Little boys do not make good floor sweepers. I don't mean using them like that fluffy white dog and a dustpan on that one commercial. If you tell a boy to sweep the kitchen floor, he will sweep stuff out from under the table and cutting block, and away from the baseboards, and distribute it evenly throughout the kitchen, so that when you walk through, you can pick up clumps of stuff on the soles of your feet. Without even trying! While wearing socks!
Did you know the iPhone is a snob? An elitist? Here's a fact. If you call AT&T and those iPhone people, they will tell you that you can merely trade SIM cards and the iPhone will work. You can take a nonworking iPhone to the AT&T store, and they will give you a new SIM card, and still tell you it will work. But it won't work. You know why? Huh? Anybody? Buehler? It won't work unless you have a credit card to activate the iTunes thingy. Yep. Even though everybody has assured you that it will work, they neglect to tell you that you cannot activate the iPhone without a credit card. Even if you already have a valid pay-as-you-go plan. "How do you know this, Wise Old Hillbilly Mom?" you may ask. Because the #1 son made a deal to sell his old iPhone to a lad at church for $200, and use that money as part of his payment on his new iPhone which is taking over 10 days to ship. The 17-year-old lad of course has no credit card, and earned his money mowing lawns all summer, and only wants his 'new' iPhone to work. The #1 son called those fakers again and told them how it worked up to the activation part, and THEN they mentioned that a credit card was needed. Now the boys are up to some jailbreaking shenanigans to get this contraption to work. Meanwhile, the hardworking lad leaves for vacation tomorrow, and will not have his iPhone. Nor will he have the Razr he had bought just before the iPhone deal, because he took it back for a refund to buy the iPhone. This is why the working man can't have nice things. The snobs keep him down.
I hate road construction. All four locations that are blocking my way to town.
HH needs Nanny Jo to put him on the naughty chair and be stern with him. I have grown tired of his antics.
One of these things has given me a headache: sweeping, iPhone, construction, HH. You be the judge.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
In The Eye
We just had a spate of bad weather. The kind with rotating winds, which was noticed 6 miles east of town and headed this way at 25 mph. That was at 4:59. Just before the electricity flickered, and killed my New Delly, Gamey, and the microwave clock. Now we're having a brief respite while Rolla gets the goods.
The Pony and I were in our basement lair anyway. We whipped out the weather radio for more info. HH had just left work and stopped for a PowerBall ticket. He declared that he looked south, and the weather looked OK, so he was coming home. Duh. He drove right through the area where people were warned to take cover in a basement or interior room, and if unable to find shelter, lie in a ditch. Not HH. He merrily putted along the highway, and declared that all he encountered was 'light rain the whole way'. That man ain't right. He would stick his hand into an inferno and say, "That's nice and warm. Where's my hand?"
I'll be brief tonight, so I can put New Delly to sleep in a normal slumber, which is different than being whacked over the head with a tree limb.
At least I don't have to worry about hurricanes or floods or wildfires.
The Pony and I were in our basement lair anyway. We whipped out the weather radio for more info. HH had just left work and stopped for a PowerBall ticket. He declared that he looked south, and the weather looked OK, so he was coming home. Duh. He drove right through the area where people were warned to take cover in a basement or interior room, and if unable to find shelter, lie in a ditch. Not HH. He merrily putted along the highway, and declared that all he encountered was 'light rain the whole way'. That man ain't right. He would stick his hand into an inferno and say, "That's nice and warm. Where's my hand?"
I'll be brief tonight, so I can put New Delly to sleep in a normal slumber, which is different than being whacked over the head with a tree limb.
At least I don't have to worry about hurricanes or floods or wildfires.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The Horror
The summer is almost over! I refuse to think about it. But I'm going to work next week to get things ready before we officially have to report to get things ready. That's because all of our getting-ready time will be taken up with things like a grand breakfast in which my table is always in the section that goes last, and guest speakers who wear out their welcome, and meetings in which we are informed of another 100 items that we will be expected to accomplish in addition to those we have barely found time to do by staying after school every day until 5:00.
You heard me, right? I will be spending Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in my classroom. Ha ha! ROOM, not rooms! It certainly could be worse. Yes, I am giving my own time to prepare in an effort to maintain my sanity the first actual week of school. I'm only staying until 12:00, though. And I'm not going Thursday because that's the day the kids pick up their schedules, and I'm not sitting in my room like it's some freakin' Open House so they can drop by and chat. No. Just no. Friday will be just as bad, because it will be kids who 'didn't know' about schedules Thursday, so they came a day late.
My Math Buddy from Lower Basementia is bringing her son out to the Mansion to swim and do manly activities with the #1 son on Tuesday or Wednesday. Mabel, you are welcome to join us at Poolioside if you so desire. Not that I will be swimming, mind you. The deck will be in the shade by 2:00. Math Buddy will have to follow me out here, what with the bridge-building making the Mansion more difficult to find than the Crystal Skull.
I HAVE to return to work on August 11. At least that's what my calendar says. I have not received an official welcome-back letter yet. The students return August 14.
I can't believe the new school year is almost over. ;)
You heard me, right? I will be spending Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in my classroom. Ha ha! ROOM, not rooms! It certainly could be worse. Yes, I am giving my own time to prepare in an effort to maintain my sanity the first actual week of school. I'm only staying until 12:00, though. And I'm not going Thursday because that's the day the kids pick up their schedules, and I'm not sitting in my room like it's some freakin' Open House so they can drop by and chat. No. Just no. Friday will be just as bad, because it will be kids who 'didn't know' about schedules Thursday, so they came a day late.
My Math Buddy from Lower Basementia is bringing her son out to the Mansion to swim and do manly activities with the #1 son on Tuesday or Wednesday. Mabel, you are welcome to join us at Poolioside if you so desire. Not that I will be swimming, mind you. The deck will be in the shade by 2:00. Math Buddy will have to follow me out here, what with the bridge-building making the Mansion more difficult to find than the Crystal Skull.
I HAVE to return to work on August 11. At least that's what my calendar says. I have not received an official welcome-back letter yet. The students return August 14.
I can't believe the new school year is almost over. ;)
Sunday, July 27, 2008
A New Addition
The Mansion has a new resident. He's 5' 8" tall, 36" wide, and lives in our kitchen. His name is Frigidaire. Only one name for this cool cat. If it's good enough for Fabio, Madonna, Cher, Coolio, Bono, Sting, Prince, Oprah, and Liberace, it's good enough for Frigidaire.
HH is now swapping out my small pantry to make Frig more comfortable at the end of Cabinet Row. I am afraid to watch. The #1 son is helping. The Pony and I are hiding in the basement.
It was time to get rid of our old houseguest. He had become incontinent. I was tired of putting a towel under his bottom every day. It goes without saying (but I feel the need to say it anyway) that HH's exploratory surgery on him was less than a success. Thank the Gummi Mary there was no malpractice suit. I think he was a bit addled after that expired can of biscuits (buttermilk!) blew his brains out. The old houseguest, not HH. The scar was quite pronounced every time his door was opened. He's on the porch now. Isn't that where all hillbilly appliances live out their days? At least we gave away our old couch, sparing me the embarrassment of an unsightly porch couch. I made sure that the old refrigeration unit was on the SIDE porch, not the front porch. HH says he is moving to the garage, but I don't want the leaky old gent in there. He's nearing the end of his second decade. HH can fix him and put him in the BARn if he so desires.
4:11 p.m. Whew! The replacement is now complete! HH and the boy have even run a water connection to Frig, so he can dispense the elixir of life. And ICE!
Sometimes, HH is good for something.
HH is now swapping out my small pantry to make Frig more comfortable at the end of Cabinet Row. I am afraid to watch. The #1 son is helping. The Pony and I are hiding in the basement.
It was time to get rid of our old houseguest. He had become incontinent. I was tired of putting a towel under his bottom every day. It goes without saying (but I feel the need to say it anyway) that HH's exploratory surgery on him was less than a success. Thank the Gummi Mary there was no malpractice suit. I think he was a bit addled after that expired can of biscuits (buttermilk!) blew his brains out. The old houseguest, not HH. The scar was quite pronounced every time his door was opened. He's on the porch now. Isn't that where all hillbilly appliances live out their days? At least we gave away our old couch, sparing me the embarrassment of an unsightly porch couch. I made sure that the old refrigeration unit was on the SIDE porch, not the front porch. HH says he is moving to the garage, but I don't want the leaky old gent in there. He's nearing the end of his second decade. HH can fix him and put him in the BARn if he so desires.
4:11 p.m. Whew! The replacement is now complete! HH and the boy have even run a water connection to Frig, so he can dispense the elixir of life. And ICE!
Sometimes, HH is good for something.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Step Brothers
I'm a bit late tonight. HH and I went to see Step Brothers. I laughed my fool head off. It is rated 'R', perhaps for the 1001 times the F Bomb was deployed, or perhaps for the sight of a part of Will Ferrell that you never ever wanted to see. I'm hoping it was prosthetic. The #1 son wants to see it, but that ain't happenin' until he's 35. I mean he wants to see THE MOVIE, not 'it', which is how that sentence sounded.
Now I've piqued your interest, haven't I? I know that Will Ferrell is not everybody's cup of tea. Which reminds me of tea bag, which reminds me of that part I didn't want to see...but I digress. I'm not a big fan, and have not seen all of Mr. Ferrell's movies. But if you liked Blades of Glory, I think you'd like this one.
Disclaimer: Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not a professional movie reviewer, nor is she paid by the studio to promote this movie.
Now I've piqued your interest, haven't I? I know that Will Ferrell is not everybody's cup of tea. Which reminds me of tea bag, which reminds me of that part I didn't want to see...but I digress. I'm not a big fan, and have not seen all of Mr. Ferrell's movies. But if you liked Blades of Glory, I think you'd like this one.
Disclaimer: Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not a professional movie reviewer, nor is she paid by the studio to promote this movie.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Random Thought Thursday 7-24-08
Ping...dingdingding...sproing! Those are the sounds of the thoughts pinballing around in my head tonight. I've been waiting all week for Random Thought Thursday, and now I forgot what I had to say.
*********************************************************************
The mind is the first to go.
The Pony is feeling his oats. The usually ubertractable equine has been voicing his own opinion of late. He actually got his nose out of joint when I asked him to get up off the couch, where he lay in pajamas watching Atlantis, the Lost Empire. At 6:05 in the evening. All I wanted him to do was carry a glass of water down the stairs for me. He is a beast of burden, you know. When I called him on his horsey attitude, he stated, "You are interrupting my do-nothing-fest."
Cleaning out your pantry is for the birds. I went to get some Jiffy Corn Muffin mix 20 minutes before HH was due home, but alas, the cupboard was bare. I gave him the butt of The Devil's french bread that had been languishing in the cabinet since Monday instead.
That driller, Wayne, who runs the Viking rig on the oil-drilling show Black Gold, entrances me. Last night, he picked up a big ol' rattlesnake to show the camera, then said he hates to kill them, but he has to keep his crew safe. Next thing you see is Wayne putting away a six-inch pocket knife. And I thought he was just glad to see me.
I saw on the crawly writing at the bottom of FOX that some astronaut named Mitchell who walked on the moon for Apollo 14 told a British radio station that aliens have much more advanced technology than humans, and that if they wanted us dead, we would have been dead long ago. NASA released a statement that Mitchell is a fine American, but they do not share his views. And furthermore, NASA has never tracked UFOs or kept information secret.
