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: ,

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?   

Lessons Learned In Job Hunting! Also, I’m Too Sexy For Work!

31 May 2012 8 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Imparting Wisdom Tags: ,

Let me begin by saying, I do not have permanent employment.  I am at the same temp job I wrote about with the yummy soap. Apparently I confused people, but I had a story . . . .

Guess what? I got a job!  There’s one small catch, though.  It hasn’t started yet.  I got this job on my very first interview, probably two weeks after I lost my job with Boss. I took the drug test and signed my rights over for a background check.  And then I waited.  Waited, waited, waited.  I eventually came to the conclusion that this job would not happen, mostly because they said, “It won’t happen.”  I peed in a cup (among other places – why is it so freaking hard for women to do that?) for nothing.  I did learn a lesson, though.  Talk is cheap.  Words mean nothing and until your butt is parked in a permanent chair and business cards have been ordered, don’t believe a word anyone says.     

This lesson also applies to the company who says, “We will be making a decision in two weeks.  We have to move quickly on this.”  Yeah, right.  I’ve been waiting five weeks and despite my friendly phone calls, have received not even a fare thee well, not a no nor a yes.  (Also, it should be noted that this applies to the temp job that was supposed to only last four days, although in this case I’m very thankful.  I’ve been there over a month now. Every week we have the same conversation – “Can you come in next week as well? Yes?  Good. See you Monday.”  What a Godsend.)

Want to know some other lessons I’ve learned?

Not everyone gets my fabulousness.  I know, it’s shocking.  I can’t believe it either. Probably it doesn’t help that I inflate my ego every time I write a cover letter for a position (which I have done more than 60 times now) to submit with my resume.  I get all big-headed talking about what an asset I will be to XYZ Company, but when XYZ Company rejects me after I’ve spent seven hours of my time interviewing with them, taking four proficiency tests (in which I did very well), taking two email tests (again, did very well), critiquing my own cover letter and thank you note (fantastic, once again) and being assured that I was the strongest candidate (by two different people), I get knocked down a peg or two.

Another lesson from that one?  I am not particularly fond of rejection, no matter how nicely worded it is. I reckon I needed a comeuppance.  I sure got it.  No worries about my carrying around a big-ass balloon for a head.  Crushing.

Something else I’ve learned is that taking the Microsoft Office Suite proficiency tests over and over again will increase your scores.  I’ve taken them three times already.  I would have taken them five times except two staffing agencies just “simply forgot” to send them to me.  They “simply forgot” three times – I’m not entirely sure how that happens, particularly when they say to me as we are on the phone that they are “sending them as we speak, right this very minute!”  Anyway, I’m quite good at the test-taking and apparently I can type like mad, although I thought the days of having to prove it were long behind me. 

A final lesson, and this one is very important.  Yesterday, I visited with another staffing agency.  Again, I took all the tests, had high scores on all of them, got glowing reviews of my resume over the phone with my agent, and made the appointment to meet in person.  We discussed my qualifications and my goals for new work and then had the following conversation:

Agent:  “So, a question.  Do you normally dress like that?” she asked as she waved her hand in the general direction of the very nice dress I had worn.

Jimmie: “Yes.  Is it not alright?”

Agent:  “Well, you did work for the same man for a long time so I assume you just got comfortable in your wardrobe? We will need to dress you for interviews.”

Jimmie:  “Sure, okay.  Not a problem for me to wear a black suit.”

Agent: “Do you have pearls?”

Jimmie: “No.”

Agent: “We really prefer pearls.” <big sigh> “I suppose the necklace you have on is fine.”

Jimmie: <silence> <Okay, the silence is only on the outside.  Inside I’m screaming WTF and wondering what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is wrong with my very tasteful necklace that I bought at Tiffany as a present to myself when I reached a weight loss goal. I had no idea that my being an ex-sorority girl was only helpful if I had pearls to go with that title.  But, whatever.>

Agent: “Does your hair always look like that?” she asked, again with the hand wave in a circular motion near my head.

