Humor | Love, Jimmie

The Story Of Mini: A Guest Post

12 Aug 2011 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Guest Post, Pets Tags: Humor, Pets

I really have so many things to write about and for various reasons they won’t seem to just come along already. Probably it is laziness and lack of discipline.

What will come easily is the story of Mini. That dog is hilarious. Potential Roomate is on a trip and I promised to take care of Mini like he would in his absence. That means coming home at lunchtime in order to let her outside as her bladder is about the size of a walnut. (Turns out walnuts can hold a decent amount of liquid as evidenced by the stain on my carpet left the day I didn’t make it home in time. Yay.) It also means snuggling with her at night and sharing my cherries with her. It means introducing her to the neighbors and letting her burrow under my blankets. She is a burrowing dog, my gosh.

After we established some ground rules for staying at Jimmie’s house, I had a chat with Mini and told her about this here blog. She said that since Murphy and Seamus got to write guest posts, she wanted to write one too. I let her. Turns out we share everything in this house. Food, (both dog and cat), my bed (with both the dog and cats), the bathroom affection in the middle of the night (both dog and cats) and my blog. Following is Mini’s essay.

Things that Excite Me! by Mini

Girl! She excites me! When she comes home!

(Editor’s Note: Mini spends a lot of time being excited when I arrive. Really, a lot. She expresses this excitement by running up and down the stairs and occasionally barking at me as she tries to climb my leg. Then she peals out for the front door and back to me, back to the door, back to me, at least 10 times before I can walk the five steps to the door and get it open to let her outside.)

Oh, licking! I love that! I like licking Girl when she talks, right in the mouth!

(Editor’s Note: Combine the dog kisses right in the mouth with the fur Murphy leaves on my lips when I talk and I know you want to make out with me, right?)

The Hose! I love the Hose! I want to destroy it! I don’t know why!

(Editor’s Note: Mini also spends a lot of time being excited about the hose and the water that comes out of it as I water my scraggly tomato plant which has given me exactly four oddly shaped tomatoes. She snaps at the water, getting it up her nose and in her ears which she later hurks up and scares the snot out of me. She sprints from the spigot to the plant over and over again until I finally turn off the water. At this point she takes the end of the hose in her mouth and drags it around the yard. This dog weighs maybe seven pounds. She cannot jump into my bed because at regulation-size, it is too tall for her. She does the scrabble, scrabble, scrabble to get enough traction to jump onto the couch. She struggles with the tiniest of tasks, yet she has defeated the hose. Oh, Victory, thy taste is sweet. And wet.)

My squeaky toys! When Girl comes home! I run up and down the stairs squeaking my toys!

(Editor’s Note: Pic below. That is all.)

Cats! I want them! All mine!

(Editor’s Note: Murphy and Mini have come to a truce. They no longer hiss and lunge and squeal and quiver. They do occasionally sniff the general area where the other has been and Mini is still a great fan of licking the carpet infused with his fur. They both have established a spot on my bed; however, those spots couldn’t be any further away from each other. Seamus regards her with . . . I don’t even want to say indifference because he likes to look at her. But he doesn’t seem to show any interest in his looking at her. It’s weird. Yet I can find him on the floor next to the bed every night just looking at her. Currently, as I edit this, I have all three animals on the bed with me. Mini is snoring stuffed up under a blanket. Murphy is wound up on a pillow on my stomach. And Seamus is lying next to me just being next to Murphy. He is vigilantly eyeballing me in case I decide to pet him in which case he will bolt under the bed. But he wants to be next to Murphy so he endures me.)

Car! I want to ride in it!

(Editor’s Note: I got nothing here.)

Aack!

Surprisingly, Seamus also had more to say. He is usually the quiet one so naturally I wanted to let him have a go at this again.

Guest Post by Seamus.

Hai.

I might like dogs. They have food and I can eat it.

The end.

