I SWEAR I Graduated from University

Some of you are going to doubt that after you read this confession.

So I'm busily working away by scrolling through blog posts to find a Christmas picture of Boom. This actually DOES constitute work because the picture has been requested by the holiday party planning committee. So there, step back with your accusations of slackness.

I find the picture and save it to my desktop. I then open an email and attach the jpeg. And for the first time EVER I realize that the little icon that shows up when you attach a jpeg is actually a little sunset/sailboat picture. Like so:

[Ignore the magnifying glass and star -- it was the only example I could find.]

If you had asked me yesterday, I would have said it was a bucket with a red band and a crack in it. An off-center crack. Had you pressed me further as to why that made a reasonable icon for a picture file, I would have shrugged and said, "dunno." Because now that I've realized what the picture really is, I can't for the life of me figure out why I assumed it was a cracked bucket for all these years. In my defense, those icons are really darn small.

Tell all your single friends, Smitten DOES wear corrective lenses!!

XO, JamieSmitten

No, I Don't Think It Is Ash Wednesday

(or How I Got the Forehead Contusion)

The plan was to leave for New York at 10 a.m. "If you want to see Coney Island, we need to beat the traffic."

"O.K. Then I need to get up at 6:30 to get stuff done."

"That is way too early. You can get up at 7:30 and it will be fine."

I got up at 7:30 and we departed the house at 10:20. With one stop to make at the post office. I hopped out of the car and left the car running because someone was cold and needed the heat on while he listened to the radio and read his book. Someone turned off the car, but left the heat and radio on -- and unbeknownst to someone -- the lights were also on.

"Who the hell drives with the lights on during the day?"

"I do."

"Well that's stupid."

"So's your face." [This is a standard rejoinder in the household indicating a lack of agreement and a request to move on to the next potential topic for disagreement.]

So after standing in a line to mail a package (hope you like it!) I came outside and happily tried to start my car to head off on vacation. Car doesn't start.

More leaving the lights on is stupid, more well if you don't know how to pop a clutch without me explaining it then I can't explain it, and finally the bright idea to get a jump start. The startled woman next to us agrees to move her minivan around and provide the juice.

I hop out of the car to pop the hood. Done, I return to the driver seat and await cable connection. Then I remember that the last time someone ran down my battery, he had a hard time locating the battery as it was under an relatively unmarked cover. So I hop back out of the car -- and yes, I was fully impatient, annoyed, and foul-tempered -- and leaned over to pull the cover off and conked my forehead HARD on the raised hood.

I staggered back to the car mumbling, "fuck it. Someone can find it himself." He did and we were on our way -- finally, at 10:48.

So I drive for a 1/2 hour. Then I turn around and go back to the house to get someone's ID. I ask for aspirin from the kitchen because I have a headache. Not enough coffee, I assume, vowing to get a large cup at the first stop.

First stop is 3 hours later. Aspirin has not touched the headache which has become a dull throb. Amazingly, I still think it is caffeine withdrawal. We enter the rest stop, I use the facilities, and inspect my eye makeup while I wash my hands. We get in line, buy burgers (Roy Rogers still has Double R Bar burgers! Who knew? They aren't as good as I remember, but then, life is like that.) We get up and I go to Starbucks to get my coffee. Line is too long, so I make the ultimate sacrifice and order a coffee from the urn at Cinnabon. While I wait for my coffee to be poured (a 3 minute span of time, oddly), I turn to someone and say, "Do I have something on my forehead. It kind of hurts here." I point to just right of center on my forehead.

My eyes get bigger. Someone's eyes get bigger. And I feel a knot the size of a walnut on my forehead.

"How the hell didn't you see this in the past 3 hours?"

"I wasn't looking right at you."

"I'm pretty sure a bump this big has a profile."

"Holy shit it is getting bigger. Stop making me laugh."

