Love, Jimmie

Easter

23 Apr 2011 4 Comments

Hey guys? Want to know what’s fun? Roller Derby! At least I think it is. What could be more entertaining than a night out with friends watching a bunch of women kick each other’s asses while wearing roller skates? I’ll bet profanity is involved.

You know what else is fun? Meeting Freddie and Ian and Quan and dog-neighbor (who at this point should have a name – let’s call him Sanchez) at a bar and having some cocktails that look like a Frosty and taste like a Frosty but are actually chock full of alcohol, at least 5 different kinds. I asked what was in it the last time I had one and lost track after Kahlua, chocolate liqueur and 151. I know at least two more alcoholic ingredients were listed but since I had already ingested half of this tasty beverage, the ingredient list went in one ear and out the other. As it is now, I am a complete lightweight and the full drink I had was more than enough for me, causing me to grin like a loon and weave my way down 2^nd Avenue. The official name for this concoction is called Bushwhacker. Go have one and you’ll agree that it is indeed a tasty beverage and that for the average Joe, one is plenty. So I’ll take two. (I kid! Probably that is a bad idea . . .)

Anyway, you know what’s not fun? Realizing that you have 4 very bald, very dry rotted tires on your awesome blue granny car and spending all of your money to buy new ones. And by all of your money, I mean all but $10.00 of your money. I don’t think I’ve ever wiped out a paycheck so efficiently in all my life.

I had big plans for this weekend. Cocktails? Yes! Roller Derby? Yes! Profanity? Hopefully! (I am a work in progress, after all.) A night out with a few of my bestest friends? Yes! Unfortunately my plans somehow did not include being poor.

I texted Freddie: Okay, I just looked at my money. I don’t have any now because of car repairs so I’m going to skip tonight. I’m such a grown up.

She texted back: What? Boo! I hate responsibility! It’s un-American.

That gave me pause. Which countries are known for being good with their money? Certainly not ours. We are trillions of dollars in debt. I’d rather not add to that phenomenon on a personal level.

Jimmie: Actually, I propose the opposite is true.

Freddie: Hmmm . . . good point. I’ll be sad if you are not there, but I understand. (Here I should mention that I luff her. She gets it. Plus, she invited me over for Easter dinner which includes a bunny cake that she baked and decorated herself. Need I say more?)

Jimmie: I’m being a good Asian. Or European. I’ll comfort myself with that. (Surely one of them has a grip on their economy, right?)

Anyway, although I had a fun night out planned, I’ll choose being a grown up over getting myself into financial dire straits. That is called being a “Good Steward”.

It’s Easter weekend. Good Friday has passed. Easter is coming. What a season of hopefulness, yet hopefulness tinged with sadness. Our Lord is rising again. You guys know what’s fun? That’s fun!

Happy Easter, everyone!

Guest Posts?

20 Apr 2011 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Pets

I’ve thought recently about having people guest post here. I think my friends and family have a lot of talent and humor and good things to say. So consider this your invitation, friends and family. This is as formal as it will get. You write it and I will post it (with maybe only a few minor edits). My blog is your blog.

In a fit of silliness while I was thinking about guest posts, I wondered what my cats would say if given the opportunity to write a little something. So Murphy and I had a conversation and after some time, he wrote this up for you guys.

A Guest Post, by Murphy

The Smushy One belongs to me. She came to the feeding place where I lived for a while with Seamus and she looked alright so I licked my paws and smoothed out my eyebrows and purred. BINGO! She was wrapped around my little paw, just like that. These dames – they are so easy.

She took us to a new feeding place, one with rooms and beds and a scratching post. There were also these big sheets of fabric hanging over the windows and let me tell you how much fun they were! I would take a flying leap from the scratching post and land with my claws out on those fabric hangings and slide all the way down to the ground. They must not make that stuff like they used to, though, because it just shredded under my claws. And The Smushy One bought new fabric hangings and now when I try to take the flying leap onto them, she squirts me with a water bottle. How rude.

Clearly I had a lot of other exploring to do once I got to the new feeding place. The cabinets were of particular interest to me. It was difficult at first to get my paws in the door of them but after a couple of hours a night pawing and battering at them, I was in. Someone should have told me that there was nothing of interest in there, only cleaning supplies and that bubbly stuff she washes her hair with. There was a lot of that.

Sometimes The Smushy One ignores me and moves her mouth a lot and makes noise into a rectangular metal thing. She does that a lot actually. To me it sounds like “wah wah whah, wah” and then some laughing. But I’ve got a trick for when she ignores me like that. I’ll stick my paw on her mouth. It is particularly funny when she has that shiny stuff on her lips. When I stick my paw on them it leaves a lot of my fur stuck in her shiny stuff and it looks funny. Har har.

One night she was ignoring me with her eyes closed. They had been closed for HOURS! I was tired of being ignored with all of her eyes closed and her deep breathing and having to find a new place to sleep when she kept rolling over. So I opened my claws and hooked her right in the lip. Somehow that didn’t work as planned because instead of petting me she shoved me in the floor. Maybe I should work on my technique and try more claws next time.

And another time, oh it was such a good day. My belly was full and I was sleepy. I was slinking around on the bed, purring, looking for space on The Smushy One to take a nap. I had the hiccups which was annoying but I wanted to purr and make biscuits on The Smushy One so I ignored them. Or I tried to. It was slightly humiliating because I was purring then I would hiccup and then it would squeak. Purr, hic, squeak. The Smushy One brayed like a donkey every time it happened which just ruined my nap.

Despite that, I have a comfortable life. The Smushy One does alright. Every now and again I whizz on the carpet or eat some grass so I can puke it up directly in front of her, you know, to remind her who is boss. We all need those reminders from time to time.

