jMcJohnson

Well, it wasn’t Friday, and it wasn’t an asteroid.

It was Monday, and a 30 ft. tree fell on out apartment.

Crazy.

Ryan and I have this thing where if I have to do something I don’t want to do or something shitty happens, I ask him to “feel sorry for me.” Example:

Me: I can’t believe I wanted to make this cake but we don’t have any eggs.

Ryan: Why don’t you just go get some?

Me: I’m too tired.

Ryan: Do you want me to go get them?

Me: (whining) Noooo…just feel sorry for meeeee….

Ryan then tells me that, yes, he does in fact feel sorry for me, and then he hugs me, partly to comfort me, mostly to silence me.

Yeah. Aren’t you glad you’re not married to me?

So, now, dear reader, I am asking you to feel sorry for him. Here’s what has happened to him this week:

Monday: St. Louis Cardinals almost lose then win at the last minute. Very emotional moment where Ryan almost knocks our huge clock off a shelf and then runs around the living room jumping up and down and screaming so much that he can hardly answer his congratulatory calls. The excitement was such that it felt like we had just had a baby named Albert Pujols.

Tuesday: Ryan wakes up sick as a dog. He is so ill that he only has the strength to lay on the couch, watch soccer, and drink a HALF GALLON of orange juice.

Wednesday: Ryan feels a little better, and then has to work and thus, cannot watch his Cardinals get beaten like red-headed stepchildren by the Houston ASStros. Despair. I know he is not fully recovered until he starts talking about “our team” “next year.”

Thursday: The Chiefs/Dolphins game to which he has gotten great seats for Sunday is moved to Friday. He has to work. No one can work for him. We eat $130 in useless tickets, and my husband cannot go see his next great hope: the 2005 Super Bowl Bound Chiefs (that’s what we call them at our house.)

Friday: Asteroid hits our apartment.

Poor guy. Did I mention he also basically has the equivilent of two full-time jobs right now so I can chase my artistic moonbeams? The other inhuman thing about Ryan is that he truly NEVER COMPLAINS. Not when he has to go to work, not when I feed him some fucked up new recipe, not when I act like a five year old, just NEVER. He’s really the best.

And rest assured, I do feel sorry for him.

This is Joe. Joe had his wisdom teeth out two days before this picture was taken. Joe was craving red meat. We took him to get a huge burger. He happily ate it. It took three hours.

Seriously. He brought it home when we finished and continued to eat it for two more hours.

What a trooper.

The lead story on the news for the last couple weeks has been the alleged “python invasion” of South Florida. At the gym last week, I saw on tv these sweet pictures of a snake that had swallowed a turkey whole. Cool. And then a story about how a python swallowed a cat. That was neat, too. But tonight, they recapped a story that I had somehow missed. Apparently, last week a python not only ate an alligator in the Everglades, but shortly after it’s stomach EXPLODED.

AWESOME.

BBC NEWS | Americas | Snake bursts after gobbling gator

Due to some new extra curricular activites as of late, I have begun to meet some new people. They seem like pretty nice people, pretty normal. We seem to like some of the same things. I went out with them for the first time the other night, and I was pretty excited, you know, pretending to have friends down here and all. As soon as we sat down and the beer began flowing, I realized something. Most all of these people had the same irritating flaw. They were (as Joe would say) People Whose Parents Didn’t Hug Them Enough. Translation: selfish people who only wanted to talk about themselves. Literally, here’s a sample conversation:

Me: So, are you from Florida originally?

Them: No, I grew up in Iowa. We lived on a farm, and one time three cows got out of the barn.

Me: Wow, that’s funny. How did you get them back in?

Them: (Long explanation)

Me: Ha ha! That’s hilarious! You know, I’m actually from the midwest too. I grew up in Kansas.

Them: (Blank Stare)

Me: So…ummm…about the cows…

Them: BLAH BLAH ME ME BLAH ME ME ME BLAH

It was crazy. Now, in defense of the group, there were a couple nice people there, I just didn’t end up talking to any of them. I really believe some of these people would have something to offer to the world if their parents had just hugged them a little bit more and gave them the attention that they needed. Then, they would be able to HOLD A CONVERSATION instead of just talking at my head. Look, I’m not perfect, but one thing I pretty much have down pat is talking to people and not completely monopolizing the conversation.

I will say that the more beer I drank, the more interesting these people became. So…there’s that.

This is the first in a possible series of entries about stuff that has been bothering me lately. Next time: “Climb Off the Cross, There’s Not Room For You Both Up There.”

Yes, this is my real hair and yes, it was taken at Long John Silver’s.

My hair as of yesterday.

Please notice my hot wrist rubber band accessory in both pictures. I only post this for my readers who maybe haven’t seen me in a while and think to themselves, “Gee, I wonder what Johnson looks like now?” Rest assured that I wonder about you too, and you can feel free to send me pics (nude preferred).

As usual, Long John’s did well, and Joe rang the bell.

Anyone who knows me knows that I like to latch on to some weird idea and then make it happen no matter how stupid it is. So, Friday night at around 11pm, I decided that I needed some fruit. Not just A piece of fruit, oh no, I envisioned a Fruit Buffet made up of all my favorite fruits, sliced and delicious waiting to be consumed by me, thus sending my tastebuds into lands hitherto unseen in the world of Fruit Tastiness. I made up a brief song about my Fruit Buffet. So, Carrie and I went to the store, where she proceeded to buy beer and I bought a very ripe pear, a large apple, a nectarine and three kiwi (kiwis?)

We went home and I sliced it all up and piled it delicately on a paper plate.

Carrie: Umm, are you going to eat all that?

Jamie: (mesmerized by fruit) Yes.

Carrie: You will most likely shit yourself if you eat all that fruit.

Jamie: I should put chocolate in a bowl so I can dip it!

Carrie: Don’t call me when your bowels explode.

Well. I began eating the fruit while we played Monopoly. The first few bites were heaven. Nectarines in chocolate are brilliant. The next few bites were really good. The next few bites started to make my stomach feel a little…active. The next few bites I started to feel like I could have gas at any moment.

That’s when I should have stopped.

But I kept eating. Keep in mind, the weight if this fruit was bending the sides of the plate. The fruit was HEAPED in a large pile. I was out of control. I finally offered some to Carrie. She ate a couple pear slices. I looked at the plate.

I was about three bites short of having EATEN IT ALL.

Oh Lord. We finished the game and I went home in AGONY. I laid in bed until 5:30am (when Ryan got home from work)

Ryan: What’s wrong with you?

Jamie: I ate about two pounds of fruit.

Ryan: Why would you do that?

Jamie: (wanting to cry) I don’t know, I was just really hungry for hungry for FRRUUUIIITTT!

Ryan then reminded me about this summer when I ate like, half a pound of cherries and felt sick too (I clearly do not know my limits with fruit) and our friend Holly told us that when you don’t eat fruit on an empty stomach it just sits in your guts and ROTS. So that made me feel a lot better, except that it made me feel totally worse. Thanks, Ryan.

Well. I finally went to sleep around 6, and woke up the next day and the fruit was…ummm…taken care of.

As you can see, it was quite a weekend.

This is a really fun site…I frequented it when I had a boring desk job. You don’t have to sign in to use it, just click on a celebrity and dress them up. Genius!
Paperdoll Heaven - Celebrity dress up games

Because no one in my life lets me put them in weird situations to be photographed as much as my friend Joe, Wednesdays will now be “Joe Wednesdays,” in which I post a picture of him, doing something I like. Here’s your inagural photo.