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The event: All of a sudden Violet and I start jumping around, dropping
dog treats all over the ground while squealing “Treat Party! Treat
party! Treeeeeat party!!!” and get the Seal as worked up and happy and
excited as possible.

The reason: Supposedly if she is ever in a life threatening situation,
like bolting into the street to chase a squirrel with a semi coming at
her, we can yell “!!Treeeeeat Partyyyy!!” and she will stop whatever
she is doing and coming running back to us.

When Violet first explained this whole thing to me I was extremely
resistant, as in no way, like I usually am with anything new that I
don’t understand or that will entail me acting like a moron. But she put
her foot down and said that we HAD to do this.

Seal came running into the room and was so unbelievably ecstatic while
gobbling up her treats, hopping around with us and wagging her tail so
hard that she almost knocked herself over I started laughing that
laugh where you aren’t quite sure if you’re laughing or crying – or
some sort of combination.

My life at 7:45 a.m. on a Wedensday: Two girls and a Seal dog, all three of us, in our livingroom, hopping around chanting nonsense like we are totally crazy and out of control. It was awesome.

I have no idea what the Seal’s first two years of life were like but I
am convinced that if, at the end of her life, she wrote down her top ten
favorite moments, that her first !!Treat Party!! would probably make
the list.

I’m willing to bet the same for me.

*my dog’s blog name, ‘Dog’, just happens to be the same as one of my
favorite blog’s dog’s names, also Dog. And so, to keep some
distinction within these fabulous queer blogs, from here on out, my
dog, the artist formally known as ‘Dog’, will now be referred to as the
Seal (which is what Violet and I call her anyway, because that is what she looks like in the water and when she’s sleeping).

My new thing is to download the most recent This American Life onto my IPod and listen to it during my commutes to and from work. This new trend started because 1. I am sick of every single song I own and 2. It’s just a great show and the stories make my ride to work so very enjoyable.

So, last week’s show was titled “A Little Bit of Knowledge” and the theme was how people (everyone, at some point) will talk like experts about things they don’t know much, if anything about. The prologue covers several people’s stories of what and how they found out too late in life that they had false information about something they had been spouting about all of their lives.

  One woman, in her twenties, learns from a crowd at a party that unicorns aren’t real after wondering out loud whether they were endangered or extinct.

 Another woman had always thought that the X-ing signs were pronounced “Zing” and also learned the truth in an embarrassing manner way too late in life.

 One guy lived his life thinking that the Nielson ratings were only conducted by families with the last name Nielson. Again, lesson learned too late and out loud.  

Listening to this show this morning had me laughing hard enough to look like that crazy person on the bus and have mentioned it to several people since - who then offered up their own examples, which have been hilarious.

Mine you ask? Two have come to mind today:

1. When I was little my dad told me that the foam in the ocean was whale pee and it seemed more than believable at the time and so I never questioned this until my early twenties, while at the beach, running away from a very foamy wave, yelling to my friends ”AAAAH, WATCH OUT FOR THE WHALE PEE!”

2. Until two years ago I thought it was “for all intensive purposes” (rather than intents and purposes)

Two of the best I’ve heard so far today:

“Flash in the pants” (instead of pan, of course)

“Cufflings” (as in little baby cuffs, instead of cuff links)

Now it’s your turn.

The weekend with my mom and my grandma, and then the unexpected guest(s), Violet’s brother and eventually his girlfriend too, went well. Good actually. Nice. And at times, fun. And, in a general sense, I feel closer to my grandma in ways. She was, as expected, difficult at times, but nothing major, nothing over the top.

I watched my mom deal with her during those few moments when she was being a PIA (pain in ass) and I watched my mom be remarkably patient. I could tell that she was annoyed but she was so flawless in remaining calm and kind that I realized I had always just assumed this was a natural characteristic of my mom, when in fact her sincere, “It’s ok, no problem” is an intentionally practiced skill-turned talent. I observed (and admired) this in hopes of learning something, as patience is not free and my mom has always been bottomless.

After I dropped the two of them off at the train station my mind started to replay the last few days. I started to realize how much I don’t know about my grandma – and want to- and probably never will. There were moments where I wondered if she was apologizing for what she had said the weekend before, in her own way - or if she had just moved on and softened up that quickly? I couldn’t stop wondering about a lot.

I’ve talked to my mom about this before, and I wonder if my grandma would have been/ would be a lesbian if that was an ‘option’ for her? Despite several husbands, a few of us were never convinced. Is she a feminist? Has she ever had an orgasm? Has she ever kissed another woman? I started to see her as a whole person who has had a really big life… and I don’t know any of the internal stuff to ANY of it. I want to know but I have no idea how to know. I just can’t see her opening up that way and I also can’t see myself asking my grandma if she’s ever gotten off.

She was born in West Virginia and now in her 70’s, has ended up a fairly well off, twice widowed, retired woman living in Hawaii. How in the world did that happen? Did she MAKE that life happen or did it just go that way? She was in love with my mom’s dad, but ever again? I’m not sure. I’m not sure if she’s sure. I’m not sure that mattered.

I’m not sure how she came to think the way she does about anything. Is she a republican because of her money? Or does she really believe it that political philosophy? Does she really think gay people shouldn’t marry? Or is that just an unchecked opinion? What in the world does she really believe in? What in the world really matters to her? I don’t know. And I don’t know if I ever will.

On Saturday, while walking through Pike Place Market, my grandma asked a woman to take our picture, “This is going to be my Christmas card so sunglasses off and smile” she said to mom and me through her already ready camera smile.

The woman held the camera to her face and asked, “How do y’all know each other anyway?”

My grandma responded, “We’re three generation right here, out on the town together.” And it was right then, arm in arm in arm, that I realized I was in some pretty incredible company… and damn lucky.

I bought it. I registered the domain name justlikejessejames(dot)com. Why, you ask? I don’t know. None the less it’s mine… Aaaaaaall miiiine.

Try it. Type in justlikejessejames(dot)com up top there and watch, you’ll end up right back here. Magic, I tell you. Simply magic.

A few days ago Sinclair and I were having our happy hour phone time together over a few glasses of prosecco and chardonnay. At one point she mentioned that I missed Cherday last week and that this was not ok with her. I apologized. She then mentioned that she had heard somewhere that the song Gypsies Tramps and Thieves will get any song that is stuck in your head unstuck. I had not heard this before. While still on the phone we both surfed the net a bit and found no solid evidence of this (if Google doesn’t know, well then, one might never know).

So, as your homework, I would like for you to listen to that song, the one you know will get stuck in your head- get it stuck, really, really stuck, and then watch this video. Let me know if it works. (Extra credit if you tell me what song is that song for you.)