Mrow.

Murph

And then Seamus and I had a talk and he, too, wrote a guest post for you.

A Guest Post, by Seamus

Hai.

I like under the bed. I like food. I like Murphy.

The end.

So here ends my guest postings for this week. Anyone else want to give it a whirl?

Speaking of squeaking, the shoes I have on today are some of my favorites. They are brown sandals and I wear them every summer as they are a perfect match for my cute little skirts and dresses. It isn’t until spring rolls around and I dig them out that I remember why at the end of every summer, I vow to buy a new pair. The right shoe squeaks and when I walk down the hall, or anywhere for that matter, I sound like I am rhythmically and systematically murdering a squeaky toy. Awesome.

Ouch

19 Apr 2011 6 Comments

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

Yesterday morning I got up at 4:30 so that I could take Body Pump and Spin with Lynnette. It is a fight every morning. I’m not big on alarm clocks and until this particular gym schedule started, I never used one. But now I really do want to take these classes so I set my alarm for 4:30 and as soon as it goes off, I start praying. “Lord, please let me get up today. I really want to but unless You send some sort of miracle, I won’t be getting out of this bed for another two hours.” Sometimes I lose the battle, but yesterday was not one of those days.

I did most of the Body Pump. Lunges nearly killed me because suddenly I’ve got a creaky knee. This does not bode well for my career as a marathon runner. I skipped that part and then went in for Spin. Now I love Lynnette with all of my heart and I really admire her, but I will never understand how she is so excited to be up and moving on a Monday morning. And with such energy! She thrives on it. I get through it. That, I suppose, is the difference between the instructor and the student and why she has such great arms and I don’t.

Anywho, I sat next a new-to-me guy in the class. I looked over and smiled and he ignored me. I took no offense. It was Monday after all. But a couple of times during the class, Lynnette would call out his name and instead of responding, he just looked straight ahead and never broke stride. After a while I just chalked him up as a bit of a snob. We were all panting and commiserating and rolling our eyes at ourselves but not this guy. He just rode.

When class was over, he got up and cleaned his bike and did some stretches. I think. Honestly, I had written him off so I didn’t pay much attention. But when I saw him pick up his white cane and feel his way out the door, I realized that the only snob in there was me. The guy was blind. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like such an asshole before. Go me.

Yet Another Rain Story

15 Apr 2011 4 Comments

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

What the frick is up with the monsoons already? This weather is wreaking havoc on my hair which, honestly, needs no help to look like crap. It can do that on its own.

I do have a story here. For those of you who know me, you already know it will take me a bit to get there. So here begins my circuitous route to the punch line.

We’ve got a new-to-us guy in the office. I remember what it was like being the new person in a new office in a new city where I knew precisely one person and that person worked ALL THE WAY ACROSS TOWN. My new co-workers took me to lunch my first day but then I felt sort of lost and adrift for a few weeks until I established my own friend pool to go to lunch with. I resolved then that anyone who might be suffering from New Person Syndrome would not suffer it long around me.

A complete aside here (I know! Shocking!). Dammit Todd and I used to work together. Before that, though, he had to interview with our company. I was the first line of defense for anyone coming into our office unsolicited, usually people selling their job placement services. So when Dammit Todd showed up in a suit and tie, I naturally assumed that he was there to sell us something and I was no how, no way going to let him get away with that. He asked for the big boss and I said, “Did you bring me a present?” He got quiet and said, “No.” I replied, “Well, you can’t come in here without bringing me a present.” And he didn’t say a word. And then Lynnette (we also used to work together) came up to get Dammit Todd and said, “Oh, hi Dammit Todd. Are you here for your interview?” So, yeah . . . . I really did ask him to lunch on his first day and then introduced myself properly as “Jimmie, your favorite” and we have been fast friends ever since.

Back to the new-to-us guy. I like the name Quan for him. I’m not sure why. We, and by we I mean I, are (am) still getting him used to us as a group. I must say, he fits in like he’s always been here so going to lunch with him is a treat for all of us. Really, I just cannot emphasize enough how much we really like him.

On Tuesday we got a pile of us together for lunch and walked up the hill to the Mongolian BBQ place. Have you ever been to one? A small bowl costs you one price, a large another. I love watching the people who can take the smaller bowl and craft a larger bowl out of it by lining the edges with snow peas and then stuffing it full. Amazing. We had a great lunch and talked a lot and got fortune cookies. And then I learned that Quan belonged to us because he sent the following email when we got back to the office:

PS – I shouldn’t have even gotten a fortune cookie … they always suck for me. Mine said: Others take notice of your radiance. Share your happiness.

What a load of crap.

Isn’t that great?

Fast forward to today. Because I tend to be a creature of obsession when it comes to food, I’ll wear a place out for about six months to a year before I get sick of it. And it’s Friday, the day usually reserved for having lunch out with my friends. Never mind that the weather forecasts called for rain and heavy thunderstorms and wind, my friends and I did not bring lunch from home. We said we would go somewhere close and yummy and not worry about the weather. And we picked the Mongolian BBQ place. Again.

Also despite the weather forecasts calling for rain and heavy thunderstorms and wind, I left my umbrella (that I stole from my boss – you would have too because it’s really nice and big) in the car.

Also despite the weather forecasts calling for rain and heavy thunderstorms and wind, I wore a short skirt and sandals today which really has nothing to do with the story except I wanted to whine about being cold and wet now.