By the time we get to the car we are laughing hysterically -- someone from the speed at which the knot is growing and me from the leaking brain fluid from the skull I now realized is cracked -- the walnut is bigger. I'm advised to put ice on it.

"How would you like me to do that and drive?"

"I'm not sure, baby. Want me to drive?"

"No. I already have a headache. Give me one of the ice cubes from your drink."

I then proceed to give myself an ice cream headache on TOP of the cracked cranium headache for the next 20 minutes. I become adept at ice cube balancing and refuse the offer of a ski cap to hold the cube in place.

"Bad enough I'm going to meet your friends with a third eye, let's not add hat hair."

Someone (after another bout of hysterical laughing), "it hardly shows, baby. You are beautiful."

We did not beat rush hour. My knot did show, but didn't start to turn purple until we got home, 3 days later.

And no, co-workers, I don't think it is Ash Wednesday and that isn't a smudge on my forehead. It's a souvenir.


Tell all your single friends, the best pizza EVER had eggplant parmesan slices on it and was at Danny's in Central Islip, NY.


XO, JamieSmitten

Weekend Meditations

• Too many margaritas affect my balance negatively
• I look pretty hot with a purple eye
• My knee, although bruised in all new ways, is freaking tough
• Letting your friends pick their ringtones is a great idea
• Picking your own ringtones while intoxicated is a bad idea
• Shots are expensive
• Missing bras are often found under seat cushions at the least opportune time

Tell all your single friends, older, certainly no wiser.

XO, JamieSmitten

I'm a Hot Dumb Ass!

I have lived in the city of Richmond for fourteen years and I have never had a parking ticket. I've had a parking ticket in DC, but never in Richmond. Until last night.

I came home from work and took Boom for a walk as usual. I had several errands to run, so I went back out. Dog treats, leg wax strips, eye drops, banana bread ingredients, and a pedicure. So when I got home at 7:45 in flip-flops with tons of bags and couldn't find a parking spot on the street in the immediate 2 blocks, I pulled up to the median to unload.

Note -- everybody in the neighborhood has done this once or twice to unload a car. We live in a small shopping district with a theater and restaurants, so evening parking can be difficult. In fact, during last weekend's French Film Festival, there were TWO cars parked where I parked for the entire day. No tickets.

I had every intention of moving my car onto the street as soon as a spot opened. But then I made some dinner (stir fried rice, and arugula/spinach mix with sprouts and lemon gorgonzola dressing, thanks for asking) and started watching ER. I mean this is the end of 15 years of ER, it is understandable that I was distracted from watching the road.

Then Neighbor John calls around 11 and says, "Is that your car parked at the median?" To which I replied, "Oh crap! I totally forgot to move it!" His response was, "Well you might want to get out there because there are 2 cop cars by it." So I go running outside in my pedicure flipflops (O.P.I. Blue My Mind, thanks for noticing), saying apologetically, "OHMYGOSH I TOTALLY fell asleep on the couch! I'm so sorry, I had a ton of bags to carry in, I'll move it right now."

Response of the uniformed officer? "I've got something for you," and hands me a ticket. They both walk away and the plainclothed officer (a dead ringer for Inspector Gadget in his tightly belted trencoat) offers over his shoulder, "You're lucky that I can still cancel the tow."

So I got in my car and turned the radio up to cover the expletives I was bestowing upon these two inflexible asshats and moved my car.

I get to pay a $40 ticket for being a forgetful dumb ass.

Today, I was walking through the grocery store getting the baking ingredients I forgot the previous night and as I rounded the corner, passed a man with a small kid in the cart. He literally did a double take. It was text book. He could give lessons in double take. So I looked at him a second longer than I would ordinarily have to see if he looked familiar. He didn't.

He started to look familiar because I passed him three more times while collecting the 7 items I was purchasing (13 if you count the apples individually, thanks for clarifying). When I was paying, he walked slowly by with his groceries, eyeing me the whole time. He wasn't overly creepy looking, but the eye contact was getting to be a bit much. After paying, I headed for the other exit just to be on the safe side.

