Saturday, January 30, 2010

Knock, Knock, Knocking on Heaven's Door

After the Casino night, we had a busy day at the Symposium.  On less than 4 hours sleep.  Stupid, huh? Needless to say,  ThatManILove those of us who had imbibed alcohol the night before had a sinking spell around 11 a.m. - and then again, around 2:30 p.m.  Those of us who didn’t drink (namely me) somehow carried on without cratering at all.  
The social hour finished around 6 p.m., and we were trying to decide where to eat, and with whom.  ThatManILove and I went up to the room to change.  He ended up laying down for a minute, and he immediately went to sleep.  My co-workers were going to make a plan, and call us shortly.  After 20 minutes passed, and no call had been received, I decided to put on jeans and boots and head back down and see if I could get all my fish to swim the same way.
Turned out, about 25 of us wanted to go with each other...and someone decided they were going to eat...(can you guess?) at the Casino.  I knew a few of my customers were not going to want to drive that far, so I made other plans.  While I called the Bonefish Grill to make reservations for 10, I had one of my coworkers call ThatManILove to tell him to come on down.  We couldn’t get him to answer.
My friends Lonnie and Dawn decided to go up to their room to change, while I was still on the phone with Bonefish Grill and trying to keep all my people together.  I quickly gave Dawn my room key, and asked her to go by our room and tell ThatManILove to come down.
He came down forthwith, and looked at me with one of those looks of love - you know, girls, the dark ominous ones?  That portend no good will?
Yeah.  ThatManILove didn’t answer his phone, but he did try to answer the door when Dawn knocked.  Just as she was coming in the room, to wake him up he was heading to the door - not quite dressed.  I’m not sure who was more surprised, ThatManILove or Dawn!
I heard lots of “Janie told me to” (from Dawn) and “Janie, I can’t believe you did that” (from ThatManILove).   We laughed a lot heading to the Bonefish Grill!
It’s never boring around here!

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Come Dance With Me, My Darling!

I promised to post some of the funny stuff that happened while we were in Oklahoma, so here goes.

One night last week in Tulsa, we decided to go to the Hard Rock Casino for a couple of hours.  A friend, Doug, was in town, so we picked him up at his hotel.  We all made promises to each other we’d only stay for a couple of hours.  I already said that, didn’t I?  Yeah.  Doug doesn’t even like to gamble, and just went to spend time with us.

We don’t gamble often, nor do we stake big bucks.  I don’t play table games.  ThatManILove doesn’t play slots.  So, we’re often apart once we’re in the casino.

Doug would go hang out with ThatManILove, then he’d come play some quarter slots with me.

I quickly got tired, and so did Doug.  We agreed we’d go rescue ThatManILove and go back to our respective hotels, so to the tables we went.  We quickly found ThatManILove, so started watching.

The blackjack dealer won’t let a bystander hang around long, and ThatManILove was on a mini-roll.  I turned to the quarter machines right behind the table, so that once Doug talked him into leaving, I’d be right there and we could jet.

Doug comes over to my machine, and we play together for a couple of minutes.  Then, Doug says, “I’m gonna go get some of his drink.”  

Fade back about five years.  We’re in Las Vegas, with friends.  Serious gambling friends, the kind that know what they’re doing and do it well. We are but mere amateurs.  It’s been a long night, I’m major bucks ahead, so I tell ThatManILove I’m going to bed.  He’s not been doing well, all night - our friends have been teasing him that he must be confused -  the ATM machine is NOT a slot machine.

I go to bed, and several hours later, ThatManILove wakes me up.  He’s a little under the weather, and figured out that the waitress kept topping off their bloody marys without permission.  At that point, he decides he’s never going to drink and gamble.  

Back to Doug.  I said, “ThatManILove doesn’t drink when he's gambling!”  Doug said, “Okay.  Yeah.  I’ll be back.” And back he comes, with ThatManILove’s drink.  He said, “We’re sharing.”  I said, “Ooookkkaaaayyyy.”  We laugh.  I’m ready to go, but Doug keeps telling me ThatManILove is on a roll, we can't go yet.  There’s lots of activity at the table, laughing, whooping, so I acquiesce.

And then Doug says, “I didn’t know ThatManYouLove smokes.”  I say, “He doesn’t!”  Doug grins, and says, “Really?  Look!”

Sure enough, ThatManILove is dangling a lit cigarette from his fingers.  Curses. Foiled again.

Finally, we leave.  I’m driving, as it’s obvious that once again, that waitress, who must have migrated from Vegas to Oklahoma, has been surreptitiously topping off ThatManILove’s drink.

We get to the Renaissance, which is a square shaped hotel, with one bank of elevators for each floor.  We go up to the Club floor, to get water for our room.  We get back to the elevator bank, which opens up to a big waiting area.  We’re waiting for our elevator, and ThatManILove is talking, talking, talking.  I’m trying to keep him quiet for the other sleeping guests, which only leads to a lot of giggling and laughing between us. It's a futile effort, keeping quiet.

We are facing each other, as I listen to him.  I take a step back, and he takes a step towards me, still talking.  I decide to give it a test. I take another couple of steps back, and he matches me, step for step.  It’s like we’re perfectly matched...we could have been on Dancing With The Stars.  I back some more,  and he follows me all across the waiting room, until we’ve completed a perfect figure eight, around the circular seating bench, finalizing our little impromptu dance in the elevator.

We get to our room before I crack up laughing and explained to him what he’d done.

He loved it, and has laughed about it ever since!

I love this man - this man who doesn’t ever drink when he gambles, and who certainly would never smoke in a casino!