I had no lunch, no umbrella, and no warmth but we were still going to the place up the hill for lunch because I was insistent. I borrowed an umbrella from a guy on my floor, we walked out the door, and the wind immediately whipped that umbrella inside out. My hair was ruined. I wrestled the umbrella back into some semblance of order and continued on. Felix’s umbrella was also wrangled into a bit of a mess. Quan’s umbrella did beautifully. Lucky dog.

Felix and I traipsed on, holding our mangled umbrellas low over our heads and sort of wrapped around us like plastic wrap. We could not see a thing but luckily for us, we only ran into one parked van and one large marble sign. No injuries were sustained. Quan just strolled on behind us with his perfectly lovely, fully functioning umbrella. Jerk face.

I suppose I can let Quan have his perfectly lovely umbrella, though. Today his fortune read: You will soon receive a letter from a loved one. Awful, isn’t it? The guy already has the perfect umbrella. He doesn’t get the perfect fortune too.

And here is the point of my story. I returned the umbrella to the guy on my floor after our lunch adventure. It did me no good in the monsoon. My hair is a mess. It’s crunchy and flat. I spent more time putting the umbrella back together as I walked than the umbrella did protecting me from the elements. I told him all this. I cannot understand why he is upset with me. Really. Can you?

This is why people don’t let me borrow their stuff.

People of Interest; A Handy Checklist, Volume II

13 Apr 2011 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends Tags: Humor

I don’t want anyone on this particular list to get all weird on me because I threw around the “L” word about them. Some might feel awkward about it and shun me. I don’t want that. So let’s call this list People of Interest. You guys didn’t think I was done, did you? I have WAY more people to share with you on this here blog.

Family is only a portion of those who are assigned blame for my idiosyncrasies. Someone today asked me if I was nervous about this part, putting my friends on here. The thought never occurred to me. They all know I’m doing this and for the most part, I ask permission before sharing too much. I’m thrilled that they trust me enough to let me share them with the world. Let’s see how they feel afterwards . . .

Phranke: Ah, Phranke. She’s been around nearly most of my life although we didn’t really become aware of each other until high school. She was with me when I got giant boobs and had big hair. She knows me. She’s practically my sister. I’m not entirely sure that I’m all fun and games for her, but she sticks around. That’s what good friends are like.

I went to visit her this weekend and as usual, I dug through all of her cabinets, drawers and closets. I’m not sure why I do this but she lets me. I would let her do the same thing at my house. Anyway, I just had to share this picture with you. This is a shelf in her closet:

I hee-hawed over this for a good five minutes as she explained how each one is in a precise order, from newest to oldest. They rotate.

Below is an email exchange I had with her one day. It’s one of the many reasons why I luff her.

Jimmie: I’m sad and it’s been here since Sunday. I can’t seem to shake it and I’ve been crying every day since then. My eyes look like crap, sort of like sand bags except wrinkly sandbags. Is it the holidays? Maybe so. I dunno.

Phranke: Don’t you hate it – I can’t cry for 5 seconds without looking like someone beat the shit out of me all the next day. Don’t forget to tell anyone who asks that it’s a new style of eye makeup that’s all the rage in California: faux-misery. It was originally created for people who are all botoxed up and can’t feign emotional responses, but then it just caught on and everyone’s doing it.

Dammit Todd: Dammit Todd is the reason I have the name Jimmie. We were on a boat on a lazy Sunday a couple of summers ago and he had had a few beers. (Honestly, we had all had a few beers.) I was on a float, out in the water, minding my own business, when out of the blue he said, “I’m going to call you Jimmie.” And it stuck. I have no idea where that came from and neither does he. I won’t embarrass him by telling everyone that sometimes we go shopping and I make him turn around so I can check out how his butt looks in his jeans. (Mostly it is for him, so that he knows if they fit right but I would be a liar if I told you there was nothing in it for me.) But I’m just not that kind of friend, to embarrass someone like that. One random Saturday morning I received the following texts from him.

4:02 am

Dammit Todd: And I must say . . .Viva de casa de waffle

4:08 am

Dammit Todd: You’re a pansy cuz w8 –

4:09 am

Dammit Todd: You’re a pansy cuz u won’t pub9 –

4:10 am

Dammit Todd: You’re a pansy cuz u won’t stay up and text us all maggi –

4:13 am

Dammit Todd: You’re a pansy cuz u won’t stay up and text us all night . . . Finally. Sorry. I’m drunk as hell. Better see u tomorrow for supper.

See why he is interesting?

Lynnette: Lynnette is the instructor at the YMCA. Remember her? She’s the one who tries to maim us during class. She has the best muscle definition in her arms and if I maimed myself like she does, I’d probably have those arms. For now, I’ll just settle for being jealous. She’s the one I credit with keeping me on track with my gym attendance. When I’ve been lazy or absent for too long (maybe a day or two), Lynnette sends me the sweetest messages like, “Are you okay? Just tired? I was worried about you.” I genuinely luff this about her. Happy was the day that we met and I will have her forever.

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.

Freddie: She has the best laugh. We are kindred spirits. Don’t believe me? Go ask her how many kids she wants. I dare you. We both ascribe to the philosophy that children are fantastic little creatures, but birthing them from our bodies is an idea akin to flaying open our skin and pouring alcohol on it just for kicks.

Kindle: A favorite of mine. We went to a concert over the weekend and there was a moment when the audience was asked join hands with the person beside us. So we did with some reticence. It lasted for about a minute and both of us were slightly awkward about it. So after a bit, Kindle said, “You know I have love for you, but I’m not going to hold your hand anymore.” Agreed.