Happy Friday-eve, happy Cherday!

btw: That song that gets stuck in my head and then will. not. leave. is Dude Looks Like a Lady, by Aerosmith … just typing it and I can feel it creeping in. Damn.

I’m both, really. Ever since my cornered conversation with my grandma I’ve been reviewing my own personal relationship status with people/ friends/ family. That quick little back and forth last weekend really upset me and I feel like I need to do something, but none of my natural reactions feel right.

My usual response is to first fight a bit and then flee to whatever degree I deem necessary. Really, Violet is the first person in my life where the impulse to flee has diminished so greatly that sometimes it just takes stepping into the next room for a minute so that my rational brain can reattach to my body before my mouth opens again. But besides my relationship with Violet, if you corner me into feeling defensive I will usually bite back some and then get the hell out.

When I was 19 and found out my first love, my high school sweetheart, had cheated on me I booked a flight from Oregon to Vermont in the middle of January. It was a bold and cold (weather-wise) move bought and sold entirely by a first-time broken heart. I fled the scene in hopes of my aches staying behind, and that taking me away from her would hurt her. My plan was to go far, far away from the chaotic cloud of a break up and dance in the streets on a different coast, any street, free. And so I left. And what I thought would be a few months wandering aimlessly to pick up the pieces and come home ended up in my landing and living in Atlanta, Georgia for a few years (where my heart finally healed enough to get by and I ended up meeting my next great love. I never did move back to Oregon).

Another relationship’s end, in my mid-twenties, resulted in a one way ticket to Croatia, where I traveled most of Eastern Europe by myself for several months (Dubrovnik – go there!)

I think I must have learned this fight and flight technique from my dad, or at least that’s where it was introduced to me. When I was little, he and I got into it all of the time, over anything and sometimes everything. I’m have vague memories of spatting angry words back and forth over a two-by-four I loved, or something just as pointless, until eventually we’d both mutually retreat to somewhere away from the other, until later (the time frame that ‘later’ refers to varied depending on the individual level of injury due to insult).

When I would storm off, usually to my bedroom before he could tell me to go to my room, I would hide in the closet (yes, literally) and make and hang signs on my door that read things like, “Anyone can come in this room unless you have a mustache” or “All welcome, except for guys named William”. He thought this was cute, but it was my anger finding a way out. If I couldn’t leave I would keep him from coming in.

The first time I really upped my ability of flight was after a big blow out with dad. I can’t remember how old I was exactly, maybe 8. We were yelling aimlessly at each other and I remember it originated with a fight I was having with my brother and my dad taking his side. I stormed off yelling, “Fine. I don’t want to live here then! I’m running away!”

There was no response from dad, which was typical, meaning he was pissed, which was exactly what I was looking for. I packed a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, a yoyo, my rubik’s cube, a few marbles, a little notebook and a small pencil into a handkerchief, that I would later tie to the end of a stick, just like in the movies, and walked out of my room, nervous and prepared for more battle.

“Ok, I’m leaving now!” I yelled, kind of wondering why he wasn’t right outside of my door.

“Wait. Here.” Dad said, coming out of the kitchen holding two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut diagonally, the way I liked.

And I left, right out the front door. I walked down several blocks in our subdivision until I got to a point where I would have to cross a pretty busy road. I stopped and stared. I was so torn. I wasn’t allowed to cross that road without an adult… but I needed to run away to prove a point… but I really didn’t want to break that rule and the road kind of scared me.

So, I stood there until finally I sat down there, at the edge of that busy road. I ate one of the sandwiches dad had made for me and then became really thirsty – too much peanut butter like always! I stared at that road and started to obsess over the idea of a cold glass of milk. Eventually, the milk won and I turned around to go home.

I walked back in the house, having been gone all of 45 minutes and went back to my room to unpack. Dad came inside from the garage and said with a surprised voice, “You’re back, huh?” which made it all feel worth it to me for some reason. (He told me years later that he had secretly followed me, just in case, and when I came back he acted like he was in the garage doing something).

Later that evening we were all watching TV, Scarecrow and Mrs. King to be exact, and I asked my dad if I could sit on his lap. He patted his legs and said, “Get up here,” and that was that.

There’s no point to this I guess, except that I am realizing that I need to learn how not to leave, or I need to pay more attention to my intentions for leaving. When I’m arguing with Violet I usually leave so that I don’t say things I don’t mean. The other night when my grandma cornered me I left with Dog for a walk and when that didn’t work I left by drinking my way out of the situation so that I wouldn’t have to accept what she said as something she really said.

But thus far, every conflict I’ve ever been in with someone I love has either worked its way out or it hasn’t - and that’s just the way things go and will go whether I’m there to see it through or not. So, my grandma is going to be here this weekend, and in every way I can figure out how to, I’m going to try to be too. We’ll see.

In my last post I mention that after all had gone to hell at the James house I eventually gave in and up and went with the ol’ When in Rome idea and decided to drown the family dysfunction in cheap Chardonnay. So, I drank… too much that night. And I now remember, having just got off the phone with my grandma, that my drinking that night revitalized my affection for her and the whole family. It also caused me to not only come up with a brilliant idea but to spout it off right as it was developing in my drunk little head, “Grandma, you know what you should do?!? You should change your flight to later and spend next weekend with Violet and me up in Seattle!”

Yes, I said that. Yes she remembered. Yes she considered my invitation and changed her flight. And yes she is coming up here with my mom this weekend.

I have decided not to give in to the anxiety and just go with it. What’s done is done and if all else fails I will send them to the Olympic Sculpture Park with a map to Pike Place Market and pick them up before it gets too dark. Chances are we’ll have a fine, if not great time, but man, I could really use a weekend.

“Happy Independence Day”, I said to Dog as soon as I unlocked the front door to our house Sunday evening, “you hear me, don’t you girl.” She and I both plopped down in the back outside and stared at Fraidy swim around and around… and around for a while. It was warm and quiet. It was nice.

I don’t remember where or exactly when I heard this story, but I was young when I did and it stuck. For several reasons, it has been stuck in my head all week. I would love to sit all of the people I work with down on little nap-mats, give them a little organic juice pack to suck on and have story time with this little gem.

______________

During lunch, two construction workers always sit together on one of the rafters and eat together. As they open their lunches it always goes the same way. One opens his lunchbox and finds a fresh, crisp sandwich, a bag of chips, his favorite drink and a dessert of some sort, usually a chocolate chip cookie.

The other opens his lunch sack to find a squashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich on soggy white bread and that’s it. Every day, Monday through Friday, he seems totally surprised and disappointed to find the same thing and proceeds to start his lunch hour moaning, “Man, peanut butter and jelly again!?! I don’t even like peanut butter.”