Jimmie: “No, not always.  Why?”

Agent: “It’s too sexy.”

I repeat:  My hair is too sexy.  I wheezed with mirth until I realized that she was serious.  And with that, I think it’s best if I just stop right there and not mention anything else she said about my sexy, sexy hair.  There was more, honestly.  But I will say this:  I thought the 40s were supposed to be my sexy years, not the 39s.  I was aghast as I hadn’t even touched my hair with a backcomb nor had I fluffed it unnecessarily.  I think in some way I was strangely thrilled that someone found my hair too sexy but I’m not sure how I can equate that with something positive just yet. 

I do take some comfort that she found my makeup “acceptable.” 

Lesson learned from that experience:  Jimmie is too sexy for work! Who knew?  I sure didn’t, although this would have been helpful to know ages ago.  It would explain an awful lot.

I will leave you with one final lesson, really more a plea for someone out there.  Someone really, really needs to invent a method for women to successfully pee in a cup.  I won’t go into the details about how your hand gets more liquid than the cup and how disgusting that is, but I can pretty much assure you that if you succeed in this endeavor, you will be an instant billionaire.  And when you have your celebratory big-ass party, I will bring my big sexy-ass hair to celebrate with you.  Because we could all use a little more sexy. 

 

Birthday Wishes

17 May 2012 4 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Freddie – I’m gonna need a cake from you

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

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

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

Martie – I’m gonna need a cake from you

Coach – please fix my broken toilet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kindle – lunch, just you and me and possibly Phranke

Lynnette – a pedicure day

Jane – a pedicure day

Woney – a training session or five with you and Tony

Jonquil – a card with a rainbow on it

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

The Power Of Smell

06 May 2012 2 Comments

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

When I was a kid, I had a slight obsession with Band-Aids, the name brand kind.  I loved them just so, so much.  To really date myself, I’ll tell you that there was no such thing as a Hello Kitty bandage or a Princess pack with assorted colors and sizes. We had plain Band-Aids, or if we really wanted to get fancy, we could sometimes splurge and get the clear ones so that they were less noticeable.  Personally, I always thought that was a dumb idea, because every little kid knows that half the point of the Band-Aid is to show it off so that someone will ask what happened and you get to tell your whole saga about how you fell off your bike and destroyed your knees. 

I won’t lie and tell you that I was different that other kids, that I was really very noble about my Band-Aid wearing, that I only wore them when really necessary and shied away from telling my tale of woe about my skinned knees.  I will tell you, however, that my fascination with the Band-Aid had less to do with the attention I got from wearing it and far more to do with how it smelled.  I have always urgently loved the way a Band-Aid smells.  Isn’t that strange?  Once Madre bought a new box of bandages and put them away in the linen closet.  Just scant minutes after she closed the closet door, the horrible realization dawned on her that she had NOT PUT THEM ON THE HIGH SHELF!  Oh noes!  She bolted down the hallway in a panic, and just as she suspected, found me on the floor of the closet methodically opening and sticking every single Band-Aid to myself.  I had sniffed them out, see, and very much wanted to smell like my favorite product.  Loved them.

Other smells often cause the same intense reaction in me now.  I have a favorite shampoo that I spend an exorbitant amount of money on regularly.  It does fabulous things to my hair, making it all big and poufy, but honestly it would not matter to me if it made my hair look like rats had been sucking on it.  It makes my hair smell gorgeous and for that reason alone, I will subsist on ramen noodles for a week or two in order to be able to afford it. Other scents I love include: cocoa butter, popcorn, sausage biscuits (but never want to eat them), Felix, clean cats, New Balance running shoes, Jonquil’s pressed powder, bread at Subway, Clorox when it’s in the running washing machine, lemon stuff, suntan lotion, honeysuckle, horses, Armani’s Aqua di Gio and Warm Vanilla Sugar lotion from Bath and Body Works.

