags (as opposed to all the other places I go and DO want to look like someone used my eyes as punching bags), and she was going to be driving a long distance with one seriously pissed off cat. Tears were not going to work.

I learned a long time ago that women should never live with friends, if you were friends first. Nothing breeds contempt any faster than two BFFs deciding that a roommate situation is a great idea. However, if you meet a stranger and invite her into your home and THEN become friends, well, when they leave it is just awful, especially if that person is sweet and funny and nice and charming and always keeps the house supplied with paper towels. I am so happy to have made a new connection, a new friend, and I am so happy that she is beginning her new journey. This is the good stuff. The awful stuff is that when the new connection, new friend, person, leaves, they leave a hole.

I got a new roommate already. She is also very sweet and nice and she understands that I never buy paper towels and so she came home one day with this.

I love them. They work great. But it isn’t the same. When I feel a little melancholy that Kasi Starr is gone, I take a paper towel out to the garage and look at her stuff that she left behind and sniffle. This is what’s left.

She’s coming back to get it one day. When she does, we will give each other the tightest of hugs that will be mostly fabulous but a little awful because it won’t be long before she leaves again.

When she does, I’ll say, “See you later, Kasi Starr.” And she’ll say the same to me. Not good-bye. See you later.

Valentime’s Day, Or As I Affectionately Call It, Singles Awareness Day

25 Feb 2013 Leave a comment

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

Don’t you hate it when people call it that? There is no M in Valentine. Do you also hate it when people call it Singles Awareness Day? Tough, it’s my blog.

So I had a party for all my single friends on Singles Awareness Day. We went to the bowling alley. You should know that I am a terrible bowler. Really awful. I don’t know why I do this to myself. You remember Thor? He claims to be the worst bowler ever. I say this with love – he’s pretty bad. I have another friend who doesn’t see too well. Her vision started to go when she was young yet she has adjusted beautifully. She’s an okay bowler. We had some new friends come to the party who tried their hardest to lay claim to the title “Crappiest Bowler Ever”, throwing gutter balls and missing pin after pin. Y’all want to guess who got the lowest score in every game? Want to know who was so spectacularly bad at the bowling that breaking a 40 was considered a fantastic accomplishment? That is correct – yours truly.

One of the new friends whom I shall call Flash pulled me aside on the last two frames of the game to give me some coaching lessons. “Jimmie,” Flash said, “how do you feel about me giving you some pointers so that maybe you can tie for last place instead of being dead last all by yourself . . . . again?”

“Sure, why not.” And so Flash coached me, enabling me to get a strike AND a spare and thus I tied for last place with a guy who fervently tried to convince us that he had never bowled before. I am amazing.

Lest you think I am a total loser, I do have things at which I excel.

For example, I am excellent at lecturing men on what constitutes a good Valentime’s Day gift. Simply look at this post, which can be used for almost any gift-giving occasion in which women are to receive tokens of affection. I used it with great success on a guy at work, whom I shall call Yao Ming (he is tall and I like standing next to him).

“Yao Ming,” I said as I cornered him in the supply room, “what are you doing for your wife for Valentime’s Day? You have planned ahead, correct?”

“Uh . . . .” said Yao Ming. “I usually do pretty well on ValentiNe’s Day. I’ll get balloons or flowers or something.”

“Well, you better giddy on it, Yao Ming. I do not want any of my friends in the dog house because of a lame Valentime’s Day gift. I once knew a girl, my sister-in-law actually, whose boyfriend gave her a set of free weights and the advice that she could use lose a few pounds. She was a rail already but either way, that boyfriend spent a lot of time recovering from that snafu and I do not want the same fate for you. I like you too much for that, Yao Ming.” And then Yao Ming made some excuse about all the work he had to do and fled to the other side of the hall.

I used this same argument successfully with the postman, the UPS man, and the Fed Ex guy. I am very popular.

