There are very few things in life that make you feel more like a sassy single downtown girl then having a cocktail and seeing a show with your roommate, running into your fabulous gay friend and his partner outside a dance club, then stepping onto a busy city street on a Friday night after midnight and hailing a Taxi for the four of you to share home.
So, I am back on the bus. Oh lovely public transportation, how I love thee.
What does this mean for you? Being back on the bus means that everyone is safer in a snowstorm without me on the road. It also means I have Jamie stories to keep you entertained.
Bus story # 1.
I think my morning bus driver thinks I am a stripper. Or a whore. Or something scandalous along those lines. Surprisingly it isn’t because of how I dress or even my somewhat flirty disposition. No, I think he thinks I am a stripper because the first time I rode his bus to work in the morning I was trying to make sure that he stopped by my work in the Warehouse district. My work happens to be one block away from Sex World, a huge (read HUGE) 24 hour sex shop, and half a block from Dejavu, a popular strip club in the cities.
Because it is easier to explain where I want to get off the bus using such widely known places, I say “Do you stop by Sex World and Dejavu”
He looks at me with curiosity and I say without thinking, “You know the huge pink strip club, do you stop by there? I have to go to work”
Ha! I didn’t give it another thought until a few days later when my bus driver, who is not from America, turns to me and says very sincerely “In America you can be whatever you want to be. You don’t have to settle. You don’t have to do anything you don’t really want to do. You can work anywhere. We are hiring bus drivers. You could work for the bus company. They are a good company. You should call them. You should not have to work where you work”
I thank him and get off the bus thinking ” I wonder what it is that he thinks i do that I need to not work there? I haven’t even told him about my job” And then, the light came on.
Ha! He totally thinks I am a stripper. Which is alarming on so many levels. Especially because Dejavu’s slogan is “1000’s of pretty girls and 3 ugly ones”
(Side note: How do they pick the ugly ones? Do you interview for it, or do you get hired and then somewhere down the line you realize that you are indeed one of the three ugly ones? Is it like American Idol auditions where people make it in front of Simon, Paula, and Randy and sing their hearts out, thinking they actually have a shot, only to have their dreams crushed? They were tricked all along. And am I horrible because that is one of my favorite parts of the show. Total jerk)
Bus story #2
I love the crazies on the bus and they love me. Yesterday there was a practical blizzard in the cities. Traffic was at a standstill and buses were running an hour behind schedule. After waiting in the snow for almost 40 minutes I finally got on a bus. At the next stop a man reeking of alcohol sat down next to me. First words slurred out of his mouth? “You are pretty, want to keep me warm? I like you”
Seriously why do men say things like that? Do they honestly think a woman will say “Oh how romantic! I was hoping you would say that!”
Surprisingly, that isn’t how I responded. I said “Look mister. I stood outside for 40 minutes waiting for a bus. I am tired and wet and I honestly don’t feel like talking with you right now”
He said “Ok I have to call my bitch anyways” Seriously. That is what he said.
He gets on the phone and as soon as someone answers he says “You better come see me tomorrow or I am going back to Saint Paul and you will never see me again” (I try not to laugh. St Paul is 20 minutes away. It isn’t like he is threating to move to the Congo.)
Next he says “You know that cat we have? You better come get it or I will kill it. Yeah that’s what I said. Dead.” (Wow. And to think I missed the chance to keep him warm.)
Then he says “Baby I love you. I am tired of screwing around. You need to step up to the plate. Show me you care. Give me some pictures. Give me some mother f’ing pictures. You know what I want” (Um… what? This is fantastically disturbing.)
He says “You know I just got out of the workhouse right…” (Wait… is the workhouse jail? The share a cat but she doesn’t know he was in jail. Interesting.)
He says “Now I cant drive a car. You know I want to drive my Bentley” (Yeah right)
And he ends the conversation by saying. “What about your people. I don’t care about your people. I will kill them too” (Awww, he is so loving)
He hangs up the phone and turns to me and says “So… can I get your number”
Yeaaaaah.
(Bonus Jamie Story)
We got snowed in at the retreat this weekend. This meant we had to get out and push the cars up the dirt road. I get out with the boys, take my position at the back of the car and start pushing. The car starts rolling so we start running with it… It is starting to feel a little easy breezy beautiful and I realize that my pants are falling down (This is a good thing, I think it means the workouts are working) By the time I can get out of the cars way and grab them they are around my ankles, and I moon all the men and women in my small group.
So my friend Dave recently showed a picture he had taken at an Arby’s somewhere in eastern Indiana/western Ohio. (Ha. Ohio. Those are my people)
There are so many ridiculously fantastic things about this picture. First, which employee must wash hands? Do they take turns? Is it a daily raffle? Fascinating.
Secondly, why is wash hands in quotation marks? Seriously? Is it a euphemism? What exactly does it mean?
