Love, Jimmie

No More

12 Aug 2012 13 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Lost Stuff, Unemployed

This post will be a bit of a deviation from the norm. It isn’t happy. It isn’t funny. It is in no way heartwarming. It is raw and honest, though, and it is my bloodletting. You don’t want to read me whine? Then go away because there is nothing here for you.

I mentioned a meltdown I had a few weeks ago. I had another one last week. These were not my only two since losing my job. Looking back over these last four months or so, I’ve had more meltdowns than I’ve been honest about. Sure, I have been positive about good things happening for me, and yes, I do look for the good in my life. I cannot deny that some very nice things have happened for me and that I have been carried through some troubles and that, of course, these are first world problems. It does not mean that these last few months haven’t been rough on me, though, and honestly, I’ve had enough. If I began to cry about them, right this instant, I’m not sure I would be able to stop. I’m not being funny. I’m dead serious.

Yes, I have a new job that many people would love to have. I also make $10 grand less a year than I used to. I’ve had to make big adjustments in every aspect of my life and while I can do it, I resent it. I miss my people. It is a visceral, deep ache, a true loss. My friends will always be my friends but this is a big change. I worked closely with a man who did a lot for me and whom I did a lot for, then I got left behind. I had to leave my gym with my friends who worked out with me every day. I was denied unemployment because of a glitch in the computer system that I am still trying to fight and thus spent more of my savings than I wanted. I was uncertain on every level how I would survive. I felt abandoned and alone and very, very sad a lot. I was mad at myself for trusting humans, for putting my eggs in a basket that got thrown out a window. I was mad at everyone around me who was making it, who didn’t suffer alone, who seemed to breeze through this with ease. I know that is not fair or even a little true. Didn’t change my anger.

I briefly mentioned here a few posts ago that I was saving my squealing brakes for another story. I’ll make it short. About two months ago I needed new brakes. I took my car to a reputable place, had to sit in the floor of the business for hours, propped up against the wall between the men’s and women’s bathrooms because they had no waiting room, and got cheated by at least $100 because I don’t know enough about brakes to know what a fair price is.

Coach fixed my toilet as promised and two days later it broke again. It hasn’t worked right since April.

A couple of weeks later, my check engine light came on and upon taking my car to the dealership, I learned that my catalytic converter had croaked. Thank you, Ethanol. It is another fix I will have to budget for before the end of the year. I was smarter on that trip, declining to leave my car at the dealership so that I can shop around for a fair price before signing over the last of my savings to fix my exhaust system on a car that is only five years old.

Last week, I bought a new deodorant and dropped it in my makeup bag which I take to the gym faithfully. While I work my bags sit in my car, usually in the shade, but this day was particularly hot and I didn’t get my regular parking spot at work under my leafy tree. That afternoon when I left, I thought I would touch up my powder and reached into my bag only to discover that my brand new deodorant had melted thoroughly and completely into a soup in the bottom of my bag. There was not even a miniscule scrape of deodorant left in the container. It was all floating around my eye brushes, my glittery eyeliner, my beloved mascara that makes my eyelashes look like caterpillars. The air conditioner, which generally works very well, blew cool air onto the bag during the drive home, solidifying the soup back into deodorant which is now caked in big chunks on everything that was in that bag.

The very next day, my blower motor for my car’s air conditioner died. This was Friday. Phranke and I did some research before making an appointment to repair my air conditioner (and may I say here that I am so, so thankful for her). Because I didn’t really know where I was going, I was a few minutes late for my appointment. I began with an apology to the man behind the counter, yet it fell on deaf ears. He was intent on putting me in my place for being late which he did no less than three times, exactly as many times as I apologized for being late. I finally just stopped talking to him altogether. I merely handed over my keys and sat in silence while I waited. The part is being ordered and hopefully by Wednesday I will have a working air conditioner.

All day on Friday co-workers asked me if I was alright. I was told that I looked tired, sad, like I had been crying, that my eyes were red, etc. I have no makeup. I am sad. I am tired. I only want to sit at my desk and do my job and not have to give an answer when someone is concerned for my well-being, because again, if I start crying I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.

