Awake...Again

I can’t sleep, so you win, Bloggersville. Damn leprechauns.

Well, you win, sort of, since I’m trying to catch up a little on writing. And maybe post twice in two days. There isn't a rule on content, is there? If so, I'm busted. It’s almost 3 a.m., and I’ve slept about 30 minutes tonight. I don’t know what’s going on, except that. work. keeps. cycling. through. my. brain. like. a. maniac. and. will. not. leave. me. alone.

So, each time I think of someone I haven’t called on, or need to visit, I put them on my crackberry calendar. Right then and there. Which insures that my alarm will be going off all day tomorrow, reminding me to do all the things I dreamt about (or thought about when I tried to dream) tonight.

I even took a natural sleeping pill at midnight, which, at the rate it’s going, should probably kick in about 6 a.m., when I should be up getting ready for work.

Zack the Wonderdog has his vasectomy (neuter) appointment later on this morning at 8 a.m. Life should be interesting later this afternoon, when we get him home. I was reading up on what to expect after surgery and found out that you can actually buy prosthetic testicles for your dog. ThatManILove has been teasing about getting them for Zack so that Zack won’t lose his stud dog look, but I think (and hope) he’s teasing.

Anyway, I’m going to go count green sheep now.

Again.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Energy Update: That's Made from Oil? No Way!!

You know, the energy industry is either boom or bust, feast or famine. I’ve been doing what I do for 25 years, and I don’t think we’ve had a time when we could just “cruise.” To top it off, mainstream media hates the oil and gas industry. All they can talk about is the price of a gallon of gas...something that is regulated by many different things. Sometimes, it’s wearing to be in a field that is always in the negative limelight. 

I go places (outside the oilfield), and people ask what I do. When I tell them, they frown. And then, tell me, “You are EVIL.” I’m always nice, but inside, I want to scream, “Do you know you really can’t live well without us?” So, I decided I’d show you a little bit about my industry. It is, after all, an industry that I dearly love. And who knows, maybe you'll see it a little differently after today.

Way past the basics of energy for your house, and gas for your vehicle (car enamel, dashboards, antifreeze, safety glass for that front window, additives, oil, tires and fan belts, etc.), there are some of the menial things essential to living well that you utilize every day... and they all are derived in some form or fashion from the oil and gas industry.

Got an Ipod ? The casing is plastic. Plastic is made from...wait for it...petroleum.
What about that laptop or desktop? Sweet. Oilfield, baby.
Cameras for those great picture moments? For sure, oil.
Play a guitar? What makes up your strings? Oil. Oh, yeah, baby, sing it. Right through those speakers. That, by the way, are also made from a petroleum product.

Wear makeup? Most makeup has a petroleum base.
Perfume? Eyeglasses? Even your soft contact lenses? Oil, baby.
Seal it with a kiss...because your favorite lipstick probably is made from petroleum.
Need cold cream to take that lipstick off? Thank the oilfield.
How about nail polish? Oil. Don’t like the color, need nail polish remover? Oil.

Does your kiddo draw with crayons? Yup. Oilfield.
Play with Legos? Oilfield. Model cars, trains, planes? Oil and gas, baby.
Baby dolls, trucks, trikes and bikes? Oil.
Huggies? Luvs? Passies? Made from oil...to help you take care of that precious baby. And when you put him or her in that life-saving carseat? Rest assured, it’s made from Oil.

Are all your clothes white? Or that unbleached fabric? Because if they have any color to them at all, the dye has some petroleum product in it. Speaking of clothes, the detergent you wash them with - is a petroleum product.
Go fishing? Fishing rods, line, nets, boots, lures, life jackets, oars. Cooler. Water skis. Wakeboards. Tow rope. Fishing BOAT, for God’s sake. All petroleum based.
Shower curtain? Shampoo? Hand Lotion? Oil and gas. Again.

How about that cellphone? Coffeemaker? Those cool little appliances that help you make it through the day, from drying your hair to making a grilled cheese? And do you play those old LPs or CD’s throughout the day? All petroleum based.
.
Scotch Tape? Electrical tape? Duct tape? Glue? Paint brushes? Paint rollers?
Bicycle/motorcycle helmets? Trash bags? All that, and more are made from oil.

Do you use a toilet seat? Yeah. Seriously. You’re sitting on oil, baby.
How about those credit/debit cards? P.l.a.s.t.i.c. - made from o.i.l.

Are you a golfer? You couldn’t be without those little white balls! Petroleum. Shooter? Parts of your gun are made from oil. Tennis player? Rugby? Any sport known to man? I bet the oil and gas industry has some part in it.

Wax your floor? Yup. Is it linoleum? Yup again. Use a mop? Burn a candle? Oil.
How about when you write a check? Use a ballpoint pen? Oil.

What if you fall and get a booboo? Need a bandage? Oh, yeah, honey, it’ll get better with oil. Are you diabetic and need insulin injections? The syringes...are made from oil.
Take antihistamines? Aspirin? Cortisone? Wear dentures? Use a toothbrush, comb, brush, hair curlers? Glycerin, insect repellant? Gotcha. All made from Oil.

Anyone been in the hospital lately? The shunt they put in your arm to start an IV---oilfield. The Christmas tree contraption they add to that so you can get 4 different meds by 4 different delivery systems – made from oil, and the technology came from the oilpatch.

And what about the very process of running a camera into an artery? That process originated in the oilfield, as well, if I’m not mistaken. These and numerous other medical advances were fueled by the injection of oilfield workers into another field, bringing their knowledge and can-do with them.

I could go on and on, forever. But I’ll leave you with this: When your future’s so bright you gotta wear shades...remember this: you wouldn’t be sporting that badass bling without the oil and gas industry. So next time you see your favorite oilfield worker, don’t trash them. Give them a hug.

