Dublin

02 Aug 2013 3 Comments

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

. . . . . After a long conversation she said, “Sigh. You sound just like Jessica Simpson. I love it.”

And that shut me up for the rest of the flight.

Mostly.

Eventually, Woney and I arrived in Dublin. I won’t give you the gritty details of that entire day because it was the longest day in the history of days. I will, however, tell you about all the stuff we did there because it was fun. Mostly.

Lunch – In an effort to attempt sleeping on the plane, I turned down every food offer the airline made. I missed the memo on the ridiculous amount of time it would take to get our bags, get our car, drive to the hotel and not check in, so by the time we were at a stopping point, I could have eaten a dead armadillo raw, still in its shell. We found a pub in short order and experienced our first culinary adventure in Ireland which consisted mostly of gravy. It was fantastic!

Dublin 2

The Guinness Brewery – This was one of three items on Woney’s bucket list. We were assured by the concierge at our hotel (into which we could not check in) that the brewery was just a few short blocks away. This assurance was false. We walked endlessly for blocks and blocks and were slightly lost in a foreign country (pay attention – this is called foreshadowing). We did find it, though, by asking directions more than once although I’m pretty sure Woney would have sniffed it out eventually. It was a fabulous tour. Six floors of beer history, production, games, etc., all housed in a giant pint glass structure. Woney and I opted for the Master Pour section of the tour and once Woney poured her Guinness, the instructor queried “Have you done this before?”

Woney said, “No, I just drink a lot of Guinness.”

Before I ever left the states, I promised a friend that I would drink a pint of Guinness in his honor. I truly meant it. And then I took a swig of Woney’s Guinness. Call me a Philistine but no thank you. Casey, that swig was your Guinness. I raised that toast to you. And then I called it done. Barf.

Dublin 4

Butler’s Chocolate Experience – This was not on our bucket list but man, this was fun. A few months ago as we were researching stuff to do in Ireland, we booked the tour for this one. It seemed interesting and you know . . . chocolate. It wasn’t until we were well into the tour that Woney and I realized we were two of only four adults, and that all the rest of the guests were children. Huh. The tour included a lot of samples, though, so we weren’t too upset about that.

Another part of the experience was the opportunity to decorate a piece of chocolate. I was expecting a delicate truffle with miniscule piping bags full of muted pastel icings – a “grown up” experience. Instead we got these:

Dublin 6

Woney and I and all the children donned our hair nets and lab coats and set to work, tongues poking out in concentration. After some concerted effort, my bear looked like this. I call her Wilhelmina.

Dublin 8

And this is Woney’s creation, Lulu. She’s a little slutty. We didn’t let the children get a look at her. Innocent eyes, you know.

Dublin 9

The Church Bar – This is a must see if you ever make it to Dublin. We asked one of our cabbies about a good local place we should visit for dinner, and this was his recommendation. It’s an old Catholic church turned into a bar, which feels slightly sacrilegious, but the food was traditional and delicious. Highly recommend.

Church Bar

Church Bar

Sweating – This was the unexpected portion of our trip. Woney and I were so proud of our full suitcases and the clothes that we packed. I was particularly fond of a new hoodie I recently acquired that I couldn’t wait to wear. It will be February before it’s chilly enough to wear it in Tennessee. Anyway, it was with some dismay that Woney and I received the news about the record high temperatures in Ireland. What compounded the dismay was learning that our hotel was booked at capacity for the night and while we would be allowed to check in, it would be much, much later. Please understand that we had sweated a whole lot in NYC and then we sweated on the plane for a good 8 hours. Furthermore, we sweated in Dublin doing all that walking and getting lost. We did all of that wearing the same set of clothes. I forgot to tell you this last time, but in our freak show rushing around trying to get a cab, my super cute maxi dress got caught up in the escalator stairs, nearly rendering me nude for the cab ride. I saved it, though, with only a few tears and grease stains which now permanently decorate the bottom hem of my dress. What I’m saying is, not only did I look slightly homeless, but I also probably smelled really bad.

We did eventually get checked into the hotel and took the most amazing showers of our lives. Plumbing in Ireland is a bit different than what we are used to, so getting the water to come on was a challenge. Electricity is also a bit different, so turning on the lights was also a challenge. We completely embarrassed ourselves by calling the front desk to ask how the lamps worked.