So this is my bloodletting. I don’t want to talk about it after I’ve written all this. I don’t need anyone to check on me because I really am fine. Again, first world problems. I will live. Yes, I have tried to be positive through all of this mess but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard and wasn’t scary and that I’m not still slightly resentful. I resent the fact that I’m completely out of my comfort zone now. I resent the fact that I make far less money than I used to. I resent the fact that the benefits I worked so hard to achieve are no more and that I’m starting over from scratch, again, at forty. I resent the fact that I’m doing it alone. I resent the fact that the only fighting for me is done by me.

I know that millions of people do this every day. I know that millions of people are alone, even when their spouse is right next to them, or their brother, or their mother, or their best friends. I don’t get to claim loneliness as my singular battle. I don’t get to claim fear as mine alone. I know that. But this is my walk, my experience. I’m the one who feels my pain and my confusion and despite my having people around me who support me and love me, I feel it alone. I walk it alone.

Here is where I bring my spin on it, my flair. I do know that somewhere during all of this mess, I learned something. I do know that I have grown although I may have no idea how right now. I do know that someone will come into my life who needs my wisdom and friendship because they are going through what I went through. One day I will look back on all of this as a valuable experience. But when I’m sitting in my sweltering car and the air craps out and I can’t even put the windows down for my drive to work because it’s raining buckets and I have no glitter on my eyelids to make me smile through the tears, I really can’t give a shit.

In conclusion, and this part wasn’t even planned for this post, I’d like to tell you that three hours ago my wallet was stolen.

No more. I cannot take it.

UPDATED: So We Were Talking About Food . . . .

09 Aug 2012 7 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Home Improvement, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus Tags: Humor

A quickie to get us started: I babysat Pooh and Tigger this weekend. I took them out to lunch Sunday after church. Tigger had eaten her sandwich and was making her way through a bag of Cheetos when abruptly she’d had enough. Halfway through a Cheeto she said, “I’m full” and threw the other half of the Cheeto back into the bag. Who does that? Who leaves half a Cheeto uneaten? It was like Pee-tah was sitting right next to me and I almost cried, I miss him so badly.

Anyway.

Remember me telling you about my garden I had a couple of summers ago? I think it was three. Yes, three summers ago. I planted all kinds of things, some of which did well (those damn jalapenos) and some of which didn’t (I grew about 12 green beans from 6 green bean plants, total). That garden was the result of a lot of hard work I did with a specific someone in my life. We tilled and planted and weeded that garden together, at least for a while. But then, like all good things, it came to an end and I was left to tend alone a giant planter full of vegetable plants, some of which produced actual fruit.

Lord, how I cried over that stupid garden. One day I got tired of crying over it, though, and I ripped every single plant out of the ground. The Brussels sprouts, which had grown into tree-trunk like proportions were nearly the death of me but I wrestled them into submission finally and threw them, along with all the other plants, away. What plants fit into my compost bin went there, and all the others went into the garbage can that someone kept stealing. I honestly didn’t think about what went where until last summer when I realized that one of my tomato plants was actually thriving in the compost bin. I saw all kinds of fruit budding but never really took the time to pick it, and so fed the birds for an entire summer.

Also, remember last year when someone stole my hose and I was all mad because I couldn’t water my lone lethargic and disgraceful tomato plant? I barely got any tomatoes out of that plant which upset me a little bit. I’d really like to think I have some of Madre in me but I reckon I don’t. At least not when it comes to green thumbs. This year, though, I got a new tomato plant, a roommate who is interested in growing things, and specific instructions from Madre on how to grow very good tomatoes. You’d think I’d have done well yet would you lookit the stupid thing?

Have you ever seen such a scraggly mess in your whole life? I don’t get it. I spend lots of time sweet talking into its leaves. I prune it. I give it water. I bought extra special dirt that smells a lot like manure for it. WHY? It’s been growing since May and this is all is has done.

Now would you lookit this?

My tomato plant in the compost bin that is now three years old has produced all these tomatoes, more tomatoes than Kasi Starr and I can eat. This crop is just from today! What is going on here? What is the lesson I am to learn? That I should just leave stuff alone? That I should quit messing with all the stuff I want in my life and just let it happen? I gotta tell you, I have trouble with that. Control issues? Yes, please, I’d like a double order.

