Stuff That Made Me Happy (Or Not) This Week

23 Jun 2011 2 Comments

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

♥ I lost a pound this week.  In the immortal words of my friend, Booty:  Suck on that, Thursday!

♥ Monday I made Dammit Todd shoot Coke out of his nose.  In front of other people. In public. 

♥ Today is Javier’s birthday.  I made him a cake.  Perhaps I was feeling festive in honor of his birthday.  Or perhaps I was just sleepy because I stayed up too late last night watching the musical production of The Color Purple with Jane.  Either way, I packed my gym bag at 11:00 last night and in doing so, gave myself the nicest of all surprises.  I am always diligent in packing underclothes because I have a friend who often forgets her bra when packing her gym bag.  (I won’t name any names but her initials are Lynnette).  I would die if I forgot my bra and would most likely get fired if I showed up at work without it.  In my hyper-attention for underwear packing, I lost awareness when it came to shoe packing.  Imagine my surprise when I was at the gym this morning, got dressed in my professional attire and then found my shoes for the day.  My formal, only-wear-out-with-party-dresses shoes.  At least I’m sparkly.  Happy Birthday, Javier.  I didn’t intend to have Happy Feet on your birthday but since I do, you’re welcome.

♥ Woney is flying in tomorrow to hang out with me for the weekend.  So happy! 

♥ I was discussing death with my boss today.  I have no idea why. 

   I asked, “You’ll come to my funeral when I die, right?

   He responded, “Yes.  I will pour a six-pack of beer on your grave.”

   Of course I said, “I don’t want beer.  I want pink sparkly champagne.”

   And of course he said, “ Okay, I’ll pour pink sparkly champagne on your grave.  I’ll strain it through my kidneys first.”

 

I’m A Loser, Baby!

21 Jun 2011 8 Comments

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

You want to know how I’m a loser?  Oh, in so many ways!  And one of them better be good!

I have a new friend to introduce to you.  His name is Miguel.  He’s been around forever but I’ve never had the opportunity to write much about him.  Now I do. 

On Friday afternoon I received a phone call from Miguel.  We went through the pleasantries and then Miguel asked, “What do you have going on this weekend?”

“Not much.  How about you,” I replied. 

“Well, tomorrow I’m going to meet you on the Greenway at 10:00 to walk, have lunch with you in Green Hills (Chipotle!) and then we are going to walk around the mall.”

“Oh.  I had no idea.  I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

We met at 10:00 and because it had been raining in Nashville for a couple of hours, our walk didn’t happen.  However, Miguel got crafty and persuasive and challenged me to a series of athletic contests instead of walking on the boring old treadmill.  Apparently, I have nothing to prove, no pride, no gumption, nothing because here, my friends, is where I fail. 

LOSER:  We played a game of H-O-R-S-E.  I had H-O-R-S-E and Miguel had H-O-R-S.  I was proud of that seeing as how I throw like a girl and have never played basketball in my life.  I was the manager of the boy’s basketball team in college but I pretty much only did that for two reasons:  Chris O’Bryan and to get paid.  I got over Chris O’Bryan before too long seeing as how he was taken but the getting paid part was quite handy for a couple of years.   Anyway, what I learned from that position was more how to get sweat out of uniforms and how to fill water bottles and not any basketball tricks.  Clearly.    

LOSER:  Miguel beat me by about a minute on the one-mile elliptical race we had.  I really should have won that one seeing as how I OWN that machine at least one day a week.  I do lunges.  I run.  I lift weights.  That machine should have been my bitch.  But it wasn’t. 

LOSER:  Miguel and I challenged each other to a push-up contest next.  He did the real ones and I did the Jimmie ones.  I could have kept going but he gave out after a few which I was pretty gloaty about.  WINNER!  Then we thought it would be interesting to see how many real ones I could do.  LOSER.  Not even one . . .  

LOSER:  Miguel opted for one more game of H-O-R-S-E.  Naturally I got H-O-R-S-E and he was just a H-O.  I think he was pretty proud of that, for more than one reason. 

LOSER:  At least I had better be.  Before that entire American Gladiator-type workout with Miguel, I ran almost five miles on the Greenway.  I’m still training for the ½ marathon (and just realized that almost none of you have nagged me even a little) so I needed to get that time in.  Besides, I knew that Miguel wouldn’t run with me, mostly because he said “Aw, hell naw!” when I asked him.  This was before the monsoon.  The weather was perfect for a run – very cloudy and overcast.  I mean, I still sweated like a hog but it was nice.  About halfway through my run, when I was past the point of turning around to go back, the bottom dropped out and I got soaked.   