Somebody needs to wash the dishes.
I despise a floggin' rooster. Wait a minute! No, I don't. That was Ruby Thewes in Cold Mountain. What I meant to say was, I despise Whoopi Goldberg. She has never made me laugh. Not one time in her whole career. Way back in the 80s she hosted Comedy Aid or some such charity big deal show full of comedians for the homeless. Billy Crystal, and perhaps Robin Williams, were the other two tri-hosts. I can't stand any of them. They are unfunny. And Robin Williams is hairy.
Though I am not a big fan of Will Farrell, the movie Step Brother looks like it could elicit several laughs from me.
That darn astronaut crawler reminded me of our new quest for a base on the moon. I just read something about it yesterday. Of course, if we really landed men on the moon during the Apollo missions, it should be no problem, right? Just dig out the blueprints for those rockets and rovers and modules and start a-buildin'. Am I right? Surely we can do it again, since we already did it several times without incident. Are you with me? Why should it take so long? The plans are there. The technology is much more advance than it was 39 years ago. Piece of cake! Right? Anybody? Believers? Conspiracy theorists? Anybody...
*********************************************************************
The mind is the first to go.
The Pony is feeling his oats. The usually ubertractable equine has been voicing his own opinion of late. He actually got his nose out of joint when I asked him to get up off the couch, where he lay in pajamas watching Atlantis, the Lost Empire. At 6:05 in the evening. All I wanted him to do was carry a glass of water down the stairs for me. He is a beast of burden, you know. When I called him on his horsey attitude, he stated, "You are interrupting my do-nothing-fest."
Cleaning out your pantry is for the birds. I went to get some Jiffy Corn Muffin mix 20 minutes before HH was due home, but alas, the cupboard was bare. I gave him the butt of The Devil's french bread that had been languishing in the cabinet since Monday instead.
That driller, Wayne, who runs the Viking rig on the oil-drilling show Black Gold, entrances me. Last night, he picked up a big ol' rattlesnake to show the camera, then said he hates to kill them, but he has to keep his crew safe. Next thing you see is Wayne putting away a six-inch pocket knife. And I thought he was just glad to see me.
I saw on the crawly writing at the bottom of FOX that some astronaut named Mitchell who walked on the moon for Apollo 14 told a British radio station that aliens have much more advanced technology than humans, and that if they wanted us dead, we would have been dead long ago. NASA released a statement that Mitchell is a fine American, but they do not share his views. And furthermore, NASA has never tracked UFOs or kept information secret.
Somebody needs to wash the dishes.
I despise a floggin' rooster. Wait a minute! No, I don't. That was Ruby Thewes in Cold Mountain. What I meant to say was, I despise Whoopi Goldberg. She has never made me laugh. Not one time in her whole career. Way back in the 80s she hosted Comedy Aid or some such charity big deal show full of comedians for the homeless. Billy Crystal, and perhaps Robin Williams, were the other two tri-hosts. I can't stand any of them. They are unfunny. And Robin Williams is hairy.
Though I am not a big fan of Will Farrell, the movie Step Brother looks like it could elicit several laughs from me.
That darn astronaut crawler reminded me of our new quest for a base on the moon. I just read something about it yesterday. Of course, if we really landed men on the moon during the Apollo missions, it should be no problem, right? Just dig out the blueprints for those rockets and rovers and modules and start a-buildin'. Am I right? Surely we can do it again, since we already did it several times without incident. Are you with me? Why should it take so long? The plans are there. The technology is much more advance than it was 39 years ago. Piece of cake! Right? Anybody? Believers? Conspiracy theorists? Anybody...
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Hillbilly Mom Is Apathetic
That's APATHETIC. Don't try twistin' my typin' for your own sordid jokes, people. I'm in the summer doldrums that settle over the Mansion when it's too darn close to back-to-school time.
There's nothing in the news that interests me much today. I don't care that aging hipster doofus Matthew McConagay (as called by Chelsea Handler) sold his baby-birthin' story to OK! magazine. Maybe he can use the profits to buy a shirt and some deodorant. Other things I don't care about, in no particular order, are:
*A baby bear called 'Li'l Smokey' who burned the soles off his feet in a wildfire
*The city of Chicago's big gun buy-back weekend, $100 per gun
*77-year-old syndicated columnist Bob Novak running over a pedestrian while driving his black Corvette to work in Washington
*Miley Cyrus auctioning a Red Carpet date
*Christian Bale whacking around the women in his family (allegedly)
*Estelle Getty's bucket-kicking
*The world's first unpregnant man's exclusive baby pictures in People magazine (take THAT, McConagay!)
*Kid Rock's $1000 fine for a fight in Waffle House
*iPhones are selling for $1000 on eBay
The only thing that halfway piqued my interest was that somebody tried to crash BObama's overseas party.
Thank the Gummi Mary, tomorrow is Random Thought Thursday.
There's nothing in the news that interests me much today. I don't care that aging hipster doofus Matthew McConagay (as called by Chelsea Handler) sold his baby-birthin' story to OK! magazine. Maybe he can use the profits to buy a shirt and some deodorant. Other things I don't care about, in no particular order, are:
*A baby bear called 'Li'l Smokey' who burned the soles off his feet in a wildfire
*The city of Chicago's big gun buy-back weekend, $100 per gun
*77-year-old syndicated columnist Bob Novak running over a pedestrian while driving his black Corvette to work in Washington
*Miley Cyrus auctioning a Red Carpet date
*Christian Bale whacking around the women in his family (allegedly)
*Estelle Getty's bucket-kicking
*The world's first unpregnant man's exclusive baby pictures in People magazine (take THAT, McConagay!)
*Kid Rock's $1000 fine for a fight in Waffle House
*iPhones are selling for $1000 on eBay
The only thing that halfway piqued my interest was that somebody tried to crash BObama's overseas party.
Thank the Gummi Mary, tomorrow is Random Thought Thursday.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
More Current Events With Mrs. HM
What's with this girl who 'lost' her toddler? Where is little Caylee? Beats me, seems to be the opinion of her mother and grandmother. I can not believe anything that the grandma says, either. Are we to believe that her 22-year-old daughter lives with her, and she never had an inkling that something was wrong when she hadn't seen her 2-year-old grandaughter in a month? Wouldn't YOU know that your grandbaby who lived with you was not sleeping in your house every night? What is with these people? And the first thing you do when your daughter says that the babysitter has her, is to get on MySpace and see if anybody knows anything? Give me a freakin' break! They are all covering something up. Including the daughter's attorney. Now the grandmother says to let out the daughter so she can help police find her daughter? Um...maybe she's not so good at that, since the child has been missing for A FREAKIN' MONTH! Don't give her bail. Lock her up and throw away the key. She has just been convicted in the court of public opinion by Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, judge, jury, and future executioner.
*********************************************************************
Poor guy fell down a well. Guess Baby Jessica's 21 years of fame are up. I saw this dude's rescue live on FOX. He was a big guy. How did he fit in an 18-inch pipe? They said he was butt first, jackknifed, with his elbows pressed against his knees, and couldn't move his appendages. Bummer. But how did he fall in? I wouldn't think he would be in that position unless he went in backwards. Hm...was there horseplay on the job site, and some joker pushed him? I bet we never find out. What's with these Texans and their wells?
**********************************************************************
John Edwards? John Edwards? Who knew he was such a Lothario? Not me! Can you believe he has a mistress and a love child? It must be true, people. It was in The National Enquirer. But I must confess that when I first read something about this on a gossip site (not cite or sight, mind you) that I thought it was about psychic John Edward. Some scandal about him being caught red-handed at a Beverly Hills hotel. At first, I thought he was faking his psychic readings. I mean faking them so bad he got caught. Then I thought maybe he was busted with a young boy. Not that I believe John Edward swings that way, or is a pedophile, but that something is a little bit off about him. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the man in question was Senator John Edwards.
********************************************************************
Sherri Shepherd, one of the looney tunes from The View, told a Black Christian women's magazine that once upon a time she was: " sleeping with a lot of guys and had more abortions than I would like to count . " To which commenters at a certain internet site wittily replied: "That's good, because if you have too many kids, they are hard to keep track of, and one might fall over the edge." And: "Sherri Shephard is a good person. Just last week, she donated $1200 to a New York school so they could buy flat globes for the classrooms." You see, Sherri is the one on The View who said she thought the world was flat.
*********************************************************************
If you are Britney Spears, it is probably not a good idea to think that your own back yard is private. So private that you can stand around in your bikini with your son and let him have a cigarette. Because somebody in a tree somewhere is going to catch sight of you, and sell your soul to the New York Post.
**********************************************************************
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Citing all the news that's not fit to print, but people print anyway, and tempt her into current events.
*********************************************************************
Poor guy fell down a well. Guess Baby Jessica's 21 years of fame are up. I saw this dude's rescue live on FOX. He was a big guy. How did he fit in an 18-inch pipe? They said he was butt first, jackknifed, with his elbows pressed against his knees, and couldn't move his appendages. Bummer. But how did he fall in? I wouldn't think he would be in that position unless he went in backwards. Hm...was there horseplay on the job site, and some joker pushed him? I bet we never find out. What's with these Texans and their wells?
**********************************************************************
John Edwards? John Edwards? Who knew he was such a Lothario? Not me! Can you believe he has a mistress and a love child? It must be true, people. It was in The National Enquirer. But I must confess that when I first read something about this on a gossip site (not cite or sight, mind you) that I thought it was about psychic John Edward. Some scandal about him being caught red-handed at a Beverly Hills hotel. At first, I thought he was faking his psychic readings. I mean faking them so bad he got caught. Then I thought maybe he was busted with a young boy. Not that I believe John Edward swings that way, or is a pedophile, but that something is a little bit off about him. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the man in question was Senator John Edwards.
********************************************************************
Sherri Shepherd, one of the looney tunes from The View, told a Black Christian women's magazine that once upon a time she was: " sleeping with a lot of guys and had more abortions than I would like to count . " To which commenters at a certain internet site wittily replied: "That's good, because if you have too many kids, they are hard to keep track of, and one might fall over the edge." And: "Sherri Shephard is a good person. Just last week, she donated $1200 to a New York school so they could buy flat globes for the classrooms." You see, Sherri is the one on The View who said she thought the world was flat.
*********************************************************************
If you are Britney Spears, it is probably not a good idea to think that your own back yard is private. So private that you can stand around in your bikini with your son and let him have a cigarette. Because somebody in a tree somewhere is going to catch sight of you, and sell your soul to the New York Post.
**********************************************************************
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Citing all the news that's not fit to print, but people print anyway, and tempt her into current events.
Monday, July 21, 2008
HM Is The Word Police
I have noticed a disturbing trend. People are suffering from lack of reading. They do not know the proper spellings of words, or how to use them in context. I blame this on their lack of reading for pleasure. The more you read, the bigger your vocabulary. It's true. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom says so. Kids these days, and back through Generation Y and Generation X, don't read for fun. They read (if the teacher is lucky) what is assigned in school. They read text messages. Perhaps they read MySpace. But they are not getting the exposure to words that they need to appear literate on the innernets. I know that's not spelled right. I'm doing it for effect. Not affect. Which brings up another reason for this appearance of lax literacy: SpellCheck. If the word is really a word, it gets through. We need ContextCheck. Let's get a software developer on that right away. It probably exists already. I'm just saying that for effect. Not affect.