In other food related news, let’s revisit my spend-the-night-dance party with my nieces this past weekend. I like to give Martie and Coach a date night every month. We all get excited about it: me, because I love those girls, those girls because I’m Cool Aunt Jimmie, and Martie and Coach because they get special married people time. We exchanged the children from one vehicle to another and I asked with great expectations what Martie and Coach would be doing on their date night <eyebrow waggle>?

Their reply: “Going to Kroger!”

I’m going to pause for a moment to let that really sink in before I ask this. Is this what I have to look forward to if I really want to start dating again? This right here? A trip to a grocery store? Is this what you kids do nowadays in the dating world? Look here, man who is 6’5” with really nice teeth who can fix toilets and the like, I’m going to be ticked when you finally come along and ask me out on a date and we go to Kroger. Unless it’s special. Is it special? Ima let Martie and/or Coach and/or any other married person weigh in here and explain to me, in detail, why a trip to Kroger constitutes a good date. I mean, I’ve had some doozies in my lifetime, sure, but I’m pretty sure a date to Kroger would have topped the list as “all time lamest date ever”.

Perhaps I am missing something?

UPDATE: I forgot to include this and I really meant to because I laughed so hard!

Email from Lynnette: GAG! Plain Greek Yogurt is horrible! It is better for me, it is better for me, tell me! GAGGG!

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: Humor

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.

19 Jul 2012 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, Health, I'm Going Somewhere, Imparting Wisdom, Outings, Weight Loss Tags: Humor

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.

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: Hair, Humor

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.

I Love My New Job

01 Jul 2012 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus Tags: Humor

Let’s talk about my new job for a minute. I’m pretty happy in my new digs. I’m a pretty happy person overall, so it isn’t a surprise really, but it is very hard to leave your *people* and adjust to new surroundings. If anyone can do it, I surely can mostly because I don’t meet strangers. Also remember that I’ve done this before.

When I came to Nashville lo those many years ago, it was for a job in an engineering firm. I had been working in the insurance industry where you had to be “people-oriented” but was now ensconced in an engineering firm where “people-oriented” was more of a foreign language. I learned quickly that I had made an excellent decision in choosing to work at this particular firm but I also learned quickly that engineers think differently than I do.

I can hear some of you saying, “EVERYBODY thinks differently than you, Jimmie. Not everyone wants all glitter, all the time, nor do we spend copious amounts of hours pondering the rigid, bulging muscles in Dwayne Johnson’s arms.” I give you that although I really feel like my head is a nice place to be. BUT here I’m talking about fundamental differences, the very core of our thought processes. Let me explain. Engineers think in waffles. Their thought process is very structured and organized and everything has its place. That’s how they think. I, on the other hand, think in spaghetti. On the surface it looks like a jumbled mass of goo but really it is very tasty and filling. It gets the job done. Often you have leftovers and those are even better the next day! That’s how I think.

While working at my first engineering firm, I ran across a nice man, Chuck, who was a good engineer. We chatted often, agreed that I was his favorite and eventually he moved away for a better opportunity. Before he left, though, he gave me a parting gift. Except I didn’t know it. See, I came in to work one day, logged onto my computer and tried my very best to get down to business. I kept having trouble with my mouse, though. It wouldn’t track much and when it did it would fly wildly and jerkily all over the screen. Because I am not technically inclined, I called our IT department to figure out what was going on. (Let me say here that the first thing I do in any new job situation is to bake the IT department cookies. I realize that I break an awful lot of stuff and ask an awful lot of stupid questions so to butter them up before I even get started, I feed them. It works well. You should try it.)

Anyway, I was on the phone with my favorite IT guy and he kept saying, “Jimmie, it’s very hard to hear you. Can you speak up?” So I did, increasingly so as the conversation progressed because he was having great difficulty understanding me. The louder I spoke the better it was but it was still a difficult conversation. So now you have the picture: me, yelling into my phone for an inordinately long time about my stupid spastic mouse in a manner where everyone in the office could hear me, and trying to explain in Jimmie-terms what I thought was wrong with it. Do you know how long it took for someone to kindly point out that my phone and mouse had been taped? About ten minutes. Do you know how long it would have taken me to figure that out on my own? Forever. Swift on the uptake, is what I am. Anyway, Chuck fessed up to it and I was never more shocked in all my life. Sweet little old waffle-thinking Chuck had played a practical joke on me. Hahahahahahahahaaaa!

