He wears a lot of hats.

This here, my friends, is the man who brought me into this world.



Later, I am sure on several occasions he thought about taking me back OUT of this world, and then thought, “Oh yeah. I am the man posing with a Budweiser in my swim trunks. Must be dominant genes.”

He has not sobered with age.

When I was little, I thought he was the coolest man ever, and I will tell you why. My Uncle Jack, husband of the great and ornery Aunt Marian, owned a concrete yard, which el Padre managed. After Uncle Jack’s death in 1981, Dad sort of inherited his office, which included a wet bar, a speakerphone under the desk, a dumbwaiter to send memos back and forth from the main office below, and his chair could swivel around from the desk and look out the window.

My dad was J.R. Ewing. Just not as skinny and he never hung out with Barbara Eden.

So down from the main office, there was a little building we called the “yard office,” on top of which was a giant cooler. During the fall, one could ride up on a forklift, open the giant cooler, and choose which big honking deer to take down and have processed. Which I supposed is perhaps a little weird, but very cool to a kindergartener. At least this one.

My dad was Pa Ingalls. Except with modern day things like refrigeration.

But here’s my favorite story. One day Dad says he wants to take me to a movie, which I thought was kind of odd, because movies were usually something the five of us did together, or else something we did with Mom and one or another of our buddies. Plus, we had to go to Atlanta, which I totally did not understand. We have a perfectly good theatre here, who wants to ride an hour to see a movie? And I had to dress up.

So the next day, I went to work with Dad, and after his day finished we get in the car and head to Atlanta, where we went to the Varsity and Dad told old stories about his high school days in Atlanta and old car-hops like the illustrious Flossie Mae. I started to feel pretty important.

Then we go downtown, and the magic began. I had no idea what the Fox Theatre was! There was a 50th Anniversary release of Gone With the Wind, a movie with which I had fallen in love. (I recently rewatched it and it had lost a great deal of its former luster, which makes me kind of sad yet very progressive.) But the movie paled in comparison to the Fox Theatre.

I had never seen anything like it. It was beautiful. Even the bathrooms were beautiful. Each room we passed through was even more opulent than the last. And the ceiling….oh, that ceiling. I couldn’t even pay half attention to the movie because I had to keep an eye on the clouds passing overhead! Were those REAL clouds? Wasn’t there a roof? It looked like there was a roof from the outside, but how do they have real stars twinkling on the ceiling?

Oh, I was mesmerized. Even Scarlett and her trials and tribulations and lyin; stealin’ cheatin’ and killin’ could not compete with that theatre.

So, in addition to being J.R. Ewing and Pa Ingalls, my Dad was also Gerald O’Hara.
But he really didn’t have to be any of those people, because he’s my Dad.

I should do infomercials.

My Aunt Marian, doyenne of Poplar Creek, she of the 57 china patterns, is unsurprisingly very strict about her personal beauty regimen. Powder, mascara and lipstick, that’s it. But, it has to be from Estee Lauder. All Estee Lauder, all the time. Rosa Rosa for subdued events and a flashy fuchsia (I want to say it was Azalea Pink, but I am not sure.) just for general fabulousness. Ooh, boy, I just thought that bright hot pink lipstick was the most grown-up, sophisticated thing EVER when I was a kid. No matter that she had to put it on before entering and just after leaving ANYWHERE.

Come to think of it, this may have something to do with my need for dark lipstick. No, not fuchsia….I do dark, not bright. Plus, at the moment I am into this color I get at Walgreen’s which is from some el cheapo brand, but it’s called “Metallic Seduction” and makes me feel very old Hollywood every time I put it on. You know, every time I enter or leave anywhere. Oh, dear.

Somewhere around 75 or 80, when she finally started to wrinkle, AM jumped on the Estee moisturizer bandwagon. No more Oil of Olay for that girl! So, now she is an addict, and gets a little panicked when the supply is running low. Mom got the call from AM yesterday for the moisturizer run, for her first time. See, what you have to understand is that we don’t do expensive makeup. (See above on Walgreen’s.) I do have mad love for Clinique, because of my long affair with Black Honey Almost Lipstick that began when it swept the halls of Gardner Newman Middle School. But after one splurge on a $40 tub of Superdefense Anti-Aging Moisturizer (What can I say? I had just turned 30 and had a fistful of Christmas Bonus cash.) I forced myself to tone it back to Revlon. Which sucked, because that Superdefense rocked my newly tightened pores off.

Mom calls me and is astounded that she just paid $58 for the face lotion. ASTOUNDED. And it was the small size, so I’m pretty sure AM reamed her when Mom delivered the package, because the last time I made the face lotion trip, she had to have the big dog $115 version.