Sure, this is the place where you read about Betty, the famous author who just died (but turned out to be Katherine Hepburn, the actress, who died two years before). That was HH's doing. He's not a reader. I confess to calling Tiki Barber the football player 'KiKi'. But only 3 out of 4 times that I referred to him. I also confess to referencing the famous painter, Sidney Pollack. I KNEW his first name was Jackson. I have no idea what possessed my fingers to type 'Sidney'. But at least I know what I've done wrong.
Let me share with you some jarring massacre-age of the English language. Oh, and it doesn't apply to ME, because I often like to create my own words for effect. Not affect. Just like some of my wacky punctuation and sentence fragments. They're for effect. Not affect.
*********************************************************************
The first four examples are brought to you by BObama's commenters on his official website. You know, the highly-educated voters he claims, while rejecting those religious gun-clingers.
*That is a mute point. [At least it's quiet.]
*We're waiting for the next attack to come down the pipe. [Eww. That doesn't sound good.]
*His people are not even being surveyed. They are young and use cell phones and are not in the phone book. They don't even have Lan lines for surveyors to call them on. [That means I'm old. They called me on my land line.]
*If he gets more than that, it will be just icy on the cake. [Call me crazy, but I prefer ICING on MY cake. Which reminds me of a joke: Two inmates at the insane asylum were fertilizing the strawberry patch. The first asked the second one, a new arrival whose hobbies included gardening, "Do you put manure on your strawberries?" The second replied, "Well, I prefer sugar on mine, but I'm crazy." Oh, my. That's a bit politically incorrect. My apologies.]
BUT THERE ARE MORE...
*Her proudest accomplishment is leaving home, moving to California by herself not knowing a sole. (CBS Big Brother bio page) [So the fish in the Big Brother fish tank are truly strangers to her.]
*He is extremely conceded about himself. (ABC News website) [And somewhat of a pessimist, apparently.]
*There is about 5 of them in there cleaning the bathroom, sighting lines from old movies. (Big Brother forum) [Wow! Somebody has been peeing movie quotes around the toilet again!]
*You have been calling the Obama's every evil nasty filthy disgusting thing you your pee brain can think of. (ABC News blog) [Wrong on so many levels, but this individual might fit in with the bathroom cleaners above.]
*You are too stupid to converse with please go back to playing hide the sausage witn your inbread father. (ABC News blog) [Ooh! Sausage AND bread! And hillbilly dialect, too.]
*It is amazing how many fairy tails we are supposed to swallow and believe as fact. (Amazon reviews) [Fairies have tails? Who knew?]
*I can see I'm going to have to find some specific things to site. (IMDB message board) [Which is better than sighting movie quotes on the bathroom floor, I suppose.]
********************************************************************
As you can see, some have multiple issues. I am OH SO GLAD I'm perfect.
Sure, this is the place where you read about Betty, the famous author who just died (but turned out to be Katherine Hepburn, the actress, who died two years before). That was HH's doing. He's not a reader. I confess to calling Tiki Barber the football player 'KiKi'. But only 3 out of 4 times that I referred to him. I also confess to referencing the famous painter, Sidney Pollack. I KNEW his first name was Jackson. I have no idea what possessed my fingers to type 'Sidney'. But at least I know what I've done wrong.
Let me share with you some jarring massacre-age of the English language. Oh, and it doesn't apply to ME, because I often like to create my own words for effect. Not affect. Just like some of my wacky punctuation and sentence fragments. They're for effect. Not affect.
*********************************************************************
The first four examples are brought to you by BObama's commenters on his official website. You know, the highly-educated voters he claims, while rejecting those religious gun-clingers.
*That is a mute point. [At least it's quiet.]
*We're waiting for the next attack to come down the pipe. [Eww. That doesn't sound good.]
*His people are not even being surveyed. They are young and use cell phones and are not in the phone book. They don't even have Lan lines for surveyors to call them on. [That means I'm old. They called me on my land line.]
*If he gets more than that, it will be just icy on the cake. [Call me crazy, but I prefer ICING on MY cake. Which reminds me of a joke: Two inmates at the insane asylum were fertilizing the strawberry patch. The first asked the second one, a new arrival whose hobbies included gardening, "Do you put manure on your strawberries?" The second replied, "Well, I prefer sugar on mine, but I'm crazy." Oh, my. That's a bit politically incorrect. My apologies.]
BUT THERE ARE MORE...
*Her proudest accomplishment is leaving home, moving to California by herself not knowing a sole. (CBS Big Brother bio page) [So the fish in the Big Brother fish tank are truly strangers to her.]
*He is extremely conceded about himself. (ABC News website) [And somewhat of a pessimist, apparently.]
*There is about 5 of them in there cleaning the bathroom, sighting lines from old movies. (Big Brother forum) [Wow! Somebody has been peeing movie quotes around the toilet again!]
*You have been calling the Obama's every evil nasty filthy disgusting thing you your pee brain can think of. (ABC News blog) [Wrong on so many levels, but this individual might fit in with the bathroom cleaners above.]
*You are too stupid to converse with please go back to playing hide the sausage witn your inbread father. (ABC News blog) [Ooh! Sausage AND bread! And hillbilly dialect, too.]
*It is amazing how many fairy tails we are supposed to swallow and believe as fact. (Amazon reviews) [Fairies have tails? Who knew?]
*I can see I'm going to have to find some specific things to site. (IMDB message board) [Which is better than sighting movie quotes on the bathroom floor, I suppose.]
********************************************************************
As you can see, some have multiple issues. I am OH SO GLAD I'm perfect.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
My Kingdom For An iPhone
The #1 son is on a quest. A quest for the elusive iPhone 3G. I wouldn't know an iPhone 3G if it bit me on the butt. On the contrary, I would scream, "What the f*** just bit me on the a$$?" If I was alone, that is, when the butt-biting electronic devil punctured my tender flesh.
He called our local AT & T store, where I got MY new phone a couple weeks ago (see how good I am at keeping secrets? I no longer have my 5-year-old brick of a cell phone. I have joined the modern world). They do not have the iPhones in stock. But he can order one and pick it up in the store in about 10 days. That's an eternity to a child. So the boy came up with a scathingly brilliant idea. Since HH was taking him to the Cardinal's game in the city, #1 looked up the closest Apple Store to the stadium. Hey, there are only three Apples in the whole state. And one is in Kansas City. After much fit-throwing, HH agreed to drive the 9 miles out of his way to check on the iPhone. Alas, the cupboard was bare. The clerk told my boy that not only did they have no iPhones on Saturday, but that they did not expect any on Sunday, and they would, perhaps, get a shipment on Monday. His best bet was to come early Monday morning. Which ain't happenin' for my boy. I will take him to the local AT & T store to order an iPhone on Monday.
The boy has the money. HH gave him a bunch of junk aluminum, plus two bags of cans the boy has faithfully stomped, and a pipe of some indeterminate origin, and my mom gave him a metal door frame. They went to the junk dealer, and danced with joy when the boy was given a ticket for $264. Plus, he is selling his old iPhone to his fellow electronic wizard he works with at church. He says he is selling it for $200, which I think is a rip-off, because the kid can get a new one for $199, but my boy says no, he would have to also purchase an expensive service plan. The way it stands, the kid has some kind of pay-as-you-go plan. To complicate matters, this kid had just purchased a new Razr for $134 from The Devil's Playground, but said he had 15 days to return it, so he did.
Now there are no iPhones in the land, and the kids have to wait. The electronic wizard has volunteered to pay half of rush shipping costs if they are available. We will see.
Back in my day, kids were happy just making mud pies on the sidewalk.
He called our local AT & T store, where I got MY new phone a couple weeks ago (see how good I am at keeping secrets? I no longer have my 5-year-old brick of a cell phone. I have joined the modern world). They do not have the iPhones in stock. But he can order one and pick it up in the store in about 10 days. That's an eternity to a child. So the boy came up with a scathingly brilliant idea. Since HH was taking him to the Cardinal's game in the city, #1 looked up the closest Apple Store to the stadium. Hey, there are only three Apples in the whole state. And one is in Kansas City. After much fit-throwing, HH agreed to drive the 9 miles out of his way to check on the iPhone. Alas, the cupboard was bare. The clerk told my boy that not only did they have no iPhones on Saturday, but that they did not expect any on Sunday, and they would, perhaps, get a shipment on Monday. His best bet was to come early Monday morning. Which ain't happenin' for my boy. I will take him to the local AT & T store to order an iPhone on Monday.
The boy has the money. HH gave him a bunch of junk aluminum, plus two bags of cans the boy has faithfully stomped, and a pipe of some indeterminate origin, and my mom gave him a metal door frame. They went to the junk dealer, and danced with joy when the boy was given a ticket for $264. Plus, he is selling his old iPhone to his fellow electronic wizard he works with at church. He says he is selling it for $200, which I think is a rip-off, because the kid can get a new one for $199, but my boy says no, he would have to also purchase an expensive service plan. The way it stands, the kid has some kind of pay-as-you-go plan. To complicate matters, this kid had just purchased a new Razr for $134 from The Devil's Playground, but said he had 15 days to return it, so he did.
Now there are no iPhones in the land, and the kids have to wait. The electronic wizard has volunteered to pay half of rush shipping costs if they are available. We will see.
Back in my day, kids were happy just making mud pies on the sidewalk.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
HM Runs Hot And Cold
The injury to my belbow comes and goes. It was better after about 5 days, but then I carried in a bag of ice and my purse and a box of canned goods with that arm. In retrospect, that was not a scathingly brilliant idea. Now it aches again, and that hand swells a bit and gets cold. I'm pretty sure that's not supposed to happen. The ache feels like the time when I worked in a junk store writing prices on items with a Sharpie. That time, I had pain in both hands and forearms so bad that it would wake me up at night, and I would have to immerse them in a bowl of ice water. Which was a different kind of pain. I'm thinking it was Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, but I was working on my Master's Degree at the time, while working in that junk store, and I didn't exactly have universal medical care. Which just goes to show you that education is hazardous to your health. It went away after I left that job. The pain, not the education. This pain originates in that elbow groove on the opposite side from my funny bone. If I hold my arm across my belly while pulling on the ring and little finger, the pain goes away. So that's what I do in my spare time.
I confess to a bit of a cooking faux pas this afternoon. No, I did not cook a frozen pizza on its cardboard circle. I was in the midst of throwing together another cauldron of chili (because that's what we eat here at the Mansion when the outside temperature is 97 degrees), and at the same time warming up a saucepan of soup left from a few days ago. I had both pots on the back burners, and had laid the plastic lid from a Hot and Sour Soup carryout container on the front burner. Hey, if it's good enough for their soup, it's good enough for mine. That's what I store my leftovers in. Don't cost nothin'. Don't have to go to a Tupperware party to get one. Anyhoo, I'm sure you can see where this story is going. I turned on the front burner by mistake when I put the soup on. The curling white smoke was my clue that something had gone horrible wrong. I blame HH, of course, because he had come into the kitchen to putter around in the midst of my cooking. OK, I admit that I called him into the kitchen. But I had to, because he had packed up drinks to take to the Cardinal's game, and had included juice boxes with an expiration date of Nov 2007. And he KNEW that was the expiration date. I can't wait to tell my mom what she hath wrought with her 4-year-old ranch dressing faux pas. But getting back to ME...I grabbed that plastic lid off the burner, and it looked like a pool of melted wax left behind. Alas, I had to toss my plastic lid, but there's plenty more where that one came from.