Then I moved over to the next engineering firm with Boss and that’s where someone played the Hall and Oates joke on me. Sweet little old waffle-thinking Sean, I suspect, who is about the nerdiest/nicest person you will ever meet. And sweet little old waffle-thinking Keith kept moving my pink sparkly dragon everywhere. Hahahahahahahahaaaaa! Engineers. A constant surprise.

Now I work with people in the corporate office of a home health agency. A lot of my co-workers are of the accountant persuasion and I suspect that like engineers, they think in waffles. Lovely people, really very nice, but I’m not so much of a numbers person as I am a words person and I can only imagine how they feel about the whirlwind that is me invading their very structured, very quiet space every day.

Last week the office manager sent out an email requesting people to clean out the fridge. If you wanted to keep something you had to name it and date it as your own, otherwise it was going in the trash. I launched myself to the kitchen to preserve my lone container of yogurt, and then later, she and I dumped everything else into the trash. It was very liberating. Kind of like throwing a planned hissy fit with food. Afterwards, I lovingly placed my named and dated yogurt on the empty shelf in the empty fridge for a later time.

Monday afternoon was the perfect time for my yogurt, I decided, but when I went to retrieve it, it was gone. I scoured the three items left in the fridge to no avail. Someone took my yogurt. I immediately emailed my friends about it with the question, “What is wrong with people?!” I never suspected that any of my nice new co-workers would steal my yogurt and I was really quite offended. Steal my chocolate cake? Yes, I get that. Steal my sugar-free, fat-free yogurt? Not so much.

Do you know on Wednesday afternoon I rummaged around in the now fuller fridge and found my named and dated yogurt? Y’all, I promise you it was not there Monday or Tuesday. There is no way I could have missed it amongst the three items that were in there. Yet there it sat. So I immediately emailed all my friends about it. Lynnette, smart cookie that she is, suggested sweetly that someone had played a trick on me? And now that I’ve thought about it, I think she may be right. Once again, I was blinded by waffles which should really just become the euphemism for my life. I now have a strange and growing respect for these accountant-type people, much like I did for the engineer-type people. Who knew that numbers and words could get along so well!

A final note about why I love my new job. Two Thursdays ago I had a meltdown. A bad one. I’m thrilled beyond belief to have a job that I enjoy, a paycheck, and to find that things are getting back on track. But I’ve had a rough couple of months and I guess the relief combined with lingering worry and my squealing brakes (another story) just took over. I threw the mother of all tantrums, then cleaned up my wonky eyes and went to work. I guess that my 40-year-old face does not recover as quickly as my 20-year-old face used to and all day, co-workers kept checking on me, asking if I was alright. I didn’t take my tantrum to work but the evidence was still there apparently. So on Friday, two of the nicest co-workers evah played another trick on me. One of them walked me down the hall to “talk” while the other put this on my desk:

How nice is that? I think that like me, they too think in spaghetti and I must say, it’s nice to find some kindred spirits.

I’m kind of hongry now. Italian, anyone?

Prescription For A Heartbreak

26 Jun 2012 5 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends, Imparting Wisdom Tags: Humor, Romance

Is there anyone out there who has never had a heartbreak? I doubt it. I was the last one, I thought. The last man standing. I never had any of that gut-wrenching pain happen to me. Never in high school which is unusual as everyone knows that high schools are rife with mooney-eyed teenagers moping around over lost loves. Never in college which is also unusual as everyone knows you are supposed to give your heart away to a poet wearing a beret and a very spindly goatee. I escaped all that, even through a myriad of serious boyfriends and even through a five-year marriage.