And, of course, there was the ever-popular free gift. This is where I have a bone to pick with Estee. Probably her own bone, because if she’s not dead that anti-aging line should be WAY more emphasized. It might even be worth the $115.

Estee, Estee, Estee. You need to drag your ass out of that grave, honey, because you have left your company in the hands of some reprobates.

I might not BUY expensive makeup, but I will rock a free gift like it’s nobody’s business, and Baby Sister and I have always been the beneficiaries of AM’s free gifts. We ESPECIALLY love your free gifts, because of 2 things: More than Mascara and that fun brown shimmery lipstick that ALWAYS appears in free gifts. You know, with that horrid Rosewood color that nobody (meaning me) looks good in?

Estee, I have to tell you, your folks are slipping. There was no fun brown shimmery lipstick! There wasn’t even any crappy Rosewood…….just a vile hot pink, although I am sure AM is enjoying that part. And – horror upon horror – what is this madness about taking away my beloved More than Mascara and substituting Projectionist? I call foul. At least you left the rocking awesome brush in there. I will not totally write you off until you take away that brush. Y’all can tell me all you want to about curved or contoured or tiny fancy mascara brushes. Nothing in the world will beat a travel size Estee brush. Holler if you hear me, ladies.

However, I was willing to forgive this because you included some fancy schmancy SPF 15 lotion. Which I mistakenly assumed would resemble my beloved Clinique Superdefense. I mean, you rich chick cosmetic moguls are all the same, right?

Let me tell you, Estee, I got out of the shower this morning, snatched on a robe, and ran…ran, I tell you, to try out my new face stuff. I dipped out a nice size daub and spread it on my newly washed cheeks. And do you know what my first thought was, Estee?

“My face smells like a perm!”

That’s right. I don’t know who is scenting your products these days, but you made my face smell like a bad day at Regis. When you sit down to eat your Mall Food Court Chick-Fil-A and you get a whiff of some banana-clipped hairdresser named Wanda (no offense, Wandas of the World) giving a permanent wave next to the Claire’s tennybopper outlet and that nasty funk stink ruins your meal.

Thanks, you nasty little minx. Next time I go free gift, I’m scoping out Elizabeth Arden. Take THAT.

Todd Turns 37.

This is my second favorite picture in all the world:

That pic was taken on the Todd’s 31st birthday, not too long after we started dating. We were at the infamous “Valley Bowl” where you could still smoke INSIDE until sometime during the past year. And I think it was $1.25 a game. Not that it was so long ago the prices were that low – this was only in 2002, the Valley Bowl is just REALLY cheap. That marked the end of my bowling career, by the way.

Also – just in case you are wondering, I am slightly less pale now. VERY slightly less pale, but definitely less pale. I think the camera flash is actually bouncing off my skin and blinding the person taking the picture.

Anyhow. Tomorrow is the Todd’s 37th birthday, and I just wanted to jot down a little post here saying that six years later I still love his crazy, book nerdy, skateboarding, bongo playing, crappy bowling self. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PETE!

Oh – just on case you were wondering about my FIRST favorite picture in the world, here it is. Gotta love Owen Mills.

<

Aw. Kitty.

It’s vacation time in my world. Not that I’m going anywhere special…it’s more of a noncation. So really, I’ve been just lazing around. I had these fantastic plans to hang some curtains and do the 87,000 projects I have around the house, but so far it has been just so much more pleasing to lay in my sister Lulu’s backyard and chat. So that’s what I’ve done for the past few days, mostly. Well, that and fight with AM, who has made a roaring recovery over at Poplar Creek and is now back at the top of her Jamie-baiting game. Monday we had an argument over why I should or should not take her old girdles home. Rest assured that said girdles are still in her possession, although whether I need them or not is still up for some debate.

I think God must have known how perturbed I was by Girdlegate ’08, because there was one heck of a rocking surprise for me Monday night. I came home pretty irritated from Poplar Creek, although AM tried to apologize by inviting me to dinner, but I refused the invitation by telling her it would be a cold, cold day before she saw me eat even the smallest bite of food in her presence. So I got back to my duplex, snapped the dogs’ leashes on, and went outside. As we were playing in the yard, I kept hearing this yowling noise. It was L-O-U-D. Once, when Pete and I were living in Greenwood Park, there was a rather “romantic” feline couple who went on a date outside our apartment. That’s about what this sounded like. So I forgot about it and took the dogs back inside.