Another example of things I do well: I am excellent at playing with other people’s children in bowling alleys. I know this because after coming back from a routine visit to the restroom I found a small child hanging out in our lane. He was a tiny little black boy with the cutest curly Mohawk you’ve ever seen. He was less than two and had the sweetest eyelashes. His elbow was propped on one of our chairs and he watched our game intently, probably fascinated by the wildly spinning colorful balls that flew all over the lanes. Ooh, I snatched him up immediately, cooing “Hi, muffin. What’s your name?”

He looked at me with giant eyes and then turned his attention back to the out-of-control game we were playing. He leaned against me, completely content. Oh, I could have held him all night. After a few minutes, though, I could see the realization dawn on his family that they were missing a kid. I held him up to show I had him, that he was safe and while they rushed over to rescue him from the wild woman who bowled as if she had a muscle deficiency, they were very kind in letting me get a hug from him before taking him safely to his own lane. We bonded, though, because he waved good-bye to me as he left. He was my Valentime.

I also have other assorted skills like layering on glitter eyeliner in thick, even lines; backcombing my hair into a giant poof; matching my socks to every occasion and outfit (up to and including Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, Equestrian holidays, Dog holidays, and Valentime’s Day); asking Boss for gifts that he never sends; and making friends easily. You know why I make friends easily? It’s because I never throw people under the bus by telling stories on them when they are crappy bowlers (Thor) or when they get super excited about the nerdy Tupperware gift they received for Valentime’s Day (Yao Ming).

This is a pretty impressive list, don’t you agree? Y’all want to hang out with me this weekend? We should go bowling.

Guest Post: Dammit Todd, P.E. – A Rant

20 Feb 2013 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Guest Post, I Will Cut You Tags: Humo

Proper Elevator Etiquette

If you’re trying to get on an elevator, wait until the people (all of the people) who are on said elevator get off of said elevator Do not try and brush your way past like you are more important than God. Do not stand idly six inches in front of the elevator doors making it difficult for me to exit, and generally making me feel the insatiable urge to punch you directly in that messed up lump you call a face. Because even if you manage to gain access to your cherished chariot to the heavens above, you ain’t going any-f@#%*$#-where until I leave. Consider yourself grounded. That is all.

I Am On A Budget. And I Have Some Addictions. These Are First World Problems. (Part Two)

18 Feb 2013 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Home Improvement, I'm Such A Girl, Lost Stuff Tags: Humor, Organization

So money is tight. I’ve told you that before. It’s okay, I’m not complaining. I’m learning actually. I’m pretty good at budgeting and stretching a dollar and I’ve always been the queen of planning. I view this era of my life as a challenge and as a growing process, so it isn’t bad.

Now that I have written the “rah, rah” section I will now begin the “huh, this is . . . fun” section.

Due to lack of funds (see above: Budget) and lack of dates (see entire blog: Single) I now occasionally find myself in the enviable position of having a Saturday night with absolutely nothing to do. Nothing. Not a thing. No thing. At all. Enviable, right? When that happens I’m not sure what to do with myself. Usually. However, lately I seem to have overbooked myself professionally and socially and so when I understood that I was going to have a weekend that did not include people in any format at all, I began to rejoice. Honestly, I was getting rather emotional and snippy as I had had no alone time in weeks.

Also, remember when I hired Ernesto, my house cleaner, and I was jazzed that he came every two weeks and folded my toilet paper ends into points? Remember how I loved him and swooned over his work? Well, I miss him (see above: Budget). My house does too.

These were my plans when I went to bed Friday night: to sleep as late as possible (7:00 a.m., baby! I am a sloth!), and to clean my miserable (miserable) wreck of a house. Do you think it is sad? Do you feel a little sorry for me? Don’t! It was marvelous!

Following is a list of what I accomplished:

– Two carloads full of stuff were taken to Goodwill, some mine and some Kasi Starr’s. (There is another story here – tune in later for that episode.) By full, I mean there was room for me and that’s it. I could see out the front driver’s side windows and that’s it. It, I tell you.

– The areas where one of the kitties vomited unspeakable things onto the carpet were shaved off with a razorblade. Gross. I’m currently not speaking to Murphy or Miss Kitty.