I’ll call myself a LOSER on that whole running event, not because I got soaked but because all of that stuff had better show up (or not, depending on how you look at it) on the scale.  That is the kind of LOSER that counts. 

And finally . . . . Eh, I can’t tell on this one:  LOSER most likely.  After all of our calisthenics and lunch and shopping, I thought I would sit out the thunderstorms (monsoons) in the café where I go to write.  I found my favorite spot and got all settled in, but not before a seemingly nice, kind of runty man sitting near me gave me a big grin and said, “Hey.” 

I responded with “Hello.”  I told you, I don’t meet strangers.  Maybe I should.

“I’ve seen you in here.  I’m Chuck.  What’s your name?” 

“Jimmie.”

“Jimmie, are you single?” This right here?  This is a lesson I should learn!  This is where I speak before I think!  This is where, when you are out with me in public, you give me a kick in the shin. 

“Yep.”  Heaven, help me.  I have such a big mouth. 

“I think you are cute.  Would you like to go out sometime?” 

“Um, well, I don’t really know you plus I have a height thing.” I was completely floundering and this was the best I could come up with?

“I’m about 5’8”. I love tall women.  I love it when they wear heels and all that.” 

And here I have to explain that while you as a man may have no issue dating a taller woman, I as a woman do.  “Ooh, sorry, I’m completely flattered, really but I just cannot date someone shorter than me.  I really have a thing about it.” 

“Oh, okay.”   

I don’t think I destroyed him too badly because he got up to come shake my hand.  Then he looked down at my feet and said, “You have cute toes.”

“Thanks?” 

“Well, are you sure you won’t go out with me?”

“You know, this is very nice, very sweet.  But I just can’t.  I’m sorry.” 

“Okay, well, you are really hot.  I’ll see you around.”

Okay, so see?  I’m not really sure how this one fits.  I am completely flattered and complimented and that is always nice.  However, I suspect he’s one of those guys who plays the numbers game. Ask 100 women out and compliment their toes (?) and surely one of them will say yes.  But because I’m trying out this self-confidence thing, I’m going to say WINNER.  Right?  Who’s with me on this one?

 

Y’all, I Thought I’d Never Get This One Posted!

14 Jun 2011 Leave a comment

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

“Happy Birthday” serenade from our Chairman of the Board as Donald Duck

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“Happy Birthday” serenade from Martie as Edith Bunker 

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“Happy Birthday” serenade from the teenage Pizza Delivery Guy as the teenage Pizza Delivery Guy, just because I asked

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“You Say it’s Your Birthday” serenade from Coach as The Beatles

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♥ ♥ ♥

(before birthday party and because pedicures tickle)

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 (at birthday party, because we are all 12-year old boys)

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(and again, 12-year old boys . . . )

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 Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!

 

 ♥ ♥ ♥

(Wolverine-fascination)

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New co-worker who is just so dang pretty, especially because he cut in some Wolverine-esque sideburns just for me, for my birthday, because of Wolverine-fascination

(I will include the picture I took of him in an update if he allows me too, but he’s out of town and I never include that stuff without asking permission first.  UPDATE: Got it!)

(and there’s a small story about him below)

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Happiest girl in the world

(probably because of hormone overload)

 

♥ ♥ ♥

 

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(Ugh. But, Yum!) 

Yes, all of those cakes were made for me.  Don’t forget I had pineapple cupcakes too. 

Yes, I went to the gym yesterday morning.  At 5:00.  Yes, I did Body Pump which included something called Frogs which made me want to DIE.  Yes, I did Spin after that for 45 minutes.  Yes, we did climbs and sprints which made me want to DIE.  Yes, my butt hurts.  Also, yes, I ran three miles today (on the treadmill, which I hate).  And yes, thank you, I do feel amazing. And also, yes thanks, I know that my clothes are almost too tight because all of that birthday cake and wine and celebration.  

Thank you for noticing.   It was worth every bit of it. 

Yes, I did take all of that cake to work.  I know one of them looks a bit off but it fell over on the drive to work.  It still tasted great.  I sent out an email letting co-workers know that I had three kinds of cake on my desk and to please come help themselves. 

It sounded like a herd of water buffalo had invaded the office what with all of the thundering down the hall.  I’m willing to bet I really was everyone’s favorite yesterday.  Except for this guy . . . the pretty co-worker sent this in reply to my email:   Soooo dirty. You know that I am out of town. Now I just have to sit here and wonder how tasty your cakes are and I picture each delicious slice disappearing like the count down to Armageddon, I am now left with the feeling of hopelessness. Thank you, I’ll remember that.  I have a feeling that like Quan, he belongs to us.  We should take him to the Mongolian BBQ place to find out for sure.