Felix: Drink mixer master. Drummer. Arteest. I am hopeful that if I surround myself with all of these talented people, eventually some of that talent will rub off on me. He wrote this poem for me and Freddie before we took off for the beach:

Manis and Pedis for

Your fingers and toes,

Lipstick, eyeliner and

Powdering your nose,

Hair coloring, highlights

And a little bit of bleach,

Suntan lotion, martinis,

And heading to the beach!

That’s what big girls are made of.

Bootsie: If you could meet her, you would understand in an instant why I call her Bootsie. She is the epitome of a Bootsie – she’s crafty and trendy and adorable. And short-ish. She would not hurt a bug.

We used to work together. A while back, she was leaving that job in an unfortunate way. She’d been with the company for 6 years or so when they downsized, leaving her in the lurch. She was packing up a few things and had this old hammer that apparently had some kind of value, at least to the co-worker who was admiring it. She stood there looking around her space and then said, “Can I see that hammer for a second?” She grabbed it out of his hand and in one smooth move, whacked it against her five year plaque, shattering glass and paper in a lovely spray of glitter and shards. And then she calmly handed the hammer back and said, “Thanks. I feel better.” See why I luff her?

Woney: She’s one of the biggest surprises of my life. How do you meet someone who lives clear across the country and become such fast friends despite not meeting each other face to face for months? Yet, it happened. We travel. Lots. And we are perfect roommates. Any excuse to pack up and go somewhere, and we are on it!

Lorne: This girl gets full credit for naming this here blog. Extraordinary? Yes, I wants it. Ordinary? Yes, I gots it. Only she put it together for me. I regularly get little pick me ups from her in the following format:

She gets me.

Rickkster: He’s awesome. The end.

Wait, I forgot this guy:

Boss: This guy gets some credit. Our relationship can best be described as odd. I mean, he’s the one who lets me trash talk him on a regular basis and call him names. And he gives as good as he gets. Not many people can put that on a resume. This is a phone conversation we had recently:

Jimmie: Good morning, this is Jimmie.

Boss: Okay, go to www-

Jimmie: I’m not getting fired for this am I?

Boss: <Pause> Are you done yet?

Jimmie: I don’t trust you.

Boss: Yes you do.

Jimmie: <Sigh> Yeah, I do.

These are just a few of the people I have had the good fortune to run across. I will keep them for my very own for as long as I am able. And now you get them too! Lucky, lucky, lucky. Rather, blessed. I realize that I’ve got the good stuff.

People I Luff, Family Style; Or, A Handy Checklist

11 Apr 2011 7 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family Tags: Family, Humor

Okay, I can see where this here blog might get confusing in a short while. I have a lot of people in my life, and as you can already tell, these people will feature regularly here. I’m just so popular . . . . It’s a tough job, but someone must do it. I’m also very modest. My everyday life is good fodder for run-of-the-mill discussions as it is. But I’m also smart enough to surround myself with funny, smart, snarky people and therefore, my life is even more exciting. It doesn’t always work so well for me (read: pencil lead in knuckle) but for the most part I am entertained.

Extraordinary lives require extraordinary people. Makes sense, no? I can view anything as extraordinary, I suppose, with the right attitude and lots of creativity. For example, I was in downtown Nashville last night for a band competition and I walked by one of the karaoke bars. I heard a woman in there murdering a Joan Jett song. It was awful. Truly terrible. But she had on a tiny skirt and a really nice spray tan and lots of hair dye so every man in there was completely enthralled. It was extraordinary but maybe not in the positive, motivational way I am trying to embrace.

But back to the task at hand. I felt it was time to provide a handy list to guide you through the people in my life. This volume is dedicated to my family. I have them to blame for most everything. Any dysfunction or weirdness I got was inherited directly from them. I take no responsibility. Plus, I’m the boring one. I mean, yes I’ve got some personality, but I gots nothing on these people. Shall we go down the list?

Madre: Well, she’s Madre. I couldn’t luff anyone more. I’ve never seen anyone her age (or younger, for that matter) who can sling herself around on a horse like Madre can. Once, when we were teenagers, Martie was upset about something and said to Madre, “You always liked Jimmie better!” To which Madre replied, “Of course I do. I’ve known her longer.”

Daddy-O: Again, Daddy-O. Not a lot of explanation required. Awesome and super talented. Wish I would have gotten just a smidge of that. Sigh. He laughs a lot which makes me happy. After reading my first two posts here, he sent me an email that said, “You need a drink.”

Martie: My younger sister, Martie, now she’s extraordinary. She’ll be on here a lot so you should know about her. The girl can sang. She’s funny. And she’s the pretty one. My high school crush talked to me once, in Geometry class, and I was so excited! He came over to my desk and said “hey” and I nearly passed out from the giddiness. I was already gearing up for a huge note-writing session to all of my girlfriends about this conversation in which the Cute One talked to me. But right after he said “hey”, he said, “So is your sister dating anyone? Cause I think she’s cute.” So much for that fantasy. Looking back, though, I realize that I was fortunate to not connect with him in any romantic way back in the day. He still looks exactly like he did in high school. I’ll let you infer what you will about that. Anyway . . . one of my favorite things about Martie is that she signs her emails to me in this fashion:

Love you so very smooches,

Martie

Isn’t that cute?

The Squirt: My youngest sister is The Squirt. She’s the cute one. She does all kinds of neat stuff like speak Spanish fluently, builds houses, and travels on a budget. I’m not sure how often she’ll make an appearance but I luff her.

Pooh: Pooh is my older niece. She’s amazing. She has these gorgeous blue eyes and all of this dark thick hair. She’s wicked smart and has a super trendy fashion sense. I can’t wait to see what kind of person she grows up to be. A lot like me, I imagine. And everyone knows that I’m your favorite so I’ve got high expectations of her.

