jMcJohnson

That makes me happy.

Anyone know how to get into a bar if you lost your driver’s license and can’t get a new one in time for scheduled drinking?

Why don’t I have a passport?!

Why do I lose stuff so often?!

Crap!

Well, a few days ago it happened.

I got so mad at my cell phone’s seemingly unending crappy reception that I hit it against the gearshift in my car and made the screen go all psychedelic.

It still works, but I can’t see my phone book to get numbers.

It’s kind of cool looking except for the radiation that surely leaks through the cracked screen into my head.

So, if you called me in the last few days, I can’t call you back (Amanda!)…send me your number! (I can still dial)

I can’t get a new phone for free until October 12th (thanks Verizon) so, I am using my telemarketer headpiece to avoid brain damage.

My advice…control your phone rage.

It’s strange-the feeling that you get when you finally know what you want out of your working life. I used to agonize constantly about how I felt totally useless-I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself (in the work sense). I wished a lightening bolt would come down out of the sky and written on it would be the words:

JAMIE! YOU SHOULD BE A DENTAL HYGENIST.

Okay, maybe not those words exactly, but something, an answer a pull, a calling-anything to take away the gnawing doubt about how I was spending my days. I have had many, many jobs over the years and the only thing that I’ve ever gotten paid to do that didn’t feel like work was Lovewell.

(yeah, it’s going to be about that).

Non-Lovewell people in my life have mixed feelings about it. Most don’t even ask “what’s the show about?” or “how’s Lovewell?” either because they don’t really view it as a job or they think it’s exclusionary. Which I totally get. When the Sweden crew gets together, I admit, my feelings sometimes round that curve. It sounds awesome-but hearing about it makes me feel like a bit of an outsider (not because THEY make me feel that way, I just let my ego drive the bus for a while, ya know?)

But I digress.

It’s been a long time coming, but I know now in my heart why I’m here. To create a positive change in the space I inhabit. Lovewell taught me that. It’s something I have been quietly doing all along, I think. But lately I find myself speaking with more confidence, coming up with ideas I’m not afraid to share, creating my life in the exact manner I know I was meant to.

Turning lemons into lemonade.

And the closer I get to the person I want to be, the more financial opportunities come into my life. I can make a living while leaving my mark-doing work that (in my mind) really matters. Feeling excited to wake up in the morning and grateful for alll the opportunities that have come my way. And much is bubbling beneath the surface right now.

That’s Lovewell. And we will make it happen.

We already are.

*****PROLOGUE*****

A long, long time ago (2000) in a place far, far away (Chicago) I desperately wanted a pet. I really wanted a dog. With all my heart and soul. I got a dog. I named it Lucy. I had it for two days when I realized it had worms. And chronic diahrrea. Ryan and I would wake up in the middle of the night and smell an awful smell and realize it was Lucy crapping herself. AGAIN.

I’ll cut to the chase-the dog didn’t work out. Conveniently, the shelter had a 1 week return policy (and when I got the dog, the papers said she did NOT have worms), so I asked Ryan return it to the pound, because I had to go to work. (I still owe him for that one). So, yeah, to the naked eye it SEEMS like I rescued a dog, didn’t want to deal with its intestinal problems and returned it like a pair of too-tight shoes-

But this story isn’t about my faux dog.

It’s about the gerbils I got to replace the dog I couldn’t deal with!

I went to PetsMart and purchased two gerbils. After much discussion, I named the one with two rings on his tail “Ringo” and the other one was pretty non-descript, so I named him GerBil (pronnounced Juhr-BEEL), because it sounded French. Joe’s mom and dad were visiting, so they got to be present when the gerbs came home. I loved them both. They ate and slept and crapped odorless turds. Then, the day after I got them, I peeked into their cage (carefully dropping in a new toilet paper tube for them to get all ocd on) and there were three of them.

I bought TWO. Now there were THREE. The new one was all black and already stuffing himself with gerbil feed.

I freaked out. Everyone had a theory on where the mystery third gerbil came from. Maybe one of the (male) gerbils was pregnant (and gave birth to a FULLY GROWN gerbil). Maybe he was hiding in the corner of the box. Maybe he was a stray. I had no idea.

Before I lost my mind, Joe’s dad confessed. He likes to mess with me so much that he bought another gerbil and snuck it into the cage that morning.

So in his honor, I named that gerbil LBH.

Little Black Howard.

*****EPILOGUE*****

A few months later I left my gerbils in the care of a friend for the summer/early fall of 2001 while I was travelling. When I came back to get the gerbs, my friend was very attached to the little guys after going through 9/11 with them.

So I let him keep them.

Because I am just that good of a friend, NOT a pet-abandon-er.

The End.

Just when you get used to something it becomes something else.

Phil Collins. What a man. What a haircut.

These are really amazing…(from Metafilter)

vintage_ads: Drugs

Give me a topic upon which to blog.

Please?

I will be taking the top suggestions and turning them into entries, as I have been a lame blogger lately. Make it scandalous…make me explain some dumb thing I once did/said, call me out on some of my bullshit, just give me some juice!

BONUS: If you make a suggestion and I had no idea that you read my blog (ie: you never comment or tell me) I will write a paragraph about how much I like you. Even if I don’t.

Isn’t this exciting?

Comment…if you dare!