Monday, November 9, 2015

How To Shake Hands In Texas

So not much has happened since I last wrote.

Unless you consider Porter quitting his job at Goldman Sachs, starting grad school at Baylor University, and moving us to Texas an eventful couple of months, there isn't much else to report.

I decided to sit down and write today because I wanted to add one more thing for the internet to be mad at. If taking up arms against the new Starbuck's cup isn't doing it for you, I promise to continue to be here with my politically incorrect and shameless adaptations of our one-arm tales. So let's get this ball rolling.

Like previously mentioned, Porter is getting his graduate degree at BU. Yes it is the same Baylor University that is ranked #4 in the country. It is convenient to be here when BYU broke my heart in week 3 of the season. I'm also pretty pumped about having College GameDay here. Look for us on ESPN this weekend.

Back to the story. Porter was meeting with a professor when the head of the department walked in. He and Porter had not previously met, so Porter stood up as he walked into the room. Naturally, the department head stuck out his hand to shake Porter's. That's when all hand-shaking h*** broke loose.

Upon seeing the outstretched *right hand in front of him, Porter awkwardly turned to shake with his left. Apparently the whole encounter wasn't transparent enough, because the department head decided to teach Porter a lesson in manners.

Department head: "Son, in Texas we shake with our right hand!"

Ah, yes. In Texas they do shake with their right hand. So does the rest of America, sir. (I include "sir" because that's what we say here. I even say ma'am now too. #polite)

The professor practically jumped out of his chair attempting to somehow catch the word vomit that came out of the department head's mouth. He failed.

Porter: "I would, but I don't have one."

And the Texas-sized ego was reduced...almost non-existant.

I have to bash on Texans now because I'm afraid we won't have many of these experiences here. The people are all ridiculously nice. Honestly. Good luck trying to convince me to leave this place.

Also, if you are a Fixer Upper fan, come visit us here in Waco. We can take you to Magnolia Farms (we live five minutes from their store) and we will personally introduce you to Chip and Joanna. And I can personally guarantee at least one of those things will actually happen.

Friday, July 17, 2015

People of Wal Mart

If you are anxious to read another really good one-arm story, you are in for a new kind of treat. This one is an older story (happened back when I was dating Porter), but it's a good one.

We were making our way to Loa for an Easter celebration. Let me tell you, until you have rolled eggs and had a subsequent battle with those hard-boiled puppies, you haven't celebrated Easter in a proper manner.

 Porter's mom calls us up and asks us to stop at Wal Mart to pick up some candy. You know, Cadbury eggs, Peeps, the works. Obviously, there was no resistance on our end. Candy shopping is the best kind of shopping.

We walked up and down the candy aisle several times before we felt like we had enough for the occasion. We made our way to the check-out line.

Standing in front of us was a young Mom. She had a baby tucked under her arm, another sitting in the cart screaming, and then two kids grabbing every item off the news stand. She looked exhausted and overwhelmed. It was one of those moments as an observer where you seriously consider never having children. A customer standing behind me also watching this episode muttered under his breath, "Sucks to be her."

She was getting ready to pay and make the long trek out to her car to load it all up. Her cart was stacked.

What happened next is something I will never forget.

Porter handed me his credit card and asked if I could buy our candy and meet him out at the car. I said I could manage that. He then turned to this stressed out Mom and offered to help. He pushed her groceries out, and with his one hand, I watched him load cases of water bottles, giant bags of flour, and millions of canned goods into her trunk.

There were probably ten other people standing in that line with two perfectly functioning hands. We all stood and watched that mom struggle. Yet the one who is looked at as "handicap" or "disabled" was the only to offer a helping hand, and he ironically only has one of those.

We had talked about marriage before, but in that moment I knew I had to snag him before anyone else had the chance to.

Little did I know that I would be a benificiary of thousands of those tiny acts of tender service.

