Just Call Me Triangle

I ordered the cutest long cardigans from Chico’s.

Did I tell y’all I am a triangle shape?

Yeah.  I took this little internet “What Shape Are You” test to be able to be matched with their best fashions on the internet, and turned out to be a Triangle.  That's funny. I thought I was an hourglass. Not the 36-24-36 hourglass, but an hourglass on a lot bigger dimensional scale.

But, I digress.

Triangle.  And not the large shoulders, narrow hips version of the inverted triangle.

Think regular triangle here, people.  I mean, what the HECK?

This type of triangle.

That means I have a little head and a big butt.

Anyway, back to the original idea of this post.

The Long Cardigans.

From Chicos.

I got them in.  Tried them on.

And found there is a rectangle in my triangle.

Or, that’s what it looks like, when I put these on.

Of course, it doesn’t help that these cardigans are super thin.  And they have horizontal stripes.

That cut right across the rectangle that is my butt at the bottom of the triangle.

Yeah.

That would be me.  

Enter profanity right here.

Not Another Vegetarian Post

This past Sunday, ThatManILove decided to make us omelets.

He had stopped by our local H.E.B. the night before to freshen our supply of veggies and fruits. We really are trying to eat better and make healthier choices.

(All in line with the dreaded diet, where’s he’s dropping weight like an anvil from a 30 story building, and I’m flat-lining the scale.  But, I digress.)

So, he comes in with these eggs.

Really?

People, seriously?

Vegetarian eggs?

Is that like vegetarian beef?

What the heck?

And then, he told me that, irregardless of the packaging, he swears the Horizon cattle are vegetarians, as well, so this Mexican cheese is all veggie cheese.  Okay, he did that tongue-in-cheek. He knows better.

Is this a marketing ploy?   If so, they’re probably raking in the bucks.

But you know, I’ve got just enough common sense and country in me to know that there are no vegetarian eggs.

Please, tell me, the average consumers aren’t that stupid.

Please.

Zanna the Weirdo Wonderdog

ThatManILove goes and gets us lunch.  We eat, and plan the rest of our weekend.

Neither of us are feeling quite up to par, but we’re way better than we were.

I go hop on the bed, thinking of a quick nap.  ThatManILove comes to tell me he’s going to hop in a chair outside, in the shady sunlight, and snooze a bit.

Zanna the Wonderdog pops up on the bed, and settles down...all the while, licking her chops.

A sure sign she’s been into something good.

ThatManILove looks at me, and I look at him, both of us wondering, “Oh, Lord. What now?”

He looks at me again, then turns and goes and looks around.  He can find nothing.

He comes back, and looks at Zanna.  She tilts her head at him, like, “What?  I did NOTHING, I tell you, NOTHING.”

He begins her dialogue, for her, as he usually does.

“Dad, why are you looking at me like that?  I didn’t do anything. I was just licking my chops, relishing the zest of Life.  That is all. Life.  It’s a good thing.”

It can get weird around here.

Zanna the Weirdo Wonderdog With Her Crossed Little Feet

Bloggery Design Factors…by Diane Cayton-Hakey

Hey.

I need to do what needs to be done.  I need to commend someone sweet, honest, and creative.

What do y’all think about my new header on my blog?

Isn’t it cool?

It’s a photo of our West Texas Oilfields that I shot during sunset last winter.

And I sent it to my blogger friend, Diane Cayton-Hakey, of The BlueRidge Gal.

She designs my blog headers.

She is the bomb.com, I swear.

Diane is soooooooo talented.  Her blog is always fun.  She’s always posting cool videos, and photos, of her daily life.

She’s a fashionista.  She loves design.  And fashion. And shopping.  

She's a super-intelligent woman.  Smart as a whip.  Savvy. Conscious of what's going on in our world today.

She loves her man.  Her dogs.  Her life in the country.

She’s one of the coolest peeps I know, and someday, I’m gonna meet her in person.

