Friday, October 15, 2010

Sometimes, there's a sign . . .

 . . . .Like "BEWARE, THERE WILL BE CHILDREN PRESENT", for instance.

I have literally been looking forward to today for WEEKS!  The 'Gem and Mineral' show is in town this weekend, so as a confirmed bead-a-holic, I bounced promptly out of bed when my alarm went off this morning (NOT my strong suit), did my AM chores with the kitties, and bustled out to visit the show.  I figured getting there right as it opened would be the least crowed time, right?  Errr, WRONG, as it turns out . . .

Now for a little background . . . I freely admit, I'm a grumpy old biddy.  I love my son, who's 29, but will admit to not 'liking' him much many times during his adolescence, even while I still loved him.  I really have minimal affinity for other people's kids.  (I firmly believe the disintegration of American society can be traced to when we quit thinking it was OK to beat a little respect and good sense into our kids, lol.)  So, anyway, kids - not my favorite thing, especially en masse.

I pulled into the parking lot at the Community Center at the dot of 9am, credit card in hand.  WooHoo . . . bead shopping here I come!

I trundled across the parking lot to the entrance . . . only to be brought up short by the sight of 3, yes, THREE school buses pulling into the porte-cochere and disgorging what appeared to be HUNDREDS of middle schoolers.  I'll give you three guesses what I said . . . here's a hint . . . it started with an "f" and ended with "me running".

While those masochists known as 'teachers', (there're some people who are candidates for sainthood, in my book!) were getting their little charges organized, I slipped to the front of the line, navigating through all the milling squatty-bodies.

"I'm here for the show" to the attendant at the gate.  "Well, you'll have to pay to get in if you're not with the kids", she says.  Oh you have NO idea  what I'd pay to be here without the kids;  however, since they're not going to send them all back to school, I paid only the $4 admission fee and scurried into the exhibit hall, making a beeline for my favorite vendor, Magpie Gemstones.
( www.magpiegemstones.com - the BEST weborder bead merchant, bar none!)

I introduced myself to Kateri, the young lady in charge of the booth, and started in on bead heaven.  I got in about 8.5 minutes of uninterrupted bead bliss, before the horde arrived.  Kateri was immediately swamped with questions, comments (and since she is a very attractive young lady, LOTS of 'hey look at this' from smitten young middle schoolers).

I finished perusing the pretties at the Turquoise Magpie booth, and paid for my stuff . . . (I counted 11 interruptions from Kateri's adoring public while I checked out, lol.)

I made my way around the exhibit hall, gingerly avoiding the little rats, oops sorry,  kids thronging the space.  I found one other booth that was mainly beads, which are apparently less attractive to school kids than loose 'rocks' are, and found some nice pearls.  By this time the noise level was rising exponentially.  I made one more circuit of the hall, unable to get close to the vendors, for the passels of kids stacked everywhere.

The heck with it, I can always try again tomorrow, I guess.

The good news is that I spent far less than I planned, and still came home with some really pretty beads.    Maybe that was the 'sign' . . . that I needed to save my bead budget for next weekend's retreat in College Station . . . which I have on good authority will be adult only, thank God!

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Boobs and Blood . . .

I was an ER/Flight/ICU/L&D nurse for YEARS . . . I think we can safely say the sight of blood doesn't bother me overmuch, right?  (If you've been in L&D or had a baby, you should be able to relate to this on SOME level anyway, lol!)  While working the MICU/SICU I cleaned/suctioned/wiped up stuff you can't imagine, include blood spurting out of a blown graft,  dripping from the ceiling, and rolling off the end of the bed.  In the ER, I used to work my traumas and then wade right though the puddles on the floor to my lunch break.   I pumped bags and bags and bags (and more bags) of the stuff into people.  As a flight nurse, I placed chest tubes, central lines, ET tubes and just about every other kind of 'tube' you can imagine (and most you don't want to, lol), cut throats for crichs,  and more than once used a water hose to sluice out the helicopter after a particularly messy flight . . . nary a worry.