In other completely unrelated miscellaneous odd news, Sammie (Nanny School? Remember Sammie?) has gotten some sort of ladybug infestation in her dorm room. This dorm houses about 8 or 9 other females and of all of them, Sammie is the only one with the ladybugs. Probably there is some perfectly logical explanation for this yet I am stumped as to what that could be. I should do some Google searching to see why she is the lucky beneficiary of the tiny red bugs, but you read above about laziness and lack of discipline, right? Anyway, Sammie has scored an interview with Very Important People. I hope it goes well for her. I choose to think that the ladybugs will bring her luck. I hope the position that she wants is the position that she gets and that the Very Important People treat her well and with respect and take her on lots of fancy vacations and give her extra spending money for those vacations and that at least one of those vacations is on the beach. And one is in Europe so she can have chocolate croissants for breakfast in the streets of Sienna and possibly make out with Italian boys named Luigi who are not gross. Good luck again, Sammie! You have worked hard and you will make an excellent nanny. I’m sending you a mixed tape soon, eighties-style. You’re welcome!

A List Of Presents Jimmie Has Recently Received

07 Aug 2011 4 Comments

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

Quan

Quan is back! Oh happy day! We get him for a minimum of six weeks, and I am thrilled.

I plan on making a calendar of all the men in my life and each of them gets a month. Quan gets June.

Stylish Hat

I got this awesome hat at Dick’s Last Resort plus the fetching bib. The people there, they are so nice. You should go.

Mini

I have a potential new roommate staying with me, sort of a trial period. That might be a present. It also might not. We need to see how well we get along. So far it’s been great. Anyway, he has a sweet little dog, Mini. Mini is fascinated with Murphy and Seamus and can often be found licking the carpet where their food falls or where they have been sitting or where their fur lands when it detaches itself. Seamus is indifferent to her – she is not food or Murphy or under the bed, he reasons, so why bother with the black quivery thing? Murphy is terrified of her and extremely jealous for my attention. He responds to her by eating her specially-made-for-Dachshund-dog-food and then hissing and lunging at her from under the bed. This in turn causes Mini to react in the most dramatic and flamboyant fashion with yelping and squealing and general quiveryness. You’d think she was dying. We repeat this process about 15 times per day.

Presents from Jonquil and Family

One night while Jonquil et al were here, I felt the desire to cook. I needed wine for the recipe and spent 20 minutes wrangling with my admittedly crappy corker before giving up all pretenses of being strong and classy and just handing it to Bubby. Both of us strained our backs with that stupid corker before we won that battle. It was worth it in the end as dinner was delicious, but still . . . . The day that Jonquil and Bubby left, they bought me presents and left them for me on my table. See?

A Mess, But a Funny One

(Argh! The picture did not turn out. I’ll update as soon as my camera battery charges. Sigh. I’m so organized.)

While I had a house full of people, there were a couple of instances of bathroom drama. It happens when you have six people and only two bathrooms. A nameless person was stuck in the upstairs one with no toilet paper so Jonquil’s youngest daughter fetched a new roll (also the last roll in the house) from the downstairs bathroom and threw it up the stairs. Unfortunately she’s 8 and not a softball player. Instead of the roll going forward up the stairs, it went backwards onto the ceiling shelf in my kitchen. I came home to a trail of tp hanging down my kitchen wall, giggling girls and an unnamed person still stuck in the bathroom waiting on toilet paper. Hahahaha! It’s always an adventure at my house!

Notes from Jonquil

Jonquil left me notes all over my house when she left. I’m still finding them. I love it!

Seamus

To me, this is the best present of all. A few nights ago I picked Seamus up for some snuggling. He hates it and will tolerate me for about 35 seconds before he’s squirming out of my arms. But this night, I picked him up and he just gave in. I’ve had the kitties for two years and for the first time ever with me, Seamus put his head on my shoulder for about two minutes and just purred.

And finally, a present for you

Here is a picture of Jimmie, doing what she does best.

Sigh . . . .

03 Aug 2011 2 Comments

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

Jonquil is here! They made it safely. She and I had a lengthy conversation about her trip to Nashville the day before she left, planning and directing and all that. She told me that her children, both girls, were fascinated by my anticipated Southern accent. They practiced it often to try to get it right before they arrived so that they could speak Jimmie style.