It wasn’t until I was 38 that I really got the full experience of having my heart ripped from my very chest and trampled into bits. Doesn’t that sound dramatic? It was. I got shredded and it was awful and may I say I don’t recommend it. Do that mess when you are 18 or 24 but don’t ever wait until your late 30s for your first (perhaps your only) heartbreak. Having never built up any resistance for it, I was a raw open wound for far, far too long.

I’m not writing this now to be morbid, though. You know that, right? That isn’t really my style. No, I learned some lessons through all that, and I’m here to Impart Wisdom today. I haven’t done that in a while. I felt like it was time.

The first thing you want to do when you get your heart squished is to call Martie. You wail a lot into the phone. I mean a lot. And you listen to Martie when she tells you that you will feel better in two weeks. When the two weeks are up and you don’t feel better, you call Martie back and wail a lot into the phone. Listen to her when she tells you that you will feel better in two weeks. When in two weeks you don’t feel better, you call Martie. You get the picture. Do this for a full year. Eventually the space between those calls will get longer and longer and then perhaps in time you will only have one of those calls per year, possibly even less.

After you get off the phone with Martie, you get on the phone with Woney. You wail a lot into the phone to Woney and say yes when she asks you if you want her to fly to Nashville. Pick her up at the airport and spend lots of time just being with someone who lets you cry and takes you to movies and to historic places you have never visited to help take your mind off things.

You are only allowed one phone call to the ex during this time. In that phone call, you tell him that he needs to come get his stuff out of your sight and out of your house. Give him a timeframe, say 20 minutes or so, to arrive. During that 20 minutes, you inform him, you will be dragging his stuff (including the boat he’s been working on in your garage) out into the street. If he has not arrived by the time you have everything in the street, you inform him, you will soak it all in lighter fluid and set a match to it. Mean it. This will ensure a swift removal of all of your ex’s personal items from your home which is necessary for your healing.

The next thing you want to do is listen to some Alicia Keyes. You can do this for approximately one day, maybe two, but you need to do it. This will enable you to really turn on the water works. So much emotion packed into a four minute song. You should lament the lost love through the entire song and then switch over to a different song to really get the anger in. Alicia Keys is fantastic for both sides of the coin. Then, after one day (perhaps two) realize that there is far too much emotion in a single Alicia Keys lyric and immediately put that CD into the glove box. Leave it there for a year. Do not touch it.

The logical next step is to order a Billy Idol CD from Amazon. You really want the Greatest Hits album. You listen to this CD on repeat at top volume for the next two to three months. Be sure to sing along with it. There’s not a lick of emotion whatsoever in those lyrics and eventually, you will find that you can’t help but dance to them. He’s just that kind of guy.

This little tidbit is always helpful: go to lunch with Bootsie, Lynnette and Kindle. Go to a cheesy little Mexican place for chips and salsa and Diet Coke. It will surprise you, given that you think happiness is such a foreign concept and a dream long past, but you will be gifted with a single hour of happy that you can cherish for the next few months. Those hours of peace and happy are few and far between in the beginning. Take them where you can get them.

Aside from the occasional Mexican joint with friends, do not drown your sorrows in food! This is a time for absolute rigid control. Your food intake and your exercise are the only things you can fully control during this time so take advantage of that. When you feel pretty good about your body, go to Buckle and spend an exorbitant amount of money on a single pair of jeans that make your butt look awesome. This step is crucial. Everyone needs a pair of jeans like that.

Do not even consider dating anyone for a very long time. Makes lists of qualities that you want in the next dating partner but make them so strict that almost no one will meet the criteria. That way you don’t have to make excuses for why it has been so long since you have dated.

Finally, you wait. Everyone likes to tell you that time is a great healer. You will look at them in disbelief and scoff at them when you have the energy or take a break from the crying because you know that time will never heal this wound. Spend a lot of time with yourself, though. Try it. You will learn amazing things about who you are, and you will know yourself better than you ever have. Wait for a year. And if that isn’t enough, wait some more.

One last bit of advice, but probably the best one: make new friends like Freddie, Kindle, Spike, Felix, Lorne (Ty), Roxanne, Jane and Quan. Cultivate existing friendships like Phranke, Lynnette, Woney, Billie, and Dammit Todd. Use your Martie. She’s your best friend. Find other people to hang out with that encourage you to do things for yourself, to cry when you need to, and to put on your big-girl panties already and move on. These people are incredibly important. Your life, while empty of a romantic partner, will be full beyond measure and really, really nice. The nicest of all.