BUT . . . one little smear on top of one of my kitties heads and I'm toast . . . Sunny (my 6 month old lilac point girl) jumped up onto my desk a little while ago, with a tiny smear of blood on her head.  One frantic trip down the hall to the kitchen sink, and a head scrubbing, I discovered it wasn't HER blood.  So, OMG is someone else hurt?!?!?!?

I just spent 30 minutes finding every cat in the house to find out where the blood came from.  (Max was NOT best pleased to be drug out from under the bed so I could examine him in minute detail . . .)  I checked everyone . . . not a nick, prick, drip, or spot to be found . . . what the heck.  Oh, well, just glad everyone's OK.  Wonder where the hell that blood came from . . .???

I sat back down at the computer to finish my IM chat with my friend Susan, before we were so rudely interrupted by my little panic, only to look down . . .

. . . and remember that Maggie left quite the 'tracks' across my chest when she was startled by a tower of beads falling over on the desk earlier today, and scratched the crap outta my right boob . . . and the scabs appear a mite smeared.  OK, so I know where the blood came from . . . not to worry, it was just ME bleeding, so no cause for alarm!  Apparently, we had a little transfer going to Sunny's head when we were cuddling earlier.  Sigh, I'm a twit.   Apparently I'm only immune to the sight of HUMAN blood . . . kitty blood trips my panic switch, lol.

Below, Sunny - sans blood . . .  me, out of frame, with my reason intact . . .

 Photo by Helmi Flick.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The Hotel from Hell . . .

I love going to cat shows.  I love staying in nice hotels.  I'm OK with staying in hotels that are merely clean and functional, as opposed to 'nice', if it means I can afford to go to cat shows.  But, I do have SOME standards . . .

Last weekend I was SO excited to be going the the Austin Cat Fanciers show in Austin, since I hadn't been to a show since the SC Regional back in August.  So Friday afternoon, I loaded up my furkids and headed to Austin, about 2 hours north of me.  My best friend Charlotte and I were planning to share a room to cut costs for both of us.  Fine with me, since it would give us time to visit, which happens all too rarely, now that we live a couple of hours apart.  We planned to meet at the show hotel, the La Quinta Inn Oltorf, and go from there to do some of our second most favorite activity, bead shopping. 

Char was a little late leaving from San Antonio, so I beat her to the hotel, arriving about 1:45pm.  I went ahead and checked us in.  "Do you want to leave your charges on the card you used to reserve the room?" the desk clerk asked.  "No, please switch it to this card", and I handed her my PayPal card, since my kitten money is also my 'go to shows' money.  OK, check in all taken care of, I left a key card up front for Char, and headed to the room to unload. 

I opened the door.  Hmmmm, smells a bit musty in here.  And it's quite warm, too.  OK, let's get that A/C turned on and maybe that'll take care of both problems.  I push the kid's stroller into the room, and head over to the A/C unit, glancing up as I do so.  Um, yeah . . that molding looking stain on the ceiling might account for the musty smell.  I switch the A/C on . . . it blows room temp air.  Well, crap.  OK, well, it's supposed to be in the 50's in Austin tonight, we'll be OK.  Frankly, I just didn't want to pack all my crap back out and switch rooms.  It'll do.  I head out on my bead shopping quest, figuring I can hit 'Bead It' by myself, and then Char and I will head to the other shops in north Austin when she gets here.

An hour later, I pull back into the parking lot, just as Charlotte arrives.  We pick up her key, and cart in her kids and stuff from the car, and then plop down to cool off, before heading out again.  Char, who's gone to sit in the recliner over in the corner, glances down towards the window and says "Is that a MINI-PAD on the floor?!?!?!?!"  and yes, surely enough it was.  Clean, with the strip still on the sticky part, but a mini-pad, nonetheless. 

"Hi, this is Leslie Hurley in 161, we found a mini-pad on the floor.  Yes, apparently the room was not thoroughly cleaned.  Can someone please come remove it?"