They were also fascinated by the thought of a single woman living in a house by herself. The concept was so foreign to them. In their world, single women who live alone are a rarity. I laughed and then Jonquil said, “Jimmie, I need you to be a role model for them, a positive picture of life as an independent woman. They will see this in you.”

I preened.

Last night I took them to a cute little Italian place for dinner. When Daddy-O was here, we took Pooh and Tigger there, so I knew that it would be a hit with children. I also knew it was a good place for the budget-conscious. See how I’m a good role model?

We were all being seated and as the last person to scoot into the booth, I stepped in front of the fan in my flirty little sundress. That fan whipped my skirt right up to my waist giving Bubby, Jonquil’s husband, a full CLOSE view of my undies with me in them. In front of his children. Oh goody.

You are welcome, Jonquil. My work here is done.

Introducing A New Character!

01 Aug 2011 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends Tags: Humor, Vacation

I have a lot going on this week. I’m pretty excited about it. One of the things that I love the most about this summer is that all of my vacations are people coming to see me! It makes me very happy because over the years I’ve learned that me going to see other people or taking a trip away from home often involves fishing of some sort, and I’ve gotta tell you, fishing is not my bag. So when the vacation is on me, no way are we going fishing. (I do have a story about how last weekend Daddy-O and JiJi were here, and how we spent two hours in the Bass Pro Shop but I’m not quite ready to relive that.)

Woney was here a few weeks ago. Daddy-O and JiJi were here last weekend. Woney is coming back with Nurse Bananahammock in September. And this week another friend of mine is coming to visit me. I’ve known her since college. We were basketball managers together, and thus, kindred spirits despite the fact that she mostly did it for the love of the game while I mostly did it for the love of the tall boy. Her name for blogging purposes is Jonquil. More on that later.

There are several reasons why I luff Jonquil.

She is the happiest person I know in the morning. That happiness carries over into most of the day. I appreciate this quality in her much more now that I’m in my 30’s than I did when I was in college. When you are 19 years old and awakened with a 6:00 am phone call in which Jonquil says “Good Morning, Have a Happy!” I can assure you that you will think Jonquil is a vicious, vicious cow and wonder why in the name of all that is holy you decided to be friends with her and give her your phone number. But as you mellow with age, as I have, and mature you will embrace that cheerfulness and strive to be more like her in your countenance.
She has a happy decorating style. The first time I visited her, she had decoupaged her garage door with about a million flowers she had cut from magazines. The last visit, she had painted her shutters a bright royal purple. I know she also painted creative murals on her laundry room walls because she reasoned that she spends a good chunk of her life there and might as well enjoy the view. Her husband says that she is the only person he knows who can make a home improvement and actually devalue the house.
Jonquil is the only person I know who can injure herself almost beyond all repair for no reason whatsoever. She told me the story once of how she was waiting for a bus and just kind of fell over, destroying her ankle in the process. She had a large reconstructive surgery and went through a big old medical mess and had nothing to blame for it like “clouds in the sky” or “rain” or “faulty bus driving”. Of course the fact that she gets hurt often is not grounds for laughter. But when she does something spectacularly awful to herself, she sends email updates like “Momentous news! My knee scab fell off today!”
She loves daffodils. How lucky is her husband? When he finds himself in the doghouse, he does not have to spend thousands of dollars to purchase a Cotton Candy Flamingo Flower or other such nonsense. Nope, he can just take a stroll into the yard and pick a bunch of happy yellow flowers and make his amends. (And now you see how I am clever with the names, no?)

Because I luff her and her family so much, I have prepared for their visit. I’ve cleaned out the litter boxes and lectured the kitties about good behavior. I’ve scrubbed the bathrooms. I bought snazzy new pillowcases for her children’s beds. I removed all lingerie items from the laundry room so as not to embarrass anyone (her husband). And I’ve made the upstairs bedroom nice and cozy for Jonquil and her husband.