Nope, he was lingering, so as I finally made it to my car, he rolls by slowly with the window down and hisses, "Niiiiiiccccccceeeeee."

So there you have it. I'm not reliably bright, but I am noticeably hot. At least to supermarket stalkers.

Tell all your single friends, parking tickets suck. Even for hot people.


XO, JamieSmitten

Nine Days Sober......Not!

Where to begin? With Gilligan and Stripey? With bacon wrapped around dates? With a strange (albeit cute) man on my couch?

We'll start where all good stories start. With the buttery nipples.

Actually, I probably need to give a little background. When I first moved to Richmond, I lived with a bunch of people. It was kind of like having the entire cast of Friends living in one apartment. But break-ups happen, people buy houses, and suddenly the (not even yet contemplating a career as a) Rev and I were on our own -- with a $1000 rent payment. So we advertised and interviewed for potential roommates. I was leaning towards the young, impressionable boys from VCU -- hopefully with a steady stream of equally impressionable friends.

But then we interviewed M. M stood out during her interview because she brought a peppy friend and tried to stab me with a knife. O.K. it was some sort of sleight of hand trick, but the knife did point at and then touch my stomach. Anywho, with this type of entrance, how could we resist? So M moved in with her owl and all was well on Stuart Ave. Peppy girl became DFF, so there you have the players.

Friday night, M came to town and DFF left the West End and we essentially recreated a night from our first year of acquaintance. Some of the trappings are different -- we buy more expensive beer now, we snack on hummus instead of chips, we wear clothes that don't need to be drycleaned to get the smoky bar smell out. But the essentials? That remains the same. We do the girly stuff like use hairspray and assure each other that we are in fact, quite hot -- no "still" about it. We listen to music, we catch up, and we drink buttery nipples.

Well lubricated, we walked over to the bar -- the same bar we always used to go to -- to see a group we always used to see. It was kind of dead at first but it picked up. Helped in no small part by my commitment to dancing, even when nobody else does. Besides, standing up allowed me to meet Gilligan -- an odd man in a Gilligan hat who touched my back every time he passed me. It was kind of creepy, but he looked a little off, so I let it go.

More beer, more dancing. I was thrilled to not be the one who spotted a long-forgotten FWB -- DFF had that honor. His girlfriend was Stripey. It was funny if you were there. Then we found the possibly only normal and good-looking male in the bar and convinced him to dance with us. This being Richmond, he was a friend of a friend of DFF. Richmond is 2 degrees of separation, in case you didn't know.

Lights came up, nobody was ready to stop, so we hot-stepped it over to another bar who firmly refused to serve us. I will attribute this to the late hour as we were clearly a fine looking bunch. Not to be deterred we lurched homeward with the promise of more buttery nipples on our lips. And they were good, although in the morning it appears I had a heavy hand with the schnapps as there is still some Bailey's left. Irksome. There may have been some Morgan and coke. There was definitely some beer.

And just when I was thinking this strange man might warrant a closer look, I slipped. I mixed my party favors. And as M did point out the next morning, "you can't do that, Smitten."

So a short time later, I was on the back porch trying desperately not to coat my Docs with the 3 cherry tomatoes, 5 tostitos, and 4 brownie bites. Thank goodness I don't eat meat, because the bacon-wrapped dates from our first party stop of the night would not have helped anyone in the immediate vicinity of my regurgitation. Thankfully, M lived with me long enough to know that once they dry heaves were done, I could be safely sent to bed. With this on the floor next to me:

When we woke up the next morning, the strange man was gone from the couch, his bedding neatly folded. Well, the bedding and the shower curtain that M had thoughtfully provided as a blanket. Deluxe accommodations, I tell you.

"I totally thought you were going to hook up with him." Sigh. The sad refrain of my life.

I gathered up the empties and carried them out to the recycling bin, where I found a dead bird. I told DFF and she said, "Maybe he ate your puke and it killed him."

