May I? Or....May-or?

At the beginning of my hospital stay, post-surgery, one of my nurses came in my room, introduced herself, and told me she would be my charge nurse for the next four days.  We visited a little bit, and then she said...”I need to ask you something, seriously.”

Me:  Okay.

Nurse:  Will you tell me the truth?

Me:  Of course,

Nurse:  There’s a rumor that you’re going to run for mayor of Midland.

Me:  Me? (I look at TMIL, and we burst out in laughter.) I think you’re mistaken.

Nurse:  No, seriously, that’s what they said during reports.

ThatManILove and I assured her that we were considering doing nothing of the sort.

Later, my brother Scott comes in.  I told him what happened, and asked him what’s up with the rumor, and he said that when the surgery team put me in my first (small) room, my friends teased them that I would have more visitors than the mayor.

We fought that rumor the entire hospitalization - but we were sure treated well!

Today, one of my friends called.  She and her husband own a local chiropractic clinic.

One of their friends was one of the charge nurses on my floor, and told them she had really enjoyed getting to visit with TMIL and myself.

And then, she said, “So, really, when is she going to announce her candidacy for mayor of Midland?”

Lord help me, this one's gonna take a while to die down - at least amongst the medical community.

Bury Me in My Hat and My Boots

Late last week, I had a horrible night.  I was running 103 degrees fever, and in terrible pain.  I should have just gone to the emergency room that night, but the pain eased.  Chills stopped.

The next morning, I told ThatManILove I was going to the doctor.  He was heading out to the field, to substitute in for a guy that needed a day off.  I told him to go on, and promised I would call my brother Scott if I needed a ride, or anything.  TMIL left around 4:30 that morning.  

I got up, took a shower, fixed my hair and put on makeup, and called my brother.  He assured me he was coming to Midland and would clear his day for me “just in case.”

I went to my office to collect my computer, since I was working on a project.  And everything started again.

I drove straight to my personal physician, who diagnosed :  appendicitis. He called the emergency room, I drove to my house, and Scott met me there.  We went to the hospital.

Because of my level of pain, they immediately put me in a patient room.  They got me comfortable, gave me drugs, and I settled in for a long wait while they ordered tests, started i.v., and asked a million questions.

At some point, I had to go to the bathroom.  Since I was on drugs, a nurse had to walk me to the bathroom down the hall, and back to my room.  

I came in, looked at Scott, and said, “These drugs must be some good shit.”

Scott:  Why?

Me:  I kid you not, as I was walking down the hall, I saw a guy all gowned up, with his stuff all hanging out, and...he was wearing a cowboy hat.

Scott, laughing:  Seriously?  His cowboy hat?  He’s wearing his cowboy hat with a gown?

Me:  Yeah, you might be a redneck stuff, huh?  I dunno.  It may be the drugs.  But will you go look?  (at this time, he would do freakin’ anything to stop me from hurting and to make me laugh - which, by the way, hurt just as much.)

Scott goes out of the room, and shortly comes back with this killer grin.

Scott:  Yup.

Me:  I’m not hallucinating?

Scott:  Nope.  And....

Me:  What?

Scott:   He has on his cowboy boots, too.

I had to call for more drugs.  Yeah, baby.  I’m from Texas.

Needless to say, this story has been told over and over again post-surgery.  What a way to heal, huh?

Ouch.

I So Understand - Now If I Could Photoshop Me!

Y'all know I love photography.  And sometimes, I make mistakes.  Like leaving boogers in one guy's nose as he and his little daughter started lovingly at each other.  (Oh, yes I did - but I don't get paid for this stuff...so, nobody griped.)

But this one is hilarious!  Burberry's new Emma Watson campaign left her handicapped - just a bit!

Goes to show even the pros make mistakes sometimes!

Now, me...I'd want to shave some stuff off me...I could have a whole new figure and be a legend...on my computer, and in my own mind!

Funny Door Mats and FL's Spanx Experience

We were walking the drag at Fredericksburg this weekend, and our friend Rick pointed out these mats to us. I know, Wine Commonsewer, you're going to want this first one, aren't you?

Okay, so I'm easily amused. So shoot me. Which is your favorite? (You might get it in the mail!)