On the other end of the spectrum, Yankee Candle stores make me want to barf, literally.  The smells in that store cause me such violent headaches that even moving my eyes will send my stomach into roils of nausea.  And just let some guy walk by me who has bathed in his old man cologne.  Gak, I’m done for the day when that happens.  I cannot stand it.  Other scents I hate include: Febreeze in any flavor, old lady perfume, coffee brewing (smells like burnt tuna), Clorox when it isn’t in a running washing machine (smells like wet dog), tanning beds, coconut stuff, stargazer lillies (oof, another raging headache), and every flavor of lotion (aside from the Warm Vanilla Sugar) at Bath and Body Works. 

Are you wondering what the point of the story is?  Here goes.  I have a temporary job for a week or two.  I’m very thankful for it as it pays better than unemployment and gets me out of the house and into a routine every day.  The people there are very nice and the work, while slightly boring, is stuff at which I excel.  I like it.  But the part that I really love about it, the part where I scored big is that it’s in a hospital.  And hospitals have a particular soap they favor.  And that soap, I’ll have you know, is hands down one of my favorite smells of all time, right up there with the Band-Aids and my ridiculously priced shampoo.   I am such a lucky, lucky girl.  BEST. JOB. EVER.  (nearly)

 

 

Life Unemployed, By Jimmie

02 May 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Unemployed Tags: ,

It’s time for an update.  So many people have checked on me, sent me job openings, called with kind words, prayed for me, laid hands on me. I have gotten an edible arrangement, cards, kitty litter, tickets to a band competition, lunches, and more hugs than I ever dreamed possible.   I am overwhelmed by the love and support that I have received and I thank you, every one, for what you have done for me. 

I’m done with the crying now.  No more of that.  My eyes are puffy enough on their own.   Now I’m hopeful and looking forward to good things.   I’m still transitioning but now it’s transitioning with hope and not tears. 

I try hard not to worry.  Most of the time I succeed.  I do find that I am inordinately concerned with running out of toilet paper, so much so that I use public restrooms excessively before leaving any place of business.  I have no idea why I focus on that.  However, I don’t really worry about running low on food.  See, I cleaned out my freezer once the layoff happened and found all kinds of surprises in there. I eat it, sometimes without knowing exactly what it is.  I find it best to not question it, and since I haven’t died from food poisoning yet, I consider that a blessing.

I’ve been doing some work with the senior center where I volunteer.  Obviously I like the people and I have to say I like the work.  I don’t just do the Supper Club anymore.   Now I’m a kitchen manager for the theater there and an office assistant for the center.    I’m on my feet a lot and for someone who spent 40 hours a week sitting and talking on the phone while searching for the best travel arrangements, it’s quite painful. My toes are suffering.  I need regular pedicures now so it’s especially important that I find a job soon.  As kitchen manager for the theater, I cook for the audience.  I cook a lot, sometimes for upwards of 150 people.  Fortunately for me, it’s the same meal for every show so it isn’t difficult.  Unfortunately for me, it’s the same meal for every show.  I feed myself and others after every night in the kitchen but after eight days of the BBQ menu, we all are sick of it.  If anyone asks me to go out for some BBQ in the near future, you are guaranteed a fork-stick in the neck.  I’m not kidding.

Some other items of note:  I was on my Greenway the first week I was unemployed, and I was slightly panicky about getting to the center to conduct my job search.  I was rushing to the end of the path and suddenly I got a message: Slow down.  I was a little stunned at first, because I’m not entirely sure I know what that means.  Slow down?  I’ve always got somewhere to be, somewhere to rush to, and it threw me for a loop when I realized that I no longer have anywhere to go. It almost made me cry (and really, in the beginning that was no difficult task), but then I took the message to heart.  I’ve read some books I’ve been putting off.  I took some naps that I never had time for.  I stop and smell the flowers (or the honeysuckle, as it were).