Cake = gone. 

Which means:

Clothes = still fit (but barely).

Whew. 

  

Aging: A Timeline

09 Jun 2011 Leave a comment

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

Birth:  I was a girl.  My parents were thrilled.  Because they were big fans of horse stuff, my birth announcement read:  “It’s a Filly!” and all of my vitals were listed in horse speak. 

Age 20 months:  Martie was born and the entire scale of my world changed.  I loved that baby like you could not believe.  I was now Big Sister.  She was now Little Sister.  And the friendship began. 

Age 5:  Madre began explaining to Martie and me about the birds and the bees.  She did this with diagrams.  We were grossed out.

Age 8:  Madre had explained about the birds and the bees so much that it was old news.  Still grossed out.

Age 10:  Madre got remarried and I got two brothers.  Ew.

Age 13:  The Squirt was born and the entire scale of my world changed, again.  I loved that baby like you could not believe.

Age 15:  I got my first car, a 1969 Karmann Ghia convertible.  It had no radio, a top that had been slashed, a dashboard that was crumbling, and the original paint job which had faded from red to an odd pink color.  I loved that car.

Age 16:  My first kiss.  I was pounced upon by a boy that I had a crush on FOREVER.  And it was . . . . kind of gross.  I remember thinking to myself, “I waited all that time for this?”  As teenagers, Phranke and I dissected the entire event to pieces and I still think it was kind of gross. 

Age 16, also:  I failed my driving test.  The driving part.  Ridiculing ensued.

Age 17:  I passed my driving test.  With flying colors.

Age 17, also:  Martie and I had our most memorable fight, ever.  We were arguing in front of our friends when I thought it would be a grand idea to spit my gum in her face.  In retaliation, she grabbed my purse, stuck it under the tire of her VW Bug and ran over it a couple of times, thus solidifying our best friend status.  We have no idea what we were fighting about. 

Age 18:  I headed off to college. 

Age 19:  I went to Europe.  I fell in love with Michelangelo’s David. 

Age 20:  My 20th birthday happened in Chamonix.  I cried because I was no longer a teenager.  I also made out with an Italian guy named Luigi.  It was not gross.    

Age 21:  I graduated from college.  I said good-bye to some of the best friends I have ever known.  We promised to stay in touch.  We have.

Age 22:  I got a tattoo.

Age 22 and a half:  I regretted that tattoo.

Age 23:  I moved to Alabama.  Why?! Why!

Age 24:  I became a Christian. (Maybe that was why . . . .)

Age 27:  I got married.

Age 29:  I bawled my eyes out because I was “old”.  In the midst of my bawling, I hit the Dillard’s counter wailing about my “wrinkles” and “decrepit skin”.  They saw me coming a mile away and took me for every cent I had.  A few hundred dollars later I owned a large chunk of their skincare collection which did nothing to erase my “wrinkles” and “decrepit skin”. 

Age 30:  Pooh was born.  I loved that baby like you could not believe. 

Age 33:  I got divorced.  

Age 34:  Tigger was born.  I loved that baby like you could not believe.

Age 34, also:  I moved to Nashville. 

Age 37:  I had my only hangover ever.  It was Not Pretty. 

Age 37, also:  I broke my first bone.  It was my pinkie toe and it made me curse copious amounts. 

Age 38:  I fretted a lot because my eyes were “old”.   Martie gave me some eye cream and an explanation that it smelled like “rotten asshole.”  I felt certain that something that smelled like “rotten asshole” would definitely work because everyone knows that beauty treatments are not always pleasant.  I used it faithfully and every time the hot air from my hair dryer would hit my face, the heated smell of “rotten asshole” almost made me varmint. My eyes still look exactly the same. 

Age 39:  Gosh, I don’t know yet.  I plan on spending lots of years here, at 39.  So far, one day into it, it’s been amazing. 

I have received a ton of phone calls and emails and text messages from assorted friends and family members.  I got pineapple cupcakes.  And some cards.  And a really sweet magnet that says:  Better Buy Me Another Drink.  You’re Still Ugly.   

Phranke sent me this message:  Happy Birthday.  Welcome to 39.  It’s a very good year.

And Quan sent me this message:  HAPPY BIRTHDAY JIMMIE!  I got you something but let’s be honest….it will never make it to you.  I’m about to tear into it now.   (PS – it did have a malt ball on top but I already ate it.)