I turned on the Cardinals' game a little while ago, and I must say I do not envy HH and #1 and HH's #1 son and his little girl. They must be sweating their brains out. Well, everyone but HH, I suppose. I wonder if those players, who are paid a fortune to PLAY A FREAKIN' GAME for a living, sit and whine about it. You know, the ones who aren't starters, and get paid a fortune to SIT AND WATCH A FREAKIN' GAME for a living. As in, "Gosh darn it! It's not worth $18,518.52 to sit in this freakin' heat for 3 hours!" (You are welcome to check my math if you'd like. There are 162 games per season, and the average salary is now $3 million).
Taking a tour of all the channels Dish Network Top 150 has to offer, I ran across Live From Abbey Road with good ol' Missouri gal Sheryl Crow. Now I'm wondering if Abbey Road paid its utilities, because Sheryl was singing in a leather jacket, and the drummer was wearing a jacket, and the guitar players were in long sleeves, and the keyboard player had an arctic coat zipped up to his chin. All while they were playing! Surely they are not using that cut for her album. The sound of flapping zippers alone would drive you crazy. The only hot-blooded short-sleevers were her 2 back-up singers. Maybe they had bought new shirts for the show, and didn't want to cover them up. Vanity, thy name is Woman.
Thermally-challenged, your name is Hillbilly Mom.
I confess to a bit of a cooking faux pas this afternoon. No, I did not cook a frozen pizza on its cardboard circle. I was in the midst of throwing together another cauldron of chili (because that's what we eat here at the Mansion when the outside temperature is 97 degrees), and at the same time warming up a saucepan of soup left from a few days ago. I had both pots on the back burners, and had laid the plastic lid from a Hot and Sour Soup carryout container on the front burner. Hey, if it's good enough for their soup, it's good enough for mine. That's what I store my leftovers in. Don't cost nothin'. Don't have to go to a Tupperware party to get one. Anyhoo, I'm sure you can see where this story is going. I turned on the front burner by mistake when I put the soup on. The curling white smoke was my clue that something had gone horrible wrong. I blame HH, of course, because he had come into the kitchen to putter around in the midst of my cooking. OK, I admit that I called him into the kitchen. But I had to, because he had packed up drinks to take to the Cardinal's game, and had included juice boxes with an expiration date of Nov 2007. And he KNEW that was the expiration date. I can't wait to tell my mom what she hath wrought with her 4-year-old ranch dressing faux pas. But getting back to ME...I grabbed that plastic lid off the burner, and it looked like a pool of melted wax left behind. Alas, I had to toss my plastic lid, but there's plenty more where that one came from.
I turned on the Cardinals' game a little while ago, and I must say I do not envy HH and #1 and HH's #1 son and his little girl. They must be sweating their brains out. Well, everyone but HH, I suppose. I wonder if those players, who are paid a fortune to PLAY A FREAKIN' GAME for a living, sit and whine about it. You know, the ones who aren't starters, and get paid a fortune to SIT AND WATCH A FREAKIN' GAME for a living. As in, "Gosh darn it! It's not worth $18,518.52 to sit in this freakin' heat for 3 hours!" (You are welcome to check my math if you'd like. There are 162 games per season, and the average salary is now $3 million).
Taking a tour of all the channels Dish Network Top 150 has to offer, I ran across Live From Abbey Road with good ol' Missouri gal Sheryl Crow. Now I'm wondering if Abbey Road paid its utilities, because Sheryl was singing in a leather jacket, and the drummer was wearing a jacket, and the guitar players were in long sleeves, and the keyboard player had an arctic coat zipped up to his chin. All while they were playing! Surely they are not using that cut for her album. The sound of flapping zippers alone would drive you crazy. The only hot-blooded short-sleevers were her 2 back-up singers. Maybe they had bought new shirts for the show, and didn't want to cover them up. Vanity, thy name is Woman.
Thermally-challenged, your name is Hillbilly Mom.
Friday, July 18, 2008
This Means War
This means WAR, I tell you!
The #1 son has two friends at the Mansion. They will be spending the night in the BARn, playing the Wii, watching DVDs, texting, and consuming mass quantities of chips and soda. Right now they are having a paintball battle. I don't know how that's going to work with three boys. Is it every man for himself, a three-way war? Or is it two against one? Or do they hunt one down like an animal? I don't know paintball etiquette. I refused to let the boy have a paintball gun for a long time. Then HH told him he could get one. I don't like the idea. Not one iota.
My #1 son is 13. But he's a big baby. He can't take pain. He can't even swallow an acetaminophen unless I cut it in half with a knife. When he got a flu shot, he whined that he lost feeling in his leg. From a shot in the arm! No good can come of this paintball business. Mark my words. I've seen the knotted bruises on kids at school. They are proud of their war wounds. My boy will be whining about the pain. Oh, not in front of his cronies, but in my presence after they go home.
I don't particularly want my little wooded haven to be disfigured with Pollack art, either. Pollack, people. As in Jackson Pollack, the artist. I'm not being politically incorrect. Let one of those paint bombs splatter on HH's precious MiniMansion, and we'll see how soon he hosts another one of these shindigs. To set the record straight, HH calls it The Cabin. The boys and I call it The Shanty. MyOldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight says it looks like part of the village in Silver Dollar City, and she wants HH to build one for her. I haven't mentioned it to HH yet. His head is big enough.
On the ME front...I have called a temporary truce with my nemesis, the Post Office clerk. I really felt like smacking her Wednesday, but I held back. That, and I don't think I could have hefted myself over the counter to get at her. Perhaps I have mentioned that our bridge is torn out, and being re-bridged. The mailman picks and chooses what days he is wants to deliver. I already filed a complaint about him last year. But that's besides the point. He straightened up and flew right. Until NOW.
Last week, when we saw the extent of construction, and the berm of rocks and mud in front of our row of mailboxes, we stopped at the Post Office while we were in town. The #1 son came out with our mail. He said, "The lady said they will hold our mail and we can pick it up after 10:30, because of the bridge." The next day, we stopped by at 1:30. The lady told him that we didn't have mail. Funny thing, that evening HH rode the Scout down to the creek and checked the box. We had mail. We got it from Tuesday-Friday. On Saturday, we didn't get mail. The bridge workers were not even there on Saturday. And we always get something, even if it's junk mail. On Monday, we got a buttload of mail. Tuesday it was delivered as normal.
Wednesday, my mom came out, and saw the mailman at the top of the hill. He glared at her, and turned around in the circle drive of that house, and did not go down the hill to our boxes. There was construction as normal that day. The #1 son checked the mailbox at 11:00. Nothing. I checked it again at 3:30. That's because every time we don't get a package delivered, the orange card says we can pick it up at the Post Office after 3:00. I assume that's when the driver returns from his route. So The Pony and I went to town for mail. Don't think I'm obsessing. A couple years ago, someone stole our mail out of the box. It included two electric bills, two phone bills, and my letter from school telling me when to return to work. Needless to say, the thief did not pay my bills. And thank the Gummi Mary, my buddy Mabel told me when to report to work.
The counter clerk checked in the back for my mail. "Oh, the mailman took it to deliver." I told her he was out there, but didn't go down the hill. She snottily said, "Well, he loops back because of the construction. You just didn't get anything today." I beg to differ. It is about 100 feet down that hill to the boxes. If he 'looped back', he would go 5 miles out of his way, and end up on the other side of the creek. The creek that currently has no bridge. Or he could add another 3 miles onto that 5, and drive through our private gravel road, which I believe the Post Office probably discourages, what with No Trespassing signs being posted at both entrances. So I think that government wench was just shining me on, the sooner to be rid of me. I can not change my spots. I muttered, "Funny that we just didn't get any mail two days out of the last four. And the other 10 families didn't get anything either." With that, The Pony and I made our exit out the handicap doors that do not work, out of that dead-mouse-stinking heckhole that is our local Post Office.
Hillbilly Mom does not work or play well with federal employees.
The #1 son has two friends at the Mansion. They will be spending the night in the BARn, playing the Wii, watching DVDs, texting, and consuming mass quantities of chips and soda. Right now they are having a paintball battle. I don't know how that's going to work with three boys. Is it every man for himself, a three-way war? Or is it two against one? Or do they hunt one down like an animal? I don't know paintball etiquette. I refused to let the boy have a paintball gun for a long time. Then HH told him he could get one. I don't like the idea. Not one iota.
My #1 son is 13. But he's a big baby. He can't take pain. He can't even swallow an acetaminophen unless I cut it in half with a knife. When he got a flu shot, he whined that he lost feeling in his leg. From a shot in the arm! No good can come of this paintball business. Mark my words. I've seen the knotted bruises on kids at school. They are proud of their war wounds. My boy will be whining about the pain. Oh, not in front of his cronies, but in my presence after they go home.
I don't particularly want my little wooded haven to be disfigured with Pollack art, either. Pollack, people. As in Jackson Pollack, the artist. I'm not being politically incorrect. Let one of those paint bombs splatter on HH's precious MiniMansion, and we'll see how soon he hosts another one of these shindigs. To set the record straight, HH calls it The Cabin. The boys and I call it The Shanty. MyOldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight says it looks like part of the village in Silver Dollar City, and she wants HH to build one for her. I haven't mentioned it to HH yet. His head is big enough.
On the ME front...I have called a temporary truce with my nemesis, the Post Office clerk. I really felt like smacking her Wednesday, but I held back. That, and I don't think I could have hefted myself over the counter to get at her. Perhaps I have mentioned that our bridge is torn out, and being re-bridged. The mailman picks and chooses what days he is wants to deliver. I already filed a complaint about him last year. But that's besides the point. He straightened up and flew right. Until NOW.
Last week, when we saw the extent of construction, and the berm of rocks and mud in front of our row of mailboxes, we stopped at the Post Office while we were in town. The #1 son came out with our mail. He said, "The lady said they will hold our mail and we can pick it up after 10:30, because of the bridge." The next day, we stopped by at 1:30. The lady told him that we didn't have mail. Funny thing, that evening HH rode the Scout down to the creek and checked the box. We had mail. We got it from Tuesday-Friday. On Saturday, we didn't get mail. The bridge workers were not even there on Saturday. And we always get something, even if it's junk mail. On Monday, we got a buttload of mail. Tuesday it was delivered as normal.
Wednesday, my mom came out, and saw the mailman at the top of the hill. He glared at her, and turned around in the circle drive of that house, and did not go down the hill to our boxes. There was construction as normal that day. The #1 son checked the mailbox at 11:00. Nothing. I checked it again at 3:30. That's because every time we don't get a package delivered, the orange card says we can pick it up at the Post Office after 3:00. I assume that's when the driver returns from his route. So The Pony and I went to town for mail. Don't think I'm obsessing. A couple years ago, someone stole our mail out of the box. It included two electric bills, two phone bills, and my letter from school telling me when to return to work. Needless to say, the thief did not pay my bills. And thank the Gummi Mary, my buddy Mabel told me when to report to work.