Tigger: Tigger is my younger niece. She’s also amazing. And slightly bossy. It’s cute. Following is a conversation I had with her a while back, about the state of my hair. It was curly and all over the place because I was too lazy to do anything else with it.

Jimmie: Hi Tigger!

Tigger: <Eyeing me with horror> “What happened to your hay-ar?”

Jimmie: It’s curly is all.

Tigger: <not buying it, nostrils flared slightly> “It’s wi-yuld.”

Jimmie: Yeah . . .

Tigger: <sincerely> “What if someone laffs at you?”

Coach: Coach is the husband of Martie, father of Pooh and Tigger and brother-in-law of Jimmie. Poor guy. That’s a lot of chicks. Plus, he has our Madre and his own Madre. I’m not sure why he hasn’t croaked off already from the estrogen overload. One day he will have an absolute freak out and run screaming to the nearest gymnasium and throw himself amongst the teenage boys playing basketball and beg for some drugs, or testosterone. As it is now, when we have a family get-together and other men will be present, he’s no more put the car in park before he’s sprinting to the man section of the house, looking for beers and guns and camouflage. I babysit for Martie and Coach fairly regularly and he always makes sure I have a key and code for the house. His latest note with code read:

Oh Jimmie! You came and you gave without taking . . . Now press the code or the police will take you . . . .

Poppa: Husband of Madre. All around general good guy. Martie, who works in a salon and does my hair for free (score!), dyed my hair red once. I had begged for it for a long time. I went to Madre’s casa to show it off (and visit) and Poppa took one look, grunted, and said: “Not your best look, is it?” Well.

JiJi: Wife of Daddy-O. One year for Christmas I asked if she would organize my cabinets for me as a gift. Sure enough, right after Christmas she showed up with some roundy shelves and some common sense and got me squared away. What a woman!

Boo and Bear: Brothers, with assorted wives and children. Gorgeous families and good genes and talent out the wazoo. I’d hate them for all of that but I have big luff for them, so I suppose hate is out of the question. We don’t connect all that often but it sure is nice when we do. Unfortunately I have no funny stories to share about them, mostly because all the good ones happened in elementary school and we would all be mortified to revisit that particular era what with all the bad hair and excessive eyeliner and tobacco products and high top tennis shoes. Yikes. Moving right along . . .

And finally, me again.

Jimmie: When I checked the mail Saturday morning the lone piece of stuff in there was addressed specifically to me, not to “Resident” and said:

The Ultimate Outdoorsman Action Pack!

Enter to win your choice of a FREE Ruger Rifle or a PSE Deer Hunter Bow!

And the back said:

The 100^th Anniversary of the 1911, Designed by John Browning. Life’s too short to shoot an ugly gun!

What the hell?! Now this weekend alone, I have waxed poetic about girlie drinks and pedicures that include painting sparkles on my toes and pigtails, not ponytails, and did make up for the girls in our corporate band. Is there something about me that says “Yes, I want to kill foodstuffs with a gun and/or bow and arrow and serve dead animal carcass that I shot all by myself”? I don’t get it. Boo, I blame you.

This, people, is the story of my life.

I have many more people to introduce you to. I felt like this list was enough for one day. It’s mind boggling, isn’t it? Personally, I’m thrilled to have all of these people at my back. I’m a lucky woman!

Just for fun, I’ve added a picture. I took this while on last week’s chocolate run. Doesn’t that just make you smile?

Stuff I Learned: Beach 2011

07 Apr 2011 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Going Somewhere Tags: Humor, Travel

So, I’m back from my beach trip. It was awesome. The end.

Snort. If you know me at all, you know that is nowhere near the end.

Freddie and I had a fabulous time while on our trip to the wild blue yonder. The entire weekend was perfect. We were lazy and girlie and covered in sunscreen which meant that we did not have to spend any days in misery lamenting over our lobster skin. We taste-tested some adult beverages and tried new restaurants and rode bikes and read books. We also planned a lovely evening of chick flicks, wine and pizza. See? Perfect!

I think you should take something away from every experience you have in life, and I have given this concept a lot of thought since we returned. I don’t want to bore you with the details of the trip, especially because they lose something when you weren’t there to share it. Also, I don’t want to feel like I am showing off because Freddie and I had such a nice time. I did learn some fun things, though, and you guys are lucky in that I want to share them with you. I call it “Imparting Wisdom”. Without further ado, following please find my list of Stuff I Learned: Beach 2011.

Sticking my feet in the sand and the ocean grounds me. When that happens, I am one of the happiest most peaceful persons on the planet. I have always known this but it bears repeating. So that you can also remain happy and peaceful, I will not include any photos of me in my swimsuit. You can, however, see me naked in several locations on this trip.

When you want drink recipes, ask Felix. We did that on our first day down there thinking that we would mix our own and gaily traipse down to the beach with them every day. Holy Moly, did we hit the mother lode. That man is a genius when it comes to liquor. Somehow we never made our own drinks, though.

Responding to your co-worker’s question “Which person is wilder, you or Freddie?” with “We are both perfect angels.” will make him shoot Coke out his nose.

There is a reason why the fruity drink in the Irish pub was named “Three Sheets”.

When you take a picture of your “Three Sheets” cocktail and text it to all your friends at 1:00 on a Friday afternoon while they are still working and are more than ready to go home and start their own fabulous weekends, don’t be surprised when you receive this text in reply:

Saying the two words “my husband” will make the stranger whose mental state can generously be described as “burnt” run like a scalded dog. This would have been handy to know before his two-day assault on our lying-in-the-sun-relax time. Honestly, the guy was friendly enough but once a conversation has run its course, the next logical course of action is to go away. Somehow he never made that connection and spent quite a lot of time offering us his phone number, suggestions for restaurants and invites to local activities. Lucky for us, we discovered his Kryptonite after two short days. That would be Freddie’s husband. Let’s call him Ian. I think Ian would be strangely proud to know that he is someone’s Kryptonite.