And maybe even a pair of those bling bling shades. © 2009 Janie Snelson

Those Dang Serta Sheep Got Out of The Pen

Thursday night, I couldn’t sleep. Thank God I went to bed early and caught a couple of hours of shuteye, because about 1 a.m., I was a.w.a.k.e. Decided to do a little work, since I was up, anyhow.

Later Friday morning, I received this e-mail:

-----Original Message-----
To: Janie

From: Rockstar

Janie,
I am a little concerned. You see, I have a manager that is staying up all hours of the night probably because of Starbucks and blogging. Approving invoices at 2:15am and the like. What would you tell this manager?
~~~~~~~~~

From: Janie
To: Rockstar
Sent: Fri Feb 06 09:17:39 2009
Subject: RE: Worried

Rockstar,

If I were you, and I had such a manager, I would be asking the following questions of said manager:

(1) Why did you take the wrong daytime vitamins at 8:30 p.m. last night before you went to bed?
(2) What's up with ABC Oil Company calling you at 4 p.m. yesterday and demanding a 25% cut by first thing Friday morning if we wanted to stay on the vendor list?
(3) Why didn't you get to relax and read blogs instead of worrying and working all night?

Nuff said. If you forward anyone this e-mail you will be in deepa poopa...

Thanks for caring!

Janie

-----Original Message-----

From: Rockstar

To: Janie

Subject: Re: Worried

Okay you need more time to focus on the small stuff than I thought. I am glad you don't drink or you might have a bad hangover this morning.

Whaaaattt? Well, heck. At least he cares – and that’s why we call him Rockstar!

By the way, it's lunch...I am in need of speed. Caffiene. Ginko Biloba. Something.

Or, maybe just a little sleep.

Wide Awake

It’s 3:33 a.m.

I’m awake.

ThatManILove is still out in the field on a job.  I woke up, called him, he called me back.  He’ll be leaving location in the next 10 minutes or so.  Had to tell me all about the job, had questions, and my technical side kicked in.  Next thing I know, I’m trying to figure cement volumes in 4 1/2” pipe.  In my head.  And figure in the expansion properties of a certain type of cement.

Now I can’t sleep.

One of the reasons I left my old job was to get away from the 24 hour aspect of the oilfield.  I needed to get my life back, and that was but one of the factors.  I just forgot to factor in the part where ThatManILove still might get stuck on location from time to time.

I only have to get up in two more hours.  Yummy. 

Woe Despair and Agony on Me

I feel like I've been run over by a Mack truck.

I had a little relapse, and the wonder doc says I’m knocking on the pneumonia door. Lovely. Absolutely lovely.

So my bohiney has some injection marks in it, and it’s sore. The Hello Kitty bandaids did nothing to help the pain. My chest is sore from all the coughing. I’m taking major antibiotics and super duper prescription cough medicine. Downing vitamin C like there’s no tomorrow. The only good thing is that, when I’m not asleep or in some drug-induced stupor, I’m able to catch up on all your blogs.

I’ll leave you with this picture that one of my consultants sent me from his and his girlfriend’s vacation in Belize. And no, I didn’t even ask. Because this inquiring mind Does. Not. Want. To. Know.

Sync'd - the Alternative Punk'd

Nobody told me that there would have to be a synchronization period before ThatManILove and I would be back to our “oneness”. I think I've been punk'd. Where the hell is Ashton?

I guess 3 1/2 months is a long time to be apart.

After Christmas Day with our Littles (as in Big Brothers Big Sisters), we took Zack and Zanna to the dog park. Then, we decided to go to the late late movie – the four of us. It was fun. Until we got home and ThatManILove and Younger Son decided to have a “discussion,” eventually drawing us all in. Nothing like a little conflict on Christmas Night. Elder Son intervened and brought some clarity to the situation. Finally, everybody kissed and made up.

Since then, our house has been the setting for a comedy of errors.

This morning, I decided to let MLH sleep in. So, I got up with the dogs at 5:45 a.m.. They did their “business” and I begged them for a few more hours of sleep. They complied, until about 9:45 a.m., when they told me they were “Starving, Mom! Just starving! You never feed us! Where’s the number to PETA?”

(What. What? Your dogs don’t talk, I take it? Well, B.S. You have to channel your inner Dog Whisperer. Mine is called Cesarina. She’s a short Hispanic chica who does some mean rollerblading. She has zero problema being the pack leader, if you get my drift.)

Back to this other crap.

I decided to let ThatManILove catch up on some ZZZZ’s ‘cause that’s how I roll. When he woke up, we ran the dogs for a bit, and then decided on flights back to the PA. I started some laundry, threw a roast in the oven for supper, and decided I needed to take a break…

Just about the time ThatManILove decided we needed to be 100% packed at 2 in the afternoon so we would be ready to roll to Dallas at 9 a.m. tomorrow. I mean, he was getting all antsy about it!

MLH: I think we need to pack, really, Jane.(he only calls me that when he’s mad.)

Jane: Dude. I can so pack in twenty minutes. I’m getting good at it since you’ve been gone.
(for you newer readers, he usually packs for me - and he's damn good at it!)

MLH: Since all my stuff is still in the PA, we’ll both pack in the same bag.

Janie: Let’s see. I have to take 6 days worth of clothes, and makeup, and all that entails, and we’re going to pack in the same bag. Guess it’s going to be pretty warm up in the PA. Think shorts and T-shirts should do it?

MLH: Jane.

Janie: I’m really needing a nap. I haven’t had any down time in forever. Are you good with that?

MLH: I want us to get packed.

Right.

Later, I’m folding clothes and I hear him talking. I realize that he’s talking…to me. From three rooms away. I go into the bedroom, where he’s watching TV.

Janie: Hey, Babe, are you talking to me?

MLH: Yes. Do you know where my socks are? I can’t find any! Y'all have to quit putting my laundry where I can't find it.

Janie: They’re in this drawer, this drawer, and this drawer.

MLH: I’ve got to get all this cleaned up and organized.

Janie: Nothing’s changed since you left for the PA. Nobody's worn your laundry, honey.

Then, supper.

MLH: Do you know where the wine corkscrew is?

