Almost Wordless Wednesday - Funky Consignment Store!

In Pennsylvania, we were going down the road and I saw this fox. And then, I looked again, and saw it was a Savvy Fox. I will admit, I've never seen THAT kind of consignment store.

Sunday Follies

Though we had a late night Saturday night, we were up and at ‘em on Sunday morning. We met a customer and his wife at Cabela’s at 10 a.m. He’s buying her a new shotgun (her first!) for Christmas, and they needed my advice on fitting her with the right gun. We had a good time – it will be fun when she starts shooting sporting clays!

We left, and went to Uncle Julio’s for lunch. ThatManILove is missing his Mexican Food, so we indulged. He was so funny – he ordered three different things – just so he could taste everything. You don’t realize what a staple Tex-Mex food is until you’re away from it for an extended period of time!

We had a couple of hours before he was due at the airport, so we decided to go work on the Christmas presents for Elder Son and Younger Son. I can’t talk about what either of them are getting for Christmas in this blog, because Elder Son has a friend who is a faithful reader. (Hey, Booth! I miss seeing you, dude!) Elder Son says that Booth calls Elder Son from time to time and tells him, “Hey, bud, you made the blog again!”

We headed to the airport. I’m not paying attention to the signs, thinking MLH will. He doesn’t. So we enter the maze that is DFW Airport, looking for Continental. We go to Terminal A. Then, Terminal B. (Can you imagine how we looked from the air? What stupid idiots! It would have been better to leave the terminal, start over, and come back in and read the signs. Seriously.) DFW is designed like a bunch of cloverleafs, and it's a mess. Okay, we’ll try Terminal C. ThatManILove is getting more than a little antsy…it’s 3:30 and his flight leaves at 4:35 and “Jane, you know how picky Crapinental is!”. Oh, yeah, baby. I know ALL about Crapinental.

Finally, we see the sign. It’s Terminal E. Off we go. We get to the departure drop-off, and park. I get out, and start helping him unload his stuff. We hug, and kiss, then I go through the checklist.

Janie: Got your phone?

MLH: Yep.

Janie: Computer? Your wallet?

MLH: Jane. C'mon. (and then) Yep. Oh. Wait. My wallet? Oh, no! Where is it?

Do I know my man, or what? The frantic tearing through the bags and truck begins. I call Uncle Julio’s to see if we’ve left it. I call the other stores. No go. The clock is t.i.c.k.i.n.g. seriously.

Finally, amongst many curse words, he finds his wallet, underneath the passenger seat.

Rerun. We hug, kiss, and he goes up the escalator into the airport. I pull into parking just to make sure he gets through – 30 minutes is usually the cutoff for Crapinental. MLH calls me ten minutes later, to tell me he made it through security. It’s now 4:05 p.m.

I start breathing again, and head west into the right into my eyes afternoon sun for the 5 ½ hr drive home to Midland.

It’s never boring around here!

But Oh So Worth It!

If you’ve been a reader of this prolific (cough) blog for any length of time, you know that I. Am. So. Spoiled.

Friday night, ThatManILove and I met in Fort Worth, Texas, where we attended my company Christmas party. We woke up, and planned the day.

MLH: What all do we need to do today?

Janie: I’d like to go by Origins and pick up some stuff, then go by the camera store and look at a wide angle lens for the digital. Would that work?

MLH: No problems. Let’s go eat lunch, get it done, and we’ll head to the Omni Mandalay and be there around 3 p.m. to check in and get ready for tonight’s party. We'll even have a bit to rest!

And, off we go. I run into Origins, pick up the things I need, and we head to the camera store in the same shopping center. Except, it is no longer there. So, we search camera stores on the GPS, and head to the nearest one, the Fort Worth Camera Store.

We’re shopping, I’m talking to the Canon rep, and ThatManILove gives me one of those looks that shout “I'm about to make a move and you can't stop me!”

MLH: We’re buying that camera. Today.

Janie: Whaaaaaaat? My camera is fine, and almost brand new!

MLH: You’ve really stepped it up with your photography, and I do not want you to be limited in any way. It’s going to be Christmas and Happy Anniversary.

Janie: And my birthday for years to come!

MLH: (laughing) Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.

He also bought me a new lens, plus new Photoshop software (Yahoo! Watch out, world!), and a new flash and diffuser. He said “Merry Christmas and Happy Anniversary!” It’s kind of neat, because on our wedding day way back then, he bought me a 35mm Canon SLR.
Getting all that took a while; once on the road, we headed to the Omni to rest a bit before readying for the partay. We were pulling into the Omni, turning the corner.

MLH: “What necklace are you wearing with that pretty dress? Did you bring your pearls?”

Janie: (Silence.)

MLH: You forgot your jewelry, didn’t you?

More silence. Look of chagrin. Affirmative head nod. One. Single. Curse. Word. Rhymes with Grit.

MLH: Turn around, girl, head to the Galleria, we need to buy you a necklace.