There is a trade off for good stuff that happens. We had perfect weather in Florida. Absolutely gorgeous. We had hideous weather when we returned to Nashville. Dreadful. We flew in during another freaking monsoon and had to circle the airport a few times to avoid landing during the storm. Normally I’m great on planes and the turbulence does not bother me, but this time? Oof. I wanted to varmint.

As much as I love vacations, I love coming home more. Well, mostly. But coming home to a cat who expresses his displeasure at your absence by peeing on the carpet will put a damper on your enthusiasm rather quickly. Murphy. Sigh. I wondered if he had some lingering resentment over Seamus winning the battle of the suitcase snuggling, so I’ve left it in the middle of my bedroom floor for them to nap on in turns.

When you ask Louis the Security Guard if he noticed that you were gone and if he missed you, he will say, “Yep, I knew you were gone. Want to know how I knew? Because it was quiet. I didn’t hear a flea. That’s how I knew.”

Freddie and I can take a trip together for three concentrated days and still like each other when we return. At least I still like her. Strangely, I have not seen her much since we’ve been back. Huhn.

BONUS WISDOM: Randomly – this has nothing to do with this weekend but my mother called after reading my post about the crab apples to tell me that those apples are the perfect base for pepper jelly. I had no idea . . .

Also, I have yet to discover that I left something behind. Maybe I have learned my lesson?

Well that was unexpected

05 Apr 2011 8 Comments

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

So we all agree that I’m a chick, right? And that I like boys. Cute ones, specifically, with fabulously big arms that are just scored with muscles or with blinding white Chiclet teeth (For those of you interested, I am completely and totally hot for the Bee Gees boys, specifically Barry with those gorgeous choppers. I do not care that they are 90 now, unless of course, they no longer have those teeth and then in that case they can go blow smoke.) or with foreign accents and some height on them. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I am still very much a school girl in that I plaster pictures of cute boys all over my walls (desktop). My co-workers, mostly male engineers, just love this.

For the longest time I had this yummy picture of a shirtless Dwayne Johnson staring back over his shoulder. It was a side view and you could see the muscle definition in his arms and the tattoo and the chest. Oh, the chest. Sigh . . . that man is just pretty. Today I have a black and white of Michael Phelps, shirtless natch, and he’s also looking off into space, muscles rippling. And the hip rip is on full display, right above the shorts that are just about to fall off . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oh, sorry. I wandered there for a minute.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I had the Clive Owen up. It was a small picture and he was hot and staring right at you. The picture was tasteful and again, small.

I went to lunch, and trusting soul that I am, I left my computer unlocked. I work in an engineering firm and yes, these people are amazing and wonderful but rowdy they are not. I’ve never questioned my safety or integrity while working with these fantastic people, nor did I ever expect them to step outside the world of numbers and plans to stoop to my level.

I came back from lunch, sat down at my desk and was working away when one of my co-workers dropped by to tell me that he and his wife are expecting another baby. He had the sweetest picture to show me: his daughter wearing an “I’m the big sister” shirt. That’s how they announced it. While I looked at his picture he got a puzzled look on his face and said, “I thought it was Clive Owen this week.” I looked up and to my horror my

was replaced with this:

Sure, I suppose Hall & Oates were hot back in the day but the porn ‘stache has never done it for me.

Because I can keep nothing to myself and because I apparently love to throw myself under the bus, I sent this chain of events to all my friends via email.

And Phranke joyfully replied. (Because I am not all that creative or uptight about writing rules, just know that the below was all done in email. One day I will get it together and make this look professional but understand that I just figured out spacing on this here blog. I’m telling you, I’m good . . . )

Phranke: Is someone calling you a maneater?

Jimmie: I’m not sure. This is a travesty.

Phranke: I would have used THIS ONE

Jimmie: Oh, the fur! Ew!

Phranke: Private Eyes “clap, clap”, they’re watching you, they see your every move . . . . .

Phranke: I can’t go for that, ooohhoh, I can’t go for that, no can dooo-ooo, No, I can’t go for that

Phranke: Because your kiss (your kiss) is on my list, whoa-oo, Because your kiss (your kiss) I can’t resist

Phranke: You make my dreams come true, oooh ooh ooh, I’ve been waiting for you girl, you, you, you-ooo

In the meantime, I received a phone call on my office phone. It was a song. Maneater. Of course. A line or two played, and then the call was disconnected. I’m fairly certain it was the print room but I have no proof.

And then again, Phranke . . .

Phranke: Is this at all annoying yet? Because I could do this all day. They had a lot of hits back in the 80s you know.

Hahahahahahahahaaa! So we all had a good laugh over it and it was funny and I changed my picture back to Clive Owen and all was right in my world again.

And then two days later I went to lunch and did not lock my computer (yes, I know) and I came back to this:

Har dee har har! This picture was meant to be a joke but my super fabulous, not-at-all rowdy co-workers played right into my grubby little paws. Little do they know that George Michael and I are soul mates and that one day he will realize it and ditch the boy toys and come my way. I have always had a thing for him and yes, when I was 13, I wallpapered the ceiling and walls of my bedroom with pictures of him ripped out of Tiger Beat that I made my Daddy buy for me. There might have been an incident, also when I was 13, where in an effort to prove him wrong and prevent my heart from shattering into a million pieces, I punched a guy who called him gay. And that guy had a pencil sticking out of his pocket and I whacked my knuckle against it, breaking the lead off into my skin which then left me with a permanent tattoo to forever remind me of my love for George. See, soul mates! Ha! Ha! That man is mine.