Finally, tonight Billie and I are watching this:

Meow!

Birthdays are wonderful.  I love them.  Thank you to all of the best friends I’ve met along the way (I’m talking to you Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee and Alabama!).  I luff you all.  And thank you to all of the best family I’ve been lucky enough to get.  I luff you all, too.  Special thanks to Madre for enduring several hours of labor and yelling and swearing and cursing to get me here.  I know I’m your favorite. You don’t have to tell Martie.  ♥

Oh, while I’m at it, being all older and wiser and stuff, I should “Impart Wisdom” to you again.  When using power tools, I’ve learned it’s best to wear closed-toed shoes.  This is what happens when you drop an electric hand sander that is currently in the “on” position on your naked toe.  Ow.  Time for a pedicure! 

 

Oh No! Now With No Photos (Thank Goodness).

05 Jun 2011 7 Comments

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

Remember that post where I talked about how I’m a huge fan of the YMCA?  I’m not so sure they are a fan of me anymore.

Sorry, boys, but I’m going to talk about girl stuff.  Good thing we aren’t face to face or one of us would be embarrassed by the end of this conversation.   

When I was in college, I played on an intramural flag football team.  We called ourselves the ButtCheeks, and as freshman, we whipped the asses of the best team out there, the senior team.  We won the championship. I can’t say I contributed much to the team or learned a lot about football but it was fun and I got the t-shirt so I was thrilled. 

I may not have helped the team out much but what I did do was learn about sports bras and the specific kinds to get.  I’ve talked about this before, but in case you forgot, you should know that I am breastacularly blessed.  I have no rear end, never have; it’s as flat as a pancake despite all of my effort and time on the elliptical machine and doing four million lunges every single Monday.  (Upon reflection, I find it hilarious that I was on a team called the ButtCheeks. Hahahahaha.) But there is no doubt that I am top heavy.  I learned the hard way that not just any bra will work for those of us who are top heavy.  I learned this because right in the middle of a freshman year flag football game, my sports bra snapped clean in two.  I had to run across campus squishing my chest in so that I could get another bra and finish out the game.  Humiliating at best and a lesson learned for future flag football games.   

Clearly that is a lesson I should apply to swim suits as well.  Today I met a friend, Billie, at the YMCA pool.  I have not seen her in a while and despite my trip to the beach and the vats of fake tan (which I can never seem to apply in the correct non-streaky manner) housed in my bathroom cabinets, I’m pasty white. Practically clear.  We grabbed some lunch and headed over to the pool to get some sun and to gossip.  We were settling in and I bent down to put my stuff down when SNAP!  I was at the Y (!), in front of CHILDREN (!), when my top snapped clean in two, the plastic piece holding the back shut literally flying a couple feet away.  Oh God. 

So now I have some things to say.   

You are welcome, teenage boys at the Y.  You are welcome, dirty old men with shorts that are far too short to ever be worn in public.  My apologies to all the mothers who now have to explain to their young children what breasts are.  My apologies to the lifeguards who swallowed whistles and choked.  My apologies also to the little old church ladies who had mini-heart attacks.  And finally, to you women who were there with the perfect round behinds showcased perfectly in your tiny little bikinis which offer no support up top because you don’t need it – BOO-YAH!  To you I make no apologies at all. I hope you all enjoyed the show. 

Smooches,

Jimmie

 

Giddyup! Now with more photos!

02 Jun 2011 Leave a comment

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

Saturday morning I went horseback riding with Madre.  (Yes, this will be that post, the one I teased you with earlier.)  Now Madre has ridden horses her entire life.  I know she rode until she was eight months pregnant with me and likely only took that break because the doctor made her.  I, on the other hand, have not regularly ridden a horse since I was a toddler.  I’ve had interludes here and there but nothing with any sort of consistency.  Plus I was thrown once.  It was a small fall but it was enough to put a stop to my riding for a while.  I say it again, I have no great skills but I can bounce along merrily on occasion. 

Before I get further into the story, I should introduce you to the cast of characters. 

Meet Monty, my valiant steed.  Isn’t he handsome?  Apparently he’s a sports car.

 

Meet Precious, Madre’s majestic beast.  Gorgeous, ain’t she?  She’s also classified as a sports car. 

Meet Girlfriend. She didn’t get to go but I had to include her because she’s just so pretty and she was slightly miffed at being left out.  She’s the limousine of the bunch.