– My garage is completely organized according to girl code. Boys, you have no dog in this fight. My garage is perfect. I do not need your advice about how to arrange my storage space according to your strict and non-negotiable standards of tool/garden object/car/cleaner areas.

– The interior of my car was vacuumed and scrubbed.

– The trunk of my car was emptied and vacuumed. I hope you guys caught that. The trunk. Of my car. That I have not really touched since April when I was laid off. Was cleaned out. It was sad a little. I had a whole life at that company and that whole life was stuffed into my trunk where I did not have to face it. But after I threw a whole bunch of that life away, I felt lighter somehow. Also, look at it!

Before

After. Ain’t it beauty-ful?

– I cut my thumb open with a vegetable peeler. Not only was I not cooking anything, but I had been whipping about a razorblade all morning with no ill results, yet the moment I washed the dishes, I nearly bled to death in the kitchen. It was a scary time.

– I lost my car keys. How I did that in this spotless, completely organized house is beyond me. I don’t know how you guys stand me. Really. I can barely stand myself.

– I organized my closet. And here, my friends, is Addiction, Part Two.

Wall One

Wall Two

You see all that? Those are hoodies. I love them. I can never have too many. I am on the never-ending quest for the perfect one and despite what you see here, I have not yet found it. One of those hoodies was stolen from an ex-boyfriend. It was literally the only thing I kept from that relationship of one whole year and my whole heart. Two of them I stole from a guy I went on two dates with. Four of them I stole from Coach (you see how I’m his fake wife?). Martie recently purchased one that I covet and the minute she gives even a whiff of letting me borrow it, it will be mine. That gray one there in the middle, it’s my favorite. That Titan’s one has a matching scarf Madre knitted for me. That pink one is for sleeping. Madre tried to borrow the purple one for just a week or two and initially I said yes, but as she was trying to put it on, I kept pulling it off and not letting go and eventually she just gave up and stuck it back in my closet. Some of them are specifically for use in the gym. Some of them are for house cleaning. Some of them are for dates (as if). Some of them are to be paired with jeans on casual Friday. Some of them have matching socks and t-shirts although all of them look good with a lacy camisole. That one up there with the bleach stains? You should know that the zipper is broken meaning I have to wrangle it closed with pliers, and it is two sizes too big, yet I cannot seem to part with it. You want me to go on? No? Really?

What were we talking about? I think I got ever so slightly sidetracked with the hoodies and now have forgotten the entire point I was trying to make. But, uh, I’m on a budget (perhaps it was how you can have a no-money fun weekend? By cleaning?) and I have addictions and these are first world problems.

The end.

P.S. I also have a wrapping paper addiction and am on my second year of a three year wrapping paper purchase ban. I also seem to have great affection for the long sleeved t-shirt. If any of you forgot to buy me a birthday present and feel pretty bad about it, I could give you a few suggestions.

P.P.S. Also, pajamas.

Boy Loves Girl – A Story For Your Heart

14 Feb 2013 2 Comments

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

There’s a little dollar store I stop in on my way home sometimes to pick up the occasional grocery item. They don’t carry a lot of things but they have the basics. They also carry seasonal items, and last week when I stopped to get some necessities, I swung through the Valentine’s aisle to check it out.

As I was admiring the chocolates, cards, and stuffed animals, a woman walked down the aisle with her two boys. Initially I didn’t pay a lot of attention to them. I took my quick glances at the sweet stuff and then moved on to get the items on my list. I then did a quick walk through of the store, just to see if I “needed” anything else and finally found a check-out line to stand in.

In the check-out line was a Valentine’s balloon nearly the size of my car. It was a monstrosity. The mother and her two boys walked up to stand in line behind me and the youngest boy was instantly captivated by that balloon. I heard him breathe in sharply and ask, “Mom, do you think she would like this?”

“Well, you already have chocolates and the dog for her. That’s enough money for today,” she replied.

“But Mom, this would really work. I just know it. I’ll pay for it. I’ll wash dishes,” he pleaded. Let me clarify. He was not whining. He was asking.

“Don’t you think it’s a little big,” she asked. “It’s probably expensive.”

“I love her, Mom. It has to work.” I could hear the emotion in his throat.