I received an email from Jonquil expressing her excitement about our visit. She also explained that she really needs to get away as she has been suffering from a raging case of pink eye and also has what her doctor called an “Impressive Double Ear Infection.” Did you catch the part where I made the UPSTAIRS bedroom her room for the week? I’m certain that with her vision impaired and her balance all out of whack and her propensity for nearly destroying herself regularly, I made the best decision. I’m such a good person. Lord have mercy on her, I hope she lives through this vacation.

Amy Sue Love, This Is For You

27 Jul 2011 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends Tags: Humor

So I had a garden last year. Does that surprise you? It surprised me. But I like to think I have enough of Madre in me to grow stuff and not always kill everything so I tilled up a bunch of space and planted a bunch of rows of seeds. I tried for green beans, Brussels sprouts, tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, onions, okra and jalapenos. And dill, because I wanted to make pickles (Ha! Ha! Yeah, that was successful . . .).

Naturally, of all the things I planted, the thing that I didn’t love was of course the thing that grew well. I could pick 5 or 6 scraggly green beans to throw in a pot of soup, or one or two spindly-looking cucumbers of a week but those freaking jalapenos that I planted specifically for a person who was a large part of my life at the time grew like wildfire. Unfortunately, right before the jalapenos turned into a bumper crop, that person and I parted ways and I was left with hundreds of those damn peppers as a lovely, constant reminder of a failed relationship. Yay.

Still, I made new friends with those jalapenos. Jose took about 500 of them and made sauces and spices for his kitchen which indeed brought us closer together as he eventually traded me a washing machine for those peppers. I befriended Felix who liked to make salsa with them. I put them on the break room tables at work hoping people would take them home and out of my sight. They were taken, not as quickly as donuts were, but taken nonetheless. In the spicy-loving crowd, I was popular for the summer.

I also learned to make a few things with those jalapenos for my friends to enjoy. Just because I don’t eat them doesn’t mean that others won’t, I reasoned. All in all, it didn’t turn out so badly to have grown about a million peppers I would never eat. All things work for good and all that . . . .

Now, fast forward to last week. I have a co-worker, Rosita Wang, who has recently been uber-pregnant. It’s adorable because before she became with child she weighed about a buck o’ five and from day one, that baby had nowhere to go but out. Rosita Wang developed the cutest shelf which I often caught her using to hold her cup when she typed or as a table for writing memos to herself on post it notes. I thought it was great fun to say, “Rosita Wang, that outfit makes you look pregnant.” Anyway, last Friday she asked a few of us how to use the bag of jalapenos her neighbor had given her and naturally, I chimed in with my two cents. I sent a couple of recipes and we all discussed how to best use those spicy peppers in chili. On Saturday, Rosita Wang sent me a running commentary via text on her success with my jalapeno recipes – her husband and father-in-law were impressed with her jalapeno cooking prowess and everyone enjoyed the spy-sheee. The chili we all brainstormed on was a hit as well.

Until Sunday. Rosita Wang went into labor on Sunday, two and half weeks early. The baby, a boy, is healthy and fine as is Rosita Wang, so I don’t think the prematurity was harmful. However, I can’t help but feel slightly responsible for the birth of that baby. Maybe if she had laid off the spicy stuff, Baby Tater would have stayed put a couple more weeks. Instead, Baby Tater decided to come early and honestly, the more I think about it, the more I think Rosita Wang should thank me. I did her a huge favor, right? I made the baby stop pressing on her bladder and just come home already. Don’t y’all think I should get some credit here? Yeah, me too.

So, Amy Sue Love . . . . this here story was for you. I’m offering something here – if you get tired of hauling your own Baby Tater around on your bladder and writing memos to yourself on your baby shelf, you give me a holler. I’ll send you some recipes involving jalapenos and you can make them and eat them and have a baby 24 hours later. You’re welcome!

Congratulations Rosita and Mr. Wang! Baby Tater is beautiful!

This Weekend, I Went Drag

19 Jul 2011 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Outings Tags: Drag Races, Humor

Remember when I told you that I missed my family? And how I said I would nag the mess out of them until we all got together? Well, mission accomplished!