The counter clerk checked in the back for my mail. "Oh, the mailman took it to deliver." I told her he was out there, but didn't go down the hill. She snottily said, "Well, he loops back because of the construction. You just didn't get anything today." I beg to differ. It is about 100 feet down that hill to the boxes. If he 'looped back', he would go 5 miles out of his way, and end up on the other side of the creek. The creek that currently has no bridge. Or he could add another 3 miles onto that 5, and drive through our private gravel road, which I believe the Post Office probably discourages, what with No Trespassing signs being posted at both entrances. So I think that government wench was just shining me on, the sooner to be rid of me. I can not change my spots. I muttered, "Funny that we just didn't get any mail two days out of the last four. And the other 10 families didn't get anything either." With that, The Pony and I made our exit out the handicap doors that do not work, out of that dead-mouse-stinking heckhole that is our local Post Office.
Hillbilly Mom does not work or play well with federal employees.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
HM Popped Corn, And I Don't Care
A few days ago, I mentioned popcorn. Not the modern microwave popcorn, but real popcorn. Not so real that you toss a cob of it in the fire, but the kind you buy in a clear plastic bag at The Devil's Playground. Or Country Mart, or Kroger (if they are still in business), or Dierbergs, or Schnucks, or any supermarket. I can't really say where mine came from. I found it in the pantry last week when we re-filed our canned goods and dry goods alphabetically. Not really. Who do you think I am, Redneck Diva? But we reorganized and checked expiration dates. It seems that I am turning into my mother. I found some items that were good until 2004. That must mean they've been in there since 2002. How time flies.
My popcorn was some generic kind, the small white popcorn, not the big yellow popcorn, in a bag with a ziplock top that had been opened. But I thought to myself, "How bad can popcorn go if you leave it unattended for 5 or 6 years?" I had some old butter-flavored oil in another cabinet, but that went into the circular file under 'things that might kill me'. I think I bought this popcorn when the kids were little, so I could show them that popcorn did not always come flavored with movie butter in its own paper sack to be tossed into a microwave for 3:50.
I decided to pop some of this historic treat the other night, right after The Pony had gone to bed. It wasn't on purpose...I just didn't get around to it sooner. I'm sure The Pony wondered what I was up to, what with his room being on the other side of my kitchen wall. His bedroom was the dining room on our house plans. Good thing our little 'surprise' was discovered the week the Mansion was being framed. Filling in a wall and adding a door changed a dining room into a bedroom fairly easily. But that's neither here nor there. We're here to behold the glory of popcorn.
I poured some vegetable oil in a saucepan, covering the bottom by about 1/4 inch. I dropped in one kernel of popcorn, put a lid on the pan, and turned the burner to that little notch between Medium High and High. In my future snack bowl, I poured enough kernels that would cover the bottom of that pan. By that time, the single kernel popped, and I knew the oil was ready. I poured in the popcorn, replaced the lid, and started shaking that pan slowly back and forth. It popped in no time. I had set out another bowl in case of overflow. When the rising tide of popcorn lifted the lid, I poured some into the other bowl. Then I went back to shaking until I didn't hear any more popping. Voila! The #1 son and I had a tasty treat. A purist, I added only salt. The boy went to great lengths to melt butter in the microwave, and add salt and pepper. He's an odd duck.
You know I don't like to toot my own horn, but the boy proclaimed, "This is the best popcorn I ever ate!" I'll take him at his word. We each had only 4 or 5 old maids in our bowl. You know, the unpopped kernels, not little old ladies with too many cats, or a dog who likes bones from the cupboard. That bowl would be too heavy to carry. The first bite of my crunchy carby corn sent me to another time and place. I was in the kitchen of my childhood home, watching my mom pour white popcorn into a brown paper grocery sack. Remember those? She had popped about three pans of it for our Saturday night trip to the drive-in. Those were the days, my friends. The four of us piled into our black Oldsmobile 98 with our contraband corn. I'm sure we took sodas as well. That was back when the cans were flip-top. They came all the way off, and you dropped the sharp metal into the can, not considering that you could choke on it, swallow it, or in the very least ingest whatever germs were on the top of that can before you opened it. We might even have taken Dixie cups and those 'big' 16-oz glass bottles of Pepsi.
My sister-the-future-mayor's-wife fought with me for the back dashboard. That's what we called the space under the back windshield. Whoever got that spot could lay there and watch the movie, falling asleep comfortably if it got boring. The other one would have to sit in the middle of the back seat to see between Mom's and Dad's head, and lay down unable to see the movie if they got tired. Oh, and whoever won this prize piece of car estate rode there the whole way, in her pajamas, of course. No seatbelts for us! Did they even put them in cars back then? I'm sure ours were always stuffed down in the seat crack if we had them.
Don't you young whippersnappers try telling me about Jiffy Pop, either. We didn't do Jiffy Pop. It was an extravagance that we never got during the early childhood years of shopping at the Poplar Bluff Piggly Wiggly. My mom gave in a few years later, and allowed us to try it. The anticipation was better than the corn. And let's also try to forget those ancient days of popcorn poppers in the college dorm.
Nothing beats a saucepan, vegetable oil, white popcorn, and salt.
My popcorn was some generic kind, the small white popcorn, not the big yellow popcorn, in a bag with a ziplock top that had been opened. But I thought to myself, "How bad can popcorn go if you leave it unattended for 5 or 6 years?" I had some old butter-flavored oil in another cabinet, but that went into the circular file under 'things that might kill me'. I think I bought this popcorn when the kids were little, so I could show them that popcorn did not always come flavored with movie butter in its own paper sack to be tossed into a microwave for 3:50.
I decided to pop some of this historic treat the other night, right after The Pony had gone to bed. It wasn't on purpose...I just didn't get around to it sooner. I'm sure The Pony wondered what I was up to, what with his room being on the other side of my kitchen wall. His bedroom was the dining room on our house plans. Good thing our little 'surprise' was discovered the week the Mansion was being framed. Filling in a wall and adding a door changed a dining room into a bedroom fairly easily. But that's neither here nor there. We're here to behold the glory of popcorn.
I poured some vegetable oil in a saucepan, covering the bottom by about 1/4 inch. I dropped in one kernel of popcorn, put a lid on the pan, and turned the burner to that little notch between Medium High and High. In my future snack bowl, I poured enough kernels that would cover the bottom of that pan. By that time, the single kernel popped, and I knew the oil was ready. I poured in the popcorn, replaced the lid, and started shaking that pan slowly back and forth. It popped in no time. I had set out another bowl in case of overflow. When the rising tide of popcorn lifted the lid, I poured some into the other bowl. Then I went back to shaking until I didn't hear any more popping. Voila! The #1 son and I had a tasty treat. A purist, I added only salt. The boy went to great lengths to melt butter in the microwave, and add salt and pepper. He's an odd duck.
You know I don't like to toot my own horn, but the boy proclaimed, "This is the best popcorn I ever ate!" I'll take him at his word. We each had only 4 or 5 old maids in our bowl. You know, the unpopped kernels, not little old ladies with too many cats, or a dog who likes bones from the cupboard. That bowl would be too heavy to carry. The first bite of my crunchy carby corn sent me to another time and place. I was in the kitchen of my childhood home, watching my mom pour white popcorn into a brown paper grocery sack. Remember those? She had popped about three pans of it for our Saturday night trip to the drive-in. Those were the days, my friends. The four of us piled into our black Oldsmobile 98 with our contraband corn. I'm sure we took sodas as well. That was back when the cans were flip-top. They came all the way off, and you dropped the sharp metal into the can, not considering that you could choke on it, swallow it, or in the very least ingest whatever germs were on the top of that can before you opened it. We might even have taken Dixie cups and those 'big' 16-oz glass bottles of Pepsi.
My sister-the-future-mayor's-wife fought with me for the back dashboard. That's what we called the space under the back windshield. Whoever got that spot could lay there and watch the movie, falling asleep comfortably if it got boring. The other one would have to sit in the middle of the back seat to see between Mom's and Dad's head, and lay down unable to see the movie if they got tired. Oh, and whoever won this prize piece of car estate rode there the whole way, in her pajamas, of course. No seatbelts for us! Did they even put them in cars back then? I'm sure ours were always stuffed down in the seat crack if we had them.
Don't you young whippersnappers try telling me about Jiffy Pop, either. We didn't do Jiffy Pop. It was an extravagance that we never got during the early childhood years of shopping at the Poplar Bluff Piggly Wiggly. My mom gave in a few years later, and allowed us to try it. The anticipation was better than the corn. And let's also try to forget those ancient days of popcorn poppers in the college dorm.
Nothing beats a saucepan, vegetable oil, white popcorn, and salt.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
HM Starts A Band
With the days of summer waning quickly, I have decided to do something constructive and start my own garage band. It ain't easy when your garage is full of 4-wheeler, Scout, and LSUV. But Hillbilly Mom has never shied away from a challenge. The members of my band are Me, Myself, and I. Can't beat that winning combination with a stick, now can you? I will be on vocals, of course. Piano with the chords of C, E, G, and A will be played by Me, and Myself will be rockin' the clarinet. I know you are already salivating for our first album. Which of course will be a CD, none of that dated vinyl crap for US.
The name of my little band is: Mommy's Got A Headache.
Here is a list of songs for the first album. Perhaps you can see my country roots.
Makin' Trouble (Out of Nothin' at All)
Let's Get A Physical
Pony With No Name
It Ain't Easy Bein' Mean
Take This Job and Love It
Devil Went Down to Wal*Mart
Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow up to be Grown-Ups
If I Said You Had a Beautiful Million-Dollar Check Would You Hold it Against Me
Old Dogs, Children, and Watermelons Whine
Chatty Hoochie
Here's $150 for a Cell Phone (Call Someone Who Cares)
Ruby, Don't Take Your Van to Town
As a special treat, I am going to give you the lyrics to my first single.
*******************************************************************
Ruby, Don't Take Your Van to Town
You've polished up your van
and even filled your tires with air
Ruby are you contemplating
going out somewhere
The writing on the wall
tells me that gas will not go down
Oh Ruby
don't take your van to town
It wasn't me
that started that ol' crazy Iraqi war
You can tell that Bush
don't drive an LSUV car
I sure wish gas was cheap
the way it used to be
Oh Ruby
Let's just have company
It's hard to drive a car
that eats up gas so easily
But we live in the sticks and have to drive to work
which you know sure ain't free
It won't be long I've heard them say
till oil sells by the pound
Oh Ruby
Don't take your van to town
She's leavin' now cause
I just heard the van go up the drive
The way I've heard it go before
as sure as I'm alive
If I could get my gun I'd shoot
the rims down to the ground
Oh Ruby
Don't take your van to town
Oh Ruby
Sweet Gummi Mary...turn around
*******************************************************************
Don't be critical. I cannot be mocked (like someone else we all know). I think it's a right catchy tune, by cracky. Don't look for it on YouTube. I have dial-up.
In case you want to see the Kenny Rogers edition, you can find it here.
The name of my little band is: Mommy's Got A Headache.
Here is a list of songs for the first album. Perhaps you can see my country roots.
Makin' Trouble (Out of Nothin' at All)
Let's Get A Physical
Pony With No Name
It Ain't Easy Bein' Mean
Take This Job and Love It
Devil Went Down to Wal*Mart
Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow up to be Grown-Ups
If I Said You Had a Beautiful Million-Dollar Check Would You Hold it Against Me
Old Dogs, Children, and Watermelons Whine
Chatty Hoochie
Here's $150 for a Cell Phone (Call Someone Who Cares)
Ruby, Don't Take Your Van to Town
As a special treat, I am going to give you the lyrics to my first single.