He would be the one who would fill up my car with gas when I forgot it was low.
He would be the one to clean the dishes so I could relax after dinner for a little longer.
He would be the one to hold me, with the only arm he has, as I cried on the hospital floor after losing another baby.

I feel pretty lucky just to know him.

I don't think anyone is as grateful as me that you were born, Porter.

Happy birthday best friend,


Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Identifiable Information

So I can't sleep due to a recent panic attack. Before I get into how that went down, here is the back story:

I had a work party at the Lindon Aquatics Center. Porter had previously committed to do a speaking engagement, so I called up my sister-in-law to see if I could bring my niece with me in order to avoid looking like a total loser (plus she's rad, and I love her to pieces).

Around 6 o'clock this evening, I went down and picked up Mares. I talked to Porter on my way down and he seemed perfectly fine. Mares and I headed to the party and we had a grand time. She ate two giant snow cones (going for the 'Fun Aunt of the Year Award' over here) and we went around the lazy river probably ten times. She eventually got cold and we decided to head home.

A little after 8:30 p.m., the two of us stroll into the ladies' room so I can get her out of her wet suit and into her clothes. She quickly became fascinated with the hand dryer, so I let her play around with it. I could feel my phone vibrating in my bag, so I took it out and didn't recognize the number calling me. I ignored it and then checked my text messages. I had 6 of them. I don't even have 6 friends, so I was super excited. My excitement quickly turned to disappointment when I realized that 5 of them were from the number that had just called me and one was from my mom. (Not that I don't love texts from you mom, it just put a damper on that brief moment where I felt kind of popular)

I scrolled through the messages and learned that this person contacting me was the man who had organized for Porter to come speak. Turns out Porter hadn't shown up and he was over an hour late.

My thought process at this point:

1. Where in the crap is that kid?
2. I'm going to kill him if he blew this off.
3. That's so unprofessional.
4. I should probably stop Mares from unrolling all the toilet paper in that stall.
5. That's not really like Porter, he's always very on top of these things. He takes this inspirational business seriously.
6. We aren't in a drought are we? Because now Mary has turned on all the sinks in this bathroom.
7. If my bathroom toddler management skills are any sort of predictor of future parenting, I'm probably going to suck as a Mom.
8. What if something terrible happened to Porter?
9. OMG he's probably dead in a ditch somewhere.
10. Why did my parents move across the country? It's too late in D.C. to call my mom and find out what I'm supposed to do here.

I ended up calling Porter seven times in a row, despite this guy telling me he had already to contact him. The call would go straight to voice mail or ring for days. I then called my sister. Then Porter's sister. Then my brothers (not to find out where Porter was, but to see if we were still planning on hitting up that new Disney Pixar movie this weekend. We are totes still on). I text Porter's friends. I didn't really know what else to do, so I packed up my favorite teeny tot and we headed to Provo.

On our way home, my stomach started to churn. Something HAD to be wrong. There was literally no other explanation. I pulled over to the side of the road and decided to call the police.

I should add that I haven't exactly had positive experiences with the law here in Utah. Granted, my interaction with them has been limited (this being my second encounter, you can read about the West Valley City Police Department and all their glory first if you would will probably enhance your experience reading this post). Also important to note, I am extremely grateful for the men and women who risk their lives to protect us. Unfortunately, these stressful times dealing with police make much better stories, so that's why I'm writing about it.

I looked up random phone numbers for the Salt Lake City Police Department since that's the last known place Porter would have been. This wasn't an emergency, so I tried some random number.

Random PD Lady: "Hello, Salt Lake Police Department. How may I direct your call?"

Me: "I actually don't really know. I can't get a hold of my husband who works up in Salt Lake. He was supposed to speak at an event tonight and didn't show up. He's not answering his phone. Is there any way I can find out if his car has been involved in an accident or anything like that?"

Random PD Lady: "Can you tell me the address of where he works?"

Me: "Ummm, I don't actually know it (minus 5 wifey points for not knowing this). He works for Goldman Sachs. Is there anyway you can look that up?"