Janie: No. That's another coincidence - there’s been no wine consumed here since you left, so it would be pretty safe to say you had it last.

MLH tears into every drawer looking for the corkscrew, griping the entire time. Finally he finds it, in the implement drawer. Later, at the table…

MLH: You know, I’m really not feeling a “welcome home.”

Janie: Are you kidding me? (And that’s all I’m going to say about that conversation.)

Later on, I’m counting the 18 Robert Earl Keen tickets to the concert we’re going to miss, trying to decide to mail them to the attendees, or to give them to John and Suzan for distribution, or split them up between Mike and Pam and John and Suzan for further distribution between all the people that are going without us to the concert, or go by Bass Performance Hall and put them at WillCall, or what. I have tickets all over rows D and E, and trying to figure out who gets what.

MLH: Girl. How many times are you going to count those tickets?

Janie: I’m just trying to figure it all out since I don’t quite have a fix on who’s taking who.

MLH: You need to go pack, seriously, Jane.

I finish with the tickets, and go into the bedroom to start packing, and…

He sleeps. And he looks so dang cute when he’s curled up like that, with his head resting on his hands. Arrrrrrrrgh!

We gotta get sync’d up before we head to the PA – or that ride home will be the longest in the history of rock and roll.

M.E.L.T.D.O.W.N.

I finally got in from the PA Wednesday night around 8:30ish. Count on good ol’ Crapinental to fly the friendly skies on their terms, which meant when I got to Houston, I had to literally haul buns to the basement to catch my plane to Midland. What was supposed to be a 1 ½ hr layover turned into a 20 minute run. The basement at Intercontinental is where the baby planes (Embrier) fly to small towns unknown. Sometimes, it’s unknown if you’re ever going to get there...I mean to those small towns unknown – like my town. When you fly the small planes, it’s a crapshoot if you’re going to make it to your destination on time and even, on the right day.

Remember, when I left the PA, it was ccccccooooollllldddd? I didn’t take a jacket, but had on a light warmup suit. The top happened to be a very thin fleece. I didn’t want to have to deal with a jacket when I hit 80 degree Midland.

But I forgot about humid, humid Houston.

By the time I left Terminal E and made it all the way through this hall and that hall to get to the train to go to Terminal B, I thought I was going to have a meltdown. And the minute you leave Terminal B and head down to the escalator to the HELL that is the basement of Terminal B, you enter yet another level of H.O.T. I couldn’t to this minute tell you if it was hormones, or heat generated by my sudden, lumbering dash with Canon and computer to the other side of the airport. I was so soaked with sweat I thought I was going to have to be treated for black mold. People, how do you live in that kind of humidity??? That stuff is CRAZY.

I get into the basement, and I look around. For once in my life, there is no one I know. It’s a miracle, I tell you. (At my last job, my fellow coworkers had a standing bet that if whoever traveled with me could get through any airport without me knowing someone, the pool would pay a collective $100. Noone ever collected. ) It’s a very good thing I saw no one I knew, because my straight hair is now plastered across my brow…and down my neck. It is SCREAMING. I sneak over to a corner, plug in my phone, melt into the plastic chair, grab my claim tickets and start fanning myself. Trying to look cool and collected, just placidly fanning myself prettily. Or at least as prettily as possible with big huge sweeping arm movements and heaving chest. The people around me look away, trying not to laugh, I swear to God. At least I wore deodorant today!

I drain what little water I have left in my always present travel bottle of Aquafina. I look around. There are zero concessions in the basement at Intercontinental. Zero. I am dying, I tell you. Dying. In a freaking flaming throwdown of hot flash.

And then they call my flight. I grab my phone, stuff everything in my bag, and go across the room. To the boarding door. Where, if at all possible, it is even more stuffy and overheated. There are about a million people there, waiting on their respective flights. Which, along with mine, are delayed due to weather. In other words, I got up, ran over to the door, for nothing. Nada. Zilch.

And up walks one of ThatManILove’s friends. Very successful nice man. We start talking. I’m trying to respond in a relatively intelligent manner. This is one of those guys that talks to you straight up. Total eye contact, and we’re all crammed together waiting to go down the walkway. I’m trying to pay attention and stay on task, but all I can think about is “do I have a sweatball hanging off the end of my nose?”

(Enter Gilda Radner doing the nasal voice of Roseanne Roseannadanna: “she had this little, teeny, tiny ball of sweat right here, hanging off the tip of her nose. It was just hanging there! It wouldn't fall off! Like if she turned her head, it wouldn't fall off. If she stood up it didn't fall off, if she stretched it wouldn't come off, and when she picked little pieces of her sweater out of her bellybutton it wouldn't fall off. That little sweat ball just wouldn't fall off. So I yelled at her, I said, "Hey, Doctor! Flick that sweat ball off your nose! What are you trying to do, make me sick?" )

Finally, we board the little plane. My man’s friend sits down in the plane. I tell him that he has my seat, and he looks a little confused, but moves over. I’m 5’ 7”. He’s probably 6’5”. Tight fit, what with his height and my bulk and the two seat row. He’s very gracious. We start talking business, and settle back to enjoy a great flight.

The stewardess comes around. It seems there is some confusion. She asks for my ticket. I find it, and give it to her. She says, “Ma’am, you’re in the wrong seat.” My new friend looks at me, then at the stewardess, then says,” actually, she has my seat. I am sitting in the wrong seat, as well.”

They all looked at me. And then the other young man, standing in the aisle with the stewardess, the young man who was prepared to take me down for the right seat – he looked at me, and this look of recognition washed over his face. He didn’t know me, but he knew something. You could just see it. And. He. Caved. He backs off, tells the stewardess it’s not a big deal, and decides to take the seat in front of me – my original seat, if I’d have just read the lay of the land correctly.