PS - for one of the funniest posts I've read about Spanx in a while, go visit Fragrant Liar. Make sure you have no liquid in your mouth, and that you've been to the bathroom first.

Somebody's Watching You

Tonight, we ran through the Starbucks en route to Fredericksburg.

ThatManILove pulled up to the speaker to order, and the barista begins to speak.

“Welcome to Starbucks! Would you like a pumpkin spice latte? Or could I interest you in a caramel macchiato or pumpkin coffee cake?”

I might not have her spiel right, because I was laughing so hard at TMIL I couldn’t hear her.

You see, the entire time she was giving her little Welcome to Starbucks speech, he was wagging his head and mocking her. And it cracked me up.

And then, she said, “Don’t be wagging that head at me and making fun of me...you know I can see every move you make!” And then, she cracked up. We could hear all the baristas laughing in the store.

I wish I’d had a camera.

I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. ThatManILove got a kick out of it, too!

You Little Devil, You!

As you know, I travel a lot. Which means my butt warms plenty of seats (though not simultaneously) in airports. And I do love me some people watching.

As I wait on flights, I survey the people around me. In most airports, the seats are in increments of ten. This ensures that no more than five people will inhabit the entire row, because they leave one empty seat between them and the next person. Unless, of course, that person is me, and sometimes between my stuff and that of ThatManILove, I can take up three seats.

Because this is how it goes down.

We start out with one seat between us, with his stuff piled in it. And then, I take up the seat to my left, with my stuff piled there. If there is any wait at all, ThatManILove sometimes decides it might be a great opportunity to snag a nap. Oh, wait, here it comes, RIGHT NOW, as I'm typing this!

TMIL: I think I’m going to go to that bank of seats by the wall so I can sit down, lean against the wall, and take a nap.

Me: Oh, really? Okay. Sleep with angels.

TMIL: Ummmm....did you pack my iPod? Is it in your computer bag?

Me: Yes.

TMIL: And my earphones?

Me: Yes.

TMIL: Is it charged up?

Me: Yeah, Babe, here it is.

TMIL: Okay, wake me up when it’s time, okay? (I smile and nod.)

And on my shoulder, that little she-devil, dressed up in She-Safari camo and carrying this cool Prada purse, laughingly whispers, “You could always say you TRIED to wake him up!”

Naaaaaaah. I’m just not made that way. I just couldn't!

But it would make for some juicy blog fodder, don't ya think??!

Men and Dress Clothes

We will be leaving for Santa Fe in the morning for work (yeah, life is hard!). I had ThatManILove come into the bedroom while I showed him what outfits I was going to pack. That took about 10 minutes. He approved most of my selections.

And then, it was his turn. I kid you not, he tried on 10 pair of pants. They’re all brand new, so he couldn’t have grown out of them. And then the shirts. All brand new. And then, the jackets. Shoes. Even had to get my approval on the socks.

Now, this man is a snappy dresser. He even helps me pick out my dress clothes, when he’s in town. But tonight? It took us about 1 1/2 hours to get through his clothing choices and my approval.

And they say women are bad....hah!!

Susie/Doozie's Happy Box!!!

I received this Happy Box in the mail from Susie Badoozie today. She had received one, and showed the contents on her blog, and I whined. Thusly, I received. I'll try and figure out her thinking, but...she often carries a shovel around as a weapon of mass destruction. Or for protection. Or to look cool, I don't know. Something. Anyway, I don't want that silver hammer coming down on me! So....here goes!

Firstly, this note.