Random PD Lady: "Sure. So is it Goldman as in G-O-L-D-M-A-N and Sachs as in S-A-C-K-S?"

I literally laughed out loud. I know, it's immature, but really? Goldman SACKS? I sort of wanted her to look that up. Imagine the pornographic search results. Freaking hilarious. Wait, my husband could be dead, time to be an adult.

Me: "No, it's Sachs as in S-A-C-H-S." Hahaha, sacks.

Random PD Lady: "Ooohhhh (giggle), I found that address."

At this point, I'm super confused as to why we are looking up Porter's address. Can she help me get in touch with someone he works with? Because I literally don't even know the name of his boss...

Me: "I'm getting pretty worried, is there like a missing person alert I could do or something?"

Random PD Lady: "Of course, just call the non-emergency dispatch."

Ok, great. Should have done that to start, but I'm an idiot. Now I call the non-emergency dispatch. I will skip the pleasantries and get right into it our convo.

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "When was the last time you saw your  husband?"

Me: "Well technically not since last night. He sort of works a crazy schedule."

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Do you know what he is wearing?"

Me: "I don't, but he would be in a dress shirt and slacks. I don't know if that helps."

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Can you provide a physical description?"

I so badly just wanted to say, "Yeah, he's ridiculously good looking." But I withheld. Once again I have to remind myself that this is serious and Porter could be really hurt.

Me: "Yes, he's white. He's about 6'1'' and 180 lbs. He has dark hair and blue eyes. He's also missing his right arm, I probably should have led with that. It's like completely gone, so there isn't a nub or anything. Nubs kind of freak me out, but his is a clean cut at the shoulder."

I can feel the word vomit at this point, so I stop there.

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Ok, great. Any identifiable information?"

Are you serious right now? How many dark haired, blue eyed guys with only ONE ARM are out there? That's about as identifiable as you can freaking get! I'm sure she probably has a script or something she is following, but usually that information stands out.

Me: "Is only having one arm not identifiable enough?"

I probably should have been more kind, but I was legit on the verge of a panic attack now. Mary is singing "Let It Go" in the back seat, and it's about the only thing keeping me calm at this point.

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Well that could help, but does he have any scars or tattoos?"

That could help? You are trying to tell me that a tramp stamp would be more helpful than the fact that he only has 3/4's of his limbs?! Now I'm getting sassy. To her credit, she was seriously being so nice and trying to keep me calm, but I wasn't  having it anymore.

Me: "Well he has a scar on his head, but that's covered by his hair. He has another thick one on his neck, but he is probably in a collared shirt and a tie. He's also probably in slacks, so you won't be able to see the long one down the back of his calf."

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Ok, well we will focus on the missing arm in this case then."


Me: "Great, so what do we do now?"

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "I need you to gather a couple of photos of your husband. An officer will be contacting you soon. You may want to call around to hospitals to see if he has been admitted for some reason."

Is this real life? Porter can't really be hurt. I have no idea what I would do with myself if something happened to him. Mary and I continue on our way back home. I rolled up to the Golding residence and immediately ask my brother-in-law, Dale, if he had heard from Porter. Nothing. I go inside and ask Mo if she had heard from him. Nothing.

Now the panic really starts to set in. Shout out to Mo right here because she stayed completely calm and immediately got on the phone. I started calling hospitals in and around Salt Lake. The answer was consistent, no Porter Ellett had been admitted. Mo was trying to get a hold of people who also work at Goldman Sachs.

I'm on the phone with yet another hospital when Porter starts to call. I hesitated for a second, preparing myself for a random person on the other end of the line telling me something tragic has happened.

Except the exact opposite happens. I answer, only to hear Porter laughing.

"I'm totally fine," he tells me, "I got lost trying to find where I was supposed to meet this group out here in the middle of nowhere so I didn't have service."