An hour or so later, I was outside again with Fisher and Trey, and was getting ready to leave for Angie’s (Yay! More Angie!) and I could still hear all the yowling. The house next door to me, which belongs to my friend April, is empty and up for sale, and there’s a crawlspace under it. So then I decided that there must have been a mama cat having kittens under April’s house. I thought I had better go check – I mean, because I would totally have been prepared for cat gynecological surgery and all – so I put the boys back in and shut the door. When I turned around, there was this little grey head popping out of April’s yard. So I said, “What are you doing, cat?” and then…..

That cat ran across April’s yard, ran across my side yard, and jumped into my arms like a dog. And I thought, “Oh, maaaannnnn.”

So I called Mom, the Queen of Pet Rescue, and she came to check it out. It’s a little grey kitten –I think you call this color “Russian Blue” or some crazy name. My best friend (and former roomie) Chuck used to have a cat this color, and it used to beat up on Fisher all the time. Needless to say, Fisher has just sniffed at the kitten and left it alone.

I left the kitten with some water and the towel, left for Angie’s, and decided I would wait until the morning and see if it was still there. And the next morning, it was propped on its little towel waiting for me, and promptly bounded over the grass to twine itself around my feet. Apparently, I have an outside cat now. El Pedro hasn’t seemed mad about it, and the dogs aren’t really interested in it, so I’m waiting to see if it will stick around. It HAS already killed it's first mouse...or mole, or some furry critter...and I think that was a present thanking me for adopting it.

Naming the cat is becoming difficult. Baby Brother, unsurprisingly, suggested Azrael, after Gargamel's cat from The Smurfs. Since it’s getting close to Halloween, though, I was leaning more towards the cat from Miss Switch. For those of you who are not freaks like us, Miss Switch was an ABC After-School Special from when we were little, about Rupert and Amelia and their substitute teacher, who also happened to be a witch. Miss Switch had a cat and I liked the idea of naming my kitten after hers, but the name is Bathsheba. So for now we’re going with that, but what if it’s a boy cat? So I’m taking suggestions for boy cartoon cats. Or names for gender-free cartoon cats!

Called Out.

So, my 93-year-old Aunt Marian is in the hospital after the latest in a series of strokes. She can't swallow. She can't walk. She has trouble talking clearly. BUT….she can still ride my ass. While she was getting some tests run this morning, Lulu's new boyfriend (Brandon) met some of my extended family. Later, after Brandon had left and Aunt Marian had returned to her hospital room, this is the conversation that occurred.

Lulu: "See, Aunt Marian, everyone else met Brandon and they don't think he's too old!"

Aunt Marian: "He looks too old. How old is he?"

Lulu: "He's thirty."

AM: "How old are you?"

Lulu: "Twenty-Six."

AM: "It's time for you to get married"

::All eyes in the room swing towards me, the thirty-year-old single sister.::

Lulu: "Jamie's not married and she's older than me!"

AM: "Well, Jamie's an old maid."

I will let you know when my new deck of cards is coming out.

The nose knows.

Random fact about my family: we are nostalgia freaks. My Christmas present a few years ago was the entire collection of Betsy-Tacy books in hardback. Throughout my childhood (and most of my adulthood) ol’ Betsy Ray was checked out from either Coleman or Memorial Library and in residence on my nightstand. In fact, one summer when I was in college I went through Italy and Switzerland, and packed in my little carry-on was "Betsy and the Great World". The same library edition I read as a kid. It just would not be permissible to go on my own trip into the Great World and not take Betsy along.

So I was totally unsurprised when Baby Brother called yesterday with a delimma. There was some construction going on in his office and when he returned from his lunch hour the smell of the hallway knocked him flat. Yet there was something familiar about the slightly mildewy stench. Baby Brother was just being driven crazy trying to figure out where he knew that smell from, and all he could get to was it was something from when he was a kid.

I answer the phone to this question: “Did I have a He-Man figure that smelled like a skunk?” I’m embarrassed to say that this also sort of struck me as familiar. So we ponder this for a while and finally decide he was remembering the smell of the figures after you played with them in the bathtub and the heads got a bit slimy on the inside. Don’t act like it’s gross, I know your toys did the same thing.

Somehow, I could not stop picking at the idea in my head. We had missed something. So I googled He-Man and discovered the treasure trove of information at He-Man.org. I am always amazed and oddly excited at the lengths people will go to for stuff like this. But I needed exactly this information, so way to go, He-Man fans.

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet STINKOR – Lord of Odor, whose Wikipedia entry describes as “humanoid skunk whose superpower is the ability to release a toxic odor from his body that renders foes immobile.” The toy's description mentions that the actual figurine is infused with skunk scent.

I don’t know what the heck is going on over at Baby Brother’s office, but I think we ought to look into harnessing his nasal powers for the forces of Good.


Photo from http://he-man.org/