So, go, visit.  And if you need a new blog design, let Diane have at it.  She’s amazing.

Thank you, Diane.  I love your work. I love you.

Love, love, love.

Diane's so smart she can do this kind of computer tom-foolery stuff…I love it!  I stole it!

Silent Sunday - Sundown, Winter in the Oilpatch

Taken at sunset near Seminole, Texas by ThatJanieGirl

Snoozy Saturday!

I don’t guess I can gripe about getting enough sleep last night.

ThatManILove came home with a respiratory infection.  I wonder where he got it?  Oh!  Right here at home. From me. And he still loves me.

He went by Outback, picked up dinner, we ate, and promptly laid down to go to sleep. I think I read for like 15 minutes before I crashed.

I woke up, 30 minutes later, and it was 8 p.m.

I think I must be getting old, because I went right back to sleep.

Anyway, now I’m awake.  It’s 2 a.m.  So, officially, I’ve had, what, 6 hours of sleep?

That is crazy.  Crazy good, for me.

I think I’m going back to sleep now.  I have quite a bit of stuff to slam down into the “done” pile for Saturday.

Good sleep will help me get that faded.

Have a great Saturday, people.  It’s gonna be a good, good day.

I promise.

Three Shovel Day

Someone left someone a letter the other day.  Both someones ended up laughing until they cried.

I had to cover up the logo on the bottom. ;)

Snoozebucket Bedfellows

Snoozing and snuffling accompanies the night sounds in my bedroom.

Zack and Zanna wormed their way into the bed last night, and I was so out of it, they never made it to their kennels.

Such things tend to happen when ThatManILove is out of town.

I turn on the light, and my purview of my current territory is...2:1, Wonderdogs:Janie.

Two people could be on ThatManILove’s side of the bed. 

Zack’s head is on my shoulder.

Zanna’s under the covers, at my feet.

I could put them up, but it’s 4:50 a.m.  I guess I woke up to go to the gym, but that’s tomorrow, not today.

I think I’ll let them snooze.  It’s a peaceful sound...and I might sleep a little more, myself.

Happy trails to you, today, as you go out and about your day.

Happy trails.

Choot 'Em - Like A Girl!!

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

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. (Bwahhahahahahaha. But I digress.)
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 to settle things.  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, AGAIN.  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 project and hurry home.  ThatGirlYouLove misses you!

Love,

Da List! Da List!

I have a list. If you’re a guy, I don’t even wanna hear that your wife has a never ending list like mine.  

Women?  Work off lists.

I keep my list in my head.  Sometimes, on my "notes" in my iPhone.  Sometimes, on the back of an envelope. At a red light. Or, God forbid, in a movie.

And it always, A.L.W.A.Y.S. has "house" things to do mingled with "work" things to do and "volunteer" things to do.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, like at midnight, 2:30 a.m. or 4:30 a.m., I will sit up and email my own bad self my list, just to “put it to bed.”  Like knowing that I’ve written and committed it to paper will freaking help get it accomplished. 

Or, God forbid, help me go to sleep.  But That's Another Subject.

At this moment, in my life, I’m having a hard time keeping the list pared down to a reasonable amount of things to get done.

It’s like one thing is accomplished, and rolls off, then another just hops back up there.

It’s frustrating, to say the least.

And if you’ve ever been through the Franklin Covey Plan Plus training, there’s a way to prioritize your list, like A1-A5, B1-B5, etc.

Well, it doesn’t work for me.

Because, on different days, different items on that list graduate in priority, as well as others that may descend in priority.

It happens, I promise.

The only thing that would probably help it would be to....say “No.”

I’m learning how, I promise.  I’m starting to say “No.”  And “I’m winding down.”

I’m trying to pull back from some of my volunteer commitments, especially to non-profits.  It’s just as hard to pull back as it is to volunteer.

But...it’s time.

Time for me.  And mine.

Now hand me that list, will ya?