Twenty minutes later, the minipad is still on the floor, and I have come to a slow rolling boil.  So I got my broom out of the closet and rode down to the front desk, toilet paper sheathed mini-pad in had.  I deposited it front and center on the desk.  The guy who was waiting to check in said, "So how do you like the hotel?"

"Well, I guess if I were in need of someone else's feminine hygiene products I'd like it well enough.  Or if I wanted a musty smelling, moldy ceiling, non-A/C working room, I'd think it was just swell."  He looked a little green.  Suddenly, the desk clerk (you know, the one who was supposed to send someone down to remove said mini-pad 30 minutes ago) can't get off the phone and over to take care of me fast enough. 

"We're SO sorry, Mrs. Hurley.  We'll be happy to move you to another room."  I just bet they would - anything to shut me up . . . have I mentioned I'm fairly articulate and quite verbose, when pissed off?  I'm thinking the clerk had made this observation  first hand by the time I finished my rant. 

So we packed up all our stuff, kitty crap, and cats and moved down the hall.  Hallelujah!  The A/C works.  We cranked it down and headed out for an evening of bead revelry.  (Only those with the beading bug will understand how riveting this is, lol!)

After much bead fun and acquiring far more than I needed, and a fabulous dinner at Houston's (the steaks are to DIE for!) we arrived back at the hotel, tired but happy.  Even the minor embarrassment of my credit card not clearing at the last stop didn't dim my good mood.  (I would have SWORN I moved more money into that account . . . oh, well.)

By 10:30 I was pooped and ready for bed.  I climbed in and rolled over to put my glasses in the drawer of the nightstand.  Huh . . .

"Hey Char, did you leave this trash . . .?"  about that time I spotted the condom, along with the trash in the drawer.  No, pretty sure Char didn't leave that there.  Fortunately, it was an un-used condom, but the principle is the same - they hadn't bothered to check the drawers when they 'cleaned' (and I use the term loosely) the room.

I bounced (at least as much as a fat woman with a bad back can) out of bed, pulled my clothes back on over my jammies, and marched down to the front desk, with a fire in my eye and a cussing on my tongue.  Poor little desk clerk (who I'm sure thought of me as the 'mini-pad witch woman') paled at my approach.  I ranted for a while.  He slunk to the back room for gloves and headed down to the room to retrieve the offending item.

Well, I was wide awake then.  So I decided to check my bank balance to see what happened with that card that didn't clear earlier.  Fuck me running, they not only charged the new card I presented at check in, they didn't remove the charge from the card I'd used to hold the room.  So I'm paying for my shitty room twice.  Guess where I went . . . yes, clothes back on, and back to the front desk.  

New clerk on duty by this time.  "You'll have to speak to the manager in the morning."  Oh, I think you can safely count on that, bucko.

So the next morning, I go to have my snit with the manager, and they are kind enough to tell me they'll comp all but $60 of the $195.50 they have charged to each card.  Yep, that's right, a total of $391 for a two-night stay in this hotel hell.  I do some deep breathing.  OK, if they can refund me, all well and good. 

Today is Thursday, so I figured enough time has elapsed for them to have completed the credit.  And lo and behold, yes they have . . . for HALF the amount they said they would.  You can bet your sweet bippy, I'll be calling on that as soon as I get home from the shelter. 

Take it from me:  DO NOT STAY AT THIS PLACE - It is the PITS!

Now, if someone had told me this story, I'd tell them they were full of crap.  NO WAY all that happened . . . except it did.  What a crap hotel.  NEVER again.  I plan to blog, FaceBook, Twitter and tell every living breathing person I can find to never stay at the La Quinta Inn Oltorf in Austin, TX.   I can't WAIT to get my little 'satisfaction' survey from them . . . the email may catch on fire on it's way to LQ headquarters . . .

Off to put my broom back in the closet now, lol!

In Defense of Poor Fiscal Decision Making

Ask any of my friends . . . I'm TERRIBLE with managing money.  Suck at it, in fact.  So, I worry that one of these days, as my 'older age' creeps up on me, these poor decisions will come back to haunt me.  Or, not . . .