It was with great pleasure that Woney and I went to bed that night. I have a sneaking suspicion that the beds we utilized would be disgustingly uncomfortable had we had them any other night, but after being awake for 40 hours, sweating like pigs right through our clothes, and walking a total of about 8 miles in one day, we were dunzos. Slept like babies.

Dublin 16

Dublin 14

Next stop: Kilkenny!

In Which We Almost Don’t Make It To Dublin

29 Jul 2013 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, I'm Going Somewhere Tags: ,

I gotta be honest with you, Dublin was not my favorite city. However, I have loads of things to tell you before we ever get there and I plan on you being here for a while. Go get some coffee or some ice cream and settle in.

*****

. . . . . After some time, Woney and I wandered off. We made our contributions and left little pieces of our hearts there to mingle with the other left-behind hearts.

We made it back to our hotel, collected our baggage and my pillow and hit the road for the airport. The concierge at our hotel insisted that the bus to Newark was the way to go, that it was only a few blocks away, and that a cab was not necessary. Off we trudged with our ridiculous suitcases and my ridiculous pillow, giving our cankles one last chance to really flourish before leaving the heat of New York, and as we arrived at the bus station, a man fully inebriated took it upon himself to escort us to the proper bus and then held out his hand for a tip. We stood in the bus line for a very long time after giving him a couple of bucks with which he promptly purchased a cheap bottle of something. The traffic was horrendous. The fumes on the road nearly killed us. Once we hit the road, I lost count of how many times we almost died in an interstate-shut-down type of accident caused by our bus. Eventually, after an eternity of horror and stomach heaving, we arrived at the Newark Airport.

Toys R Us Ferris Wheel

Toys R Us Ferris Wheel

Now Woney and I are good travelers. We checked in for our flight the night before but upon arriving at the airline desk, discovered that the flight on which were booked and for which we had already checked in no longer existed. It hadn’t for some time. Like days. Conveniently, we were booked on another flight but inconveniently, it was so badly delayed that we were going to miss our connection in Toronto for Dublin.

Want to know the attendant’s suggestion? “Grab a cab to LaGuardia for a different flight but haul ass because you have less than an hour to get there and still make your flight.”

Molesting a Pig, New York City

Molesting a Pig, New York City

As we were running down the hall I began to holler about my feelings for Air Canada. I gotta be honest with you. Not my favorite airline. I was still hollering about it as we clambered down the stairs and frantically looked for a cab when out of thin air, a man materialized. “You ladies need a cab?” he asked.

Oh, the Hallelujah Chorus rang out!

“Yes!” we gasped, and he grabbed our ridiculous suitcases and walked us to the parking lot. Hustled is more like it, especially after we explained our dilemma. The man was moving and we were saved. Except halfway through the parking lot, a police officer stopped the man and said, “Sir, you need to turn around and walk these ladies back to the airport and leave them safely at the cab stand.”

The man said, “But-“

The police officer said again, “Turn around and walk these ladies back to the airport and leave them safely at the cab stand.” So he turned us around and walked us back to the airport. Woney and I were agog. What just happened? Were we almost murdered? He was going to murder us and steal my glitter eyeliner, wasn’t he?

The cop followed us and then met us at the door and asked where we were going. We explained about our flight and the man volunteered, “They are going to miss it.” The cop looked at him for a long, long moment and then said, “Okay. You keep them safe.”

Woney and I were still agog. What just happened? The man hustled us back to the parking lot and escorted us into a swanky black Mercedes and hauled us quickly and effectively to LaGuardia. Let me say here – I’m so thrilled that Woney and I now have a case of black lung and some serious intestinal issues from the Newark bus ride that it turns out we didn’t even need to take. I’m so happy that we did all that hauling of suitcases and nurturing our cankles and sitting next to weird people only to be grandly escorted in style for an exorbitant fee in a Mercedes to our final destination.

Gettin' some culture, MoMA

Gettin’ some culture, MoMA

Are you wondering about The Man? His name was Tony “Kalifornia” and while we had a dubious introduction, I have to say that Tony “Kalifornia” is probably one of my most favorite people in the world. Not only did he not murder us and steal our glitter eyeliner, he hauled ass to the airport and was charming and polite and handsome and knew all the back roads. I will forever be grateful to him, and if you need his contact info because your crappy airline treated you crappily, I will give it to you. I have his card. He can give you a ride.