While discussing this with friends, Jason brought up this web site.
I love it!
My favorites so far
I look a lot like my mom…
I was looking at pictures of my grandfathers funeral, and I was amazed at how a like we look…
mom
and me
And I am kind of glad too… because my mom is beautiful.
(and I miss her)
I am not going home for Thanksgiving…
On one hand, this makes me very very very sad… because I do miss my family. On the other hand, this makes me very very very happy… because I don’t have to eat any of my mothers attempts at cooking.
My mom will say she cooks, but she doesn’t cook. And when she does, things tend to go very very wrong. Like the time she tried to make Key Lime Pie and it didn’t congeal. And my Dad, being the brave soul that he is, ate it anyways, even though it was like bright green slime dripping through the tongs of his fork.
Or the last time I was home, when she caught the stove on fire.
I think to truly understand why my life is an afterschool special you need to spend the weekend with my family.
They are wonderful, and so much fun, but where my family goes adventure soon follows.
This weekend was no exception.
I was at my mom and dads house in Michigan. On Saturday night we had a house full of guests and my mother wanted to make something for dinner for all of them. She was cooking lasagna, spaghetti and meatballs, and garlic bread all at once while we played cards and caught up on each others lives.
She called for the girls to come and help her and as we walked into the kitchen we saw flames coming from the stove top. The oil from the noodles had spilled over onto the burner and ignited.
Oh yeah, it was on fire.
We all stood looking at it for a moment trying to decide how to put it out. We knew enough to know you couldn’t put water on it.
My little sister Staci was the first to spring into action. She grabbed a towel and started to fan the flame, which of course made it grow.
My Aunt Mindy yelled for my mom to put baking soda on the fire. My mom looked in the cupboard and yelled she didn’t have baking soda, so she reached in and pulled out a box of corn starch and threw it on the flames, which also made it grow.
My Aunt Mindy said “I said baking soda not corn starch.â€
My mom yelled back “Its the same thing†and then yelled for my dad to help.
So now my mom, my Dad, my two sisters, my sisters boyfriend Ben, five of my cousins, my aunt, three of my uncles, and I are all standing in the kitchen watching the fire.
My Aunt Mindy yells for salt to throw on the fire and my mom reaches over the stove and grabs a salt grinder and starts twisting.
My aunt tells her that wont work we need baking soda and table salt.
My mom turns and yells. “I don’t have any. What do you want from me. Do you want me to go to the store and get someâ€
At which point my sisters and I start laughing and are of no use at all.
Finally my sisters boyfriend reaches over and grabs a lid to a pan and throws it over the flames, which causes it to die down but not extinguish, so he sets the lasagna on top of it too. Then me and my dad blow out the fire.
My mom opens the oven to get out the garlic bread and it is on fire too.
There is smoke everywhere, corn starch all over the kitchen and us, the dinner is burnt, and my sisters and I cant stop laughing.
In the end we survived. We laughed and ate burnt Italian. It was wonderful and it was family.
My mother called it the great fire.
And every time we tell the story it gets a little better.
because that’s just part of having a life as an afterschool special.
Happy Thanksgiving friends. May your turkey be moist, your potatoes fluffy, and your house fire free.
Edited to add email from my mom
And oh by the way….. And yes there was a fire this Thanksgiving also… Squash with marshmellows caught on fire and had to be carried outside.
Tis the season
xoxoxoxo
Ha! Love her!
What in the world am I doing?
What am I doing?
In the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy lands her black and white house into a colorful Oz, her life is suddenly transformed in blinding Technicolor. I feel like I am stepping out of a black and white world for the first time, and in the blinding reds and blues and yellows and greens I don’t recognize things that have always been familiar. I feel lost.
It is as if one moment I knew exactly who I was, or at least who I pretended to be, and the next I looked at myself in the mirror and realized I have no idea who I am or what I am doing. The color is too much for me. I have no idea why I am on the path I am on, or where I am going, or even where I want to be.
I don’t know who I am.
When I was little we moved a lot. I went to several different schools, and with each move my mother would say “Jamie, this is a fresh start. No one knows who you are. No one knows anything about you. You can be whoever you want to be here. Its a fresh start”
There were many many good things that came of that. I am sociable. I am graceful. I am comfortable in almost any situation and around almost anyone. I learned that from moving, and from my mom. However, as an adult I have realized this philosophy makes me want to run away when things are hard. I am always looking for a clean slate, a fresh start, a “do-over” for my life. I have worked hard the past few years to establish friendships and connections and to fight the urge to run. I have commitment issues. I acknowledge this and I am working on it.
But I am also realizing that this “pep talk” heard over and over again in my childhood taught me that it was ok and even preferable to hide. To pretend. To see what people want me to be and then become that which they desire. I have never known who I was or been encouraged to find out. I have only played roles.
