Maintenance! What? No!

Yesterday, I ran some errands in Santa Fe. Wearing sandals that had black rubber foot beds resulted in the bottoms of my feet being…black. I decided to hop into the shower to clean them up, did my pedicure foot scrub, then soaked in the tub afterwards.



I’m “Kindled” up, reading a good story. ThatManILove is sleep on the bed, trying to catch up from late nights of solid customer meetings and entertainment. 


I hear something over and above the movie on the television. I think it’s TMIL talking to me, so I say, “What? Did you say something?”


And then I hear, “Maintenance!”


And then, “NO!”


I’m all, “WHAT?


“MAINTENANCE!”


“NOOO!”


“WHAT?”


And then I hear TMIL talking…supposedly to the maintenance man. Who had, by the way, transgressed into our hotel room.


Without our permission.  The bathroom door was open, but all he could possibly see is my feet.  (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)


It seems someone’s tub was flooding the Old House restaurant downstairs. They were trying to Sherlock it out. Still not sure if it was ours.


But the manager came up, full of apologies, and comped us wine and cheese.


I would have been happy with a full-out mani/pedi; not to mention a new pair of sandals that don’t turn your feet black.


Just sayin’.


It’s never boring around here.

Therapist for $200 (Okay, I love SNL)

Sunnnnyyyyyy beeeeeeaaaaaches.

It’s been one heck of a day.  Not even kidding. I could tell you about Elder Son missing the last flight to Wyoming….no.  My breakfast order or 20 people, cancelling on me less than 30 minutes prior to delivery?  Nah.  Okay, I think I’ll tell you about my contractor subcontractor’s mishap…not even.  My customer lunch and learn cancelling?  Just a day in the life, right?

Okay.  Guess I’ll expound on the never boring adventures of the WonderDogs. 

This morning, I’m getting ready, out of the shower, about to dry my hair.  It’s about 6:20 a.m. The dogs ask to go out.   As is our norm, I go out to the “almost oasis” of a back yard.  (I love it in the morning!)  I sit down on the porch, grab a water bottle, settle down to enjoy the beautiful morning, and let them do their business.

 I’m soon to discover that it’s not to be that kind of morning.  Zanna’s in the last stages of her heat cycle.  ThatManILove and I have been in some serious discussions this week as to whether or not to breed Zanna, or to get her fixed. Let me take one second to note that TMIL has NOT been in town except on weekends during the last three weeks.   I’ve been dealing with this heat cycle, the diapers, the panties, all that drill.  It’s making me crazy.  ThatManILove doesn’t want her stout championed bloodline to end; I, on the other hand, could care less about menstrual cycles any more, much less my Zanna’s.   Whatever romantic vision I had about being an awesome breeder of champion German Shorthairs has this very week faded away in a fluff of shredded cotton and denim.  Zanna’s gone through more panty liners, doggie diapers, and puppy panties in three weeks than any woman I’ve ever known (however, that may be because most women I know don’t eat their sanitary products).  I’m ready to put this madness to an end.  Zack’s interest in her is at…well, let’s just say he’s peaked this morning.  I’m not worried, though, because 3 years ago, we made him a sports model.  Yup, we had him fixed.

I’m relaxing, drinking a glass of water, and all of a sudden, Zack starts acting kind of aggressive towards Zanna.  And she’s, ummm….letting him.  The little wench is even coming on to him.  She’s flirting.  And before I can say “You don’t have the stuff anymore, cowboy, don’t even think about it!” , Zack has mounted Zanna.  Oh, yes, he has. You’ve heard “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up?”  Well, he’s mounted,  and he can’t get down.  Or she can’t get loose.  Or something.

I scream at him.  Totally ineffective.

I run get the water hose.  Same result.

I call ThatManILove.  He doesn’t answer his cellphone.

So, I do what most warm-blooded over-intelligent females who are seeking answers to such a dilemma do.  I run to the door, go inside, shut the back door so I don’t have to watch them do the dirty deed anymore, and go ask Mr. Google what the heck to do.

Turns out the first two things, screaming and water, only make situations such as this, worse.  (Don’t say I never taught you anything.)