One day the guy with the awesome lunch listens patiently to the other guy complain and finally asks, “Dude, why don’t you just ask your wife to make you something different?”

The guy holding his lifeless sandwich says, “Wife? No, my wife doesn’t make my lunch. I make my own sandwiches.”

A very sick dog, a few slashed tires, a dysfunctional bus system and way too much going on at work has Jesse far, far away from blogland. Apologies. Back next week.

Dog and I are having our issues ‘getting in’ with the dog park crew. Three houses down, at the end of our block, is an unofficial dog park. It’s a big open field set up for soccer or baseball games but is mostly used as an off leash area for pups and peeps of all kinds.

We’ve been there several times now and each time has been it’s own individual adventure but I’ll start at the beginning. The first trip to the park…

A few weeks ago on a Tuesday:

We get there at 6:45 a.m. Sun is shining and the park is empty. At this point I had had dog for all of 4 days. Dog and I play fetch and chase each other and are having a great time when, all of a sudden, a herd of 7 humans and 5 dogs come marching in. The peaceful field is all of a sudden over-run with foofy AKC dogs and well dressed, perky, already showered and caffeinated humans (dog and I are none of these things).

I thought, ‘Ok, we’ll just see how dog does with this. Personally, I am totally overwhelmed and now, overly aware of my sweatpants, slippers, and rainbow coffee mug but dog will be fine. Dog did pretty well but got a little nervous with all of the different noses all up in her business, as did I. The first few minutes were a sniffing free for all. No genitals went unchecked… and then double checked. Dog and I made it through that but when the balls began to fly she became completely indiscriminate and started to chase them all.

She is part retriever and this instinct is unstoppable. If she sees you make something go away she will bring it back, regardless of who or what. I can tell that she thinks this is her duty in life, and she loves her job. She is so proud to bring it back to you, whatever it is, who ever you are, like, “Hey, you dropped this. Here you go. Found it. Found it for you, cause you had it and then you didn’t, but now you do again cause I went and got it and brought it back for you as fast as I could. I can do that again if need be. Actually, I would really like to do that again. Go ahead, try me… throw it, hide it, toss it, drop it, anything! Seriously, I’ll run as fast as I can and bring it right back. It’s what I do. Ok, ready!?!”

I thought it was hilarious, and although it was rude in the human world to be chasing ODB (other dog’s balls) in dog’s world she was multitasking and doing everyone a great service. Plus, the other dogs were having a blast chasing each other and trying to catch her. Anyway, I couldn’t stop her from doing that or get her to focus on her own ball and decided we had had enough for our first morning at the park.

When I went to put her leash on I crouched down and asked her to sit, which she usually does on command. However, this time she took my asking her to sit as a request for a big bear hug and as her paws lifted for my shoulders I lost my balance and she sort of knocked me over with a big kiss, which, again, I found totally adorable and amusing. I laughed, gave her a kiss back and then this woman standing less than ten feet away loudly mentions to the man standing next to her, “That dog needs obedience school!”

I wish there was a way to recreate the tone she used. It was so loaded, so snobby. It was like this exclusive, members-only, doggy-mommy group and dog and I snuck in. I was the new, uninvited, mom- the sloppy, careless dyke mom with the new, hyper, out of control kid. And I don’t know where this woman comes from but the way she said it made it feel like we were having one of those sitcom moments, where the people in the living room are talking about the people in the kitchen, and even though there is no barrier between the rooms and they are less than ten feet away the people in the kitchen magically can’t hear the people in the living room talking about them… only I could hear her, because we are not on tv and I was right freakin’ there.

Bad! Rude woman! No! No barking at the new folks just because her dog is faster than your dog! It took me off guard enough that I didn’t respond, which is still driving me crazy.

I got home, recounted the whole event to Violet and we spent the rest of our morning coming up with witty, snippy, come backs. The way that Violet was just as offended as me over something so silly was great and made me feel like we were very much in this together. And ooh, did she have some things to say to that woman! Dog and I are well equipped to run into her again, let me tell you.

Requested by one of my very favorites, Mr. Sinclair Sexsmith, I am finally posting one of the very best videos/songs ever made. She emailed her request this morning noting that, “ it’s the first cher video I remember as a teen and uh, damn, those LEGS. hooooly mama”.

You said it Sin, hooooly mama! She also mentioned that in middle school she made an entire tape of this song which just repeated over and over and over again, on both sides. Love it!

My top two tied memories to this song are:

1. Requesting it on the popular radio station in high school to be dedicated to my then-boyfriend (who is finally an out-fag… finally!) after playing a pretty mean prank on him the week before (he forgave me and got me back the following year. I was very impressed).

2. A few years ago, (before Violet!) I ended up at a Greek party in Arizona (and by Greek, I mean, people from Greece, not frat-brats). After a long night of some Greek chant followed by shots of Oozo and eventually coming up with the fabulous plan to secretly recruite all of the girls at the party to sneak out and go skinny dipping with me, I came back to the house sopping wet, like, “oh hey guys, ya, your girlfriend is still in the pool” and supposedly proceeded to bellow a very passionate karaoke rendition of this song. Well, that’s what my friends reported the next day anyway. Oh Oozo! And to top off that story-for-another-time, there wasn’t even music in the background. So, really, I guess I was just holding a microphone, swaying about, soaking wet, singing my heart out, a cappella style. Oh Cher, if that is not love (tucked into the worst hangover i have ever had) , I don’t know what is.

If I could turn back time would I do it all again, you ask? Clever question. And Yes.

Happy Friday-eve all. Happy Cherday! Enjoy.

Insider tip: the guitar player in this video is her son, Elijah, brother from a different father to Chastity.

My routine with Fraidy has been much the same every day, including weekends. Only now it involves Fraidy, dog and me. And on the weekends I switch things up a bit and go out to see him right after I’ve made myself a cup of coffee.

I grab the mug, the fish flakes and dog and I go out to the back yard. I clean the pond with a net, which gets Fraidy all worked up, dog watches Fraidy flip around, which makes dog’s ears perk up and flip around, I toss in some flakes and watch the fish-shark hunt his flakes.

This Saturday, I woke up a little earlier than usual, made my jo and out to the pond we went. There is a little wire fence around the pond that becomes electric at night so that Marcus and his crew cannot go midnight skinny dipping. This fence has obviously worked… until this Saturday. Dog and I stood over what was an unusually still and clear pond and could see all the way to the bottom. I looked around, which is not much to look around at and saw no fish. I panicked for a second and continued to look under the few hiding places - poked the net around and no fish flipped.

No fish.