Welcome to yet another chapter of Mi Vida Loca!

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Think I Should Run For Governor of Oklahoma?

We’ve been in Oklahoma for the last two weeks. Yes, Two. Weeks. One week, both ThatManILove and I were in a directional drilling school. (Yikes. The brain strain I suffered!)  The next week, I had a national board meeting and we attended a technical drilling symposium.

Needless to say, both events were peppered with customers, friends, good fun and lots of hilarious incidents...but I’m glad to be home. 

Over the next week, I’m going to try to grab some of those funny things and put them down on paper for you all.  Mi vida loca, huh?

I finally got to meet Georgie of Decisionally Challenged!  We had a quick lunch at Pei Wei in Tulsa.  What a sweetheart, and she’s so flipping funny!  Can’t wait to see Georgie again, and meet her family. And maybe play "Seven Degrees From Georgie".

Thursday, January 7, 2010

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, 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!

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

The Cure to Any Marriage Woes - Just Shoot Like a Girl!

Scanning the online news today, I saw the headline How To Live Longer on

One of the sub-topics was “Don’t Be A Drama Queen” and you’ll live longer.

Who writes this stuff?

The article had some great points, though, for couples...

  1. Fight fair.
  2. Women’s hearts suffer when they hear or make hostile comments.
  3. Men’s hearts reacted badly when confronted with domineering words.
Please note the article did not define a "Drama Queen" to be male or female.  (And baby, I’ve seen both!  Remember, I hang out a little bit with golfers, shooters, AND team ropers.  Grown-up ones! Whinier people I’ve never seen - but I won’t go there.  Oops.  Already did.)

Well, okay then.  I’ll make you a deal, honey darlin’, ThatManILove.  I won’t tell you what to do if you don’t get hostile.  Bueno?  I mean, I can't remember you ever getting hostile, but this is merely a preventative step.  

Agreed? Truce-amundo? Capiche?

If we ever get to the point where we can’t agree, then let’s at least agree to repair to the ol’ shooting range.  And you can even pick the shotgun shells, the date, time, and weather conditions. A duel, as it were.  Our shotguns are of the same quality and caliber, so it's a push there (even though I did win the Beretta Teknys, give it to you, then beg for it back when I started having major Browning Gold malfunctions.    But I’m NOT an indian giver - and you were so sweet to let me have it that day I shot 89/100.  Notice, I ran right to the gunsmith and he cut the stock down for a custom fit - for me! Have I told you lately that I love you?  And I love that 30" barrel?)  But, I digress.  Back to the case in point.

When and if we ever disagree and I admit, there is the rare occasion, let’s just take it to the sporting clay range.  Let’s work it out there.  Okay?  Then, you’ll be dominated without hostile words, and you’ll live longer.  Just pure-d talent will prevail.  And we’ll both take our aggression out on those little clay targets.

In other words, rope up, cowboy, and shoot like a girl.  Your girl!  And we'll both live longer.

Finish that job and hurry home.  ThatGirlYouLove misses you!


Monday, January 4, 2010

Zack Took The New Year's "Get Fit" Challenge!

I came home to this tonight.  I'm perplexed.  What the heck has happened here?  And when? And then, I turn and look at the kitchen counter.  My box of Cheerios has been stolen! I feel violated!!!

Just as I looked at the counter, I turned around and the ornery culprit had come into the room and was sitting by the evidence.  (Yeah, they say the criminal always returns to the scene.)  Doesn't he look healthy?  Oh, yes.  Zack the Wonderdog "Took The Challenge"; however, I think the rules are 1 bowl a day - not half a box.

And certainly not one half of the 1 lb 9.25 oz box.  Good Lord, Zackster!

And I thought he wasn't paying attention to those commercials!

It's never boring around here!

Sunday, January 3, 2010

The Down Side of Going To The Movies With Janie

Today found me at our local theatre,  enjoying the movie “Up in the Air” with ThatManILove. Fun stuff, that!

Until....the urge came upon me.  Yes, that urge.  I had imbibed too much of my 1 liter Dasani water and had to crawl across my husband’s legs to make it to the ladies’ room.  We’re in Theatre 14, which means I have access to the least utilized bathroom - yeehaahhh!

I go in.  The bathroom, overall, seems clean enough.  Onwards, I trudge, past stall 1, to stall 2.  (Wonder how many people do that?  I should probably go in stall 1, if it’s clean.)  I open the door, ready the place (which means I killed three trees lining the toilet seat with toilet paper, not that I even sit down on it) and do my business. I slide the latch with my elbow, and open the door with my foot.

All while counting.  Don’t ask me where that came from, I’m just trying to get out of there asap.  

I’m so ready to get out of there, I get to the main door and reach for the handle when I realize I’ve been so concentrating on getting out of there,  I’ve not yet washed my hands.  I turn, and run back to the sink, where for once in my life there is hot water and soap.  HALLELUJAH!  Can you sing Happy Birthday and still count?  I did it!  Wonder if I'm a little OCD??

I wash my hands, and turn to the air dryers, still counting. What is that freaking counting about? I turn on the air dryer with my elbow, and start drying my hands.

And then, I remember someone saying how more germs go through those air dryers than any other appliance. 

I start praying over the air dryers like I pray over my food...”Lord, please dry my hands to the nourishment of my body, and kill all those germs.”  Crap.  What number was I on?  Dang it!

Finally, my hands are dry enough to get out of that germ-ridden place there.  I pull my hand into my hoodie sleeve, and open the bathroom door.  Inside, I'm exulting - I feel like I’m a prisoner, been set free.

Lord help me.  Now where's that anti-bacterial lotion?