Then, these tiny little gloves. My hands ARE NOT gargantuan!! The gloves are tiny.
And then these, Boston Baked Beans. Presumably because I went to Boston last year. But ThatManILove doesn't care why I got them...and promptly scarfed them down.
And these cute Pet Pals pocket tissues. Which reminds me, when my mom would go to the casino, she would stick her tissues into her bra. I kid you not.
And some Sponge Bob drinking cups. I don't have a clue, seriously,
And a check register. A blank one, at that. Just waiting for me to utilize it. Ain'ta gonna happen, I tell you. I check my accounts online, and if the balance is close to what I think it should be, I'm good. (God, I hope our CPA isn't reading this!) (If you are, Kyle, when I think of it, I download my account to Quick Books. Yeah. That's it. Just to make your job easier every year. Because all my thoughts are of you and how well you save us money. That's right.
I guess this sprayer is to wash my dogs. Or ThatManILove. Or something. I'm really trying hard here to think how Susie thinks, but, nah...I'm too tired. I think she's an underappreciated genius, so I'm not gonna even go there.
And, for those of us with constipation problems, here I have a box of Kellogg's Complete Wheat Bran. Gotta love it.
And....these cool glasses. I would seriously kill to have eyelashes like this. I think they make my eyes pop, don't you? And don't laugh at my hair or my lack of makeup, it's freaking 11:11 pm on a work night. I just don't care!
Ah, yeah. Zen tea, baby, Tazo style. The Susie-girl shares a love of Starbucks with me, she does.
I think this is a night light. I'm scared to plug it in...it could be a nuclear bomb. Yeah? No.
Cool pens, a purple post-it pad, and a Shooter Sticker. That girl KNOWS me.
And a skateboard. With wheels. Works. I have no clue what it symbolizes
I already talked about this part of the box, but I can't get the pix to delete, so you get a rerun.
And this Mad Lib book. It's really cool, but the little girl who owned it is going to be pissed off that I have it now. Just sayin'.
I have no idea. Pasties???
Oh! Pilates! I should be able to lose weight now! What do I do next? Read the book? Can't I just put it on my bedside table and it will make me lose weight just by being by my side? Can't I?
Hey, Suse...my little pinky won't find it this freakin' Cinderella slipper. Don't push me. I have a friend with a shovel.
Ohhhhhh. A Starbucks mug, a pretty one. I think it may be used. Not really! Okay, it might be used, but it's nothing my dishwasher won't sterilize!!

Anyway, isn't all that SWEET? Now, I'm going to send the happy box back, full of surprises. Thanks, Susie! Love ya, girlfriend!

If YOU want a Happy Box, let me know. I'll see how I can surprise you!

I Got A Kick Out Of This Today

I stopped by a friend's garage sale today, and saw this book: "Meditations For Women Who Do Too Much".

Isn't this a wee bit redundant? I may need to meditate on it before I can answer my own question.

Lake House Exorcism

We snuck off this week to spend some alone time at Lake Granbury. Rented a nice lakehouse, boat, the works. I’m so spoiled. I know. So shoot me.

But first, the REAL haircut. We drove into Mansfield about midnight, then had a leisurely breakfast with Mike and Pam. Pam and I then went to VuJen Hair Studio for me to face my fate with Robyn and Rebecca, hair artistes extraordinaire. They’re both regular readers of this blog, so the new do a la drug test wasn’t a surprise. My blog couldn’t prepare the girls for the WAY the drug testers wrecked my hair, though! Rebecca said it’s going to take some doing to work with those layers when they grow out, and I think Robyn just flat gave up on the highlight part.

Later that afternoon, we went to supper, then traveled on to Granbury. Dropped by Kroger’s and picked up about $250 worth of perishables. (This will be important later.) By now, it’s dark. We were so stupid to try and find a lakehouse in the dark! We put the address in the GPS, to no avail. “Address doesn’t exist in this town.” You gotta love it.

Finally, we find the place. Gated property, looks inviting. We drive down the driveway and get out of the truck, flashlight in hand.

We cannot find the front door. By this time, ThatManILove is exhausted, he’s been sick, and he’s more than just a little done. We see a ramp, and go up it. There’s a door there, but no lockbox. We go downstairs, same thing. Finally, we find the lockbox...but by now, we’ve forgotten the lockbox number. I trudge back to the truck, find the paper, read the number by the interior light of the truck, and call it out to ThatManILove...who can’t hear me, because the wind is blowing.

We finally get into the place. We walk into the living room with the beautiful rock fireplace, just like was shown in the pictures....except for the bed in the kitchen, which is also in the living room. ThatManILove looks at me like, “What have you done, girl?” (Thank God he looked at the pictures, too, before we closed the deal.) Whoever took the pictures for the ad is either a cropping expert or one who knows how to work the heck out of Photoshop!

We’re both trying to talk ourselves into making this work when we realize there is no way from the 1st floor to the 2nd floor. We have to go outside to gain access to the 2nd floor. I can’t make this stuff up.