I panicked even more. I looked around and noticed that part of the wire fence had been knocked down and it looked as though someone (Marcus?) had made a little ruckus around where the fence had been knocked down. My disbelief admitted to my brain that Fraidy had been found… and potentially eaten. My heart and the plastic can of fish flakes fell to the ground. I looked at dog and asked, “Where’s Friady!?! Huh?!?!” She galloped around the yard, nose to the ground and looked everywhere, including under the deck, which made me wonder if Marcus was under there sleeping with fish on his breath.

I stared at the pond for what seemed like too long before I just started to chant, in a whisper, “He’s gone. Fraidy’s gone!”

I went inside and immediately Violet asked why the long face. I told her. Her first reaction was light hearted denial. “No, he’s just hiding. That’s what he does.” I told her I looked everywhere, which wasn’t a whole lot of anywhere to look and he just wasn’t there.

I got on with my day as best as I could. Every few thoughts or so my brain would say, “Your fish is gone! Is he really gone?… Knock it off, he’s just a fish.”

My heart hurt. It really really hurt. He was such a good guy. And although I’ve battled with whether or not Fraidy gave a shit about me or not, he did. He really did. When I would come out there he immediately swam to the surface and smiled at me. I know you’re wondering if a fish can smile and I’ll tell you, right here, right now, yes, they can.

So, my day went as it did. Violet and I, ironically enough, went out for sushi that night and it was a wonderful date. I tried to get him out of my head over a few shots of sake but as soon as we got home dog and I ran back outside to stare into the still, lifeless pond… and… there he was. That little shit of a fish was just swimming around like, “Oh hey Jesse, wassup with you? Nice weather we’re having, huh?”

Jerk.

And thank the fishgods.

Monday morning. 6:45 a.m. Alarm goes off. I hit snooze and roll over towards Violet:

me: I’m very jealous that you get to fall back to sleep after I get up.

V: I don’t fall back asleep.

me: Oh please. I come back in here after my shower and you’re sound asleep.

V: No I’m not. I’m just lying here.

me: Doing what?

V: Thinking.

me: With your eyes closed?

V: Yep.

me: Well, I’m going to think with my eyes closed earlier tonight. I’m tired.

Wow, all of a sudden Cherday turned to Cherevening. Regardless, here we go…

POP QUIZ!

(once you start this quiz you are not allowed to go through old jljj posts until you are finished. I have linked the answer to each question- once you have answered you may click on the link)

1. Cher is the goddess of all things _______ and fabulous. (If you didn’t get this one you are in big trouble)

2. Cher won an academy award for what movie? (I haven’t actually mentioned this on my blog but seriously, you should know)

3. What kind of dog is Cher holding in the Dove L’amore video? (if you tell me WHY she is holding that dog you get extra credit points!)

4. ______ ________ from ___ ______ _____ filled in for Cheron Cherday once.

5. Cher called David Letterman an @&*%#$!.

6. ” Does he love you? You want to know? How can you tell if he loves you so?
A. It is in his eyes
B. It is in his face
C. It is in his warm embrace
D. It is in his kiss

7. I was listening to ______ __ ______ when I found cap’n who n’ da’ crew.

8. Who says, “I want to be a notty little devil?”

9. Cher thinks _______ ________ should be president.

10. Jack, from Will and Grace, tells Cher, “Hey, hey, you’re not that great ______ ______!”

11. The first Cherday post was what song? (and did you or did you not succumb to the incredibly irresistible urge to jump on top of your desk/table/workbench/counter top when you heard it?)

12. The next cherday post should be?

(send your answers to my gmail account: jessejamesblog(at)gmail(dot)com)

Thanks for playing. If you think you might have flunked, no big deal, just spend a little more time in the cher thursday catagory.

• Your pants pockets contain a combination of keys, receipts, plastic poop bag, chapstick, gum and smashed up doggie treats
• You begin to drop your R’s and L’s. “Whos da widdle doggie who weally wants a tweet!?!”
• Other people’s dogs are not very interesting anymore
• Coming back from a farmer’s market with a bag of fresh vegetables in one hand and a bag of shit in the other hand feels normal
• The squeak from a squeaky toy doesn’t annoy you
• You want more squeaky toys
• Standing in one spot and throwing a ball over and over again is entertaining
• You never have to sweep the kitchen floor
• Peeing with a head in your lap doesn’t seem weird
• Your partner starts saying to you, “Come here, girl, come on!” in the same tone as for the dog
• Pig ears end up on the grocery list
• You trip over animal bones on the living room floor in the middle of the night and smile about it
• Poop becomes a regular dinner conversation piece between you and your partner
• You want to go home right after work instead of meeting friends for happy hour
• Somehow the new, slobbery, four legged, tail waggin’ roommate makes you and your partner start using the word ‘family’
• You have a blog category titled “dog days”

did I forget any?

Showing her worldly ability with song, style and rhythm, Cher goes flamenco style. The song is great, the video is sexy (except for that weird little dog on her lap… that at one point is on film yawning… white tall femme, Cher?)

Anyway, this song is lesser known and is slightly more advanced in Cherness. But if y’all have been keeping up with Cherday then you are more than ready. In fact, I’d say, if this was a sequential course and you’ve been paying attention y’all would be in Cher 201 at this point. Maybe I should test you just to make sure… ya, that’s what I’ll do. Don’t be surprised if a pop quiz pops up in the not so distant future. If you review your Cherday material you will be fine.

Happy Friday-eve, all. Happy Cherday.

Violet, dog and I took a lovely long weekend away, travelling and camping around and on near by islands. The weather was increadible and the three of us had nothing short of a fabulous time. The whole adventure was quite wonderful (there just might be pictures to follow). And as rude as the work-morning was this morning, it wasn’t Monday, which I took as a peace offering.

So, just a few minutes ago I get to work, check my email while chatting with Sinclair and I get this offer to take a “What L-Word character are you?” from a myfacespacebook friend. I have never done one of these but it beats trying to catch up on last weeks work. So I take it. It was quick and painless until… the results:

The L Word: Which Character Are You?

You are JENNY

Did someone say drama queen? Your troubled past has left you emotionally fragile and prone to being self-absorbed. You can count the people you trust on one hand, but you’re extremely loyal to those people.

AaaaaaaaAAAaaAaAaAaaAaAAaaaaaaaaaaa… AAAAAAaaaaaaaaAAHhhHhHHhHhHhh!… NooOOoOOooOoooooOOoOoOOOOOOOOOOoooooOoOOOoOoooOooOOO! How can this be? I am my own worst L-Word nightmare!!!

The scariest part was my inability to disagree… minus the drama king part, of course.