Last week, I was doing one of my volunteer days out at the shelter (Dorothy O'Connor Pet Adoption Center http://www.docpac.net/ ), where my duties are to play receptionist, answer the phone, and generally direct traffic at the front door, when this young woman came in carrying a beautiful little seal lynx point kitten in  a carrier.  

"Can you take her?  She has diarrhea and her butt stays raw and I don't want my 8 month old getting something from her?" 

Sally, our director, was out, so I punted to Sarah, the assistant director, instead.  Both of us suggested a trip to the vet to determine the underlying problem.  Nope, they'd taken her once, that hadn't fixed it, and they were getting rid of her. 

"See how sweet she is?"  The girl proceeded to take her out of the carrier and snuggle her, and little "Pearl" made bisquits and purred the whole time.  No way could I have given her up, but, hey, that's why I'm a crazy cat lady, I guess.

Sarah and I again suggested treating her.  Uh-Uh.  She's outta there. 

Sarah couldn't accept her for intake, since we were basically full, with a fresh load of kitties just rescued from Animal Control.  What a heartbreaker.  Off the girl went to turn her over to Animal Control.  I know they do their best, with what they have to work with, but an ill kitten in that environment isn't going to last long, and they don't have the resources to treat the sick ones.  It broke my heart.

As soon as she left, I went into Sarah's office, "I'll give you $50 towards her treatment, if we can get her."  Sarah wanted to keep her as badly as I did, I think, but she couldn't make the decision to take in a cat that obviously needed treatment, without Sally's approval.  That would pretty well clean out my account, but what the hell, payday was only 8 days away, right?

So we settled in to wait for Sally.

I putzed around on the computer for a while, and logged in to check my PayPal balance for the heck of it.
WOW, where'd that money come from????    One of the nice folks who purchased one of my kittens decided to prepay their balance, even though the kitten won't go home until January.  Hallelujah!  I ran in to see Sarah.  "Tell Sally I can give $100 if we can go get that little cat from AC."  Maybe that'll sweeten the pot enough. 

In the meantime, Alicia mentioned that she thought she had a friend who might be able to foster the kitten. (She obviously couldn't go into the main cat population with a health issue.)

So we waited.  Sally arrived back from lunch.  We swooped in on her, like a bunch of six year olds, wanting to bring a puppy home from our travels.  "Can we go get her, pleeeaaaassseeeeeee?????" 

Sally wavered, caught between the 'smart' fiscal decision for the shelter, and our pleading.  Then she caved to our sad little puppy dog eyes, and begging looks.  "OK, I'll go get her; we'll figure it out."  Sally Kuecker was officially my very most favorite person in the world last Thursday.  What a big heart!

So, with my account $100 lighter, I went home to explain to Steve why we'd be a little poorer than what we planned.  My hubby, who has a big heart, too, just said "Well, it's only money". 

So, I came to work today, and found that little "Pearl" is now "Shadow" since she's been following her foster mom around like one.  She's doing great after treatment, and her foster mom has fallen so in love with her, she's going to adopt her. 

That's what I call a happy ending.   You can't buy that, no matter how much money you have.  Worth it every minute of every day of every year. 

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Oh My God . . . that kitten has BALLS . . .

Have you ever been really, really, REALLY afraid you were going to eff something up? So you compulsively check it?  And then lo and behold, even though you check, you still manage to screw yourself to the Nth degree.

Ever happen to you?  Happened to me.  Sigh.

So . . . yesterday morning I got up bright and freaking early (SO not my favorite time of day) and headed out to Houston (2.5 hours away) to ship little Hero to his new family in Washington, D.C.  I put his favorite blankie that smells like home in the carrier with him and headed out.  I wasn't nervous at all about whether I'd picked up the right kitten, because I CHECKED to make sure he had the right equipment before we left.  Hero and Honey (his sister) are just as alike as two little peas in a pod, so I wanted to make SURE.  (Last month, when I shipped Tank to Florida, I actually pulled over on the side of the road about 30 miles from home, to make absolutely freaking sure I had the right kitten, lol).