And then, I see a door. I open said door. Inside said door is...(wait for it!)...an old elevator. Complete with pillows and blanket. I kid you not. We work and we work, and we can’t get the elevator to run. Finally, we walk back up the upstairs ramp (outside the house, remember) and go up to the second floor. We get the second floor unlocked, and try the elevator from the top down. No go. We look around to see if this house is even a doable deal, since by now, it’s 9:30 p.m. There are probably 10 beds on the 2nd floor, complete with a black bathtub/shower. Scary, that.

None of this stuff was ever even mentioned in the ad - and the ad certainly never mentioned an elevator! That had been converted to a very small bedroom.

Needless to say, we immediately tried to call the realtor, to no avail. I sent an e-mail, we locked everything back up, and we get ready to leave. At this point, we realize that the lights on the second floor porch are blinking like they're participating in an exorcism. We go back in, try to find the way to turn them off, to no avail. We give up.

ThatManILove looked at me, and said, “We need to jet this deal and not worry about it tonight. Let’s holler Calf Rope and leave. I’m calling Mike and Pam to see if we can stay with them.”

So, he does, and they graciously say, “C’mon!” Thus begins another 45 minute drive. We’re trucking down the highway towards Mansfield about 20 minutes later, and somehow, I have my first post-elevator/bedroom shock cognizant brain thought.

“Honey, what did you do with that 30 lbs of ice?” (that’s now been melting for an hour plus...)

“Oh, Lordy, Janie, pull over! It’s sitting on top of everything in the back of the truck.”

We contributed to the ground water level of Johnson County, hit Mike and Pam’s house around 10:45 p.m., unloaded all our groceries into their refrigerators, and crashed.

It’s never boring around here!

PS - Did I tell you that the next day, I realized I left my favorite pair of MauiJim sunglasses on the table right next to the bed that was right next to the stove that was right next to the elevator/second bedroom that was in the kitchen/living room in the house we refused to sleep in? Oh, yeah, baby.

Oh, yeah.

Voluntary Involuntary Hair Cut

Though I’ve not yet accepted any offers, one that is very attractive to me comes from a major company. The kind of company where you have to have a background check, fill out all sorts of pre-hire paperwork, and take a drug test within a certain time frame from receiving “the e-mail” from the HR department.

Over the past 2 days, I’ve been taking a minute here and there to fill out said forms. This morning, I went to the designated testing place to take the drug test. Said drug test consisted of a urine analysis, and a hair test. No problema, right?

I be-bopped in there, announced myself, and we got down to business. Sign a bunch of paperwork? Check. Give out all your life history and all your identifying numerals? Check. Urinalysis? Check. Hair test? Well, here’s how it went down.

Tester: Okay, Janie, we need you to sit in this nice fluffy chair here. And since I’m new, my supervisor is going to watch me cut your hair. You’re my first hair test!

Janie: (in a squeakly little voice) Okaaaaaaay.

Tester: Now, I don’t know if you knew this, but we have to take 120 strands of your hair, from the scalp down. It will just be little chunks.

Janie: What? Dude. My hair is so fine, it shows scissor marks. I was in Pennsylvania last week, my bangs were so long, I borrowed scissors and chipped them out. And then, I couldn’t sleep because I just know my hair stylist is going to jump me out because I cut my hair myself. But CHUNKS of my hair, 60 strands thick, at once? I might as well buy my casket!!!

Tester: Well, thank God you have hair. We could take it from your private parts.

Janie: Oh. Yeah. Ummmmm...well, okay. I guess my noggin will do.

Supervisor: Lift up the top layer of her hair.

Janie: Oh, wait, let me do it, please. Can I pick where the bald spots are going to be?

Supervisor: It’s not going to show, that bad. And if we don't get enough hair, they'll call you back in and we'll have to do it all over again.

Janie: (nervous) Oh, right.

Tester: Lift your hair up, Janie, let’s get this deal done.

And Tester begins to twist my hair into chunks. I could hear all 60 cuts of the first batch. Had to be a super dull pair of scissors.

Supervisor: That’s good, Tester. Now let’s grab the other bunch.

Janie: Ummm....could I please see a mirror?

Supervisor: You won’t even be able to tell, I promise.

Janie: I can’t see it, but I can feel the stubby little ends where you cut my hair!

Tester: Okay, let’s do the other side. (And he does.)