So, here’s your chance to get to get to know the Goddess of all things sparkly and fabulous while not performing. This is her third or fourth interview with David Letterman. It’s fairly obvious that she is a bit leery of him and doesn’t find him terribly interesting but puts up with him in a playful way. It’s also obvious that he is totally intimidated (which I love). In the interview previous to this one, a few years back, she admitted to him (and anyone who saw the show) that she thought he was an asshole. And somehow, that word fell out of her mouth like glitter. Can she really do no wrong? The interview is a bit long in blog-attention-span-time but it’s Cher for gawdsakes, you’ll have fun. Guaranteed or money back.

Happy Friday eve, all. Happy Cherday. Enjoy.

My dog. 

I found her online last week and my tummy flopped at this picture. I just couldn’t stop staring at it. I had to meet her. I asked Violet if we could juuuust meeeeet her pleeeease.

On Saturday we drove several hours north, asked to meet her, took her for a walk, played fetch, filled out paper work, gave her a bath at the shelter, bought a leash, some food and a squeaky toy, and as soon as she hopped in the back of our car the three of us cruised home, windows down, sun shining. It was all quite dreamy.

Violet knew before we even left to see her, I know she did. I did too.

I haven’t slept much since we got her. She sleeps fine, all through the night actually. But I keep waking up really early and instantly my brain starts shouting, “There’s a dog in the house! There is a dog in a dog bed in the house! Play with the dog! Get up and go play with your dog!”

She is (so far) a dream, like if you could special order a dog over the internet with everything you want and don’t want (except that she doesn’t poop in the toilet and then flush - but she does only poop outside, so no complaints). She and Fraidy have met and seem to dig each other ok, so long as the snout sticking over the pond results in fish flakes. I have a feeling Marcus might pack up and move elsewhere and I don’t blame him. I’ll miss him if he does leave but he’s a crafty guy and will be fine under anyone’s deck. And who knows, maybe he’ll stick around and actually just wait until it’s dark out to strut around our yard, like a raccoon, and let the dog strut around in the daytime, like a dog.

We are serioulsy in love, all three of us. Man, if you thought I wrote about the fish too much…

With her new act in Vegas, the Goddess of all things sparkly and fabulous asked for the day off. And of course Cher, rest up.

After several wonderful interviews and auditions with some of my all time favorite women I’ve decided to go with Dorothy Spornack for today’s cher-thursday slot.

Congratulations Dorothy. How does it feel to be subbing for Cher on justlikejessejames?

Happy Friday-eve, all. And for today, happy Dorothy Spornack thursday.

While driving in our very old car, when Paradise City comes on the radio:

me: Man, nothing else can make that sound.

Violet: What sound?

me: The Axl Rose sound.

Violet:The Axl Rose sound?

me: It’s not a car part, Violet. It’s the guy singing on the radio.

Violet: Oh that is just awful. His mother must be so embarrassed.

Dear California,

I apologize for being a few days late in my letter. It is a bad habit of mine to always be a little delayed with thank you notes.

Regardless, thank you, California. I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt to wake up next to my partner and hear the news that another state stood up to refocus and recenter definitions of equality despite the lack of support from most of your neighbors. I wish you all the best in the coming months and hope that your brilliantly beautiful decision is met by nothing other than love and wedding mixes with Cher songs. Like Massachusetts, you are a hero of a state to me. Hopefully, the other 48 are listening.

Thanks again.

love,

jesse james  

p.s. Getting married in Cali? Getting married anywhere? Married already? Send me photos or info or whathaveyou to jessejamesblog@gmail.com and I’ll post ya

As a kid, my animistic behavior and attitude towards everything was rather active. I invented a personality for everything and could empathize with anything: frustration for trees trying to grow through cement sidewalks, burning muscle aches for cars going faster than they wanted to, stomach aches listening to baby birds squawk and squawk because they didn’t know exactly where their mom was, and disdain for the doorway that bumped my funny bone.

As a kid, after seeing The Red Balloon, I made it my duty to rescue all less than fully inflated helium balloons from restaurants. When the server would ask me if I wanted a balloon I would say, of course, and then deny the big healthy one being offered and ask if I could have all of the sagging, drooping, or nearly dead ones, please. I would take them home and put them in our hall bathroom. The hall bathroom was the warmest room in the house and usually the sagging balloons would perk back up again for a day or two. This was enough for me to feel as though they were getting a fair second chance at life.

I had way too many stuffed animals as a kid. They all had names, of course, a family history and an awesome adventure story as to how they became a part of my life (I got busted for “lying” in Kindergarten over one of these stories… another post for a different day). At one point I had so many stuffed animals that I started sleeping on the floor so that they could all fit on the bed at night. Eventually my dad caught me, asked me what the hell I was doing sleeping on the floor and I explained. Our compromise was that either some of the animals had to go (not an option!) or that I had to find a way to make room for myself in my own bed. I worked out a pretty simple rotation for my animals and not one of them got any more time than any other. Teddy Ruxpin carried no priority over the Gremlin or that little Red Bear I got from my grandma on Valentine ’s Day. They were all loved and equally important to me, and this was obvious to them, I was sure.

And then there was the time I screamed bloody murder so loudly that the neighbors came running over and busted the door in to see if they should call the police when I caught my dad carving my 2 week old Halloween pumpkin.

I remember the night my dad finally drew the line with my affection towards everything. That night he came to tuck me in only to find a four foot tall two-by-four under the covers with his daughter. The wood’s name was Charlie and he was cool because he was just as tall as me. Charlie had 3 big knots: one was an eye (the other was closed so you couldn’t see it), one was a belly button, and one was a bruise on his knee. Dad found me in bed with Charlie only a few weeks after he had caught me sleeping on the floor next to a pile of teddy bears sleeping soundly all over my bed. He stayed pretty calm and simply asked, “Jesse, sweetie, why is there a large piece of lumber in your bed?”

I said, “Dad, it’s Charlie! He’s as tall as me! He’s fine, he fits. Pleeeease let me keep him. We all fit, see.”

The next morning I woke up and Charlie was gone, never to be seen again. I wasn’t terribly invested in Charlie and never really dwelled on his disappearance. Plus, with my new rock, Sylvester, weighing in at 16 pounds, covered in little petrified shells, I was all, Charlie who?

I mention all of this because I was thinking about it on Sunday while I was watching my fish swim around and around… and around, waiting for my raccoon to show up, and worrying about my avocado plant’s loss of leaves lately. I realized how much of that part of me I still carry around. With my head hanging over the pond, all of a sudden it dawned on me that Fraidy probably doesn’t even care about me. And this is most likely BECAUSE HE IS A FISH. And for a moment Fraidy became just a gold fish and that’s it. Chances are he doesn’t even have enough conscious ability to have feelings about anything, let alone me in particular. It didn’t really hurt to realize this, it was just a bummer. Like when you think you’ve made a new friend in a college class and then the class ends and you never hang out again. Well, no, it’s not really like that at all, but that sucks too. I guess the bummer is that I’m too old now to be able to re-convince myself that everything matters and that everything knows that everything matters, like I believed as a kid. Fraidy matters to me but besides the fish flakes I have to offer, it’s likely that I’m just another big object that blocks his sunlight every now and then.