Sunburn! Trim

Sunburn! Trim

Obviously we made it to LaGuardia. We boarded the plane. I was ROTTEN to the flight attendant and despite her having every right to spit in my Diet Coke, she was lovely to me. But she tried to move my pillow, see, and I was already pretty huffed up about Air Canada and let’s just say that her asking me to give up my pillow space for someone whose suitcase was too large made me act like a real tool. I don’t know how Woney stands me.

Other than the flight being extra long and extra hot and despite the fact that taking a red eye, something we crowed about with pride before actually taking the red eye, was miserable, we did make it to Dublin. Our excitement far outweighed any bad experience we had. Every five minutes Woney would turn around and poke me and say, “We are going to Ireland.” And I would tug on her hair every ten minutes or so and say, “Guess what? We are going to Ireland.”

Hanging out at a castle, as you do. Ballyseede

Hanging out at a castle, as you do. Ballyseede

As a special preview for our trip, I got to sit next to a lovely young woman from Belfast. She was flying home from an extended work trip, and we chatted endlessly about her country and mine. Honestly, I was delighted with her accent so the longer we talked, the less I minded not sleeping. Turns out she was delighted with my accent, too. After a long conversation she said, “Sigh. You sound just like Jessica Simpson. I love it.”

And that shut me up for the rest of the flight.

Everyday occurence. Ireland.

Everyday occurence. Ireland.

Next stop: Dublin! (For real this time.)

A Trip To Tampa, Part One

24 Jan 2013 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, I Will Cut You, I'm Going Somewhere Tags: ,

So I went to Tampa.  I didn’t get a tan.  This should not surprise you.

This also should not surprise you.  I met some strangers.  Woney flew out to meet me there, but other than her, I knew nary a one of these people I was to hang out with for three days.  I am an excellent judge of character when I get to know you over email and/or Facebook.  I totally know the difference between someone who says “I promise not to steal your big sexy hair products and to leave your virtue intact” and someone who says “I am in Nicaragua with my mum who is sick.  I am sad.  I love you, please wire money.”  What I’m saying is you do not have to worry about me meeting strangers and picking roommates from Craigslist.

There’s a lot to discuss about this trip so I’m going to have to do this in parts.  It’s a lot to process. Plus I had a tasty beverage or two  while there and so some things are fuzzy.  I’m such a lightweight.

The flight out was lovely.  Fairly uneventful.  Crowded.  The flight attendant in my section of the plane was a nice man, although a bit of an Eeyore.  I usually fly Southwest and if I’m lucky I’ll get a flight crew full of fun.  I like the ones who sing, tell stories, and generally put some pizazz in the safety messages.  This flight attendant was nothing like that.  Following is the conversation he had with me and my seatmates.

Flight attendant, clutching his drink order pad, to those of us in my aisle:  What would you like to drink?

Seatmate1: Ginger ale.

Flight attendant:  You said Diet Coke?

Seatmate 1:  No, ginger ale.

Seatmate 2:  I’ll have a Diet Coke, please.

Me:  Do you have diet ginger ale?

Flight attendant:  No, we have Diet Coke.

Me:  I’ll have water.

Time passed.  We ate peanuts.  We waited.

Flight attendant, clutching his drink tray, to Seatmate 1:  Here’s your Diet Coke. 

Seatmate 1:  I ordered ginger ale.

Flight attendant:  I wrote down Diet Coke.

Seatmate 1:  I’d prefer a ginger ale.

Flight attendant: <heavy sigh>

Flight attendant to seatmate 2:  Here’s your Diet Coke.

Flight attendant to me:  Here’s your Diet Coke.

I opened my mouth to say, “No, I ordered water” but I saw his face, his Eeyore countenance, and the sigh that was coming, so I took the Diet Coke and clutched it in my hand until the garbage bag came around.

Then I arrived in Tampa and met some strangers and had the time of my life.

And then I had a flight home.  Boy, it was a doozy.  The flight itself was fine, no worries there, I’m alive.  But Woney and I ran into something interesting as we arrived at the airport.  We saw loads of people wearing black and bright green clothing and on all that black and bright green clothing was a green sparkly logo.  Now I’m a big fan of all thing sparkly, of course, so I was instantly captivated until I realized that the logo didn’t really say anything.  Then I caught on.   Ohhhhhh.  Stare at the logo, ask a question about it and immediately get sucked into a sales pitch.  I hate that!  Even though my eyes were drawn to the shiny, I walked quickly and firmly away from all those people.   It was a chore, let me tell you.  They were EVERYWHERE. 