On Saturday a whole pile of us got together to hang out, eat, ride in canoes, eat, drink beers and wine, eat, shoot firecrackers, eat, listen to Martie sing, eat, and visit at Madre’s house. A good time was had by all.

On Saturday night, some of us wanted to continue the fun by going out on the town. You should remember that I grew up in a small town with other small towns around it. I told you about it. It’s where people hunt on every major winter holiday. It’s where my brothers tried to teach me how to gig frogs. It’s where I raised chickens when I was in the fourth grade. Obviously, I needed to look my best.

I was all dolled up in my swirly-skirted sundress, my gold wedge sandals with the giant flower at the toe, gold glittery eyeliner and some smell pretty. I was glamorous and girlie and my hair did something I wanted it to do despite the humidity and the heat. Then Madre and I hauled ourselves up into my cousin Axle’s truck because he offered to drive. This was a massive truck and even Madre, at 6’2”, had difficulty getting in it. I should have known that the good times, they were a’comin.

Axle, his wife Daisy, Madre and I rumbled off in Axle’s man-truck through our small town, through Amish country where we saw the young men getting ready to go out on dates with their hats and pipes and buggies, through the county until we got to the next small town. We turned left by the tee pee and left in front of the Amish bread store, paid ten dollars each, met other assorted family members and prepared to see the show of our lives.

I pranced in wearing my big old shoes and all my glitter, had a seat and listened to the opening prayer. I do not exaggerate here.

Heavenly Father, we’d like to thank You for Drag Racing.

We’d like to thank You for the sport of Drag Racing.

We’d like to thank You for Sportsmanship.

We thank You for the Brotherhood of Street Racers.

Thank You for saving us from our sins.

Amen.

We watched this show for hours. We breathed smoke and nitrous oxide. Brother Bear and his family loved every minute of it. Axle and Daisy enjoyed it immensely. If it weren’t for Axle, most of us would have been clueless about the majority of the cars we saw. That boy knows every car ever made, and can tell you the make, model and year if he just gets a glimpse of the headlight. Coach and Pooh and Tigger had been to this show before and knew what to expect. Tigger wore giant earmuffs, Pooh had ear plugs, and Coach bought snacks. And Martie . . . . Wow. Martie LIVED for this show. Every car that reared up off the ground at take off had her in raptures. Every blast of nitrous that shot out from the car gave her goose bumps. Every rumble of every engine made her sigh. And every car there was her dream car. Coach has his work cut out for him if he’s planning on buying her the Best. Anniversary. Present. Ever.

We finally left, far dirtier than when we arrived. My hair was limp and scraggly. My skirt no longer swirled. My pedicure was covered in dust and possibly a little grease. We rumbled off towards home in Axle’s man-truck. We turned right by the Amish bread store and right by the tee pee and hit the ruts left from the Amish buggies in the road. We all arrived home safely.

Later, I prayed my own prayer.

Heavenly Father, thank You for my family.

Thank You for the safe passages in all of our travels.

Thank You for the sharp razor that I can use to shave off this beard I grew from the testosterone overload I got at the Drag Races.

Thank You for the Old Spice I found in Poppa’s bathroom. For some reason, I really felt like smelling like Man today.

Thank You for saving me from my sins.

Amen.

(Special thanks to Coach for the title of this here post.)

Ode to Freddie

15 Jul 2011 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends Tags: Humor

This isn’t really an ode seeing as how it is not in verse format. But “Novella to Freddie” sounds stupid. And “Random Musings about Birthdays and Cake and Freddie”, while accurate, sounds lame.

First, a bit about Freddie. She was an unexpected surprise that came with my newest job. I had worked loosely with Freddie on an ongoing volunteer project for about three years. She was kind of on the fringe of it so when I changed jobs to come work at her firm, I didn’t really know what to expect of my new co-worker. She had always seemed nice but I guess I just didn’t expect to connect with her so well and so quickly. In short, she’s awesome. Let me tell you why.