Or maybe not. Maybe when he sees me his little fish heart flutters and his fish face smiles and his little fish brain thinks, “Jesse! Damn, it’s good to see you again.”

Wondering if that boi you like likes you? Well, wonder no more. Cher has the answer.

Happy Friday-eve.

A general, choppy, update on life:

Violet has a ton of work stuff going on, my job has been slammed with real work to do and Violet’s parents are coming into town this weekend. So, I have been spending my time doing actual work stuff (instead of blogging), helping Violet with some of her work stuff, and preparing the house for parents, which we all know means hiding some things and digging out other things to put on display as if they are always there.

Spring is very springy and I am ready for summer.

I haven’t seen Marcus and am assuming it’s because he is a healthy raccoon with hurt feelings and has a grudge against our lack of edible garbage (we compost almost everything worth scavenging. He’s smart enough, he’ll catch on eventually.)

Fraidy is the raddest fish that has ever lived and we have developed a cool little routine that goes:

I go out to see him as soon as I get home every evening. I scoop out the never ending fallen cherry blossoms with a net. He gets all flippy-floppy trying to dodge the net, inevitably working up an appetite.  I sprinkle in some fish food flakes in the same place every time, wiggle my finger in the water where the food is, which is his food-cue that he quickly caught on to. He dives to the bottom and acts all coy (yes, bad pun, and he is actually just a remarkably beautiful goldfish). At first he is very methodical, like a hungry shark, attacking one piece of food and then diving back to the bottom. Eventually, he starts swimming around more furiously, striking at several pieces in a row until he just starts striking at anything and everything. Every once in a while he gets a cherry blossom or a little piece of moss and then shoots it back out with force and with this grumpy fish face like I tricked him or something. I watch, laugh, and then go inside to recount the whole scene to Violet.

She’s not terribly willing to have long conversations about our goldfish but she is sweet about it and listens.

I will up my blogness frequency again soon. But for today, that’s the news from lake Woebegone… or Washington, I guess… where the women are strong, the raccoons are good looking, and the fish are above average.

Also, as we all know, Thursday is Cherday. If you have any great Cher-ness, do cher. You can send anything and everything Cher to jessejamesblog@gmail.com
Thanks.
jj

The other day, while I ditched work to go walking in the sun, only to stumble upon those fabulous pictures of cap’n who n’ da’ crew I forgot to mention the sparkly, fabulous music in my ears, acting as my soundtrack. It is one of my very favorite Cher songs (even though it’s a cover). My dear Sinclair put this song on a mix for me a few years ago and just now, sent me the link to the video, which I hadn’t seen.

Hot. Sexy. Yum. Love. Wonderful. Fabulous. Aaaah.
Thanks Sin.

Happy Friday-eve, all. Happy Cherday.

This is Fraidy. Fraidy Phat the Fish. It’s not the clearest picture but that’s because when the sun is out he is cruising all over his pond at warp speed, making a clear fish shot hard to catch. 

A few Saturday’s ago, while Violet was gone, I set up camp right next to the pond with a book, some coffee, and nothing to do but sit in the sun with my fish. I hadn’t seen much of Fraidy until then. I thought he was just really shy and afraid of being seen (hence the name). But as it should turn out he’s cold blooded, just like all of the other fish in the world, and so during the winter season all he’s really doing is hanging out at the bottom of the pond, freezing his little fish balls off, trying to stay… not frozen. 

But now that spring has sprung, Fraidy is a fire-fast, fat and happy, flippy little fish. A cute little red head, as you can see, with a ring of red around his lips as well (I’ll do what i can to get a picture of that). I have grown to love him rather quickly and pretty seriously. And now that he actually does stuff you can count on regular fish updates- meaning, if the fish, the raccoon, the girlfriend, and/or Cher bore you, you will most likely lose interest in my life.  

 Last night Violet came home quite a few hours after me. I was already in pj’s, curled up on the couch watching old episodes of Roseanne when the front door opened. She tossed her bags, smothered me in kisses, sat down next to me and asked, “Hey love, did you get me bobby pins today by any chance?”

me: You know I did. I called you from the bobby-pin-hair-stuff aisle of the store to see what color you wanted… while you were at a store too, might I add.

Violet: Ooooh, thanks baby!  My hair is everywhere. Where are they?

me: In my bag. What’s the deal with you always wanting me to pick up bobby pins… even when you’ll be at a store too, like today?

Violet: I told you, it’s very romantic.

me: Oh right. Romantic.

Violet: (while raiding her hair with a handful of new bobby pins, destined to eventually be lost and found all over our bed) Jesse, it just is. It’s a very romantic gesture and I love you for it… (still mindlessly pinning her hair) You know, this is the kind of stuff you should be blogging about.

This morning was an especially rude Monday. I was having an absolutely wonderful weekend, fell asleep Sunday night and the next thing I knew I was wearing a collared shirt and sitting at a desk in downtown Seattle.

I was chatting with Jup on the beloved gmail this morning, as she also woke up on the wrong day, and was going through old, old… old emails of ours instead of letting this Monday thing happen. I forgot so much of what I use to write about, how I use to write. I was telling her my (not so much anymore) secret fear that college ruined my ability to write. I think I’m too structured now, inside and out, to think that openly. I can’t say I miss feeling so all over the place but I do miss writing that way.

One of my old favorites was to take the world out of context and quote it at the end of every email. It was a different quote every email, which isn’t very hard if you spend more than ten minutes a day even slightly aware. Anyway, here are a few I ran into while stealing Jup’s idea of reading old emails instead of doing anything I should/need to be doing:

“I don’t care what anyone says dude, that’s sex with robots.” (an old friend, 2003) 

“Growing up, every one said I should have a dream. I had to find out on my own that if I say this dream out loud it could kill me.” (a woman on a bus on Martin Luther King Day, 2002)

“It’s real easy to follow an avalanche. Tricky part is when you change your mind and your direction. Lotta pushin’, that’s how I got here anyway” (an old guy on the bus, Jack, he liked my hair, we started talking, 2002)

Is it just me, or does Cher’s laugh make you feel like world peace isn’t nearly as complicated as we’d like to think it is?

Happy Friday-eve. Happy Cherday. Enjoy.

At my job, for the most part, I do good things. But, for the most part, I sit at a desk and stare at a computer, which is why I have a blog. Which is what a blog is for.