You mean to tell me that you have just been driving around for hours, lost, and didn't think to notify anyone? I have single-handedly (no pun intended) instilled unnecessary fear in our loved ones lives because you didn't pull over to a gas station and ask to use a land-line or something?

Now that I knew he was alive, I wanted to kill him. I can't do that though, investigators would be able to identify him too quickly for me to get away with it. Those blasted identifiable scars would give it all away.

Until next time,


Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Dime Piece

Haven't updated in a while because my life is so overwhelmingly glamorous I just can't find the time anymore.

And by glamorous, I mean Porter works a lot (blast those ridiculous hours spent working at Goldman Sachs) so we haven't had too many stories to report. BUT we did get to see each other for 5 whole days in April. It was pure magic.

It was on our little extended weekend getaway that I posted this picture to Insta/FB.

First of all, I need to disclose just how creepy Facebook is. One day, I'm scrollin' through my feed when I notice a Nike ad. It featured the above t-shirt. How the crap did Facebook know that my husband only wears Nike, has one arm, and that he loves shooting hoops? And we all thought face recognition was scary...

Getting off track. Sorry. So, I see this shirt and I immediately purchase it. Obvi. I thought it was hilarious. Because it is.

Well my favorite blog troll doesn't find my sense of humor appealing for some bizarre reason. If you are unfamiliar with our frequent hater, you are going to want to read this post as well.

I get an email/fb message nearly every time I post. Since we were on our anniversary trip, I totally forgot about an exchange the two of us had.

Fortunately, I documented it.

Well after that, the troll left me alone for a bit. But then my mom posted this picture:

Pretty innocent, no? Just a little family outing with my cute siblings and our favorite teeny tike.

The troll got pissed for a new reason:

I get asked about this crazy a lot, so I figured I better provide you with an update and a reason to smile.

Until next time,


Thursday, February 12, 2015

Sleep Talkin'

For someone who only has ¾’s of his limbs, Porter sure knows how to hog our bed and keep me from ever getting a good night’s sleep.

Porter and I never slept in the same room until we were married. Had I ever been present for one of Porter’s nightly routines, I might not have married him.

 **Boy you best be grateful for those Mormon standards right about now**

Jokes. I still would have.

Homie flails that one arm of his all night and screams at the top of his lungs in his sleep.

Over the summer, I woke up with tears in my eyes and covered in blood from Porter swinging his arm into my nose in the middle of the night. I thought I had cleaned it all up, but the next morning he informed me I still had remnants of the attack on my face.

“Hey Car, did you have a bloody nose or something last night?” he asks me when we wake up.

No, your brick of an arm swatted the crap out of my face. #ThanksFoAxin

Today I write this post out of sheer sleep-deprived frustration.

I wake up at 4 a.m. every morning, so each second of precious slumber is invaluable.  

Last night, Porter decided to dream about coaching. I guess Dean Smith’s passing has taken an emotional toll on this poor Tar Heels fan.

I woke up at 12:34 a.m. to him screaming at me to “get down the court and put a body on their big man.”

At first I giggled because my husband had just told me to go put my body on a big man. Fine. If you say so, honey, I can make that happen. LaMarcus Aldridge anyone?

I rolled to the edge of the bed, the only piece of it I get at night, and eventually fell asleep.

About an hour later, I wake up to him screaming, “Why are you afraid to draw contact??”

Ummm, so you want me to draw contact with someone now? If Kyle Korver is guarding me, I’ll take you up on that. (THAT SMIRK THO)


Despite that being my second interruption of the night, I decided to let it go.

You know what one of the most annoying things in the world is?

Waking up like 10 minutes before your alarm goes off. You can’t really fall back to sleep, so now you are just out 10 extra minutes of deep sleep.

Porter’s coaching dream must have lasted all night because just a few minutes before I would have to get out of bed, he yelled, “Is that all you got?”

I was so pissed.

Yeah Coach Porter, it’s all I got because I’m running on like 2.5 hours of sleep.

Until next time,