I’ve also met some new people because I go to the gym later in the day.  Let me tell you about Cathy, bless her heart.  I’ve met Cathy twice, and I really mean I’ve met her twice.  I don’t think Cathy has a lot of short term memory because every time I see her, I get the same conversation.  It’s like I’m brand new. 

Cathy:  “Hi, I’m Cathy.  Want to see my baby doll?” She’s at least 60, by the way.

Jimmie:  “Sure.”

Cathy:  “We worked out today.  I love my baby doll.” Here she opens her purse and I see a little black boy baby doll wearing a baby doll three-piece suit crammed down in the bottom of it. 

Jimmie:  “Well, he’s awfully cute.” 

Cathy:  “Look at my shirt.  Isn’t  it pretty?  I bought it at the Goodwill.  It was seven dollars.  It fits me good.  I lost seven pounds.  My doctor says I don’t need to have this belly, I’m too small for this belly, but I worked out today.  With my baby doll.”  And she brandishes her purse with the doll again.

Jimmie:  “Okay, Cathy, nice to meet you.” 

Cathy:  “Nice to meet you.  I love you, Jimmie.”

Seriously, she tells me she loves me every time.

Ah, so yeah.  I’m going to be alright.  I’m not yet sure what will happen for me or how the timing will work, but I’m confident that something really fantastic is going to come along and I will be thrilled.  You know how I know?  Because I’ve been so worried about my toilet paper consumption, ridiculously so, and Phranke brought me some, totally of her own volition without me mentioning a peep about it.  Little things like that keep happening to me.  That tells me that God is going to take care of me and that really is the best feeling of all.

Still, though, if you hear of any great jobs that I might be perfect for (and I totally will be), send them over.  I’m a “Master Application Completer” now.  I should put that on my resume.   

I Have A Bone To Pick With You, Tony

12 Apr 2012 Leave a comment

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

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

Dear Tony. 

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

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

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

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

Your favorite,

Jimmie

 

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

Words of Wisdom, by Jimmie

19 Mar 2012 1 Comment

by Love, Jimmie in Imparting Wisdom, Outings Tags:

If someone offers you kim chee, say no.  They might tell you it is delicious.  They are delusional.  Pickled, fermented, rotting cabbage ≠ yummy.    

If someone offers you a sample of maple bacon ice cream, say yes.  You won’t be saying yes because it is tasty.   You will be saying yes because it is terrible.  Why, you ask, do you recommend maple bacon ice cream when you think it is disgusting?  Because, I respond, after tasting maple bacon ice cream and realizing that it tastes like a cockroach threw up in your mouth, you instantly realize that the only way to get the taste out of your mouth is to purchase and enjoy a whole cone of red velvet cake ice cream.    Because you will eat the entire cone of red velvet cake ice cream in an effort to rid yourself of essence of cockroach, you will feel no guilt at all and only relief that the awful taste no longer lingers.  You’re welcome.

If someone offers you a free hockey ticket (Nashville Predators, woo!) which includes a pass into the all you can eat buffet and really sweet seats, say yes, even if it is raining outside.  I know I’ve explained to you that I don’t really “get” hockey but it doesn’t mean I don’t like to go to a game on occasion.  It’s quite exciting really.  If you can ignore the men (rabid fans, woo!) who sit directly behind you, you know, those men that give their expert and loud opinion on every single play of the game and also those men that teach you new curse words that you never dreamed existed, you will have a fabulous time.  The music (John Denver, woo!) is fantastic.  The mascot (Gnash, woo!) is rowdy. The fans (bunch of strangers, woo!) are devoted, so devoted that they paint their beer bellies with their favorite player’s number (Jordin TooToo, woo!) and will show you those bellies if you cheer loud enough for them.  Brave, brave men.  Good hockey players (Ryan Suter, woo!) make the game look easy.   It is a joy to watch and by the end of a game, you might just “get” hockey a little better. 

Men, if someone offers you a pair of skinny jeans and exclaims that they will look awesome on you, say no.  They are lying to you. 