I handled the walking away marvelously until I walked the gangplank to get to my plane.  There, in the bouncy walking tube, I was accosted by a husband and wife team as I began the slow crawl to get to the plane.  She was decked out literally from head to toe in her bright green and he even had his sparkly logo on a baseball jersey.  Die hards.  They were all up in my personal space, yapping at me about their product*, handing me crap that I clutched in my sweaty paw until the flight attendant came by with the garbage bag.  They wanted my contact info, etc., etc. and I politely declined as I boarded the plane, grabbing the first seat I could find in relief to be away from the vultures. 

I sat down with a whoosh in aisle two and do you know I sat right next to another one of those varmints?  She tricked me.  She had on a regular old black jacket over her sparkly green logo and only unzipped it after I sat down.  I just sighed and took the information, clutching  it in my hand until the flight attendant came by for garbage pickup.  I hate that mess.  If you are going to sell something and turn into your product, losing all your former personality and charm, go away from me.  I do not want what you are selling.

Oh, and speaking of flight attendants and charm, on this flight I had a Ricky Martin-type guy who was adorable.  He rattled off his safety spiel and suddenly, right in the middle of it, said “If you have any questions, please find a flight attendant.  Unless they are naked.  Never trust the naked ones.”  And then he went right on about his business.

So I’ve given you the bookend information on my trip.  There’s more to come.  I just have to get over my lazy haze that I got when I was down there so that I can write it all up for you. 

*I’m not going to tell you what the product was because they annoyed me.  It isn’t a product you want anyway unless you like people eyeing you critically and giving you low self-esteem with their suggestions about how they can fix you.  I like you guys too much to subject you to that.

 

Guest Post: Boss

01 Nov 2012 10 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Guest Post, I'm Going Somewhere Tags: ,

Hello folks, its Boss. I have known and worked with Jimmie for a long time and she has graciously offered to let me expound a few thoughts. (Editor’s Note:  Oh, goodie!)

As you may or may not know, I have made a career out of being a handyman. Not the kind that Jimmie constantly needs to fix the niggling stuff around her house. No, my job is to basically fly around the country (sometimes the world) and fix things. Sometimes it is a project, sometimes it is a client relationship, sometimes it is an employee and sometimes it is the whole company culture (particularly when run by a CEO with no experience, no maturity, no eggs, and, inexplicably, an ego the size of Tennessee). (Editor’s Note:  Perhaps Boss is talking about the last company we worked for, the one that let me go.  Or, perhaps not.)  The fixes vary from item to item, and it is my job to figure out a fix that is most advantageous to all parties. It’s a job that requires a lot of independence, a lot of flexibility and a little luck (or as Jimmie would have you believe, a charmed life).

All of those things are threaded together with literally millions of frequent flier miles and hours of time spent on airplanes and in airports.  One thing that I have noticed is that the vast majority of the American travelling public is completely ignorant of the basics of air travel. As a PSA, I would like to take a little time to offer some helpful tips that, when used, will make the flying experience better for all of us.

1.  Thanks to the advent of terrorism, you will be going through a metal detector prior to boarding your plane.  The metal detector’s sole purpose is to make a loud annoying noise when a metallic object is passed through it. When this happens, the line comes to a screeching halt, the security agent (typically taking a semester off from Harvard rocket scientist school to recharge) asks you to devoid yourself of metal, then pass through again.  This is repeated until no metal is detected.  Knowing this should help you when you get dressed in the morning.  Believe it or not, it is not necessary to travel with metal snuff can lids, belt buckles the size of dinner plates, pocket knives, railroad spikes or other miscellaneous metals.  Yes, your cell phone will set off the alarm; put it on the belt prior to walking through the device.  No, your newspaper, book, and money that folds will not set it off; walk on through confidently.  No, once you get to your destination, you will not be driving your car; therefore there is no reason to carry a wad of keys bigger than a Toyota.  Hey, here’s an idea, put them in your briefcase.  Yes, if you are wearing as much jewelry as Mr. T, the alarm will go off. No, you don’t need to stop immediately on the other side of the detector if it doesn’t go off. Keep moving and get the hell out of the way. Yes, I realize that there is a chance a loaded pallet will fall out of the overhead bin and onto your foot, but the odds are low, so you probably won’t need those steel toed boots. Speaking of shoes, you will have to take them off so don’t come to the airport wearing elaborately buttoned boots that take 45 minutes to take off. And guess what – if you go outside the secure area, you have to go through the process all over again.