*******************************************************************
Ruby, Don't Take Your Van to Town
You've polished up your van
and even filled your tires with air
Ruby are you contemplating
going out somewhere
The writing on the wall
tells me that gas will not go down
Oh Ruby
don't take your van to town
It wasn't me
that started that ol' crazy Iraqi war
You can tell that Bush
don't drive an LSUV car
I sure wish gas was cheap
the way it used to be
Oh Ruby
Let's just have company
It's hard to drive a car
that eats up gas so easily
But we live in the sticks and have to drive to work
which you know sure ain't free
It won't be long I've heard them say
till oil sells by the pound
Oh Ruby
Don't take your van to town
She's leavin' now cause
I just heard the van go up the drive
The way I've heard it go before
as sure as I'm alive
If I could get my gun I'd shoot
the rims down to the ground
Oh Ruby
Don't take your van to town
Oh Ruby
Sweet Gummi Mary...turn around
*******************************************************************
Don't be critical. I cannot be mocked (like someone else we all know). I think it's a right catchy tune, by cracky. Don't look for it on YouTube. I have dial-up.
In case you want to see the Kenny Rogers edition, you can find it here.
Monday, July 14, 2008
What Say You?
What a wonderful day to write a not-political blog! Have you seen the news lately? I have my choice of pick of the litter. But, much like the 5 kittens we once saw dumped by our mailbox, it is hard to choose just one.
The kittens were quite an ordeal. First, the boys had to beg HH to allow another cat. We already had two grown ones. After a lot of begging and sad little boy puppy dog eyes, HH permitted ONE kitten. We went to pick up the Siamese-colored one, but alas, somebody with good taste in kittens had already taken that one. We took a little yellow-striped fellow. After HH got home that evening, the boys told him how the kitten was lonely. It cried. The other cats hated it. It needed a companion. And besides, there were two boys, and it's hard to share a kitten, so couldn't we have just one more? They could keep each other company. HH threw up his hands. "Go get another one." Wouldn't you know it? Somebody had taken another kitten, and there were only two left. So we had to drive home and explain to HH that if we took one, it would leave one kitten alone, and everybody knows that one kitten alone in the woods by the road and the creek with a lot of dogs roaming free will not survive. It would be a death sentence to take one kitten and leave one. So that's how we got three more cats for the Mansion.
The kittens were quite an ordeal. First, the boys had to beg HH to allow another cat. We already had two grown ones. After a lot of begging and sad little boy puppy dog eyes, HH permitted ONE kitten. We went to pick up the Siamese-colored one, but alas, somebody with good taste in kittens had already taken that one. We took a little yellow-striped fellow. After HH got home that evening, the boys told him how the kitten was lonely. It cried. The other cats hated it. It needed a companion. And besides, there were two boys, and it's hard to share a kitten, so couldn't we have just one more? They could keep each other company. HH threw up his hands. "Go get another one." Wouldn't you know it? Somebody had taken another kitten, and there were only two left. So we had to drive home and explain to HH that if we took one, it would leave one kitten alone, and everybody knows that one kitten alone in the woods by the road and the creek with a lot of dogs roaming free will not survive. It would be a death sentence to take one kitten and leave one. So that's how we got three more cats for the Mansion.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
You've Been Pushed Aside
I'd love to have a lengthy discourse with you about random thoughts, not-politics, or conspiracy theories. I might just change my blog into that Sunday night troika of goodness a la McCloud, Columbo, and McMillan and Wife. Or I might not. Not tonight, for sure. I have bigger fish to fry. Which reminds me, although these are hypothetical fish, I really must check the basement mini-fridge full of soda for those Canadian Nightcrawlers we had left over from our fishing trip three weeks ago. Aside from that, I have a full evening planned. An evening which does not include you. Sorry to be so blunt. Truth hurts sometimes.
Tonight, you see, is a very special TV night. Big Brother 10 premieres at 7:00, and then there's Ice Road Truckers at 8:00, and a Bizarre Foods rerun with Andrew Zimmern eating rooster's testicles again at 9:00, and an Intervention that I haven't seen at 10:00, and I must really check my Dish Network program guide, because methinks the Showtime 3-hour Big Brother After Dark program kicks in tonight from 11:00 to 2:00. And I saw an online rumor that Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows is on TCM at 5:15. Not to mention that Larry King is replaying his 'Giant Alien Spaceship Over Crawford, Texas On January 8' tonight on CNN. The mere thought of all this mind-mushing goodness makes my sore belbow hurt with the idea of pushing those remote buttons. I'll have to go lefty tonight.
I needn't worry about cooking for HH and the #1 son. They are moving furniture from my mom's house to HH's Number One Son's new house. The Pony will be satisfied with some mini corn dogs, blueberry muffins (I have real blueberries!), and green grapes. I, myself, plan on some old-fashioned popcorn (not from the microwave--I could devote a whole post to it), and red grapes. Yes, it's a regular banquet here at the Mansion tonight.
Out of my way, people! Watch the belbow! I've gotta get crackin'. Those muffins won't bake themselves, you know, and time is growing short.
Tonight, you see, is a very special TV night. Big Brother 10 premieres at 7:00, and then there's Ice Road Truckers at 8:00, and a Bizarre Foods rerun with Andrew Zimmern eating rooster's testicles again at 9:00, and an Intervention that I haven't seen at 10:00, and I must really check my Dish Network program guide, because methinks the Showtime 3-hour Big Brother After Dark program kicks in tonight from 11:00 to 2:00. And I saw an online rumor that Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows is on TCM at 5:15. Not to mention that Larry King is replaying his 'Giant Alien Spaceship Over Crawford, Texas On January 8' tonight on CNN. The mere thought of all this mind-mushing goodness makes my sore belbow hurt with the idea of pushing those remote buttons. I'll have to go lefty tonight.
I needn't worry about cooking for HH and the #1 son. They are moving furniture from my mom's house to HH's Number One Son's new house. The Pony will be satisfied with some mini corn dogs, blueberry muffins (I have real blueberries!), and green grapes. I, myself, plan on some old-fashioned popcorn (not from the microwave--I could devote a whole post to it), and red grapes. Yes, it's a regular banquet here at the Mansion tonight.
Out of my way, people! Watch the belbow! I've gotta get crackin'. Those muffins won't bake themselves, you know, and time is growing short.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
UFO, You Say?
What's up with all this UFO propaganda? Last night, Larry King had a whole show about a UFO sighting in Stephenville, Texas. I'm just not buyin' it. CNN is airing the show again Sunday night, at 8:00 central time.
Larry's people seemed believable, but I'll be darned if I can imagine a giant freaking airship that fills the whole sky and makes no noise and takes off at a 45-degree angle in the blink of an eye and travels 1900 miles per hour. No. Just no. And here's the freaky thing about Larry's show...these people were from Texas, and said that the UFO was headed in the direction of Georgie Bush's ranch. No. Just no. Georgie is a lot of things, but an alien is not at the top of my list. And I don't think he's such a prime specimen that aliens would want to study him. I don't exactly consider him to be the leader of the Earth. On the contrary, if UFOs are military secrets, then perhaps the pilot wanted to do a fly-over of the Crawford ranch, just to show off for his Commander in Chief.
This one eye-witness on Larry's show said he was hunting in his woods, and got tangled up in some briars. When he got loose and looked up, there was this giant gray thingy that covered the whole sky. Then it took off. If he would have blinked, he would have missed it. I don't know how they found out, because I switched channels for a while, but apparently some high-ranking military people interviewed him and told him to keep quiet about it. He demanded that they stop flying over his airspace, and a general or some high-ranker told him, "No, it's MY air space." Since they never stopped flying over in their helicopters, the guy decided to talk.
Larry also had some radar experts with a chart showing sightings. The FAA said there were no planes in the area in question during that time. Opposers said that of course there were many aircraft in flight, and that's what people saw. The radar experts declared that there couldn't be that many aircraft flying without beacons. I kind of lost interest here. But the date was January 8. They never said where Georgie Bush was on that night, but the local reporter said she did not think he was at the ranch.
This led me on a wild internet UFO chase, and I found a site that proclaimed that not only were the Apollo Moon Landings NOT FAKE, but that the astronauts were threatened by aliens who live on the dark side of the moon, and that's why we have never been back. Of course, it didn't explain why we went back all those times (allegedly), because I believe the first moon walkers were the ones who had the alien space ship watching them from a ridge, and NASA edited it out, and that Neil Armstrong was afraid for his life when he first stepped out onto the moon. Oh, and the aliens have a mining operation going on the dark side of the moon, and use that area as a base for Earth exploration missions. Also, right after 9/11, Bush and Cheney were taken to the dark side of the moon to be safe, and that's why nobody knew exactly where they were.
Then there was some show like MonsterQuest that said there are flying humaniod UFOs who attack people and try to kill them in some Spanish-speaking country. I didn't follow it too closely, because the 'footage' of these flying people looked like parachutists, or people with jet-packs. I found this about as believable as those stories of 'flying rods', which are just big ol' bugs caught flitting by the camera.
I am not a UFO believer. But I sure am glad that Al Gore invented the internet.
Larry's people seemed believable, but I'll be darned if I can imagine a giant freaking airship that fills the whole sky and makes no noise and takes off at a 45-degree angle in the blink of an eye and travels 1900 miles per hour. No. Just no. And here's the freaky thing about Larry's show...these people were from Texas, and said that the UFO was headed in the direction of Georgie Bush's ranch. No. Just no. Georgie is a lot of things, but an alien is not at the top of my list. And I don't think he's such a prime specimen that aliens would want to study him. I don't exactly consider him to be the leader of the Earth. On the contrary, if UFOs are military secrets, then perhaps the pilot wanted to do a fly-over of the Crawford ranch, just to show off for his Commander in Chief.
This one eye-witness on Larry's show said he was hunting in his woods, and got tangled up in some briars. When he got loose and looked up, there was this giant gray thingy that covered the whole sky. Then it took off. If he would have blinked, he would have missed it. I don't know how they found out, because I switched channels for a while, but apparently some high-ranking military people interviewed him and told him to keep quiet about it. He demanded that they stop flying over his airspace, and a general or some high-ranker told him, "No, it's MY air space." Since they never stopped flying over in their helicopters, the guy decided to talk.
Larry also had some radar experts with a chart showing sightings. The FAA said there were no planes in the area in question during that time. Opposers said that of course there were many aircraft in flight, and that's what people saw. The radar experts declared that there couldn't be that many aircraft flying without beacons. I kind of lost interest here. But the date was January 8. They never said where Georgie Bush was on that night, but the local reporter said she did not think he was at the ranch.
This led me on a wild internet UFO chase, and I found a site that proclaimed that not only were the Apollo Moon Landings NOT FAKE, but that the astronauts were threatened by aliens who live on the dark side of the moon, and that's why we have never been back. Of course, it didn't explain why we went back all those times (allegedly), because I believe the first moon walkers were the ones who had the alien space ship watching them from a ridge, and NASA edited it out, and that Neil Armstrong was afraid for his life when he first stepped out onto the moon. Oh, and the aliens have a mining operation going on the dark side of the moon, and use that area as a base for Earth exploration missions. Also, right after 9/11, Bush and Cheney were taken to the dark side of the moon to be safe, and that's why nobody knew exactly where they were.