I’m wondering, “What happened? I would have changed seats with him, no problems.”

And then it hits me. He’s about Elder Son’s age.

Yup, he may be young, but he’s not stupid. He saw it - the tremors signaling the beginnings of a serious head rotation, and the green bile forming. " Reeeaaaaaaagggggggaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnn!”

Oh, yeah. He knows all about the Demon Menopause. And he had serious "I wanna live" written all over him.

We Ain't A-Skeered of No Woods!

The crazy things I get into, I swear.

Monday, we were up in the Pennsylvania woods on the wellsite. I promised the flowback guys I would make them some stew, and I did so. I sat in the trailer looking out the window, I saw two hunters walk out of the woods. Nosy girl that I am, I ran outside and started talking to them. Needless to say, they were shocked to see a woman on location, but were very friendly. I went and got ThatManILove, and we stood outside in the cold and visited with them. Their names were Pete and Donnie. Nice guys from different parts of Pennsylvania. They invited us to come by their deer camp.

Yesterday, on the same location, Pete came by again, to say hi and bring us some paperwork. He asked us to come by their deer camp again, and ThatManILove decided we’d do so. By this time, it is colder than a witch’s you know what, and snowing. Nasty weather. We leave about an hour after Pete, and head down the mountain. In four wheel drive, and low gear. Five miles took about 30 minutes. I’m telling you, it was one icy son of a gun going down that mountain.

We get to the bottom of the mountain, turn a hard right per Pete’s directions, and end up on this skinny road. On the left of the road is the river, I think, it was soooo dark and hard to see. On the right? Sometimes a railroad, sometimes a steep valley. Dark. Very dark. Road was muddy and slippery and only one car wide. One of those bad boys. Longest two miles of my life, and no.place.to.turn.around.

By the time we got to the end of that road to their deer camp, I swear to God I was hearing the music from “Deliverance”.

We drive up, and three guys we don’t know are smoking on the front porch of an awesome two story deer camp. We get out, go up to the porch, and introduce ourselves. Silence. We ask for Pete. Oh, they say. He’s inside. Go on in. (Don’t you know those guys had to wonder who the freakos were with the Texas license plates and the funny accents?)

Being the gentleman he is, ThatManILove opens the door for me.

Oh, no, I say. I’m not going in a deer camp before you. These guys are tired and are probably in their pink flowered pajamas. MLH looks at me with that look that says, “Oh, my lovely wife, you really are oh-so wise” and smiles, going in first. Pete comes and meets us, and brings us inside the cabin proper.

I met 11 tired hunters. Guys of all ages, from New York, Connecticut, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. They were so nice! Retired NY policeman, a retired roofing contractor, one tire shop owner, one scratch golfer, lawyer, I don't know what else. They treated me like a queen, and ThatManILove like a king. They tried to feed us supper, did card tricks for me, told us jokes, we all laughed so hard. They were great.

It was so much fun – and proof that most people are nice, wherever you go, even tried and true hunters when you invade their MAN CAVE. They’ve invited us back next year, and I hope we go!

But the best part? When we were heading back to the hotel in Clearfield, ThatManILove said the sweetest thing.

"We get to do cool stuff like that because guys LOVE you. You are so real, and you love the things they love, and you just connect with them. That was so much fun!"

Yup. And that's why I love ThatManILove.

He's not a-skeered of a little adventure!

Ouch!!

Tuesday at 5 p.m. found me feverishly driving home from the airport, where I had dropped off a co-worker. I ran to the house, changed clothes, loaded Zanna into Latoya the Sequoia, and drove to the dog park. I was trying to beat sundown. I made it! And Zanna found new friends, Winnie the Doberman Pinscher and Riggs the Red Heeler. Here, she's teaching them the game "That Dog Will Hunt."

Here, she's making them play Chase!

Before long, it was dark, and time for Zanna’s Pet Smart beginner training class. We left the park, and headed to Pet Smart. Zanna and I rocked the class, loaded back up, and headed back out to the airport to pick up Young Whippersnapper Salesman at 9 p.m.

I got to the airport a little early, and decided to pull into a parking lot so I might let Zanna out to do her business. As soon as I parked, my phone rang. Then, I took a second to make another call, to Pam and Mike. Pam was snoozing, so I talked to Mike.

(Time out for a related story.)

Earlier in the year when car shopping, I called ThatManILove. He has a severely dented in several places Ford Powerstroke. Big old 4-wheel-drive truck - the oilfield standby. I’m trying to get him to buy a new truck. Here’s how it went down:

Janie: Honey, you’ve got to buy the new Toyota Tundra. It hauls butt, has all the bells and whistles, and it has your name written all over it.

MLH: Why is that?

Janie: It has 360 Sonar.

MLH: What does that mean?

Janie: It’s a warning. It basically means that if you hit something, it’s because you have your head up your a$$ and can’t hear anything.

MLH: (Laughing) I’m hanging up now, you heifer. I haven’t hit anything in forever!

Janie: Just teasing, honey.

MLH: Seriously, the Tundra is good, huh?

Janie: Oh, yeah, baby…it is suhweet and you’ll love it.

(Related story over.)

Back at the airport. While visiting with Mike, my phone rang again, and it was Young Whippersnapper, saying he was waiting by baggage claim. I told him I’d be there in a minute. I put my truck in reverse to start out of the parking lot. (I was safe, I have Bluetooth. And…a reverse camera. And…360 Sonar. All of this will be very important in a minute.) I was backing up, telling him I’d pick him up at baggage claim, and…it sounds like Zanna has started throwing up in the back seat.

On my new, LaToya the Toyota Sequoia, beautiful soft leather gray back seat.