If someone offers you a volunteer position driving a gaggle of senior citizens in a big van to dinner once a month, say yes.  You guys, I love these people so much. This month we went to the Omni Hut which is a kitschy place that serves Polynesian food.  The wait staff dresses in muumuus and Hawaiian shirts, the menu relies heavily on pineapple and teriyaki sauce, and all décor is enhanced by black lights so that everything takes on a nice neon glow.  My group has been waiting for this trip for months so I was a little surprised that for the first time since I took this position, I suffered from a few moments of embarrassment when each person at the table had an issue of some sort: 

  • “No spices of any kind on my chicken, please, no not even salt.  Especially not pepper.  I like my food plain.  Really, really plain.”
  • “This coffee tastes terrible – I can make better at home.”
  • “What is this?  Fried rice? Are you sure? I’ve never seen fried rice like this in my life.”
  • “I just killed a cockroach.  I know you can’t see it but it was here.  Okay, yes it was small but it was here, right here on the bread plate.  Would you like some bread?”  (Editor’s note:  There was no cockroach.  There was only a drama queen who was suffering from lack of attention, bless her heart.) 

I had new guy this time.  His name is Mark and he is from the Ukraine.  It was 70-something degrees outside and Mark came to dinner in a button-down collared shirt, a sweater, a jacket and a jaunty beret.  He was, in short, adorable.  After dinner, we shuffled out to the van and had a small scuffle over who would ride in the front with me.  There was a small mishap with some of the leftovers which left a pungent odor in the van. The woman who was unhappy about the cockroach was disgruntled all the way home, a 25 minute drive.  But as the seniors filed off the van, Mark adjusted his beret and said in his heavy accent, “Thank you, Jimmie.  I had a nice time.”  And he gave me a hug.  First time I’ve gotten a hug from one of my seniors.  It made the horror of the kim chee taste test fly right out of my brain.   

Heartburn

06 Mar 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Family, Health, Imparting Wisdom Tags: ,

That title is not a euphemism for a romance gone awry.  Nothing that complex here. This post really is about heartburn and since it’s the only thing of note I have experienced lately, this is what you get. For those of you who have gently reminded me that I have not written anything since Feb 20th (and I luff you guys for it), you are welcome.  We now all get to hear about my stomach.

To begin, I’d like to present a list of things that cause Martie heartburn:

  • Little Caesar’s pizza
  • Beans
  • Krystal’s
  • Do-si-dos and milk
  • Mexican food
  • Chinese food
  • Olive Garden
  • Alcohol
  • Grandma’s spaghetti
  • Meatloaf

As you can see, Martie suffers from heartburn a lot.  Because she suffers from heartburn a lot, she generally has a nice supply of antacids stashed at every home she regularly visits (much like me and my toothbrushes – I have one at every house I regularly spend the night in).  My house is no different which is lucky for me.  See, recently I found myself in need of an antacid or two which is really weird because my list of things that cause me heartburn is as follows:

  • Bananas

I have eaten no bananas so I’ve been a little concerned about my new condition.  Maybe I have some underlying stress that I’m not fully cognizant of or maybe there has been some profound hormonal shift in my body, but whatever it is, I’m now a proud sufferer of heartburn.  (An FYI – the first person that suggests to me that my excess acid production is a symptom of getting old gets a box in the kisser.) I’ve raided Martie’s stash these last few days which has helped tremendously but I remain puzzled.

Used to I suffered from heartburn all the time.  I spent lots of days feeling burny and uncomfortable, and I took lots of over the counter remedies for it.  My list of heartburn causes back in those days consisted of:

  • Bananas
  • An unfortunate combination of 75 pounds of excess weight and an unwise choice in marriage partner

Eventually I ditched the weight, both 50 pounds of fat and 180 pounds of husband, and eventually all things seemed to regulate.  But before that, there were days of acidic agony that I just never seemed to conquer. 