Madre and I saddled up and with the help of some cinder blocks, I wriggled my way onto Monty’s back.  Those are some tall animals and I’m not nearly as flexible as I like to think I am.  I snuck an apple to him in an effort to butter him up, you know, so that he wouldn’t do anything wild and crazy with me atop his back.  I also gave him a few horse cookies on the sly.  As we took off, Madre explained that our mounts for the day were her sports cars (see above) and I had a momentary freak out where I imagined all of the racing around the fields they were going to do with us clinging on for dear life.  This was not what I had signed up for.  I wanted a stroll really, not some sort of NASCAR preview in Mr. Sisk’s hayfield.  Gah!

We moseyed down the hill from the barn and I was preparing for battle with the reins, just knowing that Monty was ready to take off at a canter as soon as we hit flat ground.  Madre even warned me, “Monty will be full of piss and vinegar for a bit but then he will get it out of his system and you’ll be fine.”  Heh, heh, shaky grin.  I was slightly nervous but I was not going to let it show!  I was brave!  And here we went, plod, plod, plod, five minutes pass, plod, plod, plod.  And then! Trot, trot, trot!  Ten paces at trot, trot, trot, then back to plod, plod, plod.  No canter in sight.  Apparently that was it.  That was the piss and vinegar.  Madre then had to explain that “sports car” only meant “smaller horse” and “limousine” meant “larger horse”.  Oh.  I can’t say I wasn’t slightly disappointed.

To make up for it, though, I got these pictures of our lovely horses.  Once you stop your guffawing at the Amish head gear, Madre will explain with only the smallest of sniffs that the proper term for these garments are “fly bonnets” and they protect the horse’s ears from the flies.  Again, oh.  My bad. 

We ran into a bunch of neighbors and one sneaky little cat named Jezebel.  I really wanted to get a picture of her but as I said, sneaky . . . .

I took a picture of my dream house. 

I gave my most winning smile to the couple that owns it when I asked if they would leave it to me in their will.  In reply, they told us about their new puppy. I suppose charm and winning smiles only go so far. 

We saw this swimming hole, complete with perfect little cabin which you can almost see in the background.  If I weren’t certain that the water was just infested with giant poisonous snakes in every make and model, I’d go swimming there.  But I’m a big old chicken.

We crossed two creeks.  Monty was ready for both of them and I was not.  Trot, trot, trot right into a big old ravine and there was no stopping him.  I just knew I was going down and I was mentally preparing for it.  He stopped suddenly, my toes touching the water, his belly skimming it, and started flailing around in the water.  I was a goner.  We both were I was certain. Surprisingly, I didn’t panic.  I was ready for The End.  After a moment of the horrors, I realized that Monty was only playing in the water, splashing both of us in his excitement.  Oh.  It was the most rowdy I had seen him.  I was soaked, of course, and so was he which was most likely the point.  Heh, heh, shaky grin.

We rode through a whole pile of cicadas.  Apparently I smell like the best of potential cicada girlfriends.  A charming young cicada attached himself to my hair and made sweet, sweet love to it for a while before I could figure out how to kindly extricate myself from the tryst and not hurt his feelings. Denied.  He was pissed off and let everyone know it by flying off in a noisy huff.  I’m such a heart breaker.  He just could not accept that it was nothing personal – he’s just not my type.

By the time we ran into Phranke’s mom (her house is on the way to Madre’s), my butt was starting to go numb and my legs were tired.  Holding yourself upright on a horse isn’t as easy as it looks.  You have to use INNER THIGH muscles, people.  And SMALL BACK muscles.  Neither of which I was aware I possessed.  Let it be known that I have both and they are making themselves known to me, even still.  Ow. 

We plod, plod, plodded our way home after hours of riding around glorious scenery and the minute Monty realized that food and bath were imminent, it was canter, canter, canter all the way up the hill.  Heh, heh, shaky grin.  I sort of slithered my way off his back when we stopped and gasped a bit, my head smushed into his neck.  Here I should say that I love the smell of horses and the feel of those long slabs of muscles.  They are such powerful animals.  Anyway, when my legs came back to life, I waddled him into the barn to be de-robed and then back out to be hosed off.  I was overjoyed to have made it home in one piece with only a minimal sunburn and no injuries to speak of.  Madre was flitting around like a bird, jumping around and such.  Oh the humiliating irony of that . . . .

Other than my really sweet farmer’s tan and a plethora of mosquito bites, I think the entire trip was a success.  Of course if I find a tick on me I will lose my mind and rewrite the whole weekend as a tragedy.  So far so good. 