I’m still backing up. Trying to see what Zanna is doing. Not even looking in the rear-view camera. And my sonar isn’t going off.

And I hit a pole. Poor Young Whippersnapper Salesman, I don’t know what all curse words I said, but I’m sure he now thinks I need deliverance. I tell him I’ll be there shortly, switch back to Mike, and put my truck in park to go look at the damage. Now, Mike is hearing the story and finally, I tell him I have to go.

I want to throw up. La Toya the Sequoia has some scratches, and a small ding. Not too bad, and it could certainly have been worse. But still, I just knocked down 2000 miles on LaToya, and she’s already got an owie. And all I can hear is ThatManILove giving me grief once he finds out about it, especially after the afore-mentioned excerpt. He’s been gone so long, he’s not ever even met LaToya, much less driven this beautiful vehicle. And it’s already been through much – a spilled Starbucks Venti Chai, multiple Zanna throwups, and now this. Arrrrrrgh.

I head to the baggage claim, where I pick up Young Whippersnapper. He’s laughing, talking to his wife, about my dilemma. (I should cut his Christmas bonus for that one.) I leave him in the car, while I clean up Zanna’s mess.

We’re driving to the hotel, and Young Whippersnapper starts asking questions.

YW: I thought this car had 360 Sonar. Isn’t that what you harassed MLH about?

Janie: Yup. I guess I had my head up my a$$, because I sure didn’t hear it.

And then, I look at the dash. The light is not on. The Sonar button is turned off.

And my memory goes back to Starbucks – when I was in the drive-through line with the fellow coworker, en route to the airport, I turned it off, because of the incessant beeping when you get close to the pick-up window. And I had not turned it back on.

My bad.

MLH is going to crack up over this one.


(Update as of 8:35 p.m. - I read ThatManILove this post, he laughed until he cried. Then, he told me to tell y'all one thing: "Justice, baby, is served.")


Heifer.

Catching Up is Hard To Do...

I am so humbled. I got about a million awards and linky linky love from Meg Ryan's Mom and some kind of awesome linky linky love from Stu Pidasso (say it really quick). I can’t believe it.

I can’t believe I’m so flippin’ busy at work and with the Wonder Dog and Wonder Pup that I can’t take time to put all the little award icons on my blog right now. I certainly do not deserve any of those awards, as bad as I am at posting consistently. So, I’m going to say THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH I AM MUCHLY HONORED and let it roll from there. So here’s a big ol’ West Texas Mmmmmmmuuuuuuuuuuahhhhhhhhh from me! And, love and lickies from The Zack Meister and Zanna Montana, to boot! (You know they gotta love that.)

You guys so rock.

Please take the time to go check our their blogs, they really are great, and I love reading them both.

I’ve been a busy girl. ThatManILove is still stuck in Pennsylvania, this is my 8th week to batch it. We had a field trial this weekend, so that kept Zack and Zanna busy and me on the road in my cute camo and snake gaters. Younger Son and a friend went to Lubbock and picked up the jeep we purchased from our friends John and Suzan. When he arrived at the house, he said, “You’d better be careful, that thing feels weeeeeeirrrrrrd. It’s hauling to the right when you put on the brakes.”

He was right. I called ThatManILove and told him the jeep felt squirrely. You know what he said? "Wait until I get home, I'll drive it and check it out." Whattttt? Who knows when he's coming home? And I got me some hunting to do!

I took it to our local mechanic to get it all checked out prior to taking it out hunting. I said, “Gary. Will you check this out, fix the door locks, and drive it? It feels funky, maybe it needs alignment.”

Gary called me yesterday. He said the reason the jeep felt funny was the front left wheel WAS ABOUT TO FREAKIN’ FALL OFF! No joke! So…not only did angels watch over my friends’ daughter Becky (who drove the jeep from Dallas to Lubbock at 80mph) they watched over Younger Son (who drove it from Lubbock to Midland at 65 mph). I am so blessed, I swear. I called ThatManILove in Pennsylvania, called him a twerp for not believing me, and he said, “Get it fixed, baby.” Voila, it is being done as we speak.

And my automatic sprinklers aren’t working, nor are the security lights around the house. It gets dark in Texas early. And I leave the house early. Put the dogs in the outside kennel in the dark, early. With a flashlight. Last night, I made ThatManILove walk me through the drill on the mobile phone. Seems like a breaker is out. So, now, I’ll have to find a reputable electrician to come call me baaaaaaaaaaaaack into the liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Anyway, that’s part of what I’ve been doing lately. Hopefully, I’ll get back to posting more regularly and sending y’all thrills and chills. I loved everyone's comments on the Redistribution of Wealth post.

And tomorrow’s Wordless Wednesday. Arrrrrrgh! The PRESSURE!! What can I find to post? One of my readers (shout out to Marilyn in Canyon Lake!) sent me an e-mail after last week’s posting.

Hey Janie,

Boy after "Wordless Wednesday" you sure made up for it on Thursday. I surely enjoy your Blog. Cheers!

Well, heckamundo. Y'all know the drill. It’s never boring around here.

A Friday in the Life of...Janie!

Janie’s day.

Otherwise known as “A Friday in the Life of Janie”. After looking at all this, I just wanna get back in bed. Seriously.

8:00 a.m. – leave house for Windwalker Shooting Sports

8:30 a.m. – arrive at Windwalker for the Baker Hughes Shoot, benefiting Bynum School. Arrive, sign in, schmooze, schmooze, schmooze. Did I bring business cards??

9:30 a.m – 11:30 a.m. – shoot like a fiend with all my great coworkers (really!) so maybe I can win a cool plaque, spend money on all the fundraisers, and see friends and customers

11:30 a.m. – go through the awards program, and hope that I can get done by my next appointment, which is critical*.

12:30 p.m. – drive like a madman back to town for next appointment.

1:00 p.m. – get to Belle Gente for hair appointment, hoping and praying we can get done in time for my next appointment.

2:57 p.m. – drive like a madman back across town for my “colonoscopy results” appointment at