Photo credits, as best I know how:

Yummy Clive – go here

Hall and Oates # 1 – go here

Hall and Oates #2 – go here

My future lovair, George – go here

My Glorious Weekend – Past and Future

31 Mar 2011 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in I'm Going Somewhere

Next weekend one of my girlfriends and I will go to the beach. The weather in Nashville has been gloomy at best over the last couple of months and we regularly lament that fact while we are working. Our email exchanges look something like this:

Jimmie: I want to be on a beach. This weather is killing me.

Freddie: Yep, me too. I’m dying.

Jimmie: The sun . . .

Freddie: Why aren’t we there now?

Jimmie: Because we are dumbasses.

It took us a couple of weeks before we had our light bulb moment and had the following exchange:

Jimmie: I want to be on a beach. This weather is killing me.

Freddie: Yep, me too. I’m dying.

Jimmie: The sun . . .

Freddie: Why aren’t we there now?

Jimmie: Because we are dumbasses.

Freddie: We could change that you know . . . (a ha!)

In a furious flurry of internet searching we found flights and a studio bedroom-type condo and had it all booked, before our minds or checkbooks caught up with us. It was only then, when all of the non-refundable stuff had been booked, that I remembered to ask for the time off work.

This occurred about a month ago, and needless to say, every weekend leading up to the beach weekend has paled in comparison to the forthcoming glorious 3 days on the sandy beaches with girlie drinks and sun and bathing suits and shorts. And sunscreen, because I am careful. I have roasted myself like a pig on a spit more times than I care to admit with the end result being a body literally covered in freckles and a hyper-sensitivity to some sort of skin cancer, I am sure. Have you ever seen the cartoon of the pig lying on a beach towel next to a strip of crispy bacon, also on a beach towel? The pig says, “I told you to use sunscreen . . . “ Yep, that’s me.

I’ve wanted to pack my suitcase since the day we booked the trip. I’ve had an abnormal number of houseguests lately, though, and feared that they would make fun of me for packing for a trip a month in advance. Plus, Murphy and Seamus fight over which one gets to actually wallow in the suitcase full of my stuff and the resulting scuffles usually end with me having to lint-roll my underwear, my shorts, the liner of my suitcase and finding a random cat claw in the padding of my push up bra.

So this weekend was the final free time before we take off into the wild blue yonder, also known as “Jacksonville” via “Southwest Airlines”. I was lazy this weekend for the most part which makes me feel bad but not bad enough to do anything about it. And sometimes, my laziness can also lead to my sadness. I hate that. I try not to do that to myself but sometimes misery calls. I don’t pretend to understand it but I do sometimes succumb to it.

After rolling around in the misery for a while, I thought to myself, “Self, screw this.” So I got up and started cleaning. Always a tonic. And then I took a shower, which was beneficial for everyone. Even the cats had started to eyeball me with disdain. This from the animals who puke on my carpet and then come back later to inspect it and see if it is worthy of an afternoon snack. I had plans to go out for a friend’s birthday but I couldn’t be arsed. I didn’t want to get all gussied up and make nice and pretend like everything was grand when I really wanted to face-plant in my margarita and have myself a good cry. Nothing kills a festive mood like someone crying into their drink with salt crumbs flaking off their cheeks at every wail. So I cancelled and then headed out for some dinner where I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone or be festive.

As I was backing out of my driveway, I almost ran over one of my neighbors out walking his dog. He’s a nice guy, we’ve chatted a few times. I don’t know him well but I do know that he is dedicated to his dog so he can’t be all bad. I stopped to say hi and said, “Well, aren’t we a couple of losers staying in on a Saturday night . . . .” We both wheezed at this and then to my complete surprise, I said, “Want to go to a movie, maybe?”

Maybe to the surprise of both of us, he agreed. Still, I had taken a shower so I couldn’t have been terrible.

So I got out of my car and we chatted and made plans and I said, “I’m not changing clothes. I’m going like this.” And this was: sweatpants, a hoodie (only the greatest invention of all time and I have far too many of them), giant pirate hoop earrings and pigtails. He looked me over and said, “Okey.” And I assured him I would come back to pick him up and then zoomed off to have dinner alone where I could regroup and ask myself what the hell I just did.

Later, dog-neighbor came over and we piled up in my car and took off for the movies. I told him, “When you tell your friends about this, feel free to make up whatever you like about me. I don’t mind if you make me younger and hotter and more likely to feel you up in the movies. It won’t happen, but just know that I will support whatever story you want to tell your friends.” I believe at this point he started to rethink his decision to say yes to my invite. But he gamely stayed in the car, even at the red lights. We went to the movie and laughed. We talked about all kinds of stuff, mostly fluff and nothing too deep, much to the enjoyment of the other movie-goers. Apparently the novelty of a night out with an almost stranger did not lend itself to Inside Voices for us. So now all 7 people in the theater can speak with authority about our lunch habits and our current living arrangements and the last movie we saw in a theater.

And now an apology and an explanation: Yes, I realize that I ditched very good friends for someone that I barely know. I know how bad that sounds. I traded dinner and drinks in a swanky place for dinner alone and a couple of hours in a dark movie theater with an almost stranger where, if I face-planted in my popcorn and cried, no one would know except an almost stranger. You can yell at me later. It wasn’t my intention to do that but if you have ever been in a funk, you can relate. And I promise to make it up to my friends. They know I’m good for it. Because they know I will wear my best push up bra to their band performance and throw granny panties onto the stage, Tom Jones style, and generally be charming because I care about these people. I want to give them my best. And hopefully that makes it all better. Felix, I am sorry for missing your birthday party. Truly.