2.  If you have a boarding pass, you don’t have to check in at the gate.  Get out of line, sit down and shut up.  Yes there is a size limitation on what you can carry on, so no you can’t carry on that body bag.  Yes, your purse counts as one of your two allowable carry-ons.  Now, believe it or not, it does you no good to huddle up at the front of the hold room as you are waiting to board.  All you are doing is clogging up the entry and forcing a physical confrontation with the people who board before you.  (Editor’s Note:  Boss only wants a physical confrontation with you if you are a hottie female. All others, move out of the way.)  Yes, they are going to board by zone and, if you ask nicely, some friendly person can likely read your zone to you from your boarding pass so you can figure out what zone you are in.  Wait for that zone to be called.  Don’t get up until then.

3.  Look at your seat number prior to getting on the aircraft.  If your seat is in row 34, don’t stop three steps into the aircraft and start squinting at the row numbers.  Move quickly to your seat, sit down and shut up.  Hey, if your damn carry-on is too heavy for you to lift it into the overhead bin by yourself, check it.  (Editor’s Note:  I once heard Boss say this to a lady on a plane.  He wasn’t kidding.)  And guess what – if you board the plane 30 seconds prior to the door closing looking like the Beverly Hillbillies moving west, don’t get pissy when you can’t find overhead bin space.  Give your bags to the flight attendant so they can be checked, then (yes, you guessed it) sit down, and shut up. When you get to your row, don’t park your big butt in the aisle and spend a half hour rummaging through your luggage looking for books, games, cough drops, money, a clue, or any other nonsense.  Stow your carry ons and sit down.

4.  Believe it or not, I am not interested in your life story.  (Editor’s Note:  He really isn’t.)  I really don’t care that the last time you flew the airplane had two sets of wings and the highlight of the trip was “buzzing sheep”.  Nor do I care that you are on the way to visit Aunt Millie, a woman who would make Lil Abner look like Charles Boyer.  The airplane gets plenty of lift from the airflow over the wings and doesn’t need the help of all your hot air.  Let’s take the chance and see if it will fly without your constant inane droning.  When I pull out my laptop, that is your clue that I have better things to do.  Shut up and go to sleep. 

With these few simple concepts in mind, all of our flying experiences can be so much more enjoyable.   You will be able to fly with the confidence that you know what you are doing, and I will get to my meeting without working up a sweat caused by my clubbing you like a baby seal.

(Editor’s Note:  See why it made me sad to leave him?  I got all that, every day.)

 
 

How Quickly I Get Spoiled

16 Oct 2012 1 Comment

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

Sigh.  I had to go back to work yesterday after being off for an entire week.  Again, happy to have a job but am slightly resentful that I am not a self-made millionaire right now.  I think I could be a lady of leisure, don’t you?  I’d spend my mornings at the gym, doing all kinds of crunches and butterfly moves so that I could have abs of steel and then I would go get massages.  I’d be the most relaxed, fit person you ever met. 

You know, that’s probably not true.  I’d be as big as a house and lazy as a cow cause I feel certain I’d be able to justify lounging around in sweats while I ate bon bons all day as a “noble endeavor”.  Good thing I have a job I need desperately to pay all my bills so that I don’t get fat and lumpy. 

This trip was to South Beach, in Miami.  I yapped about it a lot to anyone who would listen before going and the reactions I got fell into one of two categories: 

  • “I’m so jealous, you guys will have so much fun!” and,
  • “Don’t get killed.  I can’t believe you picked that place.” 

Don’t rain on my parade, people. (It’s possible I’m speaking directly to snooty snothole Bianca here. She’s so lovely.)

So, yeah.  It was fun.  My two sisters and I went, for my 40th birthday.  Martie, The Squirt and I have never taken a trip together, just the three of us and I’m proud to say that I like them better after returning.  That doesn’t always happen you know.  Sometimes you realize that the ones you love have awful snoring habits or they really are high maintenance about a bathroom, so much so that you spend half a day trying to find one that meets some obscure and ridiculous standard.  Not the case here!  We had a blast!