Then there was some show like MonsterQuest that said there are flying humaniod UFOs who attack people and try to kill them in some Spanish-speaking country. I didn't follow it too closely, because the 'footage' of these flying people looked like parachutists, or people with jet-packs. I found this about as believable as those stories of 'flying rods', which are just big ol' bugs caught flitting by the camera.
I am not a UFO believer. But I sure am glad that Al Gore invented the internet.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Random Thought Friday
This is easier than being coherent. Perhaps I shall rename my blog 'Random Thought Mansion'. Perhaps not.
*********************************************************************
In honor of My Little Pony, I would like to start a new charitable program along the lines of Locks of Love. I shall call it 'Fingernails of Pain'. Young boys can donate their extra-long woman fingernails to my charity, and they will be made into fake nails for vain women. The fingernails, not the young boys, because I'm pretty sure there are laws against that here in the United States, even if it IS for a good cause.
*********************************************************************
I hurt my belbow today. That's an elbow, for you people who don't have kids. Somewhere between parking in the garage and sitting down at my computer, I contracted shooting-pain-belbowitis. It really hurts when I do this: pick up a beverage with my right hand and lift it to my mouth. I know the antidote: "Don't DO that!" It's a good thing that I normally pick up my beverages with my left hand. I'm thinking that I hurt it by carrying in five Devil's Playground bags and my purse all on that arm. That stupid checker/bagger Devil's handmaiden is to blame. A worse job of bagging I have never seen. Her method was to put at least one tall thing and one small thing in each bag. Oh, and ALL the canned goods went in the same bag, along with a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. Then we had the half-gallon of milk with his partner, a quart of Promise. I usually buy It's Almost Butter, or whatever the name of the Save-A-Lot whipped margarine is. But my mom took us to Pasta House for lunch the other day, and The Pony ran out of butter and used Promise, and has been begging for it ever since. Another floppy bag housed a loaf of French bread and a pack of hot dog buns. People! Bags like this will not stand up. They will not even hold their contents in the back of the LSUV. I would like to cut off that checker/bagger's...oops! That was my inner Jesse Jackson trying to get out. What I meant to say was that I would smack that Devil's handmaiden, except that my belbow hurts too bad. That's what happens when The Devil hires somebody under 80. I get check-out rage.
*********************************************************************
Is Bear Grylls on tonight? Will he take off all his clothes to swim under the ice? Will he whip it out to pee...(1) on a T-shirt to wrap around his head and stay cool? (2) so he will have some nice fresh pee to drink so he won't dehydrate? (3) in his canteen so he can put it next to his skin and stay warm at night in case he doesn't have a fresh steaming carcass to crawl into?
*********************************************************************
My #1 son spent the day at church reorganizing the electronic stuff. His crew did not get finished, and they have to work again next Tuesday. While he was gone, I had to do his chores. One of them is dumping the water sucked out of the Mansion by our new dehumidifier. I heard its little warning beeper go off. That sucker must hold two gallons. I called The Pony to come open the workshop door and the outside basement door so I could dump it. Hoisting it up to armpit height onto a concrete restraining wall thingy to dump it was probably not a good idea. That's word on the street from Hillbilly Mom's Right Belbow.
*********************************************************************
I ran a stop sign and a yellow traffic light today. Not braggin', just sayin'...
*********************************************************************
Why can't that freak Tom on Kathy Griffin's show be from somewhere besides Missouri? Not that I don't like her newest assistant/tour manager dude. But I really did not need for the world to find out that our Missouri boy likes to pull out his eyelashes because the 'pop' is so satisfying. Oh, he doesn't pull out the bottom lashes. That would be just weird, according to Tom. He looks like a crazed meth addict. As opposed to an upstanding pillar of the community meth addict.
*********************************************************************
*********************************************************************
In honor of My Little Pony, I would like to start a new charitable program along the lines of Locks of Love. I shall call it 'Fingernails of Pain'. Young boys can donate their extra-long woman fingernails to my charity, and they will be made into fake nails for vain women. The fingernails, not the young boys, because I'm pretty sure there are laws against that here in the United States, even if it IS for a good cause.
*********************************************************************
I hurt my belbow today. That's an elbow, for you people who don't have kids. Somewhere between parking in the garage and sitting down at my computer, I contracted shooting-pain-belbowitis. It really hurts when I do this: pick up a beverage with my right hand and lift it to my mouth. I know the antidote: "Don't DO that!" It's a good thing that I normally pick up my beverages with my left hand. I'm thinking that I hurt it by carrying in five Devil's Playground bags and my purse all on that arm. That stupid checker/bagger Devil's handmaiden is to blame. A worse job of bagging I have never seen. Her method was to put at least one tall thing and one small thing in each bag. Oh, and ALL the canned goods went in the same bag, along with a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. Then we had the half-gallon of milk with his partner, a quart of Promise. I usually buy It's Almost Butter, or whatever the name of the Save-A-Lot whipped margarine is. But my mom took us to Pasta House for lunch the other day, and The Pony ran out of butter and used Promise, and has been begging for it ever since. Another floppy bag housed a loaf of French bread and a pack of hot dog buns. People! Bags like this will not stand up. They will not even hold their contents in the back of the LSUV. I would like to cut off that checker/bagger's...oops! That was my inner Jesse Jackson trying to get out. What I meant to say was that I would smack that Devil's handmaiden, except that my belbow hurts too bad. That's what happens when The Devil hires somebody under 80. I get check-out rage.
*********************************************************************
Is Bear Grylls on tonight? Will he take off all his clothes to swim under the ice? Will he whip it out to pee...(1) on a T-shirt to wrap around his head and stay cool? (2) so he will have some nice fresh pee to drink so he won't dehydrate? (3) in his canteen so he can put it next to his skin and stay warm at night in case he doesn't have a fresh steaming carcass to crawl into?
*********************************************************************
My #1 son spent the day at church reorganizing the electronic stuff. His crew did not get finished, and they have to work again next Tuesday. While he was gone, I had to do his chores. One of them is dumping the water sucked out of the Mansion by our new dehumidifier. I heard its little warning beeper go off. That sucker must hold two gallons. I called The Pony to come open the workshop door and the outside basement door so I could dump it. Hoisting it up to armpit height onto a concrete restraining wall thingy to dump it was probably not a good idea. That's word on the street from Hillbilly Mom's Right Belbow.
*********************************************************************
I ran a stop sign and a yellow traffic light today. Not braggin', just sayin'...
*********************************************************************
Why can't that freak Tom on Kathy Griffin's show be from somewhere besides Missouri? Not that I don't like her newest assistant/tour manager dude. But I really did not need for the world to find out that our Missouri boy likes to pull out his eyelashes because the 'pop' is so satisfying. Oh, he doesn't pull out the bottom lashes. That would be just weird, according to Tom. He looks like a crazed meth addict. As opposed to an upstanding pillar of the community meth addict.
*********************************************************************
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Random Thought Thursday 7-10-08
It's a numbers game.
*********************************************************************
How many people pissed off Hillbilly Mom on her way to town today, ruining her quest for a new miles-per-gallon record? 9
2 drivers stopped for oncoming traffic to turn left on an uphill incline
3 semi truck drivers at stoplights on residential roads
1 mini-van driver brake-brake-braking to go 30 in a 45 mph zone
1 telephone repairman in a man-lift blocking a whole lane on a blind hill
1 semi truck driver ignoring the center turn lane, making a left turn from the right lane
1 Casey's General Store clerk who could not announce into the speaker that the pump was not working, requiring HM to put the nozzle back in the thingy after nary a drop o' gas, and climb into her LSUV and drive away, hoping the police would not be chasing her as a drive-off gas thief
*********************************************************************
How many weeks will Hillbilly Mom's mail be held at the post office due to bridge construction? 4 to 6
*********************************************************************
How many county highway department workers does it take to screw in a light bulb? 6
1 to drive the trackhoe
1 to sit on the little dozer in the creek and watch the trackhoe
1 to sit on the big dozer in the road and watch the trackhoe
1 to park the flat-bed-semi-that-hauls-the-light bulbs in the middle of the road
2 to whisper and laugh at the boy on the 4-wheeler trying to get the mail from the mailbox behind the trackhoe
*********************************************************************
How many ingredients are in Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Cleaning-Out-The-Pantry Chili? 12
Hamburger-three pounds
Chili seasoning-one packet
Diced tomatoes with garlic and basil-one can
Chili hot beans-one can
Baked beans-two cans
Black-eyed peas-one can
Worcestershire sauce-three shakes
Steak sauce-two glugs
BBQ sauce-one pour
Garlic salt-three shakes
Black pepper-three shakes
Ketchup-three squirts, because there was no tomato sauce
********************************************************************
How many days until the premiere of Big Brother 10? 3
Friday
Saturday
Sunday-7:00 p.m. on CBS
********************************************************************
How many ideas are percolating for politically-themed posts on Hillbilly Mom's non-political blog? 4
Counterpoint #4 in the continuing saga of Hillbilly Mom vs Stewed Hamm
Random Thoughts-The Sexist Egotistical Lying Hypocritical Bigot Edition
What Bill and Hill Whisper Under the Covers
The Messiah vs The Anti-Christ
********************************************************************
*********************************************************************
How many people pissed off Hillbilly Mom on her way to town today, ruining her quest for a new miles-per-gallon record? 9
2 drivers stopped for oncoming traffic to turn left on an uphill incline
3 semi truck drivers at stoplights on residential roads
1 mini-van driver brake-brake-braking to go 30 in a 45 mph zone
1 telephone repairman in a man-lift blocking a whole lane on a blind hill
1 semi truck driver ignoring the center turn lane, making a left turn from the right lane
1 Casey's General Store clerk who could not announce into the speaker that the pump was not working, requiring HM to put the nozzle back in the thingy after nary a drop o' gas, and climb into her LSUV and drive away, hoping the police would not be chasing her as a drive-off gas thief
*********************************************************************
How many weeks will Hillbilly Mom's mail be held at the post office due to bridge construction? 4 to 6
*********************************************************************
How many county highway department workers does it take to screw in a light bulb? 6
1 to drive the trackhoe
1 to sit on the little dozer in the creek and watch the trackhoe
1 to sit on the big dozer in the road and watch the trackhoe
1 to park the flat-bed-semi-that-hauls-the-light bulbs in the middle of the road
2 to whisper and laugh at the boy on the 4-wheeler trying to get the mail from the mailbox behind the trackhoe
*********************************************************************
How many ingredients are in Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Cleaning-Out-The-Pantry Chili? 12
Hamburger-three pounds
Chili seasoning-one packet
Diced tomatoes with garlic and basil-one can
Chili hot beans-one can
Baked beans-two cans
Black-eyed peas-one can
Worcestershire sauce-three shakes
Steak sauce-two glugs
BBQ sauce-one pour
Garlic salt-three shakes
Black pepper-three shakes
Ketchup-three squirts, because there was no tomato sauce
********************************************************************
How many days until the premiere of Big Brother 10? 3
Friday
Saturday
Sunday-7:00 p.m. on CBS
********************************************************************
How many ideas are percolating for politically-themed posts on Hillbilly Mom's non-political blog? 4
Counterpoint #4 in the continuing saga of Hillbilly Mom vs Stewed Hamm
Random Thoughts-The Sexist Egotistical Lying Hypocritical Bigot Edition
What Bill and Hill Whisper Under the Covers
The Messiah vs The Anti-Christ
********************************************************************
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Bad Boys! Bad Boys! Who Ya Gonna Call?