Room

15 May 2011 6 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Friends, Home Improvement, Pets Tags: , ,

Have you guys read the book “Room” by Emma Donoghue?  I heard it was awesome.  This has nothing to do with that book, though.  Just thought I would share.

Following are some snippets of conversations heard from Jimmie’s bedroom, last Thursday night.

 “Ooh, I love it!”

“Hoor!”

 “I will cut you, bitch.”

“No, not that way!”

 “Dammit Murphy!”

“Jimmie! Let me do it!”

“Oh, God, did we squish Seamus?”

“Freddie, did you really drive over here in a sports bra and a blanket?”

“Jimmie, thank you for letting me fulfill my dream.  “

“No problem, Felix, thanks for fulfilling your dream in my bedroom.”

And then I went to work puffy-eyed and lethargic on Friday.

You guys do know that my Daddy-O has the link to this here blog, right? Get your minds out of the gutters, pervs.

Remember when I was painting my bedroom over a weekend?  That was merely the first step of a huge process called Operation: Jimmie’s Bedroom.  Again, minds out of the gutter. 

I decided a few months ago that I liked my bedroom but it wasn’t really mine.  I saw a movie in which the bedroom had a certain feel and I wanted that feel.  So I yapped about it to everyone and Felix perked right up.  “A feel?” he says.  And I says, “Yes, soft.”  And he says, “Give me ten minutes.”

And then the plans poured forth.  We talked about color and texture and paint and fabric and chandeliers.  We used words like “fresh” and “glam” and “treatments” and “oh holy crap, I can’t believe we are going to do this.” 

It has taken me months to decide on the comforters and sheets and assorted furniture items.  Several things have arrived in boxes since January and those boxes have yet to be opened.  Murphy and Seamus have set up their guest house on those boxes and it will be a sad day when they come home from work and find them gone.  Let this be a warning to you pets, that day is coming soon.  Prepare now. 

 I also had to choose paint colors.  By now, it should be clear to all of you that I’m a chick.  And while I think Lowe’s and Home Depot are marvelous places, I cannot amuse myself looking at every screw and nail and set of pliers in there.  Apparently every ex-boyfriend I ever had can, though, and all of my whining about “let’s spend time togetherrrrrrrr” should include the caveat “but not in a hardware store”.  Ahem.  I went into both Lowe’s and Home Depot with the idea of finding the perfect paint color and came out with every hue of blue, green, gray and purple they had.  Clearly, I like variety and can amuse myself for hours looking at every single paint sample in the store. 

I proudly showed my 52,000 paint chips to Felix who in a sudden lurch understood that maybe I needed more help narrowing than we originally thought.  I have a feeling that this was the beginnings of a slow panic for him.  I’m so distracted by shiny pretty things and I’m whipped about like a rag doll with every new thought I have.  Ooh, feathers!  Sparkly chandelier! Wow, modern stuff is awesome. . . . Fortunately for him I’m his favorite plus I’m nice plus I cook well so he’s been very patient.  Bribery works wonders.

After Felix narrowed my choices to about 50, I went back to Lowe’s and got more paint chips. Like I said, shiny!  And I taped every single one of those paint chips to my wall and invited Felix to come over and help me choose.  I wish I had a picture of that.  You would laugh hysterically at the picture of horror on his poor face.  We finally chose three of them, one for an accent wall, one for regular walls, and one for small designs.  Oh, it was agony.  (The funniest part about this is Martie and Coach were there also.  Martie took one look at the 68 paint samples on my wall and within about 30 seconds picked one that matched her bedroom décor perfectly.  Decision made. Done and done.  Were it that easy for me . . .)

Now I had big plans for taking pictures all the way through this process so that Felix could use it as a design book of sorts, in case he gets the chance to do this for someone else.  And I wanted to see the progress. But once I bought the paint, I went nuts. Best laid plans of mice and men, and all that . . . . so no before photos. 

I painted like mad for a solid day and then did touch ups for a couple of evenings. Meanwhile, Felix spent HOURS with some poster board and an Exact-o knife making a stencil for me. 

Progress

So the process on Thursday night went like this – feel free to interject the conversations from above wherever you see fit:

Felix and Jimmie leave work at the same time.  Felix arrives at Jimmie’s house before Jimmie does despite their leaving at the same time from the exact same location.  He runs to the house with giant stencil in a wad so that it wouldn’t get wet in the monsoon (again) and then waits miserably on the porch for Jimmie to arrive.

Jimmie arrives.

Jimmie and Felix lay the stencil out and ooh and ahh over it.