One day in particular, I could feel the acid bubbling around in my stomach.  It felt black and lively, and I distinctly remember thinking “Oh, so this is what hydrochloric acid feels like as it eats through your stomach walls.”  I was miserable.  We had no money and I had no remedy.  I tried milk, water, everything.  You know what I remembered, though?  I remembered that Poppa had a home remedy for acid indigestion.  I’d seen him use it a thousand times and it always seemed to work.  See, Poppa’s list of thing that causes him heartburn includes:

  • Everything

Poor man.  He’s always got something rumbling away in his tummy and when you find yourself awake in the middle of the night with no easy access to a store, you find what works in your house.  His remedy was to mix baking soda and water into a thin watery mixture and then suck it down.

Now baking soda is used for loads of things.  It makes cakes bake up nicely.  It whitens your teeth when you brush with it.  It cleans out funky smells in your refrigerator.  All of these things relate in some fashion to stuff that goes in your mouth but generally the taste is masked by sugar or minty toothpaste or something.  Drinking it mixed with water is  . . . . interesting.

Yep, interesting.  But let me tell you, that stuff works.  I mixed up a batch of Poppa’s home remedy and I swilled it down.  The absolute moment it hit my esophagus, I could feel it start working.  I felt it go all the way down into my stomach and I could feel it surrounding all that acid in there.  It was the strangest feeling, like the bubbles were racing to the top of the liquid and those bubbles were ANGRY.  It only took a few seconds for my baking soda to make its way all the way down to the bottom of my stomach and for me to feel like something big was going to happen and happen soon.

Suddenly, I burped.  That sounds so innocent and small.  Let me tell you, it wasn’t.  Not this burp.  It came up from the very depths of all my internal organs and made its way forcefully and urgently all the way through my body and out of me.  It literally felt like I had ingested an entire Coca Cola and shot the full acidic, bubbly can of liquid out my nose.  I thought my head flew off and was never more shocked in all my life to find it still intact when the belch ended.  My eyes were watering and my nose was running and my stomach . . . . well, my stomach was completely settled.  Nary a drop of acid left.  Not one.  It was amazing. 

So there, boys and girls, is my story about heartburn.  I hope you all enjoyed it immensely and learned something new today.  Clearly I am having some writer’s block issues but I’ll be back just as soon as those clear up.  Anyone got a home remedy for that?

 

Musings and Amusings, by Jimmie

20 Feb 2012 5 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends, Pets Tags: ,

It’s Monday.  It’s felt like Monday all dang day. 

Why is it that on the weekends I leap out of bed at the crack of daylight when by rights, I should be lounging around in the bed, sweet talking my pillows for hours?  I love my bed. We are very close.  Yet on the days when I can demonstrate how much I love it by spending quality time with it, I’m up moving around and giving it the cold shoulder as if it forgot my birthday or something.  And then on Monday mornings, when I don’t have time to demonstrate how much I love it (because I have class with Lynnette, y’all and she’s a demanding mistress), I cannot leave it.  I cannot tear myself away.  I give up friends (Lynnette and Jane and Body Pump and Spinning) for it.  I give up quality time with my razor (I should be spending time shaving my legs even though it is winter) so that I can cuddle up with my yummy duvet.  I give up my easy drive to work even though I know that the longer I lie around, the smaller the window I have of “good traffic drive time”.  Why is it so hard?

Eh, it’s a conundrum.  I should be wiser and all that now, now that I’m facing forty.  Unfortunately, the biggest change that comes with age, I’ve noticed, has nothing to do with wisdom but everything to do with the fact that now that I’m older, the longer I lie around being lazy, the puffier my eyes are.  Yay. 

For your Monday, which I hope was less blah than mine, I’ve included some pictures of things that made me laugh.  It will look like Christmas threw up in here, but trust me, these pictures are worth it. 

This here is my neighbor’s tree.  We had a big old windstorm come through a few weeks ago and I noticed his newspaper up in the tree afterwards.  He blames it on “those damn kids” in our neighborhood, but I disagree.  You see the newspaper way up there in the top?  It’s still up there and it’s been two months.