Maybe it did.

Everyone was recovered by 2-ish. And I bet we do it again before the year is out. But this time, I'm not mixing my party favors and I'm getting some.

Tell all your single friends, old friends and buttery nipples, don't knock it until you've tried it.

XO, JamieSmitten

Strongest Dog EVER

Boom and I took a drive to Virginia Beach this weekend and a lovely trip it was. Cruise control set at 71, sparse traffic, no need for AC, we made it there in 1 hr. 50 min.

Boom believes in safe travel and we have tried many types of restraint systems. His first was a harness that connected to the seat belt. He chewed his way out of it before we got on the highway (1 mile from my house). His Aunt Valerie can confirm, she saw it happen. Next, I bought a backseat sling that tied to the headrests front and back. The fabric was meant to keep him in the backseat and safe. On his second trip in the sling, Boom shifted his weight and ripped two (of four) tiebacks off the fabric. A few months ago, I found a new harness restraint system at the Humane Society website. Looked good and the money was going to charity. Bonus!

So Boom was wearing his fancy new harness restraint attached to a zip line that runs across the top of the rear seat. Keeps him safe in case of a sudden catastrophic stop, but still allows him to lie down, sit up, gaze out the rear window and sigh, etc. He seems to like it or at least, he hasn't tried to escape it.

Upon arrival, I got out of the car, grabbed my many bags and dog paraphernalia out of the front seat, and opened the back door slowly, prepared to unhook Boom and put his leash on.

Nope, not fast enough, Boom jumped out of the car while still attached to the zip line.


CRACK!


That was the sound of the grab bar ripping out of the ceiling of my car. You know, this thing:

\/

(ignore the dummy)

So is the force of Boom jumping out of a care more than the force sustained if I was in an accident? It would at least slow down his momentum, wouldn't it? Before, of course, the grab bar came loose and conked me in the head. Hmmmmm.

Can't wait to find out how much grab bars cost.

Tell all your single friends, I have the best of intentions and the worst of executions.

XO, JamieSmitten

What I Read Today

Favorite Food: Flowerless chocolate cake

Clearly, I've been baking chocolate cakes incorrectly for years! Will add flowers from now on.





Tell all your single friends, learn the difference between good and well so your co-workers won't think you are an idiot (because we do).








XO, JamieSmitten





p.s. Happy Canada Day!!!!!

When Basic Skills Atrophy

Is it just me or is everybody losing some of the abilities we formerly took for granted?

I have accepted the fact that no matter how many Thank You notes I write, my handwriting has gone to shit. I spend too much time tapping away at a keyboard and not enough time wielding the mighty pen. Since I'm conscious of the deterioration, I write more slowly if anyone other than me is expected to read it.

I no longer have phone numbers memorized. Before the memory function was a standard feature in phones, you had to actually REMEMBER the number or fumble through an address book. [Digression: My Grammy had one of those AWESOME telephone lists where you slid the pointer down to the appropriate letter and then pushed the button to magically reveal the right page. Looked like this:


I'm not sure if I loved this because it reminded me of the game Mystery Date (where you turned the door knob to reveal a boy!), but it was one of my favorite things to play with at Grammy's house.] With cell phones and memory dial, I can barely remember my VoIP number. That's got to be contributing to brain cell death.

Final and most damning evidence? On Sunday, I was UNABLE to transport ice cube trays to the freezer without sloshing half the contents on the floor. I remember using ice cube trays. In fact, I used them well after most of my friends had moved to automatic ice-makers. So, it has probably only been about six years since I last traversed the 2 feet between sink and freezer. I had even pre-opened the freezer door and cleared a shelf, but to no avail. So there I was with coffee splattered all over the floor, freezer door and front of the refrigerator. Because I only went to the dollar store to buy ice cube trays so I could make espresso cubes for my iced americanos.

Tell all your single friends, I used to have mad skillz.

XO, JamieSmitten