She’s open and warm and funny and when I have a bad day, she puts pictures like this on my desktop:

When I am indignant that someone changes my desktop Clive Owen picture to a desktop Hall and Oates pictures, she changes the Hall and Oates picture to this when I go to the bathroom:

When we send emails that say “I’m in a funk” we know that “I’m in a funk” really means, “Today I hate people. Go away and know that I still luff you. And while you are at it, keep the annoying people away from me or I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

When I have a birthday she makes me a red velvet cake like this:

Isn’t it pretty? It looks so professional.

And now about birthdays and cake. Birthdays are special. I have a philosophy about them built over years of celebrating. On your birthday, you get your favorite cake. You get the meal of your choice. You get presents wrapped in birthday paper. And married people get uh . . . other stuff, stuff that we don’t talk about here.

Yesterday was Freddie’s birthday. She’s young. I made her a cake. I picked a new recipe for the icing titled “The Best Icing I’ve Ever Tasted” and the instructions included the directive to “beat the hell out of it.” Who in their right mind wouldn’t pick that one? That is just a recipe for awesome, right?

I’m telling you now, don’t pick that one. Sure, it tastes pretty good. Really good in fact. But beating the hell out of it to me means standing in the kitchen with a book in one hand, mixer in the other, mixing away for 10-15 minutes until your hand gets numb. In my world, that should be plenty. In the real world, it isn’t.

This is what happens when you don’t beat the hell out of it:

Happy Birthday, Freddie! I’m so happy you make pretty cakes. Wish I could do the same for you . . .

And randomly, I have two funnies for you.

An email exchange between Jimmie and Quan:

Quan: I would recommend you buy frozen peas instead of canned – much less sodium.

Jimmie: You are the second person this morning to suggest the frozen peas to me, which are actually my favorite. Hilarious!

Quan: Seamus will be much friendlier when he isn’t bloated.

And a conversation between Jimmie and her boss:

Boss: I need a band-aid. You don’t want to know why.

Jimmie: I-

Boss: You don’t want to know why.

The End.

Proposal

06 Jul 2011 4 Comments

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

Before I propose to you, let’s get the pleasantries out of the way. Happy Belated Fourth of July! I hope you all had safe and fun holiday weekends. I went on a road trip and have a post about my weekend in the lineup. Since I’m having trouble getting it to come together you get this one today.

I’ve noticed that a lot of you out there have a shortage of rain. Here in Nashville we often have more than we know what to do with, especially in the parts of town that I frequent. (See: Nashville Flooding 2010). I’ve been knocking this conundrum around in my head for some time now partly because every time I post (or whine) something about rain either here or on Facebook I get a reply from someone saying SEND. IT. HERE. And I always respond with something unhelpful along the lines of “What I wouldn’t give . . . .” But since I’m a genius, albeit a slow one, I’ve come up with the perfect solution. This here is what I propose:

I want you, the rain-needer, to invite me, the rain-bringer, to your city. I can almost guarantee that this will work. There are several scenarios in which we can do this.

Scenario One:

You determine that you need rain.
We book my tickets to fly to where you live. (I prefer interesting places if it’s all the same to you. I mean, I’ve been to Hohenwald. I don’t really want to go back.)
I arrive, rest a bit, see the city, take in some sights, eat some good food and do some shopping (because it can’t be all work, you see).
On the morning of the chosen monsoon day, I prepare for a half marathon-training long run. I will put my hair up in pigtails, lace up my running shoes and head out the door. Just so that God gets on the same page as us, I will holler down the driveway, “I’m heading out for five miles today!” And then I will go for the run. Guaranteed rain – The end.
Bonus rain points if we can time it just so I am at the furthest point away from the turning-around-to-go-home marker when the rain begins and I have to finish at least 2.5 miles running in it.

Scenario Two:

You determine that you need rain.
We book my tickets to fly to where you live. (I prefer interesting places if it’s all the same to you. I mean, I’ve been to Hohenwald. I don’t really want to go back.)
I begin preparations to see the city, take in some sights, eat some good food and do some shopping (because it can’t be all work, you see).
Preparations will include applying expensive treatments to my hair, using the curling iron that will scorch me raw in a split second if I accidentally hover it near my skin (ask me how I know this and why it looks like I sometimes have hickies on my neck) and then shellacking my perfect coif into an unmovable helmet with the toughest hairspray on the market. Just so that God gets on the same page as us, I will holler out your front door, “My hair looks marvelous. I’m so happy about that!” And then I will leave in a taxi. With no umbrella. Guaranteed rain – the end.
Bonus rain points if we can manage to make the man of my dreams appear at exactly the moment that my hair takes on the crunchy papier mache quality and plasters itself fetchingly to my skull.