Plus, Freddie and I are going to the beach where I can buy presents and take pictures of hot people in their Speedos (as if) and bikinis and send awesome postcards to friends back home to rub their noses in it as gifts.

BTW, Seamus was the winner!

Good Stuff

27 Mar 2011 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Uncategorized

Several really good things happened to me on Wednesday. I want to focus on those – that is what this is about. We can find good in lots of things if we just look for it and honestly, I didn’t have to look hard for them.

I’ll go in reverse order, mostly because I want to get it all down and the last thing is the shortest thing. I’ll get long winded later on.

Third of all, I bought my house about 18 months ago and was lucky enough to get one that didn’t need much fixing-upping. The woman who lived there before me had decorating tastes similar to mine and with the exception of the putrid red shiny wall, I didn’t have to change a thing. The house came complete with a pretty little tree in the front yard. A crab apple tree. Which really, why a crab apple tree? What purpose does the crab apple serve anyway? I suppose a quick Google search might teach me something but right now I’m too lazy for that. But the tree is pretty in the spring and for that I’m grateful.

Monday I noticed a lot of tiny red buds on the tree. And on Wednesday all of those buds had fully blossomed. It was gorgeous! Very pink and some green – very flowery.

While it is a beautiful tree, it has its flaws that thrill my neighbor as much as they thrill me. All of those blossoms on that tree mean that the crab apples are coming. It also means that those thousands of crab apples will rot and fall off and produce a shit ton of tiny little crab apple sprouts in his yard and in mine which have to be mowed down regularly so as not to have a forest of crab apple trees overtaking our postage stamp yards. I suppose I could pick the apples out of our yards before that happens but again, I seem to be too lazy for that. Actually, only as I was writing this did it occur to me that I should do that. Maybe I should take lessons on being a good neighbor.

Upon reflection, though, I would call us pretty laid back neighbors. Our introduction went like this, a day after I moved in:

<ding dong> (this is my doorbell for those of you wondering)

Jimmie: Hi!

Neighbor: Hey, I’m Luke. I’m your neighbor. We have moles.

Jimmie: I . . . okay . . . . well, should we, ah, do something about that?

Neighbor: No, I took care of it. I just wanted to tell you.

Jimmie: Want me to go halfsies on that?

Neighbor: No, I got it. Okay, nice to meetcha. See ya around.

And then a year and a half later, he finally came over when I invited him for dinner to hang out with me and my friends. That didn’t take long.

Secondly, I drove home in a monsoon. The sky was a bit cloudy when I pulled out of the parking garage and before I had driven a mile the bottom dropped out. The raindrops were so hard and heavy that it sounded like I was being pounded with giant rocks inside my car. That is called “hail”. I only realized how loud it was when I decided to call Phranke to chat on my way home. I spent most of that conversation yelling about my day and not hearing a word she said in return. I’m sure she had a good day, though.

It was difficult to see for much of my drive home but when I got off my exit, the skies cleared enough for me to see a huge rainbow! I love the hopefulness of the rainbow. I love how each color fades into the other and how perfect those colors look together. I always heave the biggest sigh of pleasure when I see one. Had I had a camera and a view not obstructed by power lines and not been driving (because I would never do something to distract myself from my driving, like yell on a cell phone to Phranke), I would have snapped a picture and posted it here. But I can draw one for you, so you know what it looked like. See?

And firstly, I got into a scuffle with Louis, our security guard at my building at work. Louis is an adorable older gentleman who wears a coat and tie every day as part of his uniform. I call him a tiny thing which infuriates him. His neck is the approximate width of a toothpick and the collar of his shirt is most likely the smallest size he can get and still wear adult clothing. When he ties his tie, it pleats up the collar of his shirt like a plastic grocery bag and the flaps of the collar overlap. He looks handsome in his uniform and I have a sneaky feeling he uses it as a medium to drive his lady-friend wild. He sits on the first floor of our building and speaks to those he likes while ignoring those he doesn’t as we all come in and out for the day. He is perfectly pleasant at all times, though. I can tell when he is in a mood because those days he just grunts and waves. I know better than to be chatty with him those days.

A couple of weeks ago he asked another co-worker for a ride to the bank. It is only a couple of blocks away but he struggles with the hills and the traffic. Downtown Nashville is no place to play. She didn’t have her vehicle that day and couldn’t drive him but asked if I could. Of course! So when we went down to get him, he offered to pay me for the ride.

“The bank is three blocks away. No way. I’ll just drive you,” I say.

And he says, “Jimmie, no now. I’m going to give you some money.” And he is stern and I can tell he will be offended if I don’t take the money. So we depart for the bank, drop him off, circle the block and pick him up again. He gives us each a sucker and gives me $6.00. For a three-block drive. We had Words. I told him it was too much but he insisted.

Wednesday he asked if he could get another ride. “Of course,” I said. And off we go. And when I circle around and pick him up, he hands me a $10.00 bill. Ridiculous. I try to say no and he is affronted. We argue. He tells me that I cannot tell him what to do and that he is older than me and that I need to respect him. This argument has worked for me when I want to get my way, usually with my younger sisters. So I take the money because while I am happy to drive him, he is happy to give me the money. And I honestly believe it is important for him to pay me.

The joke is on him, though, because on Monday I am buying ice cream for the three of us and paying for it with his tenner. This just makes me want to hug his skinny little neck but I’m not sure which of us would be the most embarrassed about that.