Siiiiiiiiiickkkkkkkk.

Coughing.

Sneezing.

Runny nose.

Head and chest congestion.

Much whinery.

Not a commercial.

But, me, down for a hopefully short count.  Back shortly.

Please come back to see me.

Silent Sunday - Truth Up!

My Name Is Janie, and I'm a Diet-aholic

I called my trainer today.

To, you know, bitch whine.

She didn’t answer.

So, I instant-messaged another trainee, Melissa, on Facebook.

She called me back.

Here’s how it went down.  (disclaimer: I may have taken a wee bit of poetic license.)

Me:  I wanna quit.

Her: You can’t quit.

Me:  I want to quit. I gained weight. I’m having irregularity. I’m not a happy camper.

Her:  You drinking all the water you’re supposed to be drinking?

Me:  Yes. I feel like I’m about to pee my pants every freakin’ minute of every freakin’ day.

Her:  I was discouraged, too, but I’ve lost X amount of inches!
Me:  Whooooopeee Freakin Weeeeeee.  That's so refreshing to hear!  Really?  That's awesome.  Now, back to me. It's all about me, don't you know that? I wanna quit.  I gained weight and I’ve been being so good.

Her:  Don’t quit.  Get measured.  Grab another gear.  Quit your whining.  Life is good.

Me:  I think I’m gonna hurt her when I see her.

Her:  I can tell by your voice you’re about to turn left out of Natural Foods and head for Starbucks.  Don’t do it.

Me:  Freakin’ clairvoyant.

Her:  Okay.  Turn right.  Go to the house.  Get your snack/veggies/shake.  Do something right, Janie, because I’m tired of talking to you on the phone.

Me:  Okay. Thanks for calling me, and encouraging me.

I go home, make a meal replacement shake, throw ice and a zucchini squash into it, and drink the sucker.  It was awesome, really!

I felt so much better about myself.

But I'm really worried about Starbucks.  Without my daily Venti 7-Pump No Water Chai, Extra Hot drink, they're probably going to go out of business.  And at this rate, I’m never gonna use my iPhone pay app, OR get my black Starbucks card.

Zanna the Wonderdog (Shredder)

Zanna’s been at it again.

Shredding, that is.

Not on a skateboard, as you might think.

The spotted wondergirl loves to shred anything ThatManILove.  She loves his smell, and attacks his clothes thatmighthavebeenleftlayingaround at the first chance she gets.

This time, one of his favorite sleeping shirts met its demise.

And somehow, it got laundered and hung up anyway.  It doesn't matter how gaping the hole. It's a shirt, so it must be hung up.   Don’t ask.   

Wherein We Have Failure To Communicate - Part 2

So, remember yesterday?  The asparagus?

Yeah.

Today, I met with a couple of friends and a recruiter friend, looking at potential jobs for them in the future.

One was scheduled at 3 p.m., the other at 4 p.m.

My recruiter friend was unable to print the resumes, so I run by the house first, to do a quick print.  I find I’m out of paper, I have a paper jam, it’s only one wreck after another, and ThatManILove’s phone is ringing off the wall.

I can tell he’s having trouble, plus he needs an email address from me right.now. and his phone is just cutting off calls right and left.

He realized what was going on before I did.  

ThatManILove:  Babe...did you leave my truck running?
Me:  No.  Well, maybe! Oh, shoot!!!  I did!!!

His truck has a bluetooth, and it was trying to pick up every call.  AND they were all business calls!  I’m such a dork!

I finally get everything printed, and get out of there, and now both of us are highly stressed out.

I got to the designated coffee house, and realized...my phone’s almost dead.  My computer’s almost dead.

And then, I have a brain wave, and realize I’m in ThatManILove’s truck.  Which has a constant electric converter installed.

I go out to the truck, plug my gear in, and decided to text ThatManILove so he won’t worry if he tries to reach me.  I tell him to call me on my friend’s cell phone.

Or, I thought I did.