3:00 p.m. Same colonoscopy that they said the results were good, no problem, and then called me back while I was in Denver and set up an appointment two weeks down the road “because Dr. G wants to talk to you.” Talk about S.U.C.K. I wish MLH were here with me.

3:57 p.m. – hope like heck I’m out of the above appointment, because it’s time to drive like a madman back across town to the spa for another critical* appointment.

4:00 p.m. – time for a facial. I’m probably still dressed in a shooting shirt and dirty jeans, tennis shoes, etc, like I was at 7:30 this morning. Well, I wasn’t dirty this morning, but shooting’s a dirty sport, and I won’t have had time to change. So, I’ll be going in with all the floocy mama’s looking like a tomboy who’s been playing in the sandbox.

5:00 p.m. – leave to go get a wedding present for a shower tomorrow. Still having to go shopping in floocy places, looking like a tomboy.

5:30 p.m. – going back to car dealership to finalize whatever the heck I’m buying since MLH took my truck to Pennsylvania. My heart wants to get a small SUV. My lifestyle and constant entertaining of customers demands a big one – like a Yukon or Sequoia. Why can’t MLH be here to help me decide? Waaaaaaaaaah.

Okay, gotta go get dressed, get the dogs in the kennel, put on makeup and a cap – so I can be, at the very least, presentable!

Oh, and did I say that the housecleaners come today? Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhh!

*Appointments are critical because I’m readying for our annual trip to NMOGA** (for the first time, I might still be batching it, MLH may still be stuck in Pennsylvania!) in Santa Fe next week – and girls just wanna look good!

**New Mexico Oil and Gas Association

Weekend Recap (mood...tired!)

Friday afternoon, MLH called.

MLH: Can you break free? I need to go out to a ranch and meet an owner.

Janie: Sure. I'll just bring my computer and finish working.

We go out to the ranch, work and meeting dutifully completed, and head back to town. The Permian Basin API Scholarship Team Roping is kicking off Friday night at 7 p.m. and we decide to stop by, eat supper, and schmooze for a bit. Meet Patti. I might just arrange for a contract hit on the heifer.

Patti: Hey, can you and MLH help us for a bit?

MLH: What do you need, girl? Oh, yeah, Janie and I can do that.

And help, we do. Until 12:30 a.m. Saturday. We go home, fall in the bed, and sleep. We get up on Saturday, eat breakfast, and head back out to the roping for just a bit. We are just going to stick our heads in, say hi, and disappear. We walk in, and Patti pulls the same questions, round two. We follow her to the arena, where she needs help figuring out the pays for the ropers, etc. We got home at 1:45 a.m. Sunday morning. I don't know what they would have done had we not showed up. The guy who regularly figures all the pays had a conflicting event and had to be in another state. Anyway, here are some miscellaneous pix from the roping and the rest of our weekend.

Ropers, waiting for their turn to get in the box. (Yeah, girls, cowboys with horses. Eat your hearts out.)

Baby Girl Future Roper, crying to Mom. Big sister's not giving her enough time roping the practice steer dummy and she's not a happy girl.
MLH and Baby Girl Future Roper's dad, working on the books. I think it's about 10 pm Saturday at this point.

Patti's son Houston. He's tired and hot, been roping all day. Ready to make some money.

This morning, we got up, and headed out to look at a location for MLH's job this week. En route, I noticed a flash of color. All I could think of was: "There's cash in them there wheels."

And here is a snapshot of my life out in the field. This is a common sight for this oilfield gal.We drove back to town, and were checking out houses for sale in one of my favorite neighborhoods. It was almost dusk, and we were heading home. In my rear view mirror, I saw something cross the street, and it looked long. I turned around.

MLH: Honey, what are you doing?

Janie: I saw something weird in the rear view mirror, I'm not sure what it was - I have to go check it out. Please get my camera.

And this is what I saw. Just your normal, everyday, neighborhood...peacock. In the middle of town, in a ritzy neighborhood.

I am not even freakin' kidding. I guess leash laws or livestock laws don't apply if you've got the bucks, baby.

Next, I'll be seeing pink elephants. Or pigs fly. I need some sleep.

Stranger Things...

How wild is this? I get into Grand Junction, walk into the hotel lobby – and run right by a fellow board member from another organization, who lives in Houston. He was surrounded by a group of guys (he’s in a powerful position). I really don’t know him that well, and he had on a ball cap, so…

I hesitated. Got on the elevator. Decided to e-mail him and see if my eyes were deceiving me.

Nope, it’s a small world. He’s in the bar with a bunch of guys. Think I’ll pass. Even though he’s like The Top Dog of His Very Major Freakin’ Oil Company. So, I asked him to meet me for breakfast, but he’s going out to their rig at 5 a.m.

I don’t really want to go into the bar. It’s probably smoky, and I’m. Alone.

Well, not really, but my Young Whippersnapper Salesman has already gone to his room – he was up all night working with consultants, and had to be on a rig at 5:30 a.m. this morning. He would get up and go with me, if I made him, but I’m not going to do so.

So, I think I’ll pass. The trials of being a woman in the oilpatch…gotta keep that reputation pristine!

On another note entirely, my Lord, the scenery driving up from Denver was absolutely breathtaking. I had a hard time driving, I was so admiring the view. And then, I met my young whippersnapper salesman in a small town enroute. We had an appointment to meet a manager for an oil company. We go into the office, for our 3pm appointment. We wait, and wait, and wait. An hour and fifteen minutes. And finally, he comes out of another meeting, and gives us the finger. (Not that finger! The index finger, that means “just one more moment.”)

And ten minutes later, he comes out, and we meet. He was Australian. We’re both Texan. Now, I can communicate with a freakin’ wall. But this guy? No way. I mean, we handled it, but I know I didn’t understand everything, nor did my salesman. Still, we tarried on. It was hilarious, well, after we got back in the vehicle, anyway. My salesman looked at me with this look of shock on his face.