Jimmie opens a bottle of wine.

Jimmie and Felix sample cake that Jimmie made (divine).

Jimmie and Felix sample cake again.

Jimmie and Felix drink wine.

Jimmie and Felix have dinner.

Jimmie and Felix drink wine.

Felix mixes the paint while Jimmie hovers.

Felix demonstrates the proper paint application treatment. 

Jimmie tries to recreate it and fails miserably.

"Jimmie! Let me do it!"

Jimmie hovers for a while then parks herself on the bed, watching and looking pretty.  And drinking wine.

Freddie arrives wearing a sports bra and blanket.

All ignore odd attire and Jimmie and Felix and Freddie drink wine and feed Freddie.

Murphy discovers stencil and tries to play with it.

Felix has apoplexy.

Murphy settles in for a nap on the stencil.

Why is everyone freaking out?

Felix and Freddie apply the stencil.

Felix demonstrates the proper paint application treatment.

Jimmie and Freddie try to recreate it and fail miserably.

Jimmie and Freddie give up all pretenses of hovering and park themselves on the bed, watching and looking pretty. And drinking wine.

Felix works his ass off.

How come I'm all alone over here?

Jimmie and Freddie ooh and ahh a lot.

Freddie goes home with cake at reasonable hour.

Stencil bows up in odd places, prompting much cursing and yelling.

Jimmie and Felix wrestle with stencil. A lot.

Jimmie and Felix win and apply paint twice more.

Felix and Jimmie hop around like morons in excitement over paint treatment and lack of sleep.

Felix and Jimmie put bedroom back together and hop around like morons some more.

Felix leaves with cake in the wee hours of the morning.

Jimmie sighs in happiness a lot and stares at her newly painted walls.

Murphy, indifferent to the happy sighs, purrs loudly on Jimmie’s stomach.

The end. 

And here mes amigos, is the finished product, at least for this week.  The bedding is not included yet. I wish I were a better photographer.  More progress will be made but I will spare you the write up and just show a picture of the absolute finished room.  Don’t expect it anytime soon.

Squee!

What do y’all think I should do for Felix as a thank you gift?  In your suggestion thought process, please note that he also offered to come help me pick up a bed for my third bedroom and in the drive over to my house, he hit a curb and blew out his tire.  His man-truck had to sit on the side of the road for a while as Madre and I came to his rescue.  Here he was trying to do a good deed and the man-truck has a minor heart attack.  It only took him an hour of swearing and cursing and sweating to bring it back to life.  What’s the phrase?  No good deed goes unturned.  How do I repay him?  I mean besides purchasing more wine and making more cake and looking pretty, of course?

 

Vignettes of a Mother

08 May 2011 5 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family Tags: ,

This weekend Madre came for a visit.  She wanted a pedicure and since she’s never had one, we thought it best that she come to NashVegas and let me treat her to one.  Okay, that’s not the full story.  I believe she’d heard the rumor about how I laugh like a hyena at the nail shop when they scrub my feet because it just tickles so badly.  I also believe she’d heard the rumor about how the staff at my nail shop gives me grief because I have long feet and because of my hyena laughing.  They say things like, “We charge you extra, you so loud.” And “We video you and send it in to funny videos.  Ha!”   But she also heard the rumor about the massage chairs so I feel certain that clinched it for her.  NashVegas and my nail shop were the places that won out so she packed up and came here.

We had pedicures. They were awesome. She is hooked.

Martie did her share of pampering Madre too.  Madre got a new haircut and new color, courtesy of Martie. The best part about Martie doing our hair is that she’s quite talented and we always leave looking better than when we came in.  The worst part about Martie doing our hair is that we cannot always re-create what she does in the shop and we spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to make it stand up this way and poof up that way and sweep across our foreheads in the correct manner.

Saturday morning ablutions rolled around and Madre was in my upstairs bathroom attempting to create Martie-quality hair when her hair blower thingamabob which had been on the fritz lately just stopped working.  I heard it shut off and didn’t think much about it until I heard Madre bellow down the stairs, “I’m throwing that mother f@cker in the trash!” 

I laughed like a hyena at this. 

I love you, Madre.  Happy Mother’s Day.

A couple of years ago Martie and I were in the car or in the movie theater or in her living room or somewhere, and we were digging through our respective purses for something.  Probably this would be a better story if I could remember the circumstances around it but you read the post where I’m facing forty in a few years, right?  They say the mind is the first thing to go.  Anyway, we were digging around in our purses and I said, “I can tell I’m a chick because I have 4 chap-sticks and 3 lip glosses and 2 lipsticks in my purse.” 