So when it’s not pouring rain and I’ve already posted something I do what i can to get out of the office for a little while. Today’s excuse was a stack of mail that needed to be somewhere immediately! At 3:45 I stood up and very quietly mentioned to one person that i was going to the post office. I left the building, turned the corner, turned on my ipod and starting walking on any street that had sun shining.  

I spent the first 4 blocks walking along the waterfront, eventually turning up towards 1st. This is when I walked by the first one. I saw the photo paper out of the corner of my eye. It was upside down and so completely uninteresting. I kept walking. A few steps later I saw another photo, also upside down, in the middle of the sidewalk. This time I couldn’t resist. I pulled my sweater over my hands and reached for what was most likely going to be totally pointless and sticky-gross with gawd-knows-what, but instead, to my utter delight, it was this:

I gasped aloud and stuffed it into my pocket like I had just found money on the ground. I then looked around to see if anyone had seen my physical reaction to my internal dialogue of “Why me? Why am I so lucky!?!” and immediatly turned around to go get the other one.

This was just. too. good. In a world of digital cameras, I was not only lucky enough to have stumbled upon an incredibly strange and fascinating paper photo, but two incredibly strange and fascinating paper photos!

The second one was just as fulfilling:

They all look a little more prepared for this shot. And who is that woman? And WHO IS THE LITTLE GUY IN THE PIRATE STRIPED SHIRT AND CAP’NS HAT!?! I’m assuming his name is Oliver and that he is a Leo, but we might never know. 

Oh, just in case you are waiting or wondering, there is no point to this post. No witty ending, no story, no conclusion or deep question for your soul to suck on. This is just life that happened and still life that i just happened to stumble upon while ditching work- and that’s it. But really, how great are these shots?

(p.s. if you know who these people are PLEASE let me know)

Saturday: I lazily lounged around the back yard watching Fraidy swim around and around… and around. I kept my eye out, hoping Marcus might come marching through the yard like he owns the place, like he does- no luck.  I hadn’t seen him in two weeks and the last time I saw him he looked terrible. He usually made his appearances on Sundays, but at this point I wasn’t holding my breath.

Sunday evening: I had just gotten back from the grocery store. More excited about making something to eat than putting the groceries away, I left the bags in front of the fridge and began to chop up vegetables. As the onions began to cook I opened both the front and back door for some air. The phone rang. It was my mom.  We started talking while I chopped vegetables. With the phone tucked under my shoulder, I picked up the cutting board and turned around to throw the garlic in the pan when, to my utter surprise and fleeting disbelief, I nearly tripped over a very large, tailless, raccoon.

Neither of us saw the other until we were just too close to not totally freak out. As far as Marcus could tell there was a wide open door leading to a bag full of glistening beet tops, kale and rainbow chard. Makes sense now, but at that moment he scared the shit out of me.  

“AaahaAAhahHhHHahHHAHAHAHAHHHH!” I gasped.

“What is it!?!” my mom asked.

“There’s (gasp) a (gasp)….”

He froze. I froze.

“Get ooooooouuuuuut of here, Marcus!” I eventually shouted while backing away.

He looked totally surprised and rejected by my yelling. His head and shoulders slumped down and he gave me this talk-to-the-hand gesture as he turned away to leave. I was caught so off guard that I reacted quite dramatically but the simple fact was, there was a raccoon in my kitchen. I did notice how much better he looked. I hadn’t realized just how big he was until he was standing at my feet… in my kitchen- Big. Raccoon.

“Who the hell is Marcus, honey? Get out of your house! Call the police!” my mom ordered.

I flew out the back door barefoot and explained to my mom that this Marcus guy was just my raccoon. My concern was that I didn’t know for sure if he had found his way out or if he was hiding somewhere in the house, shocked and insulted, trying to gather himself before he had to face the world again. I got off the phone, grabbed my neighbor and a big stick and we scoped the place out together. As far as we could tell, Marcus had left.

As the neighbor and I were discussing what to do about my overly cordial, tailess guy the phone rang. Violet was calling from the airport in Baltimore, about to catch her flight home. She asked what I was up to and I told her that I had just had an unexpected guest stop by but that I kicked him out and that  I felt kind of bad about it.

She said, “Oh no. Who? Why?”

I said, “Because I only made enough pasta for one, really, and I’m assuming Marcus is not allowed inside, yes?”

As the usual routine commute home goes: I get a seat in the back of the bus and spend the bus ride staring out the window. As I watch all of the bustling of the city streets begin to fly by me I imagine that my eyes are the camera for a scene in a movie. The song playing on my ipod dictates the entire placement and reason for the scene. If it’s a mushy, slow love song then the scene my eyes are filming is the end of the movie, where, for whatever reason I have invented at that moment, the camera is either filming the broken hearted lover returning or leaving – forever.

If it’s a happier, folky guitar song then sometimes it’s the beginning of the movie, opening credits rolling, and we don’t know why she’s on the bus yet. Sometimes it’s the pivotal point in the middle of the movie, where the character has been liberated somehow and a dramatic life change is happening as we watch the world fly by her. The camera stays so still that the audience feels this urge to look back, but that’s the point, the character doesn’t and doesn’t need to.

But yesterday I forgot my ipod and so I was soundtrackless. This made my observations about the world around me far more grounded in what was actually going on. Boring.

But then, all of a sudden, one stop away from my stop a truly beautiful and romantic scene really happened. No soundtrack. No script. No actors. Just a spring evening on a north Seattle street covered in cherry blossoms with two strangers waiting at a bus stop.

And their story went: Young happy guy talking to young giggly girl at bus stop. Their body language made it obvious that they were strangers and that he was flirting. Our bus pulled up. He took so long to finish what ever he was saying to her that there was an uncomfortable exchange between guy and driver when he finally stepped on. He was standing up as the bus pulled away. She was staring at the ground smiling, obviously trying not to look up. He was staring at her for as long as he could, obviously trying to get one last exchange. I pulled the tab, the next stop was mine. Four blocks later the bus stops. I get off the bus and realize that the guy who had just gotten on at the last stop also got off. At first, he walked away calmly, like this was his stop too, but the driver and I both knew it wasn’t. His stride was confident and excited and he was wearing a huge grin. I turned left at the corner while he kept walking back down the street where he had just come from four blocks earlier. I hoped that I had realized what was going on, or at least what my romantic movie mind was guessing and so I walked back and snuck a peak around the corner to see what he was up to.

This is where it got end-of-the-movie-perfect:

At this point he was walking down the street so quickly he was practically jogging. And then I caught the moment where, now only three blocks away, she saw him coming back, stood up, arms folded, frozen. He crossed another street with a skip and now, only two blocks away he hollered down the street, “Hey!… I forgot to ask you something!” I couldn’t see her face, but that’s the point, I didn’t need to.