 

This here is a ceramic pig Phranke and I saw when we were out shopping one day.  It was just too cute to ignore.

 

Speaking of pigs, this here is the only Christmas decoration Madre has every year.  She has no tree. She has no wreath.  She has no bows or lights.  But you see how she put a hat and beard on that big old concrete pig?  That’s how Madre rolls, y’all.

 

And speaking of Christmas, will you believe that I took this picture just days ago? This here is my neighbor across the street and every night when I come home, it still looks like this.  Y’all, it’s nearly St. Patrick’s Day.  I am going to see how long they keep these lights blazing.

 

And speaking of holidays, I got a Valentine!  It was the only one I got this year, so I cherish it.  One guess who it’s from . . . .

 

If you were to guess Dammit Todd, you would be correct. 

And finally, this here is a lazy Sunday afternoon, where it seems that Murphy and Seamus have no issue spending quality time with my bed All Day Long. 

 

Lucky little varmints. 

Happy Belated Birthday, Kindle! Now With More Photos.

09 Feb 2012 2 Comments

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

Kindle had a birthday on Monday.  I wanted to write for her then but I had to be mad about my physical first, plus I had just written another birthday post and I was a little woozy from all that sugar so many days in a row. 

I work with Kindle.  She was a surprise, much like Freddie was, when I moved to a new company.  I had no idea a Kindle even existed but she’s turned out to be one of my greatest assets in the friend world.  When I went through a nasty breakup, she was there for me every day.  I would come to work with eyes that looked like two peas in snow, I was so puffy from the crying. The thing is, we didn’t know each other well because we were new to each other yet she would take one look at my wonky eyes and say, “You okay?  You need to talk? Want an ice pack?”  She’s very matter of fact and she won’t let me get away with crying for long.  It’s perfect. 

It also helps that on particularly bad days, she would send me this picture.   

So I give her this one in return for her birthday.  Happy Birthday, Kindle!  Meow!

Also, some of our other friends wrote guest posts for you. 

Kindle

 K is for the kindness she always offers

I is for indigo (I like purple)

N is for the nice things she does for everyone

D is for the dozens of people she makes smile every day

L is for the love she spreads

E is for everyone who is lucky enough to meet her. 

The first time I met Kindle she talked to me without hesitation.  She’s always been friendly, warm, and kind to me from the start.  It was no problem being friends with her instantly.  Have a wonderful burfday!!!! 

Hugs,

Spike (Editor’s note: totally new character.  You’ll hear more of her later.) 

I so enjoy working with my cubicle buddy back here in this black hole of an abyss that is known, only in select circles, as Transportation.  We have certainly had our share of trying to solve the world’s problems, and the company’s as well.  And thanks for being that occasional listening ear and YOU ARE WELCOME for the times you’ve needed me to do the same.  And I won’t even go into all the craziness about the “blonde one” they call Jimmie!  There’s not enough medication on this planet to correct “all” that is wrong there!  LOL.  

Hugs,

Felix

Kindle is a rock!  Regardless of what is going on in her life, she is a steady place that you can depend on.  Some days she’s the smack in the ass you need to get back on the playing field, and some days she’s just an ear to sound off to.  She’s the welcome break in the middle of the work day when she stops by my desk just to say hi and shoot the breeze for a minute.  And she never asks for anything in return. 

You all may remember the amazing blueberry cake that Jimmie made for my birthday last year.  It looked a lot like this…

 

But tasted amazing!  You may or may not know that Jimmie and I share a fondness for baking, and sometimes take turns baking our coworkers and good friends’ birthday cakes.  Kindle’s request this year was the amazing blueberry cake…the very same one that Jimmie made for my birthday last year that looked like this… 

 

Kindle, my gift to you is this: I will make the same cake that Jimmie made for my birthday, but I’m going to up the ante a little and whip the hell out of the frosting like Jimmie was supposed to do, so that instead of your cake looking like this…

 

Your cake will look like this…

 

Hugs,

Freddie

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