The anticipated end result is indifference. Not love and not hate, but indifference. One day, after enough time has passed and you have completed the full prescription dose, you will be on the Greenway running in the heat and panting like a bear when you will be hit with a realization that it’s over. It’s really over and your heart beats just fine with all pieces intact. You are indifferent and if you cared enough at all about it anymore, it would be the best feeling you’ve ever experienced.

But you don’t and so you just continue to run.

Signed,

Dr. Jimmie

(Birthday) Wishes Do Come True

23 Jun 2012 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends Tags: Birthday, Humor

It’s been over two weeks since I celebrated the 19^th anniversary of my 21^st birthday. It has taken us that long to stop celebrating. I think I shocked everyone by not crying even a little on my birthday. Freddie sent me a text that morning that said, “Happy Birthday, pretty lady!” and I responded with “Thanks! Forty is going to be a great year.” She, understandably, responded with suspicion yet we were all pleasantly surprised that I meant it.

Remember how I made my list of stuff I wanted from each of you and you all thought I was crazy and made fun of me? I’m telling you, it worked! I’m totally doing that again next year.

Pictures are worth a thousand words, right? Here’s just a sampling of my birthday goodies.

Private eyes (clap, clap) they’re watching you . . . .

If you don’t recall why I needed it, go read this post for significance.

Do my friends know me or what?

If you don’t recall why I needed them, go read this post for significance.

Well, hello there Tony.

If you don’t recall why these are an amazing gift, go read this post for significance. This here is a picture of Tony encased in a coaster. This is way better than getting up at four in the morning to work out (see his abs). Now I can simply take one of these to the gym with me, set my girlie cocktail on it, strap myself into the fat shaker machine, and have a peek at Tony and his abs every time I take a sip. Perfect!

From Felix I got my hug (that man smells divine) and this, painted just for me:

I don’t need to tell you that I cried, right? Isn’t it gorgeous?

From Jonquil, I got the best rainbow card of all time and a box of rainbow stuff that made my living room look like a unicorn threw up in it:

There are exactly 40 links in that rainbow chain.

Pooh and Tigger confiscated these immediately.

Madre made me this, even though she didn’t have to:

We had to QC it before serving. That’s why that corner is missing.

After all this bounty, I am fully confident that you just need to put out there what you want in order to get it. I was pretty sure of it before, but since this little experiment, I am certain. See, I wanted Miguel to dance for me for seven minutes this year instead of the six minutes I asked for three years ago. I felt we were good enough friends to take it to the next level, to step up our game. But I forgot to write about it, and do you know what he got me for my birthday? This:

!!!

Lesson learned people. Do not leave men to their own devices. They will get it wrong every time.

A final gift, this one from Javier. He promised me Wolverine sideburns. I got them. Ladies, this here, while originally meant for me, is now for you. You’re welcome. P.S. Tony, you now have a run for your money.

You see how the sideburns really draw the eye? Yeah, me too . . .

MEOW!

P.P.S. Boss, you promised me a gift. I am waiting, impatiently, with my foot tapping. Send it already.

P.P.P.S. Quan, we need to have a word about the cupcake situation.

I Met Somebody On Craig’s List . . . .

17 Jun 2012 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus Tags: Humor

Get your minds out of the gutters, pervs. My Daddy-O reads this blog.

A while back I thought it would be a good idea to get a roommate again. I had Roommate here for a month or two – remember, my cousin who brought Mini into our lives? He was such a faithful garbage carrier . . . . I miss that guy. Anyway, the whole job went down the crapper and I had a lot of extra space in parts of the house that I love to decorate but never utilize. I figured it was time to start looking for someone. I started trolling the internet, as it were, and found someone who typed up a lovely ad on Craig’s List which included correct grammar, correct spelling, and pictures. Once again, let me reiterate: my Daddy-O reads this blog. Perverts.