Scenario Three:

You determine that you need rain.
I go on a road trip to your city. The crucial bit here is that it needs to be a trip in which I have to stay in a hotel room at least one night. (Ha! Ha! Hohenwald is too close for an overnight stay!)
Along the way, I will see the cities, take in some sights, eat some good food and do some shopping (because it can’t be all work, you see).
Timing and intent are critical for the next part. You must book a room for me that is entirely inappropriate for the journey meaning you book a single bed for two females who are not dating nor are they related. It must be the last room in the entire hotel. And there must be no roll-away beds available. Once you discover your mistake, you must then have the clerk send me to the wrong hotel for the second attempt to get the appropriate sort of room. Make sure that the second hotel only has a single bed with no roll-aways available for two females who are not dating nor are related. Only then can you have that clerk send me to the correct hotel with the correct sort of room which includes two beds for two females who are not dating nor are related. During all of this process I will make sure that God gets on the same page as us by hollering out the car window, “I’m so tired! I cannot wait to sleep in a bed all my own tonight and not have to share.” Guaranteed rain through every step of the outside process – the end.
Bonus points if we can manage to have me scurrying from the car to the hotel THREE TIMES in the rain clutching all of my overnight possessions in my grubby little paws with no plastic or anything to cover them.

I am certain that any and all of these situations will work to clear up your crusty grass issues. They work for me EVERY TIME. Call me. We can work out some payment arrangements. I look forward to hearing from you.

The Dating Game

30 Jun 2011 7 Comments

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

Apparently I struck a nerve. It appears that I am not the only person who is passionate about the height of the men I date. I post one little thing about a guy being too short, and receive more comments that I ever expected: here (although these were the nice ones), on Facebook and personally. It seems only flashing people at public swimming pools gets me more feedback but since I’ve already done that and already died a little, I don’t think I’ll venture down that road again.

I suppose it is time to talk about what makes me tick on a more personal level, on a dating level. I tell you about funny stuff that happens to me, and sometimes sad stuff. I tell you about people I luff. But it’s possible that telling you those things still don’t let you “get” me. Now I want you to “get” me. We all may be sorry.

To begin, I’m going to tell you that I’m no stranger to dating. I’m no stranger to marriage. I’ve done my fair share of the romantic relationship, sometimes to my detriment and sometimes to my joy. Secondly, and at the risk of sounding like a floozy (which I am not), I will tell you that I have dated an assorted cast of men. I’ve run the gamut from older to younger, stoner to business professional, intellectual to . . . not so intellectual. There is an entirely new story to tell within those parameters, but I’m thinking more of “book” than “blog post”. I will have a lot to say.

For now, I want to set the record straight. I have dated men shorter than me, for a significant amount of time even. I have given it a shot, let my guard down and given in. And I hated it. Despite the fact that most of those men were very nice and charming and whatever, I felt awkward and uncomfortable. While I am 39 now, surely an age where I’m mature and happy with who I am, I can still feel awkward and uncomfortable with the best of them with no help at all from a shorter boyfriend. I choose not to deliberately do that to myself.

Shorter-than-me is not indicative of non-hotness. I know this. Look at Lenny Kravitz – Meow! Michael J. Fox – adorable! Mark Wahlberg – yummy! Dammit Todd and Rickkster – I nod at you here. I give these men their due. I can look at these men on the big screen and drool with the best of them. But cuteness only goes so far for enticing me to want to make out with you. There are so many other qualities that you must possess before I take an interest, and so many things that can turn me right off of even the tallest man. Shall I share my list with you? Indeed, yes.