I’m going to cover the basics of our trip here.  Items of note:

Martie and The Squirt are the fortunate sisters with regards to complexion.  Both of them can get as brown as a berry in short span of time and I, well I burned myself in nearly every available place on my body.  Some of those places were rather unfortunate which made sitting on the plane home big fun!  Also, the red and pink and freckled streaks across my body look beautiful. 

Three women tooling around in a Mustang convertible, (color: red), hair blowing in the wind, get a lot of attention.  Especially when The Squirt drives.  She has a lead foot, that one.  We got a lot of blown kisses and from braver drivers, other more vulgar displays of admiration. 

Tasty beverages do not make getting your fingers slammed in a car door hurt any less. 

The Speedo is making a comeback.  Either that or loads of European men frequented South Beach.  I found myself not nearly as offended as I thought I might be, probably because these men wore them with extreme confidence.  However, nary a single one of those men checked the elastic bands in their Speedos before donning them.  Men over 70, please note that gravity has already worked its magic on you.  Elastic can help. 

Seriously, this was such a fantastic trip.  My sissies . . . ah, they are so great.  I just can’t get over how much I love them and how much they love me.  Combine that with gorgeous sand and sea?  I’ve said this once before but it bears repeating.  I love the ocean.  I cannot get enough of it, especially with views like this.  How can you not love it?  How can you not see God’s hand in that, in all that love and beauty?  Happy sigh.

For those who had varying reactions about my vacay?  Final judgment:  You should be jealous!  We had a blast!

 

Pictures Of My Tropical Vacation That Was Not Tropical At All

30 Oct 2011 Leave a comment

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

I wrote nearly a million words about my trip and my guess is that everyone had a hard time wading through all that.  To even it out, I thought this post could just be pictures of stuff that amused me last week.  Maybe look a picture here and then go read a paragraph.  It’s hard to condense a week of my life into 1000 words.  I’m so much bigger than that!  Happy looking!    

Might I have a bite of your lunch?

I don't even know what this means . . .

 

I’m Bruno. I’m badass. I weigh seven pounds. Don’t mess with me.

People in California are weird. No, thank you.

 

Hello ladies <eyebrow waggle>. Would you like to come nap with me? We could knead beautiful biscuits together.

Remember when I dropped that electric sander on my toe? That black cat covers that black bruise. Yay! Happy Halloween!

I Went Somewhere!

28 Oct 2011 Leave a comment

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

It’s time I get down to business here.  It’s time to stop being lazy and using my dirty laundry as an excuse to not write. I took a trip last week which I was going to tell you about anyway, but now I’ve had some special requests for a recap and I’d like to oblige those requests as I’d like to keep my status as your favorite.   

A few months ago, Woney called me up and told me about a cruise package she found that was very reasonably priced.  She offered to pay for my cruise if I would buy my plane tickets to her house, all the way on the other side of the country in California.  Naturally, I said yes.  I can tell I am her favorite.  For months we planned our tropical vacation, getting passports in order, buying swimmy suits, and working out with trainers.

I had a lot of expectations for this trip. I had visions of us lying on a beach or a pool chair by the crystal clear water of an ocean or a pool.  I had visions of us getting up faithfully every morning and hitting the gym.  I just knew that we would make healthy dining choices at almost every meal.  Fruity drinks were in our future as was a tan that would make me look like browned butter.  I would save money beforehand and then spend it all in Mexico buying presents for my friends and family while taking in the fresh ocean air that permeates all of the city of Ensenada.  And I would meet loads of fabulous people and be their favorite.  

Let me tell you how many of my expectations came to fruition.  One.    

The temperatures never got above 60 degrees.  And we had packed tropical wear for every day of the trip.  Every morning we would faithfully put on our swimmy suit or our cute dress with our sandals and then would don a coat and take our beach towels to whatever location we decided to perch in for the day.  There we would shiver for an hour or two with a book under no less than two beach towels apiece but usually four until we got disgusted and went back to the room to take a nap.  Or to the lido deck for lunch.  Or maybe to the hot tub where we would marinate for a little while but then would make a beeline for the two to four beach towels and then another beeline for the room where we would take a nap under the warm down comforters on our respective beds.  There was a lot of napping.   