Apparently, I should have done that again yesterday morning . . .

So, all went well, and I got to the Continental QuickPak office at IAH in Houston, and shipped little 'Hero' off with out a problem.  We piddled around Houston for the day, and got home around 6pm.   I immediately called Hero's new family to make sure he'd arrived safely.  He had, and they loved him already.  Score!

So I fixed dinner and sat down on the floor to play with the babies for a while.  I was tossing a little ball across the floor, when the remaining seal point kitten 'Honey' dashed across the room to get it.  With 'her' tail in the air . . . and OMG, that kitten has BALLS!!!!   Fuck me . . . I'd sent the girl to Washington, and Hero was still here.    I guess I must have not immediately grabbed Hero, and instead got Honey.

Thank God, the folks in Washington are such nice people.  Boy, that was a phone call I didn't want to make!  But they were terrific, and will be shipping Honey back here on Friday, and I'll be taking Hero to Houston that same day to send to them.  I just hate that Honey has to be shipped again . . . and it amounts to about a $700 mistake on my part, so that's a big 'Ouch', since I have to pay to ship him to D.C., and Honey back here or to Florida.  Sigh . . . What a 'stupid-head' thing to do . . .

I think I'll now be HOLDING the boy-bits until I get them in the carrier from now on.
FML

Thursday, May 20, 2010

On past lives and old friends


I'm 48 years old.  For the past 2 years, I've been a stay at home kitty mom, and for the 4 years before that, I worked as an insurance adminstrator, running my husband's business.  However, from the time I got my first job in L&D at age 19,  until we moved back home in 2003, I worked full-time as a nurse, moving from obstetrics to critical care and then to the emergency room and flight nursing, with a seven year stint in nursing management thrown in for good measure.  In total 22 years as a nurse.  I met a lot of great people.

In a lot of ways, it seems like a different life.  Not better or worse, at least not in totality . . . I mean I certainly don't miss the brutal hours and physical work, but I have to admit to occasionally missing the blood, guts and adrenaline.  But, on days like today, what I find I miss is the people I came to know, and shared such an affinity with, in the trenches of healthcare. 

People like J. Alan Baker.  I first met Alan when he was working as a paramedic for Victoria EMS (way back in the day, when it was a seperate entity from the Fire Department) and I was a wet-behind-the-ears ICU nurse.  His sense of humor was torqued a little left of center, just like mine, and we got along great.  He did a stint as an ER tech, and I got to know him better, and always enjoyed his humor and compassion.  He went on to marry a fellow ER nurse, Debbie Binford-Baker, and for the better part of the last 20 years, they had a great love affair.  Alan became a college faculty member, teaching for years in the EMS program at VC.  He touched even more lives there, and everyone who had him as an instructor was a better medic because of him.   Including me.

We went our seperate ways and fell out of touch . . . I moved to San Antonio to work with AirLife.  Alan and Debbie relocated back to New Mexico, where she was originally from, and he went to work for PHI (Petroleum Helicopters, Inc) as a flight medic, and eventually their training coordinator.  I have no doubt he touched and saved many lives there, too.  The last time I saw Alan was about 3-4 years ago, a casual run-in at the mall.  I wish I had seen him since.

Alan died unexpectedly Wednesday morning.  He was only 52.  And the world is surely a poorer place for his passing.

So while I used to sign my name Leslie Bennetsen-Hurley, RN BSN CCRN CFRN CEN, EMT-P, and now I'm just plain 'Leslie', I think today, I'd like to sign as 'your friend' . . . because the people you come to know, even when you lose touch, still hold a place in your heart.

May all God's angels carry you gently Home, Alan.  You will be missed.
Your Friend,
Leslie

Monday, May 10, 2010

The Great iPad Chase

My wonderful hubby has been absolutely salivating over the Apple iPad, since before it was even officially announced, and as the launch date came and went, he just got more and more obsessed with it.  (Even I admit it looks like a pretty cool gadget.)  So since his birthday is coming up later this month, he's been all about getting one. 