Her heart melted. I felt it. I turned to look back at him, to get a closer peek. This boy was maybe nine or ten. He had red curly hair with red-blonde eyelashes and a million freckles. He was earnest and sincere and he had the sweetest little eyes. He also had a stuffed dog under his arm and a heart-shaped box of chocolates with a picture of a guitar on it.

He saw me looking and explained without my asking, “It’s for my girlfriend. Well, she was my girlfriend and then I heard at recess that she’s going out with another guy and I have to get her back. The dog I picked out because it’s colorful, like her, and the guitar I picked out because I like music and I want her to think of me. Do you think she would like the balloon, too?”

“I think everything you picked out is just perfect. I think you chose really well,” I said. “She must be very special.”

“She is,” he said simply. “I love her.” It was all he needed to say.

They bought the balloon. I watched them stuff the Valentine gifts in the car and I heard him telling his mom how many nights he would wash the dishes. I hope that little girl is worth his heart because she sure has it, hook, line and sinker.

Happy Valentine’s Day! I wrote a love story last year, too. If you haven’t read it, you should. It’s my favorite one.

I Am On A Budget. And I Have Some Addictions. These Are First World Problems. (Part One)

13 Feb 2013 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Uncategorized Tags: Humor

I realized a few weeks ago that I have a Chap Stick addiction. I’m not even kidding. I never thought of it as an addiction, of course, because come on, flavored wax? An addiction? Anyway, I was in the airport heading back from Tampa and the TSA agents made us empty our purses of not only traditional liquids but also any lip goo or balm of any sort. I ignored them – always smart. When it was my turn to go through the feel-up-pat-down, they asked me to empty my handbag of all lip products (they were not joking) and go through again.

The contents of ONE bag in my purse. This does not include my emergency hidden stash, what is at my desk, and the lip stuff stored in the cabinets around the house.

This is a sad state of affairs.

I was laughing about this at work with one of my co-workers who I will call Daisy, and as I was rolling on a layer of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter Lip Treatment, she said, “You know that is addictive, right?”

“No, it isn’t,” I said, as I slathered on another layer.

“It is, look it up,” she says.

And so I did. Did you know there are websites devoted to this problem? I mean, pages and pages of testimony and quotes from Dr. Oz (who we all know is never to be questioned), and therapy centers. These websites give tips on how to quit the habit and explain why lip goo is bad for you. I was astounded. I felt so . . . . wrong. I had no idea it was such a problem! Right there I vowed to quit. No way would that be hard. Addictive, my foot.

Day One – I took my shower, brushed my teeth and instead of putting on Chap Stick after my face lotion, I left my lips alone. By the time I was done drying my hair, my lips felt tight and crinkly but I persevered. I drank some water to hydrate my skin and drove to work.

At work, my two favorite lip balms sat by my phone. I looked at them with longing, feeling like my mouth looked like the Sahara Desert, but I tucked them away into a drawer. I reasoned that if they were out of sight, I’d be alright.

“I’m giving up Chap Stick,” I announced to anyone who came to my desk. “That’s why I look like this.”

“Like what?” they’d ask.

“Like I’ve been sucking on a salt lick for days,” I’d say.

“You look fine. I can’t see any difference,” they’d say, and in my head I’d call them a liar.

Daisy checked on me throughout the morning. “You doing okay?” she’d ask. “This dry feeling will pass, I promise.”

Through dry, cracked, dead skin lips I’d croak, “Okay . . .” and she’d go off to get a Diet Coke.

After lunch, where I liberally used a dry, sandpaper napkin, I felt like I had taken a nail file and scrubbed the outline of my lips. I just knew I looked like my lip liner had done something very, very wrong, and I don’t even wear lip liner.

“I’m giving up Chap Stick,” I continued to announce throughout the afternoon, mournful and full of regret.

“Why?” my co-workers asked.

“It’s addictive. I’m an addict.” I’d show them the contents of my purse and they would nod knowingly.