After I read the article twice, I decide to venture to the back door to peek out and see how things are hanging.  Whew!  They’re apart.  Zanna’s giving me that, “Gee thanks, oh you human protector of all four legged things  – you suck at this” look.  I, in turn, am glaring at Zack, thinking, “You RAPIST!”  I hustle them both into the house and kennel Zanna, pronto.

Then, and only then, does ThatManILove call.

“Hey, babe, did you need something?”

“Ummm, yeah, well, I did…but it’s all good now.  Zack mounted Zanna.”

“What? He can’t do that.”

“Oh, yes he can, and he did.  I was an eyewitness.  And they got stuck.”

“What?  Are you sure?  I don’t think Zack can do anything.”

“I am not even gonna repeat it. Zanna’s been violated. Maybe even drugged.” 

Silence.

And then I can hear him.  He’s giggling.  And then he starts laughing.

And that just pisses me off more.

“When did we get Zack fixed?”  Yup.  Still giggling.

And we figure it out. Two years ago.

And you know what he said to me then?

“Don’t worry baby.  Semen doesn’t have that kind of shelf life.”

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!

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!

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??!

Mattress Sandwich

Elder Son was in the area, roping with friends, and jumped truck at Lubbock.  So, Thursday night found us picking him up there, and bringing him home for the weekend.  We tarried too long, and got home to Midland around midnight.  Then we picked up a bit for the housecleaners, and went to bed.

Unbeknownst to me, ThatManILove had gone on a cleaning of the bedroom spree earlier that day.  Our bed - a Big Huge California King Sleigh Bed - was pulled out from the wall. I commented on such, and TMIL confessed to tackling the dust demons under and behind the bed.  (Such things are obviously beyond our house cleaners, but I digress.)

We pushed the bed back up against the wall, and got in bed.  Immediately, Zack the Wonderdog jumps in the bed, and demands to be “under his blankie.”  (Which is, by the way, a blanket on top of our comforter.)  This action places him right around where my knees go in the bed.  

And, voila!  Zack snuggles down in the bed, deep mooooaaaannnns of delight, and immediately starts snoring.

ThatManILove looks at me, and says, “Need me to move Zack?”  I tell him no, that I’ll move over closer to him.  I snuggle up to him for a second, then tell him, “Wait.  This isn’t going to work.  I have to be able to stick my foot out of the bed if it gets warm.”

(I know.  Don’t even say it.  That’s what hormones do to you when you’re my age.)

So, I skooch back over to my side of the bed, and we move Zack to the middle.  He never wakes up.  We lay back down.

And immediately hear this weird deep moaning sound.  Loud.  Louder. And then the moan escalates, both in volume and up an octave or two.  We’re looking at Zack, then realizing it’s not him, at each other.  I’ve got chill bumps on my arms.  Do we have a freakin’ ghost? Is Zanna having a bad dream?  Oh, Lord!  Is the air conditioner kicking the bucket?   (You’d be amazed at the thoughts that shoot through your brain in a second or two)

And then...

HIGH PITCHED SCREAMING SQUEAL!  followed by a 

BAMMMMMMM!  

CRASHHHH!

BOOM!

The.

Bed.

Cratered.

Oh, yes it did.

And all three of us - ThatManILove, Zack, and myself - all roll into a Deep V that now suffices for what was our top mattress.

I immediately start giggling.  ThatManILove - cussing.  

And Zack?  Still snuffling and snoring away.  He doesn’t even wake up.

Thank God Elder Son was around.  We have one of those Denver Mattresses, and baby, a California King top mattress ain’t light.  Especially when two of you...the mother and son two of you...are laughing so hard you can't stand up.

We moved the upper mattress to determine the extent of the damage.  Guess what supports a California King Denver Mattress, under the twin box springs?

Three 2X2 slats.  Screwed into the frame.  And attached to each of them, one 3X3 leg. Two of which had bent when ThatManILove went into his cleaning frenzy,  causing the bed to lose support and the slats to break in half.

We wedged them back up, supported them (with all those books I’ve promised you I’d give away on this blog), put the mattress back on and ThatManILove went back to sleep.

That was a miracle in itself - but I finally quit laughing long enough to go to sleep myself.