Salesman: What did he say?

Janie: I think he said “I lost two consultants to your firm, are you working for ABC Oil Company?” (By the way, this is not beginning said meeting on a positive note.)

Salesman: Are you serious??? That’s what he said?

Janie: Yup. The very thing you were worried about, he said.

Salesman: Well, how did I do? All I understood was “ABC Oil Company.”

Janie: You handled it well. You didn’t react, you just said, “We are doing lots of work as well as project management for ABC Oil Company.” It was the perfect thing to say.

Salesman: What now?

Janie: You and I will both write him a personal note, and you will come by to see him when you’re in the area. Just by those very acts, you’ll be differentiating yourself. He’s not even met the proprietor of the company he’s currently using. At some point, he may give you a call, who knows?

(Man. I hope we can understand him better if he does!)

I love my job.

MLH and Foo Were Right!!

Okay. Here’s the update. I found the housecleaner. And...MLH was right – she just decided it was too crazy for her to clean.

Another blogger that was right is Foo. He said, and I quote, “Okay, maybe it's little funny. I can just see your housekeeper showing up, walking in the front door with feather duster and Electrolux in hand, and stopping dead in her tracks. She takes one look at the challenge ahead, mutters under her breath, "Aw, hell no...", and walks herself back down the driveway.”

Yeah, well, Foo, I’ve not yet made that donation to MS150 on your behalf (readers, Foo’s riding from Frisco to Fort Worth, and you can sponsor him here - and please do!), so that was a brave freakin’ thing to say to your friend and (potential*) donor…even if it was true!

Anyway, back to the housecleaner extraordinaire…she told me, “Well, I couldn’t tell where I had cleaned – you’re supposed to pick up before I come!” I told her I did, but sometimes 4 days passed inbetween my pre-cleaning and the actual housecleaning day – and I would be out of town that entire time.

I said, “Girlfriend, a call would have been the right thing to do, it was wrong to leave me hanging. If we can talk, we can work through anything.” I explained that Younger Son had moved in, and between his schedule, my new job travel, and MLH being stuck out in the field, we’d not really had time to settle him in. I told her we were well pleased with what she was doing, even though I knew it was hard work to clean around the stuff.

She caved, and she’s coming back. (What a salesman I am!)

I went and bought the coolest dresser and table – here’s pix – and we got Younger Son’s room way more organized. The design is called “Black Bear”, and it’s all wood – not the laminate crap the furniture stores are selling these days. The table is probably a sofa table, but the bottom holds the records well and upright, and the stereo and turntable on top, with room for Younger Son’s loop box and cord basket on the bottom shelf, as well. Cherie was a godsend, helping me get all this done before Younger Son got off work at midnight.

(Note that Younger Son already has stuff resting on the surfaces. How is she going to dust around that?)

I know this is yeehah, but Younger Son even picked out the antler handles to put on the furniture. (Zack thought those were cool, too – he went crazy sniffing and licking them, so they must be real.) Before you PETA people get all up in the air, deer shed their antlers annually, so these are castoffs, as it were. As to storage, we were able to stack all the guitars into one corner, and 2 of the 4 amps into another. We’ve ordered guitar hangars, so the guitars will actually be part of the wall display in the music room (not Younger Son's bedroom); on another note entirely, MLH is going to design amp racks, getting them off the floor, as well. All of the instruments will eventually be in the music room. Things are shaping up nicely. Here are the guitars stacked in the corner - albeit temporarily! (I know, y'all are probably saying, "If this is straight, how did it look before?" Well, imagine suitcases, clothes racks, etc., and clothes strewn everywhere. But again, I wasn't really worried about it - it's his room!)

See the little writing desk? Younger Son absolutely, positively, would not give that up. That's where he writes his songs. He likes it. I like that he writes, period. Good enough for me.

Okay, remember, this is a musical family - thus the posters. Some instruments are in cases, under the bed - like another violin, a mandolin...and I can't remember what else.

Zack is guarding the antler handles. He likes them! Nah, he's just being a snooze muffin.

Cherie came over today, and helped me pick up more, and will get the floors washed tomorrow (Thank God for the Hoover Floormate, and Cherie!), so everything will be in better order for my company tomorrow night, and Thursday when the housecleaners come.

I had to show you the Bob Marley poster. I bought this (and all his posters) on e-Bay, when Younger Son was 11. Imagine my surprise, when I unrolled it the first time and ol' Bob was rolling a doobie. Yup, MLH and I decided to hide it until such time as Younger Son wasn't quite so impressionable. We finally hung it last night. It will probably offend many, but after a short family conference, we decided to put it up, just for the shock factor. Well, actually, I thought the chaise lounge was tall enough to cover certain parts. (Disclaimer - We by no means condone the use of illegal drugs.)

As to the housecleaners, I am definitely conflicted about their return – what if they leave me in the lurch again? If they don’t perform, well, then Snooty has offered an alternative solution - to introduce me to her cleaning people. Thanks, Snooty, I might just take you up on it.

*Donation has been made on behalf of Foo. Ride 'em, cowboy, in your girlie-girl shorts!!

C-c-c-c-c-c-c-OLD!!!

Well, the Continental gods were busy blessing someone else, I guess. We finally got home last night at midnight. Ate cereal for supper, then got up at 5:30 a.m. this morning to go work on the AADE Texas Tech shoot. And…it was a whopping 23 degrees when I boarded my shooting cart with my team to go shoot. Fifteen hours later, I’m still cold.