And I am so good at it. I am fun. I am funny. I am flirty. I tell an amazing story. I am loyal. I am compassionate. I am womanly. I am strong enough for people to admire me. I am needy enough for people to want to protect me. I am a little crazy at times and a handful, but in my experience, people like that. They expect that from me. They laugh and say “Oh its just Jamie” “Its another Jamie story” I am entertaining.
And it is exhausting. It is entirely exhausting to keep up with the Jamie I have created. I know that people who do not know me well look at me and think that I am out of control or laid back or free spirited. And there is some truth in that, but mostly, people think that because I want them to. People perceive me exactly how I want them too. I am very controlled in what I actually let people see.
And I am realizing that part of the reason for that is because I don’t know who I am. If you take away my audience, if you take away the supporting cast of characters in my life, I have no idea who I am. And the blinding technicolor of this realization is a bit much for me.
I work too many jobs. Partly because I buy too many shoes, but the bigger reason is that I don’t like downtime. My boss forced me to go home last week and I snuck into the office. I couldn’t just be still. I couldn’t just be. When you sit me alone on a room I panic, because I feel lost and alone. I don’t know who I am.
My goal is downsize, but I am terrified of letting go.
The black and white day I snuck into my office, after a few heart to hearts with close friends, I looked around and suddenly everything was in brilliant color. I saw myself and the choices I was making and was left asking myself what in the world I was doing.
I recently had the same same revelation about dating. The truth is I date. I date a lot. I go on first dates and second dates, and then I stop answering my phone or emailing or calling. I am not actually ready for a long term relationship even though I desperately want one, because I am not ready to be real. A part of me understands this, but a bigger part of me doesn’t know who I am, and thinks if I don’t have someone who tells me I am beautiful or desirable or love-able than I must not be. So I begin to feel insecure and flirt and get a phone number or place an ad just to see the response, and then I push everyone away again.
Its a terrible cycle, and I have woken up the past few days asking myself what I am doing. I am not sure I am ready to kiss dating goodbye… but I think I should. I really really think I should. I hate when people say they are “taking a break” from dating, but if I keep dating wrong men how I will I ever be ready for the right one? What is the point? How am I ever going to grow if I keep running back to what is safe? How will I ever find who I am if I always play the role that I think people want me to be? How can I find true self worth if I wont let go of control long enough to discover it?
It is one thing to hide when you don’t understand the truth, but when your world lights up and truth is revealed, how can you ever go back to black and white?
I am someplace I have never been. My life is in technicolor, and I am not in Kansas anymore.
I am dying. I am so itchy I want to die.
I don’t know if it is just the dry weather or the fact the the chlorine was too high in the pool or a mix of both but I am so so so so itchy and I have red bumps everywhere…
Seriously…. these are all taken from different body parts.
Anyone have any suggestions?
or are the leaves especially brilliant this year?
Fifteen favorite things about fall:
*The cool night air. I love sleeping under lots of blankets with the windows wide open. I love that the stars and the moon and everything feels so crisp and bright.
* Football games. I enjoy the sound of the crowds and the thrill of the game and losing yourself in the action. I like how it divides people and unites people and brings out loyalty.
* Being able to wear almost any shoe in your closet. Seriously. Sandals, Running Shoes, High Heels, Boots… everything works in the fall. How can you not love that?
* Hot Apple Cider and Chai Lattes on cold days. I love the smell, the taste, the warmth.
* New school supplies. I know I am adult and the sight of trapper keepers and unused notebooks shouldn’t excite me, but I love the beginning of the school year, when everything is fresh is new and possibilities seem endless.
* Bonfires. I love the smell. I love the contrast of the cool night air and the warm fire. I love toasting marshmallows and singing and cuddling up.
* The changing colors. Looking around and seeing God in nature.
* Jeans. Dressy jeans, messy jeans, jeans with holes in the knees. I love jeans in the fall.
* Halloween. Dressing up and carving pumpkins and passing out candy and remembering your inner child.
* Dinner Parties. Nothing like a good bottle of wine and a good group of friends on a cool day
* Fresh Corn on the Cob. I even eat it raw sometimes.
* Fall TV. New seasons and new shows.
* Candles. Being able to burn candles everywhere, and light them earlier because it gets darker sooner
* The stillness of the lake. The grayness of the water
*Hockey
I’m turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think so
I’m turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think soTurning Japanese by The Vapors
This is an actual song that I sing all the time and people think I made up. Granted, that may be because everything I ever sing in my too perky cheerleader voice sounds like I made it up. Don’t believe me, ask my friend Kim, or see me sing Rage Against the Machine in karaoke.
Point being, the song is real.