I did, and he did. A beautiful drop pendant with three diamonds.

I am spoiled rotten by ThatManILove. And I love it!

Oh, yeah. He LOVED LaToya the Sequoia. And he loved my Adrianna Papell dress I bought for the formal party. And he loved my surprise when he bought me the camera and the necklace. And he loved…

Never mind.

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.

What Did You Say???

Okay.

I’m not a happy girl. Well, I am, just because I pretty much try to stay that way.

But here’s the dealio – I’m at home in Midland, flew home tonight, and ThatManILove is STILL in Pennsylvania. Our best laid plans went astray. I did get to spend some good time with him, on location, doing work, but still, we were together, had fun, sang songs going down the road (and we sound great together, if I do say so myself.)

We will meet Friday morning in Fort Worth, and be together for Christmas parties all weekend in the Metroplex, and then…he goes back to the PA. Vodka Mom, I may need to wedge him into your family for a week or so – he’s getting pretty homesick.

Anyway, here’s a story. May be a little offensive, but just love me through it and build a bridge, okay? I was a cool 38 years old when I came into relationship with the Lord, and he’s still doing a work on me. When I get stressed, or scared, sometimes my mouth overloads my a$$, and that’s a lot. Not that it happens a lot, just that I have a lot of a$$. Just sayin’. But anyway, back to my mouth - when I’m under stress, and something happens, I can curse with the rest of them. It’s like a switch turns on, and I go for a second, then, BAM! I’m back to being sweet, sweet, sweet. (And for those of you that have seen my head rotating and green bile projectiling out my pie-hole, please don’t pick now to throw your two cents worth in. I’m telling this story. Do you hear me? Good. Because all the rest of the readers think I am an angel.)

This morning, we got up early, repacked everything, took the laundry down to the hotel front desk to send it out, and walked out to go to the airport. It was COLD. Seriously COLD. And dumb me, grabbed my coat, had it over my shoulder, not wanting to take it back to Texas, because I knew it would be knocking 80 when I got home, temperature-wise. Hands full of luggage, camera, stuff, and couldn’t put that coat on. And ThatManILove is taking his sweet time unlocking the truck. Did I tell you it was COLD? Like in the 20's. Freezing.

Janie: Sh!t. D@mn! H3ll! Pi$$! (and I thought I said it under my breath.) It’s cold as a witch’s you know what out here!

ThatManILove: Honey. Think you might interject a few more expletives into that sentence?

Janie: Ummmm. Dang. I didn’t even realize I said anything. (Liar, liar, pants on fire!)

ThatManILove: Well, that was pretty entertaining. I just wondered.

Janie: Well, I could have added that phrase I read on somebody’s blog lately.

ThatManILove: What was that?

Janie: It was “fluck, fluck, fluckity-fluck.”

ThatManILove: Whaaaaaaaaaat?

We both cracked up, and headed to the airport. Ees a berry goot ting he lubs me.

Speaking of love, my Brother Scott has a new design featuring a pix of he and my nephew, as well as a cute post of the WonderGrandGirl...go tell him hi!

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!

Meet Vodka Mom!

It is snowing up here in Pennsylvania! And before I forget, JillJillBoBill wins the at this moment undisclosed prize from Pennsylvania for guessing correctly the mystery blogger.

Mystery Blogger from Pennsylvania happens to be Vodka Mom! We tried to meet for 3 days, unsuccessfully, due to my husband’s work. She was very, very patient with her soon to be oilfield buddies! But finally, yesterday, ThatManILove and I came down from the wellsite early and were able to go to State College and meet Vodka Mom! We had a drink at Outback, and visited, and had a simply marvelous time. Vodka Mom is so funny, we all just hit it off immediately. She flipped out her wallet photos, and her kiddos are beautiful. Mr. Vodka was at the hunting lease, so we’ll have to meet him next time. And the Golden Child, her youngest, was wearing out Vodka Mom's cell phone. It was precious. I can't wait to meet them all!

And as you can see by this picture, Vodka Mom really does drink cranberry with her vodka! Isn’t she beautiful? (I’m the large tall one with the rained on hair. She’s the tiny compact going to the gym perfect hair little one. Heifer*.) And me? What is that in my hand? Why, that’s a freakin’ Shirley Temple. I promise it is. Okay, I lied, it’s the “Wallaby Darned”, otherwise known as the Peach Bellini. And I liked it wayyyyy too much. Until it gave me brain freeze. But, yeah. Good stuff, this meeting. Good stuff, I say. And the best thing is that if ThatManILove has to stay in the PA much longer, he has found himself a new adopted family.

And Jilly? Next weekend, girlfriend. I’ll be in Dallas. Sunday morning brunch somewhere, husbands included – Trulucks, maybe? Not your house, I know, you’re all cooked up. But somewhere, somehow, somewhen (is that a word?) we will meet.

*Vodka Mom knows that "heifer" is a term of endearment. So don't y'all be going and getting your panties in a wad on her behalf, ya hear?