My friend walks into the coffee shop, with a huge grin on his face.

James:  I think I got the wrong text. 

Me:  What?

James:  I think I got a text you were sending to your husband.

Here’s a REAL copy of what went down.   I don't know who laughed more.  Me?  ThatManILove, or my friend James.

Asparrrrrragussss!!!

It's never boring around here!

Not A Small Competition

ThatManILove and I have been on the same diet for 10 days.  

He has lost 13 lbs in the same time that I’ve lost hardly anything.  We’ve been eating the exact same meals.  

I’m working out. I’m working out every other day, but I just finished 10 days for 10 days of working out daily.

He’s not. He’s not working out AT ALL.

This morning, he said, “Babe.  You’re losing inches, I can see it.”

I just looked at him.

He said: “Okay.  Maybe you’re just gaining brain cells.”

If he dies by my hand, will y’all please hire me the best lawyer ever?

I’m a dang good shot.  The guys around here tease me about being Annie Oakley.

I was so distressed when he gave me his weight report this morning.

You know what the twerp did?

He went and got dressed.  Put on a heavy vest.  Then, his heavy wool coat.

And then he weighed.

He says, just to make me feel better.

It didn’t work.

Maybe I should just sit on him.

I Didn't Sleep At All Last Night

This morning, I awakened at 3:30 a.m.

Because I was supposed to catch a 5:30 a.m. flight.

That...did not happen.

Because, super scheduler that I am, my flight is tomorrow morning.

And, now, I’m awake.

So awake that I’m probably going to go to the gym in an hour.

I have my clothes ready for tomorrow’s trip.

I have the dogs ready for the dogsitter. (Not that they’ve done anything, they’re snoozing like sensible dogs.  Twerps.)

So, what to do until 5 a.m.?

Maybe I can take a catnap.

I’m gonna try.

Have a blessed day, and may your calendar markers be on the correct day.

Amen.

Well, heck.  That's not even the right calendar.  No wonder I'm messed up.

Wherein We Have Failure To Communicate - Part 1

Friday morning, I went to the gym, then to the grocery store.

Our local HEB is amazing at 6:10 a.m.
The shelves are almost full, the stockers working furiously.

There is a special fresh asparagus I love, packaged.  I grabbed 6 packages, none to expire prior to 1/20/13.  YAY.  Score!

I come home, lug in three flats of water before ThatManILove, who is furiously working on a super major major project on his computer, even realizes it.  And the groceries, too.

TMIL:  Babe. I’m sorry.
Me:  No big!  I’m good.  

And I start unloading groceries, trying to be quiet.

I get to the asparagus.  And I just have to celebrate.

Me:  Babe.  I knocked it out of the park on this asparagus.

TMIL: (gets up from the table) Babe, I gotta talk to you.  I really cannot get distracted.  And your tone startled me! Why would you be upset at this time of the morning?? Please, I’m almost at the deadline, I’m really making headway and…What?  Where are you going?

(About at the headway part, I actually stuck my fingers in my ears, turned around, and headed for the bedroom.)

(Oh, yes, I did.) (I'm like 10 years old or something.)

TMIL:  What’s going on?  Why would you have that tone this morning?  Are you okay?

Me:  Listen to me.  Let me tell the story from my perspective.

TMIL: What perspective?  I know exactly how this went down.

We are flat talking over each other.  He thinks he’s right.  I know I’m right (and therein, the mystery ends.  If it doesn’t, it should.  Ya know??).

We finally get quiet.

Me:  Yeah?  Wanna listen, then?  Let me paint you a picture.

He did decide to listen.  I talked.  He looked at me quizzically.

TMIL:  Seriously??  Babe?? That's what happened?

Me:  Seriously. Freaking asparagus.  I guess I needed to celebrate asparagus.

We laughed. 

I’m so proud of the work he’s doing on this project but hooooooly mooooooly it’s taking a lot out of him!

It’s never boring around here.