Before I begin, I should inform you that I’m an equal opportunity discriminator. I realize that there are millions of men who have millions of fabulous qualities that should counteract my stringent requirements. I’m not saying that these men don’t deserve a second look. I’m just telling you they won’t get one from me. I have every right to do this seeing as how I have been discriminated against more than once for my height, my weight, my dislike of certain recreational activities, my age, etc. You name it, I’ve been there. Plus (and not to beat a dead horse here) I’m 39. I have earned the right to be picky. Lord knows I should have been picky MANY times in my life but chose not to for whatever reason.

So on to my list. If you want to be my new bohunk, please read carefully.

If you don’t love God more than you love me, do not apply.

If you smoke anything at all, do not apply.

If your name is Gerald, do not apply. Wait, I’m not done here. If your name is any of the following: Phil, Herbert, Chauncy, Dwight, Melvin, Barry, Chuck (or any variation of Charles), Kenneth, Ralph, Larry, Moe, Richard, George, or Howard and/or you have an inmate number after your name, do not apply. Dwayne was on the list originally but then Dwayne Johnson got those big old arms and those pretty teeth and I had to remove it from the no fly list.

If you think watching NASCAR on television is a nice date, do not apply.

If you still live with your mother because “It’s awesome”, do not apply.

If you have unaddressed dental issues, do not apply.

Ah, a big one! If your feet are smaller than mine, do not apply.

If you think a comb over actually hides your bald spot, do not apply.

If you are currently attached to someone else romantically, do not apply.

If you think video games are “amazing!”, do not apply.

If you eat cloves of raw garlic daily in the name of good health, do not apply.

If you are an axe murderer, do not apply.

If you want me to birth children, do not apply.

If you are not old enough to rent a car, do not apply. Honestly, it is shocking how many young men are willing to embrace the Cougar phenomenon. Shocking.

Yes, I realize how picky I sound at this point . . . tough. It’s my list.

Lastly, and we have covered this, if you are my height or shorter than me, do not apply.

I think that is a tidy list. Please understand that I reserve the right to add to it as I see fit. I hope I have offended no one, but if I did what are you gonna do about it? Not ask me out on a date? Been there, done that, your loss. ☺

Smooches,

Jimmie

This Is How Woney And I Get Into Trouble

26 Jun 2011 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, Imparting Wisdom, Outings Tags: Humor

Good-bye savings. I didn’t need you anyway.

Good-bye waistline. You will be missed.

Good-bye sensibilities. Hello, stranger. You are so cute!

Good-bye filter. That was an awesome make out session, stranger. Of course you can have my number. No, of course I don’t mind that you don’t have all of your teeth and are brave enough to show those gaps to the world! Right on! Be yourself!

Good-bye camera. Woney didn’t need those 45 pictures she took on this trip. Her mind is like a steel trap. She can remember every single event with no photographic evidence whatsoever.

Disclaimers and Items of Note:

Using new sparkly eyeliner on your eyelids and accidentally getting some on your eyelashes can be distracting and quite mesmerizing, especially when driving. Operate vehicle carefully.

Giving Woney a video option on her phone while Jimmie gets a pedicure can be damaging to Jimmie’s reputation. Also, there is no evidence to be found on youtube! Do not search! Computers will be infected with the most horrifying viruses if those searches are attempted!

The dropping of the camera into a fountain (which looked as if it happened in slow motion, it was so horrifying) had nothing to do with any alcohol consumption. Still, DO NOT RECOMMEND operating camera after tasty beverage consumption.

Reputations were scarred a bit when tourists from all over the world witnessed the falling of the camera from Woney’s hands. Muffled snickering ensued.

No fishes were harmed in the retrieval of the camera or the batteries (which somehow never made it into the water) although a bug or two might have been squished.

It pays to be kind to the nice boys in the Engineering Department at the Opryland Hotel as you not only get your personal water-logged equipment back from the depths of the fountain but also the sunglasses dropped by an unknown stranger probably months beforehand. Score!

No fabulously tall men with gorgeous big arms were molested over the course of the weekend (sadly).

No dentally challenged men with exquisitely short stature were molested either (thankfully).

Love, Jimmie