 Martie gave me a thoughtful look and said, “I can tell I’m a mother because I have loose raisins in my purse.” 

 She won that one. 

 I love you, Martie.  Happy Mother’s Day.

My parents divorced when I was pretty little and my dad re-married when I was still in the Cinderella phase of my life, meaning that all my sister and friends and I knew of step-mothers was the wicked one who made Cinderella clean a lot and wouldn’t let her go to the ball.  So when I told all my school friends that I now had a step-mother, you can imagine the looks of horror that crossed their faces.  They would ask me questions like, “Is she mean?  Do you have to scrub the floor with a brush?  Are there mice in her house?” 

The thing is, she wasn’t mean and she didn’t make me scrub the floor with a brush and I never saw any mice.  I wanted to convey the fact that having a step-mother wasn’t so bad and that it was actually kind of nice.  So I mustered up all of the wisdom and knowledge a five-year-old has to explain it in the best possible way to my friends so as to gain their admiration and respect and possibly their jealousy.  And I told them the truth.  “She lets us eat raw cookie dough.”  Score!

I love you JiJi.  Happy Mother’s Day. 

And for all the other mothers I know out there: Aunt Jean, Jane, Vonnie, Christy V., Chandra, Monica, Jamie, LaCole, Melissa, Judy, Nikki, Cheryl, Elizabeth, Rhonda, Dawn, Andi, Kat, Katie, Michelle, Julie Ann, Christy H., Anne, Sarah, Jade, Barbara – oh I’m going to forget so many and I don’t want to – Happy Mother’s Day!  Love to you all!

Proverbs 23:25

 . . . May she who gave birth to you be joyful!

  

Administrative Happenings and a Guest Post!

05 May 2011 5 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Guest Post Tags:

Aw, suki now!  I got a taker!  I sent out a request for guest posts and Martie has obliged me. 

I’ll give you just a smidge of a back story for this. Martie and I grew up in a small town where it was assumed that because we lived there, we drove tractors to school instead of trucks and cars.  And Thanksgiving Day was not just a day for eating until vital organs burst but more a day to get up at 4:30 am to hunt and hopefully kill a deer.  For us, this town was the true South, the South we knew.  Still is.  And because Martie still lives in that neck of the woods, she gets to witness it all first hand.  I have a feeling that many of you will relate to her musings and because of that, her posts will be a recurring thing.  You and I will occasionally get treated to the things she gets to see every day. 

So, here we go! Whee!

Martie here.  I’m gonna do a little series, hope you like it.  I see way too many “interesting” things here in the South, and I feel like the rest of the world should experience the South in all its glory through the eyes of someone who loves it, and maybe understands it a little too well.

This is an ad that was on my local radio station’s website.  It is real.  It’s a want ad.  It is real.  Really, it is real.

live in babysitter

April 20, 2011

i need a live in babysitter that takes no drugs if they drink preferred after my 4 yr old and 11 week old are asleep.  i need someone responsible and is willing to put my kids first in their life. preferred woman, responsible, preferred with references, and has to love kids, pit bulls, cats, and snakes.  AND MUST BE TRUSTWORTHY AND OH DID I SAY RESPONSIBLE

included:

free rent free food free cable and internet if u smoke I got ur cigs and ill throw in some money here and there when I can afford it.  im a cool chick and I really need some help plese call me at ***-***-**** ask for *** need someone quick but im not stupid.  i am willing to work with any stipulations please feel free to call and ask questions, i live in ******* if u go to ****** ********* college so if theres a college student needin a roof I need a sitter please call me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, it is real.  Yes it is.   

And so ends Martie’s post. Tune in next time for another exciting chapter of “You Won’t Believe the Crazy Sh!t I Saw Today! Or, Life in the South.”

Please, none of you need to apply for the above position.  I thought it prudent that I state that here . . .

Also, if you have any awareness at all, you’ll notice that things look a little different around here.  WordPress (the place that hosts this here blog) has different themes and I chose Rounded because it was pretty and girlie.  But Rounded and I got into an argument about spacing and I lost.  So like any mature adult, I flounced off in a huff and went behind Rounded’s back and chose another, prettier theme.  Now we are Koi. Doesn’t that sound nice?  But I ask your pardon as I learn the tricks on this new theme.  Spacing might be wonky for a minute but I’ll work it out.  I always do. 

 

 

Yet Another Rain Story

15 Apr 2011 4 Comments

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

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. 

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