Now, for a little background - Steve gets paid once a month, and since he's a commission sales guy, there's considerable variation in what exactly he does get paid.  Some months are good, some are pretty lean . . . but what they ALL have in common, is that by the 3rd week of the month (which coincidentally, is where his birthday falls) we're pretty much universally broke.  So when payday rolled around last Thursday, he was chomping at the bit to get his birthday present a little early.

We live in south Texas, about equi-distant from Houston, San Antonio and Austin.  There happen to be 5 Apple stores in Houston, 2 in San Antonio, and 2 in Austin.  How do I know this?  Well, because he's been calling them all compulsively.  And NONE had the iPad available.  So he was pumped when he called last Thursday evening (at 7:40pm) and was told that one of the stores in Austin had 'several' of them, and 'yeah, man, if you're here when we open tomorrow, you're golden', he was pretty excited.   

(A little more background:  My husband hates ordering things . . . his philosophy is that if they've got his money, he wants his product . . . NOW.  And secondly, it is apparently Apple's policy that they will absolutely not, never, ever, under pain of death, hold anything for anybody, anyhow or any why you cut it.)

So we got up with the chickens last Friday AM, and headed out to Austin, a little over 2 hours from here.  Steve was Mr. Happy Man the whole way there.  'Jaunty' is the word that comes to mind to describe him.  We arrived at the Apple store at Barton Creek Mall at exactly 10am, and were just about the 1st folks in the store.  So it was a little surprising when he asked for the iPad, and they laughed at him.  "No, man, we're sold out of those."  Really, REALLY??!!??!!??!!   And you couldn't share this over the phone before we drove over 2 freaking hours?  That's a customer friendly policy, alright. 

So he begged and pleaded, and no luck.  Then one friendlier guy offered that they might be getting a shipment in later that day, between 11am-1pm, and if we could hang around until 1pm, when it should be there, he could be on a reserve list for one.  Well, OK.  So he gives them his email and phone number, and is told he'll be on a list for an iPad at both Austin locations. 

OK, it's Austin.  I love Austin.  I can happily kill a few hours here.   I thought . . . except I didn't take into account that my formerly happy-go-lucky hubby was going to morph into his alter ego 'Grumpy Man'. 

He was pretty good though the 1st stop at a Michael's so I could peruse their beads.  By the time we headed to the 2nd stop at Bead It Austin, the good humor was wearing mightly thin around the edges.  For instance, traffic in Austin, TX is probably about the worst in the state . . . it's not the biggest city in Texas by a long shot, but it's probably the one with the poorest infrastructure in place for handling the amount of traffic it has.  Put that together with the fact the state's largest university and it's accompanying gazillion students are on the road there, and the general 'fuck it' attitude of many Austin drivers (reference the gazillion students) and it's not the best place to be driving when you're mildly homicidal anyways. 

I didn't kiss the ground when I got out of the truck at Bead It, but I did briefly consider it.  I passed only because I'm fat and arthritic, not because I didn't think it was a worthwhile endeavor.

So while I was happily pooring over all those wonderful beads (and avoiding dealing with Grumpy Man, who was obsessively checking his email for a notification that his very own personal iPad had arrived on his iPhone) Steve just stewed in his own juices.   I came out of the store, to find his cousin had just texted him with attached picture of him (cousin Paul) with his very own new iPad . . . the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, even if it did eventually turn out to be a joke, with him just yanking Steve's chain.

By the time I'd completed my purchases, he'd worked up a pretty good pity party.   It was about 12:15 by that time, and he was just SURE they weren't going to have an iPad for him.   So we headed south to the world's largest Disc Golf store (no shit, even though it's tiny, it really is the largest specialty disc golf store) which is on Slaughter Lane, on the far south side of Austin.  Which is the way we'd be heading to go home anyway. 

Steve had promised me a nice lunch in Austin, but Grumpy Man was driving, so I was starting to look at Sonic and Mickey D's like they were serving manna by this time.  I just sighed and decided I'd force him to stop for something on the way home. 

