Sunday, June 8, 2008

A Blast From My Past

WooHoo! It's Sunday evening, and I don't have to work tomorrow! I loves me some summertime. So much for whipping my new blog home into shape. It can wait, by cracky!

I have run out of scathingly brilliant ideas. The well has run dry. So has the pond in the pasture where the Oreo cows live. They are on our way to town, the Oreo cows. They are black at the head and butt, with a thick white stripe around their belly area. They are double stuff Oreo cows. One was in the road the other day, having rolled under the fence, happily munching grass along where the road's shoulder would be if our roads had a shoulder. Why he couldn't stand in the grass, I don't know. That's one of the perks about living in the middle of nowhere--you never know what you might find when you round that blind curve, or crest a hill. Some days, it's the front end of a dually pick-up truck coming at you. Other days, it's a beast with four stomachs.

Because I have no imagination today, I see no reason to punish you. So I'll treat you to one of my golden oldies. Or moldy oldies. Today, I bring you one from my very first blog, the Redneck Review. You be the judge of whether I have improved over the past 4 blogs. But don't feel like you have to tell me.


Thursday, July 21, 2005


Sit down, buckle up, and prepare for a rant.

I am a lazy slug in the summer. I stay up until 2:00 or 3:00 am, and
on good days I am up by 9:00 am to watch ER reruns on TBS.
Yesterday was not a good day.

At 9:10 am, #2 son came into my bedroom. He usually sleeps until
10:00. He slept on the living room couch last night, because he can.
We don't care about bedtimes in the summer, and he stays up late.
He was in his pajamas (which he insists on wearing inside-out), and
rubbing his eyes. "There is someone on the porch, and I saw
someone walking in the yard."

WHAT? We live a mile up a gravel road. At the entrance to this
gravel road is a sign about 3 feet by 3 feet that proclaims: Private
Road. Trespassers will be prosecuted. That means, people, that
we don't want your trash dumped on our property. It means that
we pay for our own road upkeep, and don't want you using our
2.5 miles of gravel to cut 7 miles off your daily drive. Our roads
are maintained by our hard-earned dollars, not your county
taxes. And we haven't notice you kicking in your $200 every
winter for gravel and tractor gas. We don't want to adopt your
discarded pets. We don't want to host your underage beer parties,
or to provide the guest of honor for your mailbox-bashing sprees.
So JUST KEEP OUT!!! And that especially means SALESMEN!
And anybody planning to chop me up and put me in a 55-gallon
barrel. (Thank your mama, Redneck Diva, for giving me this
new phobia).

I huffed out of bed, made myself crack-of-the-door presentable,
and traipsed through the living room after #2 son. He put his face
to the glass panel at the side of the door and announced, "He's
still here."

Now what kind of person keeps standing at the door when
nobody answers? He never rang the doorbell--not even once.
And that is the one thing around this house that works. The kids
ring it all the time when they are hankerin' for a trip to spankytown.
#2 said the guy knocked on the door, and that woke him up. So
I guess he had been standing there for at least 5 minutes. He was
probably perusing the yard for kid toys to help his sales pitch.

I opened the door a crack, and there's this kid about 20-25 years
old with a clipboard. "Are you the lady of the house?" Yeah, what
other haggard hag would drag herself to the door to deal with him?
I wanted to say, "No, I am this week's ho. The wife is really ugly."
He started his spiel, "I'm a college student and I'm trying to earn

"We're not interested." I started to close the door. He took a
step closer and continued. Then I was really ticked, and I said,
"How did you even get in here? This is a private road. We don't
want any salesmen." Then I slammed the door. I guess he left.
I didn't look out to give him another chance.

Last year another guy from this company was here, and the year
before that a different one. They are persistent and don't want to
take "NO!" for an answer. One year I actually went out and
stood on the front porch with one, and when he saw I wasn't
buying anything, he turned to #1 son, who was in 2nd grade.
He started asking him wouldn't he like to read about dinosaurs,
and trains, etc. #1 told him, "No. I'm into computers." The
nerve of that guy, trying to manipulate me into buying something
using my kid! I asked him how he got up in here to solicit on a
private road. He seemed to think it was OK, because a neighbor
had "recommended" us. Then he tried to pump me for information
on the next house up the road from me. No way.

I understand that people have to make a living. That does not
give them the right to make their own rules. Private means
private. I does not mean everybody but you, keep out.
There are plenty of houses in town where you can peddle
your wares. That's one of the reasons we moved out here.
What with the Mormons parking their bicycles in the yard and
wanting to sit a spell, and the Jehovah's Witnesses hawking
the Watchtower, and the van full of kids selling cleaning supplies
one week and magazines the next, and the Sheriff's Deputies
trying to serve warrants on people who didn't live there anymore,
and the traveling health team wanting to suck our child's blood
to test for lead.....I pretty much needed a butler to answer my
door all summer. Now I want my privacy.

Disclaimer: I have nothing against the Mormons or Jehovah's
Witnesses. This is their way of spreading their Word, and
they are just doing what they have to do. And they know the
meaning of the phrase 'Private Road.' My mother used
to invite them in and chat for an hour or so. They stopped
coming back.


  • At 7:46 AM, Blogger Misha said…
    Salespeople are evil. Yes, they have to make a living somehow, and there are some nice salespeople out there. But more than often we come across the ones who go to great lengths to make a sale. It's ridiculous that even when you politely tell them that you're not interested, they will still keep grilling you about their deal anyway. Jerks.

    What you need is a savage dog on your property. I hear they are very effective.
  • At 9:21 AM, Blogger Rebecca said…
    Hi Hillbilly Mom,
    Don't worry about a dog, just set the goldfish water onto them.
  • At 10:24 AM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…
    We adopted out dog from the Humane Society when he was a puppy. He barks at Hillbilly Husband, snakes, turtles, and nothing. When a stranger comes, he wags his tail. Useless fleabag!

    To throw goldfish water on them, I would have to touch the goldfish water. No thank you. I prefer to keep all of my fingers so I can continue with my mediocre posts.
  • At 1:07 PM, Blogger Redneck Diva said…
    My husband has a psychopathic uncle who has sworn to murder us all before he dies, therefore when strange vehicles come up our 1/10 of a mile driveway, the house goes into panic mode and I start loading my 9mm. Peddlers, solicitors, Jehovah's Witnesses, fruit salesmen and the guy that serves us with 48 hour cut-offs on the electric are met at the door by me, usually in my pajamas, wielding a rather nasty looking handgun. Heh, even when I realize it's not the crazy uncle, I still wield the gun. Strangely, we don't get too many repeat offenders.
  • At 1:46 PM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…
    There's an idea. There is certainly no shortage of guns around this house.



Stewed Hamm said...

If the guy was *that* pushy, you should have recommended that he visit The Shootist. That's a week's worth of blogging right there.

Hillbilly Mom said...

You've just given me an idea for a rerun.

Hillbilly Mom said...

I seem to have deleted your latest comment into NoMansLand. Here's the best I can do after the fact:

Tue, Jun 10, 2008 at 1:09 AM
Stewed Hamm has left a new comment on your post "A Blast From My Past":

I've been called a purveyor of far worse things in my time, so I'm glad to help.