But…we had fun, and raised money for a great cause – the furthering of education! And, Scott joined our team at the last minute. Though he may whine, he finished right behind me on scoring. And that’s after he missed shooting at two stations, due to his late arrival. In other words, peeps, Scott would have BEATEN my score, had he started when we did. Well, anyway, as bad as my shooting was, I won the award he will never win….High Overall Lady. He just can’t do it like his sister!

It was fun to have him shoot with us…and thank God, he brought gloves for me, because my hands were freezing. And he loaned me a cap, because the wind was howling, and my hair was screaming! Hard to shoot effectively when your hair’s whipping in front of your eyes.

As I headed into town, I called Bob and Cherie and we met for supper. That was fun. MLH just left town to work on a well, and will be up all night on location – so, he wasn’t able to join us.

Tomorrow, Zack the Wonder Dog has a field trial, and I’m shooting over him. I don’t think it’s going to be any warmer by then. Zoie will go along to watch. Well, I can’t leave her by herself – she starts howling, and as pretty and girly as she is, she has this deep, deep, loud voice – it absolutely sounds eerie when she starts to howl. If I can tear her away from MLH, she will probably be heading to the trainer on Sunday. Maybe I should write a new book, “Zoie Goes To Hunting Kindergarten.”

I’m just hoping she doesn’t get kicked out!
Later days!

Lost German Shorthair Pointers and Sherlockian Ladies

Interesting things happen when you’re a blogger.

As you know, I started a new job. Early yesterday morning, I received a message. (Okay, it took me a while to retrieve it, but I did receive it early.) Seems two of my readers (i.e., lurkers) named Suzanne and Bev learned via lurking that I had German Shorthair Pointers.

Suzanne was heading to work yesterday morning, and saw a GSP loose on the highway. He was heading west. She watched the dog, as a man stopped to try to help capture the dog. No amount of cajoling or wheedling could get that dog into that man’s truck.

So….Suzanne whipped her SUV around, opened up the back hatch, and said to the dog, “Load!”. The dog did!

And, guess where Suzanne learned that? Well, of course, right here on this blog! And innovative chickies that they are, they went to Little Brother's blog, figured out who he was, called him, and got my number. The Lady Sherlockians then called me, and left a message, which I dutifully, but later, returned.

They were so funny on the phone! I can’t wait to meet them! Here’s a Big Ol’ West Texas Shout Out to them….”Hi, Y’all!!!”

Their main reason for calling was to ask me to spread the word about this beautiful German Shorthair Pointer. So I did, via e-mail, to all my bird dog field trialers and fellow gun dog owners.

Guys and lady…

I just got a call from Suzanne, who found a male GSP running this morning. He was in the Hwy 80 area, close to Midland Power Sports. He was running west. A gentleman was stopped, trying to coax the dog into his truck, but the dog wouldn’t load. Suzanne stopped, opened up the rear door of her suburban, and said, “Load up”. The dog loaded into her truck. She took him to work, and says he’s a gentleman of a dog; has a pink camo collar on, with no tags. He will sit and lay on command, and acts like he might be an inside dog. She said he’s very well mannered.

He is ticked, more solidly in the front than in the back. Suzanne said the dog looks very healthy. They called all the vets, and found no reports of missing GSP’s.

This afternoon, the Midland Pound came and picked him up, and will keep him 3 days.

Will you please circulate to all your friends and see if someone’s lost a GSP, or if this dog sounds familiar to anyone?

And here is the reply I found this morning from one of my guys…

If he’s wearing a pink camo collar, he probably ran away from home…

And I replied, copying another friend…

Man. I was sure, because of that collar, that he probably belonged to you or S******…

And he replied…

No. She said it was a ‘gentleman of a dog’; couldn’t belong to S******…

To which S******* replied...

My dogs are gentlemen, its me that ain't!

I've not been able to check on the GSP, so Suzanne, go ahead, log in and comment and update us!! Anyway, I hope someone claims him, he needs a good home. At least he's safe for another couple of days, thanks to Suzanne!

Life and Death in the Tongue (or What the Heck Happened to my Windshield?)

You know, the Bible says the tongue has the power of life and death. That means our words are powerful.

Therefore, I should probably quit confessing “It’s never boring around here.” But, the truth is, it’s not. Here’s proof!

Pam’s friend Cindy from Nashville came over Thursday night, and we went out to eat. Cindy is working in the Midland area on a contract basis. We came back to the house, and Cindy asked for my contact information so we could get together. I had no business cards in the house, so went out to my truck to get one. It was 10:00 p.m.

Pam needed some things, and I needed film for the Friday hunt, so I went back outside to run to Walmart. It was now 10:15 p.m. I hit “unlock” on my keys to get into my truck. The interior lights came on as I rounded the back of the truck.

To my shock, this is what I saw.

Shattered glass. Not looking good. Upon closer inspection, I found a BB Pellet hole, in my window.

And then, I made the wise move to open my door, so as to better see. The natural vacuum in the truck blew the window wide open when I opened the door.
















Sweet. And MLH is out of town. Two women, a little shocky, in the middle of the dark, dark street. Pam says "We should probably go back inside and call the cops." You think? (The voice of reason always comes forth, thank God.)

I called the police, and they respond immediately. It seems there has been a rash of BB Gun vandalism in our quiet little town. Some arrests had been made prior to my incident, so the police thought “they had their man.” Dudes - I have some fast breaking news for you. Your job is not quite finished.

Younger Son came to help me knock the rest of the glass out, and sweep up the street. Pam, ingenious one that she is, made a pattern of the opposite window, and cut out a cardboard “replacement window”. We taped it to my truck.

We finally got finished right about midnight.

Here’s my new confession: "It is really, positively, in a super good awesome kind of way, boring around here.”