One day it got warm enough to take off our coats although it was still cloudy, and do you know that was the day I got a sunburn?  It was a mild one but trust me, Ms. Pasty White over here, to find a way to get fried on a gloomy and slightly rainy tropical vacation.  Also, it should be noted that my sunburns never turn into a tan.  Instead I peel and then get about a million more freckles.  One day those freckles will grow together and I will have a really great tan.  I will probably also have a face like a leather handbag but at least my legs won’t be clear. 


On the night we pulled into Ensenada, I felt the ship shudder and rock a lot.  I was so sleepy (because of all the napping) and lazy (also because of all the napping) that I was only vaguely aware of the smell of rotten boiled cabbage but it just kept lingering. I wondered then if Woney was having some sort of intestinal disturbance or if maybe the sewage system on the boat was in distress.  I knew that the food we had eaten on the ship wasn’t the healthiest but for it to be this bad?  After a couple of hours, I finally woke Woney up and just asked her.  “No, sweetie, that’s Mexico.”  Oh.   

Honestly, the trip was great despite the fact that it was colder than we were expecting.  We did meet loads of fabulous new people and I am certain that I am now their favorite.  I did spend lots of my money on jewelry in Mexico with Marco who afterwards offered to let me come home with him because he liked my pretty pale skin.  I’m sure you know I declined. 

As for the healthy part of our trip, before we ever set foot on that boat, before we had our first fruity drink, before we even had a single bite of a single dessert, Woney and I visited her personal trainer for an hour and three minute long session.  You know how long an hour and three minute personal training session lasts when you go visit Woney’s trainer?  All damn day.  I wanted to hate that man – I was fully prepared to loathe him with every ounce of energy I had left after the workout (because let me tell you, when you place an order for Sheryl Crow arms or a Beyonce bootie, he takes you seriously and does his very best to make you work excessively for what you’ve just asked for). BUT!  I didn’t hate him at all.  I liked the guy.  What a pretty man he was, all giant arms and chiclet teeth and positive attitude.  Also, he’s a Navy man and once I got past the tearful, “Thank you, just for so much” speech I like to give to all service people, I tried to talk him into wearing his uniform at the end of the path we had to run down because, you know, it would make us run faster and all that.  He declined.  I’m sure it’s not at all against Navy rules so I really don’t see the issue there.  His name is Tony and even though I left with arms like noodles and a butt that was shaking, I was glad to have met him.  (Mostly because I felt justified and vindicated when I downed my first fruity cocktail but also a little because I grudgingly like working out.  DO NOT tell Lynnette.  She’ll make me do extra stuff in the next class.)     

After the training session we had massages with some sort of foot thing too.  Gosh, that was nice.  Incidentally, do you know how long an hour and 15 minute long massage lasts?  About ten minutes. 

So that was pretty much our trip into the Tropical Beyond.  Yes, my expectations were lofty.  No, things did not go fully according to plan.  But yes, I had a marvelous time and I’m thankful to Woney for the boat pass, Tony for the new muscles in my butt, Bobbie for taking care of my kitties while I was gone (it should be noted here that Murphy expressed his pleasure at my return by projectile varminting on my newly shampooed carpet), and Freddie for writing in my absence.  Catalina Island is nice.  Ensenada is nice.  Cruise ships are nice. All my new friends are nice.  And now I will close with some email exchanges between me and my nice new friends: 

Jimmie:  Has anyone else had a difficult time getting back to work properly?  Holy crap, my brain is fried.

Ciera:  Honestly work wasn’t even as bad as I thought it would be.  The hardest part about coming back . . . . feeding myself.  Heather and I kept hoping food would just appear somewhere but it never did.  We even had to choose what we were going to eat all on our own.  That was hard.   

Jimmie:  Excellent point.  I had to cook stuff and it was awful. And there was no dessert.  That really blows. 

Ciera:  Yea.  And not once have I come into my room and seen a towel animal waiting there for me.  Real life is hard. 

 

 

 

Proposal

06 Jul 2011 4 Comments

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

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:

  1. You determine that you need rain.
  2. 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.)
  3. 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).
  4. 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. 
  5. 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:

  1. You determine that you need rain. 
  2. 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.)
  3. 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). 
  4. 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. 
  5. 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:

  1. You determine that you need rain.
  2. 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!)
  3. 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).
  4. 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.
  5. 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. 

 

Stuff I Learned: Beach 2011

07 Apr 2011 Leave a comment

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

  

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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