(Yes, I could have made this up – but I didn’t.)

Spending the week by myself, it was oh so wonderful to stumble upon this web page http://popwatch.ew.com/popwatch/2008/04/cher-west-side.html for a few reasons:

1. It is always nice to be reminded that I am not alone in my deeply rooted and creative affection for the Goddess of all things sparkly and fabulous.

2. It is Thursday. It is Cherday. And I feel like this is a fine example of her range, diversity and incredible ability.

3. Cher doing every character of West Side Story? Yes.

4. Cher in drag? Oh yes.

5. As far as Cher’s ability to cover anything - I’ve been saying this same thing for years! I whole heartedly agree that she would rock “Paradise City”. And ‘m sure she go easily into some Axl Rose-tight jeans, bandanna around her head, swaying that Axl-sway to do it too. I also think she should give “Straight Up” by Paula Abdul and “Joline” by Dolly Parton a whirl. Man, could she do those right and damn, if she wouldn’t just be so… fabulous.

Happy Friday-eve. Enjoy.

Violet is out of town visiting family and doing business stuff on the east coast for the week. This means I’m home alone for 9 days. This means I am partaking in all of the things that don’t fly when Violet is home. My favorites: leaving not just my boxers, but all of my clothes on the bathroom floor. On the fourth day alone the pile grew tall enough that I now have to hop over the mound to get to the toilet, which makes me smile every time.

Dinners have consisted of prepackaged and/or frozen goodness that require a maximum of 5 minutes to prepare. A few favorites: mac n’ cheese (obviously), frozen potato perogies (boil, fry, eat), and frosted mini wheats.

*just to note: I have had at least one salad a day. For some reason, I know this makes Violet less anxious about my eating mac n’ cheese right out of the pan, over the sink, a few dinners in a row.)

I have been staying up too late, for no good reason, watching old episodes of the Golden Girls, but this is nothing new.

Oh, and last night I learned something important. Something I feel obligated to share in hopes of potentially saving others.

Lesson of the week: Do not spend thousands of dollars over the internet while high.

Last night, I spent over a thousand dollars on the internet while I was high. This was not a good idea. I don’t regret the purchase; it’s just that I purchased my purchase wrong.

My 86 year old godmother, Ruth, and I are taking a trip together in Nova Scotia this summer. I’ve already booked the tour and so last night I spent some time looking for plane tickets. All of a sudden this great deal appeared on my screen and I realized I better just buy them right that very second! I got out my credit card and started entering the needed information.

I entered in all of my info with ease because it is my name and address and so I know it well, even when I’m a little stoned.

Next, I entered Ruth’s name and address, again, with ease because even when a little stoned, I have known her for 31 years, and so, I know her name and address as well as I know my own. 

I entered in all of my credit card info and clicked ‘accept’.

A second later a confirmation email was sent to my inbox for my review.

I reviewed.

Looked fine… except, wait…  I jerked forward, squinted at the screen and looked it over very, very closely.

Passenger 1: (first name) jesse (last name) james

Passenger 2: (first name) Ruth (last name) Hanson

Wait a second. Uh oh. Hanson? That’s not her name! Ah! Did I seriously put her maiden name instead of the only last name she’s ever had since 1943? Yes. Yes I did.

To keep the boring part of weaving my way through the customer’s-have-no-rights-bureaucracy of airline companies and entities like CheapTicket (who has the shittiest policies and customer service ever!) as painless for the reader as possible, all I’ll say is that 3 hours, 8 phone calls, 11 robot operators, and 9 painful hold-music songs later, a real human at Continental calmly listened to my panicked ramble and changed Ruth’s last name from Hanson, which it is not, to Mori, which will now match her passport.

• 2 tickets to Halifax: $1300
• 1 typo on Cheaptickets: $9 and 3 hours on the phone
• Recognizing, through the haze of my stoned, one man, nine day bachelor party, that I would much rather pick up my dirty clothes off the bathroom floor, spend three hours cooking real food, and get nagged to stop watching the Golden Girls and come to bed at a reasonable hour any time over all of this glorious freedom: Priceless.

More than not, it’s the off guard, unpredictably random, who-woulda-ever… can’t-make-this-up moments that fling me flat on my face, 117 million feet into the ground, inlove, than last time… again.

At the kitchen table this morning:  

me: “Hey, what are you drinking?”

Violet: “Cherry juice. Want some?”

me: “Don’t you mean cranberry juice?”

Violet: “No, cherry juice. Do you want me to pour you a glass?”

me: “When did you get cherry juice?”

Violet: “When I got all of that cranberry juice.”

In unison: “They were on sale!”

Violet: “Oh, you remember?!? You’re sweet.”

The important question is finally asked, “[Cher] why don’t you run for president?”

I don’t know why. I don’t know what happened. I don’t understand what changed. And I will never ask for an explanation… ever.

Saturday, while I was out with my out-of-town friend Violet called. I excused myself, answered the phone and she said, “Hey, do you have a second?” I said, “of course”, of course. Violet said, “Today at my gardening class i had a revelation.” I said, “mm hmm, and what was it?” Violet said, “We should get a dog. How about in June? Lets get a dog together in June.”

I had nothing to say because:

1. I was in the bathroom peeing and someone walked in, which is awkward and 2. Oh.My.Gawd.

So, now the conversation has moved from: “Can we please get a dog? Please! Pleeeeeease? Pleeeeeeeease!!!”

-to-

“What kind of dog should we look into getting?”

We have both agreed that a mutt is the only option, but Violet would prefer one mixed with Australian Shepherd and i would prefer one mixed with Boxer. The only reason i mention this is because of the uncanny resemblance that we each have with our prefered breed. Vain or good taste?… Probably a mix of the two.

One of my very favorite friends flew into town this weekend because her aunt passed away unexpectedly. It was not the happiest reason to see each other but it was wonderful to spend my Saturday and most of Sunday with her. As we said goodbye, locked in a bear hug at the rental car portion of the airport parking lot she said, “Seriously, I really love you.”

I laughed a little, still locked in a hug and replied: “Ya, ok, good. No more bullshit, i love you too… now. I mean, I used to just say that, but now i’m serious.”

Jup: “For years I just said it, totally full of shit, but you know, it was just to make things work, to get by.”

me: “So many years of being totally indifferent about you- no feelings what so ever. But you were just so damn cute i thought why not. But now, I mean,  i really do.”

Jup: “Exactly. That’s exactly how it went for me too. Glad it’s out there. Ok, gotta go. I love you… for real this time.”

I kissed her cheek goodbye… again.  She drove off and away to her aunt’s family house for a long week of mourning and a funeral next Saturday.

A sense of humor- I’ll tell you what: What.