So we got to Disc Nation, and I stayed in the truck, while Steve/Grumpy Man went in.  By this time, I was ready to go to Silicon Valley and build him an iPad myself.  Feeling that wasn't really a time effective solution, I pulled out my iPhone and started calling around.  It only took me 15 minutes to get through to a human at the Barton Creek Apple store, who told me that no, they hadn't gotten any iPads in today.  Dammit.   He gave me the number to the Apple store at The Domain, a very ritzy development in north Austin.  I called them.  Lucky me, I was only the 7th caller in line (and had my place announced to me every 60 seconds from then on).  About this time, Grumpy Man came back to the truck, sans purchase at the Disc Golf store, a sure sign he was in a truly pissy mood.  By this time it was after 1pm, and there was still no notification that the shipments had arrived or that he was going to get an iPad.  Picture a toddler on Christmas day, who comes downstairs to find Santa has forgotten to stop at his house.  I'll just summarize as 'not a happy camper' and leave it at that.  So we headed home . . . or tried to, as the traffic required a U-turn to get headed in the right direction, and he made one, cussing the whole way.

Stil on hold 25 minutes later (no shit, I really did time them) an actual human from the Apple store at The Domain did get on the phone, and tell me well, yes, they did have iPads in stock.  HALLELUJAH!!!  And no, she could neither hold one for me, nor could she tell me how many.  Even after I explained the whole 2.5 hour drive, mislead by other store, hubby's birthday, yada yada yada.  She seem supremely unimpressed that Grumpy Man was now in charge.

So we try to head back north to The Domain . . . I say try, because by this time we were headed south on I-35 (Satan's own little stretch of Hell on earth) back towards home.  We finally get to an open exit (I-35 has been under construction my entire life) and get headed back north in the right direction.  We blew along at 75mph for oh, about 90 seconds, before coming to a screeching halt in typical Austin/I-35 traffic.   As we inched along, Steve was practically vibrating over the steering wheel.  I tried calling the Apple store again.  This time I was only the 2nd caller in line . . . waaahhoooo!  I got a very nice young man on the line, and gave him the whole spiel again.  No dice, they will NOT hold anything.  Not even if I give you my credit card number and you just go ahead run it now?  Now about for my first born?  I considered offering sexual favors, but just figured I'd be turned down anyways.  Nope, no how, no way, except getting there in person. 

"Well, we're stuck in traffic on I-35".  He actually laughed . . . I'm guessing that wasn't the first time he'd heard that one.  But he did give me great directions for the quickest way to get there, and even where to park the closest, etc.

We finally get through the worst of the traffic, just by virtue of getting off I-35 and onto US 183.  Fifteen minutes later, we're pulling into the parking lot at The Domain. 

Now at this point, you would think we'd be home free.  Not so much.  The Domain is still under construction in some areas.  Think poor signage and lots of detours/blocked routes.  We can't even find the right parking garage.  Eventually we did, and then half the routes through it at blocked off, so we can't park where he told us to.  We eventually found a parking place and hot footed it towards the area I thought we should be going.  OH, GLORY!  I spy an Apple logo!!!

We get in the store.  It was packed wall to wall.  I thought Steve was going to come unglued.  We finally get to a sales associate, who directs us over to talk to the ONE employee in the store who seems to be capable of getting an iPad for us, and who coincidentally has about 12 people in front of us in a line to speak with him.  They're sold out of the cheaper one.  I absolutely didn't care.  If they'd told me it was a million dollars, and I'd had a million dollars to spend I would have bought it.  With a smile even.  Fortunately, it was a mere $699.  What the hell . . . we'll eat macaroni and ramen for the rest of the month. 

Thirty minutes later, we were the pround owners of an iPad.  By this time it was 2:30.  Grumpy Man was gone, and my sweetie was back.  I made him take me to Pappadeaux's for a late lunch.  The email telling him he had an iPad on reserve arrived around 4pm, just after we started home. 

Timing is everything.  And it is a really, REALLY cool gadget.