I made it through the afternoon. I’m not sure how. I spent the better part of the hours between one and five in the bathroom, passing through all the water I drank trying to hydrate my cement-like lips. Daisy continued to check on me, offering support and cautioning me to have patience. “I promise, Jimmie. This will pass. You have to give your skin some time to adjust.” I said okay, all the while shooting daggers from my eyes at her. It was the longest afternoon of my life.

At bedtime, I flossed my teeth and drank another glass or two of water. I tucked away all my lip products in drawers so I wouldn’t accidentally use any of them in the middle of the night (I’ve been known to do that.) I went to sleep, dreaming of waxy-like substances in every flavor (except cherry because everyone knows that cherry-flavored Chap Stick is gross). Let me tell you, those were some fulfilling dreams.

Day Two – I awoke to lips that felt . . . .soft. Not crinkly. Not tight and not like cement. I showered and brushed my teeth and smeared on face lotion, drank some water and went to work . . . .

. . . . where I sneezed and split my lip because it was so dry and pulled so tight across my face that there was nowhere for the skin to go except to split during the sneeze. I opened my drawer and withdrew my two favorite lip balms. As I was smearing it across the general vicinity of the lower half of my face, Daisy walked in. “Jimmie . . . .” she breathed. “No . . . .”

I didn’t even feel guilty. Not even a little bit. I put the cap back on my Palmer’s Cocoa Butter Lip Treatment, put it by the phone in its place of honor, and then opened the blue tube of Chap Stick and rubbed it all around my lips, too, defiant and uncaring. There they sit to this day, proud, ever-dwindling, my best friends.

Call me what you will. I love lip goo.

P.S. I know I didn’t really cover the Budget portion of my title. Hold, please. This is merely part one.

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

11 Feb 2013 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, Health, Weight Loss Tags: Humor

~~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.)

Days (Day) Of Our (My) Lives (Life) – Best And Worst

31 Jan 2013 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Outings, Pets Tags: Humor, Pets

Oh, y’all I think Tuesday was the worst day of my life. (That might be a slight exaggeration. The day I melted deodorant into my makeup bag was pretty bad, as was the day I had to have my car towed due to a dead starter and my neighbor, whose driveway was blocked by the tow truck for LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES, had a hissy fit about potentially being blocked in her garage for LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES on the off chance she might suddenly need to go somewhere which we all knew was ridiculous as she had, literally, just arrived home.) (I read a lot of Faulkner in college. You are welcome for the run on sentence.)

Tuesday morning I had the sinking realization that Seamus was missing. I had a suspicion on Monday evening when he didn’t come galloping out from under the bed when I shook the treat bag, but occasionally he is moody and stuffs himself up inside the box springs to hide. It isn’t unusual for him to forgo his happy part of the day (i.e. treats/peas) so that he can sulk alone. I texted Martie about it Monday night and even she, who doesn’t like cats nary even a little bit, was worried and offered to call so that she could commiserate with me. Tuesday morning I had to text her that it was official. Seamus was gone.

When it hit me, I started to shake. Seamus is older and slightly pudgy. He’s weird and emotionally stunted. He likes Murphy, treats and the white fuzzy blanket on my bed. Once he sat on my legs and purred but when he realized that Murphy was nowhere to be found, he leapt off me and went under the bed. Despite all of this, and I’ll say this at a whisper, Seamus is my favorite cat. DO NOT TELL MURPHY.

With tears in my eyes, I started looking under the beds and in the closets to see if maybe he had passed in the night, alone and wadded up in box spring. I couldn’t find him anywhere and suddenly had the weird notion that maybe he had gotten outside. I immediately rejected that. Seamus, even when the door is open for hours on end, will stick one paw and one ear out the door, and like a kid dared to run into the cemetery, will immediately bound back into the house, all giddy and spastic as if he’d just done the scariest, bravest thing of his life. In short, he never goes outside. With that thought, I left for work, teary-eyed and sad, still wondering where I would find his lifeless body.

Halfway out of my neighborhood, I realized I left my purse at home. I drove back and ran in quickly to get it. Guess who was standing outside the back door. Just guess. That little turd had been outside gallivanting for two whole nights and when I opened the door to let him in, breath whooshing out of my lungs, he pranced around, clearly proud of himself. I could have beat him. I tried to hug him but he made a beeline for the food bowl so I settled for just rubbing his ears for a minute. Since I was already late for work, I left him alone with his food and his friend.