We chatted via phone for a bit then met in person, then did the whole back and forth dance of “Yes, I want to do this, No it won’t work out, Now I’m back to yes again” for a few weeks before settling on “The rent is $X and both these closets are yours.” Now I’m a firm believer in not living with your friends. Nothing kills a female friendship faster than a roommate situation. However, I’m open to becoming friends over time with a stranger who has moved into my home. There is no pressure to be friends really, only to be quiet and respectful during sleeping hours and to share the kitchen nicely. If something comes out of it, great. If not, you make perfectly compatible roommates.

Before Boss and I parted ways, we had a discussion about it. It was the last bit of advice he gave me, actually. He did the big eye roll and said something along the lines of “I really suggest you rethink your decision of having a stranger live in your house, especially someone you met on Craig’s List.” I heard you, Boss, and I ignored you. She’s great and to date, it’s working out really well for me. She is a faithful garbage carrier and not once has she asked me to measure her for a mountain bike.

Now I’m going to tell you how I have been an exemplary roommate for her.

Murphy peed on her bed. At least we think it was Murphy. See, roomie, and let’s call her Kasi Starr, has a kitty varmint too. Miss Kitty reigns supreme in the upstairs portion of the house now. When the boys venture up the stairs for a sniff or a nibble of her food, she lets them know loud and clear (and hissy, quite frankly) that the upstairs is her territory. We aren’t quite sure which of them expressed defiance through urination, but Miss Kitty has been known to do it when she’s defending her territory and Murphy has been known to do it when he’s expressing displeasure, so really it’s a crap shoot. Either way, Kasi Starr came home from work one day to a lovely yellow-scented bed and had to strip it down to bare bones before she could crawl in it.

Then, just two weeks ago, I set my car alarm off in the garage at 5:45 a.m. I guess I felt like the panic button needed testing and let’s talk about how loud and resonating that is in a garage (and most likely in the bedroom directly above the garage, where Kasi Starr sleeps) at 5:45 in the a.m., particularly when it scares me so badly that I drop my keys and have to scramble around to find them on the garage floor for a while before silencing the alarm. After giving myself a mini heart attack, I left for the gym and then wondered if Kasi Starr was having a mini heart attack of her own. What a nice way to be jolted from sleep, right?

Finally, a few nights ago I heard an awful thumping sound on the stairs. It was pretty loud and while I know Miss Kitty and Seamus are heavy animals (oh, there is a hogging food section below which will neatly explain this), it sounded much worse than two heavy-weight cats romping down the stairs. I heard Kasi Starr say, “Oh damn.” She said it a lot and it sounded bad. Do you know what I did? I thought, “I should get up and go see if she’s okay.” Then you know what I did? I went back to sleep. When I woke up the next morning I had a vague recollection of some disturbance in the nighttime but it never fully registered until she told me about how she bounced down five or six stairs on her butt. I really am a compassionate person but maybe not when I’m asleep? That does sound vaguely familiar, like maybe I explained that part in the Pee-tah story. Clearly I’m the person you want to call when you get hurt, because like I’ve said, I’m very compassionate and a fantastic cook, but perhaps you should wait until morning before doing so in order that I can be properly sympathetic.

I’ll end with this. While I think Kasi Starr and I will get along famously, I’m not so sure about our kitty varmints. Miss Kitty likes to reign supreme over the boys’ food bowl in addition to the entire upstairs. This causes Seamus great confusion as it is his happy place and he’s used to being able to bully Murphy out of the way whenever he feels the urge to nosh. Miss Kitty takes no bullying of any sort ergo, when she wants to consume the entire contents of the food bowl, she gets to. I don’t think she likes peas, though, so Seamus still has that comfort. All the peas, all to himself. He’s also learned that when she’s hogging all his food, she’s not protecting hers so he will fly up the stairs to hog her food. When the afternoon sun hits the wall with the big window and light curtain, all the kitties curl up near-ish each other there and snooze the day away, but really, that’s the only fully peaceful time with the three of them. Otherwise, it’s all hiss, snarl, pee, drop fur, hiss, meow, sleep, thump up and down the stairs.

Really, it’s working out very well.

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

13 Jun 2012 3 Comments

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

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.

Love,
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?