*Disclaimer*
What is not real is the scenario below. Although characters and places may seem actual any similarities to the below and any person, living or dead, is clearly a coincidence. This is not a Jamie story
Picture it… It is a dark and cloudy fall night. The wind is whipping through the trees, taking the remainder of the fall leaves with its powerful gusts. I clutch my coat tightly around my bare legs as I walk to my car after a late night reviewing a club. There is a chill in the air, and I cant help but think something ominous must be coming. As I turn into a deserted ally I hear footsteps behind me, my heartbeat quickens, I walk faster. The steps quicken behind me, I run, and just before the perp (clearly I watch a lot of cop shows) can reach out and grab me I turn and throw this (what do you carry it in?) over my head.
Brilliant! The song is real, but the coke machine is not.
Had you fooled didn’t it! What is it you may ask? According to my friend Scott that is the Japanese attempt at warding off muggers.
And I am thinking its kind of awesome.
In MMMP this week we talked about what superpower we would have if we could only use it when we were frustrated and angry. There were some great answers (google girl) but I said I wanted to be a transformer. shape shifter. whatever those geeky people are calling it these days.
No one will ever know. I can picture the mugger now “I was just chasing a girl, but she disappeared. But look at this refreshing coke machine wearing shoes. Foiled Again”
I wanted to be a transformer. Looks like I don’t have to wait, I am turning Japanese, and then I am turning into a coke machine.
Thomas Wade of Vassar, age 74, died Tuesday, October 16, 2007 at his home. Thomas was born September 19, 1933 in Detroit, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas and Pauline (Paye) Wade. He and Nancy Chapman were united in marriage January 22, 1955 in Detroit.
Surviving are his wife Nancy Wade of Vassar, 10 Children, 27 grandchildren and 7 great-grandchildren, sisters Mary, Eleanor, and Paula and brother John.
That is my grandpa…. and I am both entirely saddened by the loss of such an amazing and loving man, and overjoyed that he is truly in heaven. The bible says to be absent from this body is to be present with the Lord, and I know that my Grandfather is smiling in heaven.
I wish I could explain his character to you… and how many lives he touched… but I will let my uncle, my mom, and mydad do that
May you all be as blessed as I have been by a man so good.
Tom Wade, the head of the family passed away Tuesday October 16th about 6:45 in the evening. A life of few regrets and hundreds of exciting moments. Although I knew him only 6 years, he did his best to fill me in with wit, stories, maps, pool advice, lawn mowing aid, tree trimming hints, and most of all with his reminiscing about the Detroit Edison days. A one of a kind story teller that always kept my interest till the end of each event. I was blest in that I got the honor of seeing him every week. It was hard to watch him come outside and pull nails during the pool removal project, but I knew that it got him outdoors and that was great for him. He was concerned that I would run over a nail with my mower and get a flat tire.
His passing was very sad for about an hour. Then as we wiped our tears and blew our noses, we started talking about the life of this fantastic family man. And yes, there was some song singing on the approach to the garage with an age-jumping combination of voices bellowing out while smilling ear to ear. We drank some beer and wine and saluted the owner of the reunion property.
Taps will be played at the gravesite with a 21 gun salute and flag presentation to the family.
Please help celebrate the life of Tom Wade with me.
Love to all
(Uncle) Charlie
Tom Wade was and always will be a man of strength and knowledge. He loved his wife, children and grandchildren deeply. It was an honor for me to have shared his last days and to witness his love. I will always think of him with much love and respect and a smile will appear just hearing his name.
His wish was to celebrate his life and that is what the family will do in the next coming days. We will celebrate his life and the gift for having him in ours.
Cathy (My mother)
Charlie, Cathy, - couldn’t have said it better myself. Dad was my example of what a son, a brother, a uncle, a husband, a dad, a co-worker, a Christian and a friend are all about. He was always giving (many times through the stories Charlie mentioned), always thanking God for what he had, and not asking for more. He was a friend and a mentor to me. He always greeted me with a hug, a kiss and a smile, something my family has carried on as a habit. For a guy that grew up without a dad, he over achieved what he lacked as a young man and not only was the father figure to his family, but his grandchildren as well. For allowing me to be a dad with a dad, I thanked him. I have no complaints about him or what he did for me. You couldn’t have written a better ending to the story of a man with a mission and passion to create the perfect family and bring together what he saw ripped apart as a child. He allowed us all to say good-bye and laugh with him one more time. Way to go pops, great job! I’ll miss you always and think of you often. We will carry on the legacy you nurtured and grew into the beautiful arrangement of color and love that it is today. Thank you (Dad) for the wisdom, support, guidance and reassurance that allowed me to become the man I am. Your love and devotion to this family will be greatly missed. To my mentor, my friend and my dad, THANKS ! Well done, well done. Bravo! Here’s to you. Cheers, Love - D@nny (my Father)