When I arrived at work, I still had a bit of bile in my throat from the worry and then the sudden joy. My legs were still a little shaky. So when I happened to look down at the ground and saw that my jump drive, the jump drive that holds everything I’ve ever written over the last two years, the only jump drive that I own and the only place where my writings are stored, was mangled under the tire of a car, wet and covered in dirt, I started to cry. I know I should have backed all that up. I know that. You won’t yell at me any louder or more harshly than I already did myself. How it got from the bottom of my purse to the bottom of a tire on someone’s gigantic four door jeep is beyond me. I just know what when I picked it up the mangled metal fell apart in my hands and I was devastated. No way could I recreate all that work. No way.

I dusted it off and took a look at it through my watery eyes. The end that plugs into the computer looked okay and once I blew the dirt out of it, I stuck it into my laptop with my hopes lunging up and down. I waited. Then waited. Then waited some more. It was nauseating. After an eternity, the window for the drive opened giving me access to all my files. They were all there and every single one of them opened. I immediately wobbled my way back to Katniss and said in a hoarse whisper “Give me a jump drive. Now.” She saw the look of panic in my eyes and handed over her brand new one. I wobbled back to my desk and did the drag and drop into to the new device. Then I ordered two more drives from Office Depot, one for me and one for her. I’ll repeat the process again when it comes in, and then hide one away in a safe place and the other will be stuck in my bra at all times.

Talk about a roller coaster. Tuesday sucked. And then Tuesday was glorious. Best and Worst, all in 24 hours. That was a lot for one day. I need a drink.

Oh, BTW, this was Seamus when I got home last night. I love that stupid cat.

A Trip To Tampa, Part One

24 Jan 2013 Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seatmate1: Ginger ale.

Flight attendant: You said Diet Coke?

Seatmate 1: No, ginger ale.

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

Me: Do you have diet ginger ale?

Flight attendant: No, we have Diet Coke.

Me: I’ll have water.

Time passed. We ate peanuts. We waited.

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

Seatmate 1: I ordered ginger ale.

Flight attendant: I wrote down Diet Coke.

Seatmate 1: I’d prefer a ginger ale.

Flight attendant: <heavy sigh>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home, Part 3

18 Jan 2013 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Uncategorized

I recently went home again for another holiday, to the place where I grew up. I took another series of photos for you, this time at the grocery store. Martie, JiJi and I went to the local market one day to pick up a few items we needed to make dinner one night. Each of us had a different reaction to the store so I thought I should share.

JiJi has been married to Daddy-O for 35 years now. Right about 34 and half a years ago, Daddy-O took over the cooking duties for the household. I think he fancies himself an Emeril, honestly, as he likes to assemble all the cooking items for the nightly meal into separate bowls, even down to the salt and pepper. He is quite particular about which ingredients he uses and the expiration dates of those items, thus he goes to the store a lot. Combine that with his propensity for ADD-like behavior, i.e. inability to sit still, and JiJi has not been to the grocery store in YEARS. There is no reason for her to go. Daddy-O takes care of every item on their list, daily. The moment we walked into the store, JiJi’s eyes lit up. She looked in wonder at the potato chips, the pickles, the canned goods. She slowly drifted down each aisle and just touched things. She looked at ingredients and sighed over all the choices of things in the store. It was a wonderland for her.

Martie’s reaction was the complete opposite. She was used to this grocery store. She fairly zipped down every aisle, grabbing things in her haste. It took her 3 minutes and 45 seconds to whip everything she needed into her buggy and then she waited for us as the front of the store, bags in hand, foot tapping.

And then there was my reaction. This grocery store was the grocery store of my childhood. Oh, there were so many memories for me. Here’s my photo collection of things that moved me:

There’s more shelf space dedicated to this product than any other item in the store. Have you never had a Sun-Drop? Go immediately and get one. It will kill your liver, but there’s nothing like it.