I take a picture of the clump, and send it to my potential employer plus a couple of his managers in an e-mail. Here’s how that e-mail traffic went down.

Me: The things I do for you...120 strands. You owe me a haircut, whether or not I take this job.

El Patron: I’ll cut your hair! You may look more like Joe and Bob, though! (Both are balding.)

Joe: I’d be in trouble if they needed 120 strands.

Bob: Janie, if they don’t use all of the strands, can you get the leftovers? Maybe Joe and I can start a hair restoration program.

Me: Sure. I’ll need to draw up a royalty agreement to my benefit.

Bob: Just bill it to El Patron.

They crack me up. Lord only knows what they think of me.

I came home, ran some errands, and later, freshened up my hair to go out. About 50 more strands came out with the comb. I may never comb my hair again, because I don't think I can stand the loss.

Welcome to Mi Vida Loca.

The Little Horse Who Wouldn't

This morning, my phone rang. It was Elder Son, though I could barely understand him.

ES: Mom.

Me: Yeah, babe?

ES: Mom, I had to ...call you. (He’s hesitating, sounds like he’s crying.)

Me: What’s up? Is SOMETHING WRONG????

(I can hear all this snuffling, and scuffing around, and some type of weird guttural noise.)

ES: Jason and I are having to load these little...(more snuffling, weird sounds) miniature horses that Jason’s granddad bought for Jason’s kids at the livestock auction, and...and...(mumbles off into nowhere, and I can hear him laughing and trying to catch his breath.)

(I can hear Jason laughing out loud.)

Me: What? What's going on?

ES: Well, Mom, it’s just that.....(fades into laughter again. He finally composes himself)...we got all the horses loaded except for...(and off he goes again) except for this (Jason laughing his butt off in the background)

Me: (I start laughing, too.) Tell me! Finish your sentence!

Now, I ask you, how stupid is that, that I start laughing? I can’t even see them, I don’t even know what’s happening. But I can imagine. Jason isn’t a tall guy, but Elder Son tops out at 6’4”...one tall lean bean. And a miniature horse, much less 7-8 of them? Just the visuals are funny!

Me: Elder Son! Finish, please?

ES: Mom....I can’t....it’s just that, I’m really trying...okay, give me a second....okay....we’ve been trying...trying to...(and he dissolves into man giggles again.)

I just sit there, grinning like a cheshire cat. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s going to be good. It’s gonna be one of those worth the wait ones. I wait.

He finally calms down a little bit.

ES: Mom, we’ve got all these teeny horses loaded in this honking huge trailer, ( and they're laughing again, they’re losing their voices)...(they finally catch their breath and ES resumes) except for (bustin’ gut laughs now) the little stallion. (And he cracks up again.)

Me: The what?

ES: The stud miniature horse, Mom. He’s a stubborn little &*O(^)%(&.

Me: Oh, Lordy me (I really started laughing now)!

ES: Oh, Mom, we are so frustrated. We tried to herd him up with the rest of the horses. He’d get halfway up the ramp, which is really short to the ground, then fall off. He’d just tip over. He’s really fat. We’d start again - he’d back down the ramp. He did not want to go. Then, we tried to lead him up. No go. Then, I led and Jase pushed. That didn’t work. So, Jase led, and I pushed. (Laughter. Then escalating laughter.) That didn’t work, either.

And now, Mom, the horse is mad. He’s snorting at us and pawing at us - it is so funny, the little thing! (Uncontrollable laughing from both he and Jase.)

(By now, tears are running down my face and I’m having trouble breathing!)

And then, Mom....(giggles)....I finally got so frustrated I tried to pick the little b*st*rd up and throw him in the trailer. (huge laughter.)

Me: What? You tried to pick him up?

ES: Yessssssssss...(fades into sputters and they’re off again, laughing hard!.)

Me: Did it work?

ES: Hell, no, Mom, it didn’t work (and they crack up into laughter again), he weighs 400 pounds and he was thrashing around and trying to get away!

Me: Oh, Lordy.

ES: I gotta go, Mom, we gotta figure this out, I just had to call you.

And he hangs up laughing.

I talked to him this morning. They finally got the little stud horse loaded into the trailer. Elder Son and Jason physically picked up the horse, together, and stuffed him in the trailer.

Elder Son is still laughing.

Me, too!