HH is a drama magnet.
Yesterday, he rode the Old People's Gambling Bus with me. I gave him gambling money. Wouldn't you know, HH won a total of TWO DOLLARS. Plus he kept the playing-with money I gave him. Which is the amount I lost. It's the most I've ever lost in one trip. Go figure. No good deed goes unpunished. But that is not the drama.
HH saw the little old lady who sat in front of him on the bus being 'talked to' by some men in suits. They took her away, along with a bunch of free money coupons that come in the mail. I, myself, had three of them yesterday, for a grand total of $45 free money. I don't know what this little old lady had, but HH said it was "a lot". He said they came to her machine, talked to her a minute, then escorted her away. It was a couple of Harrah's reps, and several suited men. I'm dying to know what happened, but HH refused to ask her on the bus.
THEN, after HH ran an errand upon our return, he called to tell me of his newest excellent adventure. He was stopped at the light in front of the hospital, and saw a truck approaching behind him, with the driver swinging his arm at the passenger. HH looked at the light, and when he looked in the mirror again, the driver and passenger were both gone. They were out in the ditch, slugging it out, along with a passenger from the bed of the truck. The light changed, and HH pulled away. The two beaters threw the beatee into the road, then jumped back in the truck and took off. HH called 911 and gave their license number and a description of the incident. How he could read a license plate backwards in a mirror, I'll never know.
Here is HH's account: "I said I was in front of the hospital, because I don't know the name of the road. The dispatcher told me. I was going really slow, about 30 (duh, that's the speed limit there), so they couldn't get away, and that truck passed me at the cemetery. I followed them, just to make sure they didn't get away. There happened to be three city police cars at the light in town, and they U-turned and caught the guys and had them standing against the truck. I wasn't going to ignore it. That guy was all bloody, and they threw him in the middle of the road! That's dangerous! Our local state representative might drive by and run over him!"
OK, Mabel will know what I'm talkin' about. The rep allegedly ran over a drunk walking on that section of road on New Year's Eve, and left the scene of the accident, and then lied and said his wife was driving, and that she just saw a person lying by the road who looked like he'd been beaten up, but no BAC test was given, and they couldn't explain how the mirror on their LSUV had been torn off, etc. He hasn't gone to trial yet. So he could conceivably drive by and run over another guy. Allegedly. Good to know that HH had the beatee's well-being on his mind. He didn't stop to help, mind you. But he did turn around and drive back that way after seeing the bad guys apprehended, and saw a state trooper assisting the beatee. I think it was quite considerate of the beaters to beat the beatee right in front of a hospital. I also think HH watches entirely too many episodes of COPS in a given week.
At least nobody threatened to shoot HH this time.
Yesterday, he rode the Old People's Gambling Bus with me. I gave him gambling money. Wouldn't you know, HH won a total of TWO DOLLARS. Plus he kept the playing-with money I gave him. Which is the amount I lost. It's the most I've ever lost in one trip. Go figure. No good deed goes unpunished. But that is not the drama.
HH saw the little old lady who sat in front of him on the bus being 'talked to' by some men in suits. They took her away, along with a bunch of free money coupons that come in the mail. I, myself, had three of them yesterday, for a grand total of $45 free money. I don't know what this little old lady had, but HH said it was "a lot". He said they came to her machine, talked to her a minute, then escorted her away. It was a couple of Harrah's reps, and several suited men. I'm dying to know what happened, but HH refused to ask her on the bus.
THEN, after HH ran an errand upon our return, he called to tell me of his newest excellent adventure. He was stopped at the light in front of the hospital, and saw a truck approaching behind him, with the driver swinging his arm at the passenger. HH looked at the light, and when he looked in the mirror again, the driver and passenger were both gone. They were out in the ditch, slugging it out, along with a passenger from the bed of the truck. The light changed, and HH pulled away. The two beaters threw the beatee into the road, then jumped back in the truck and took off. HH called 911 and gave their license number and a description of the incident. How he could read a license plate backwards in a mirror, I'll never know.
Here is HH's account: "I said I was in front of the hospital, because I don't know the name of the road. The dispatcher told me. I was going really slow, about 30 (duh, that's the speed limit there), so they couldn't get away, and that truck passed me at the cemetery. I followed them, just to make sure they didn't get away. There happened to be three city police cars at the light in town, and they U-turned and caught the guys and had them standing against the truck. I wasn't going to ignore it. That guy was all bloody, and they threw him in the middle of the road! That's dangerous! Our local state representative might drive by and run over him!"
OK, Mabel will know what I'm talkin' about. The rep allegedly ran over a drunk walking on that section of road on New Year's Eve, and left the scene of the accident, and then lied and said his wife was driving, and that she just saw a person lying by the road who looked like he'd been beaten up, but no BAC test was given, and they couldn't explain how the mirror on their LSUV had been torn off, etc. He hasn't gone to trial yet. So he could conceivably drive by and run over another guy. Allegedly. Good to know that HH had the beatee's well-being on his mind. He didn't stop to help, mind you. But he did turn around and drive back that way after seeing the bad guys apprehended, and saw a state trooper assisting the beatee. I think it was quite considerate of the beaters to beat the beatee right in front of a hospital. I also think HH watches entirely too many episodes of COPS in a given week.
At least nobody threatened to shoot HH this time.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
What's Eating Hillbilly Mom
Did you miss me yesterday? I don't mean to put you on the spot. I will just assume that you did. I have to be careful when I assume. You know what that makes out of you and me. That said...
I like grapes.
Really. I'm not trying to be one of those mysterious emails that contain nonsensical minutia. My favorite one of those is: The dentist saved her a seat.
But really, I like grapes. Save-A-Lot had a giant zip-lock bag of them for $1. Only ONE DOLLAR! I got two bags of green grapes, and one bag of red grapes. That's three bags of grapes for less than a gallon of gas! Don't think Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a grape glutton. Laws, NO! I'm practicing reverse psychology. M-O-O-N. That spells, HH and the boys will eat the grapes if I pretend that I want them all for myself. It's working. A whole bag of green grapes disappeared in two days. I say a whole bag. But actually, about a fourth of the grapes were still in one bag, but half of them were gone out of the other bag. Yeah. Because they don't want anyone to ask, "Who ate this whole bag of grapes?" That's why they leave one Pringle in the Pringles can, and a half-inch of water in the water pitcher, and three green beans in the bottom of the pan, and, well, you get the point.
I don't like grape flavoring. Go figure. It tastes too chemical-y. I don't like grape-flavored soda, or Life Savers, or suckers, or gum, or jelly beans, or Jolly Ranchers, or Skittles, or gumdrops, or taffy, or Jello, or popsicles, or Kool-Aid, or pixie stix, or sherbet, or punch, or cough drops, or cough medicine. Have I made myself clear?
The #1 son is the same way with orange flavoring.
I like grapes.
Really. I'm not trying to be one of those mysterious emails that contain nonsensical minutia. My favorite one of those is: The dentist saved her a seat.
But really, I like grapes. Save-A-Lot had a giant zip-lock bag of them for $1. Only ONE DOLLAR! I got two bags of green grapes, and one bag of red grapes. That's three bags of grapes for less than a gallon of gas! Don't think Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a grape glutton. Laws, NO! I'm practicing reverse psychology. M-O-O-N. That spells, HH and the boys will eat the grapes if I pretend that I want them all for myself. It's working. A whole bag of green grapes disappeared in two days. I say a whole bag. But actually, about a fourth of the grapes were still in one bag, but half of them were gone out of the other bag. Yeah. Because they don't want anyone to ask, "Who ate this whole bag of grapes?" That's why they leave one Pringle in the Pringles can, and a half-inch of water in the water pitcher, and three green beans in the bottom of the pan, and, well, you get the point.
I don't like grape flavoring. Go figure. It tastes too chemical-y. I don't like grape-flavored soda, or Life Savers, or suckers, or gum, or jelly beans, or Jolly Ranchers, or Skittles, or gumdrops, or taffy, or Jello, or popsicles, or Kool-Aid, or pixie stix, or sherbet, or punch, or cough drops, or cough medicine. Have I made myself clear?
The #1 son is the same way with orange flavoring.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Random Thought Thursday 7-03-08
Here we are again, Thursday. Just you and me, chatting about my random thoughts. You keep me sane, Thursday. I know I can count on you not to ridicule my obsessive peccadilloes. Yeah. I spelled that right after only two tries. I'm a freakin' genius!
I am counting my blessings that HH and the #1 son escaped the killing spree of that wacko Sheley guy who allegedly murdered 8 people in Missouri and Illinois. The last sighting, before he was caught the next day in a bar parking lot in Granite City, Illinois, was outside the stadium the night my boys went to see the Cardinals play. That was kind of a close call. I'm glad that HH did not walk back to the car to pour out his illegal canned soda into bottles that night. He might have been a victim of the serial killer. They found two victims, you know, in Festus. That ain't far from here, by cracky!
There are three road construction projects that are cramping my style. One is the new bowling alley complex, where Rudy Giuliani, the giant inflatable rat, presides over the work. Another is a highway interchange about a quarter mile from the future bowling alley, but involving another road. The most annoying project is the new bridge on our county road, next to where our gravel road enters the county blacktop road. The workers are the source of my angst. They have taken an area of our gravel road, wide enough for three cars to pass, and narrowed it to one car, if you are lucky. First, they dredged a bunch of big rocks out of the creek that were home sweet home to some water snakes, and dumped them on the parking area on one side of our road. Good thing people aren't waiting for the school bus there right now. Then they parked their heavy equipment on the other side. Today, a passenger truck was parked right in the middle, with the passenger door open. Another passenger truck was coming the other way, and wanted to stop right next to it. I think they were having lunch sitting in their trucks, and wanted to chat. Gosh darn county workers! They took a two-hour lunch, too, because they were loitering around our road when we came back from town. They wouldn't even move out of the way. It's a good thing they wear steel-toed shoes. They have destroyed our private road that WE pay for, and a big ol' drainage pipe under it that their heavy equipment smashed by driving over it. I can't wait to see what monstrosity they design for us to get out after the new bridge is built.
Did you know that if you have a lefty in the house, your twist-tie thingies on packages will be twisted the wrong way?
Some woman guest commentator on CNN this morning gave out unemployment information willy-nilly. She mis-spoke. She said that you can't get unemployment if you've been fired. That ain't necessarily so. It depends on the very last incident for which you were fired. Say, for example, that you're a slacker. You've been late to work twice a week for a month. The boss tells you that the next time you're late, you'll be fired. On the way to work, your car hits a pothole and you get a flat tire. You have to call a tow truck, but first you call work before the time you have to be there, and report that you have a flat tire and you're going to be late. When you arrive, the boss fires you. But you can still get unemployment! At least in Missouri, you can. Without even a penalty. Because the last incident that caused your termination was not your fault. You called to report your lateness per company policy. Everything that happened before does not matter, because they didn't fire you for it before. Last incident, people. That's what we go on. And just because you quit does not absolutely mean you can't get unemployment. I had a guy who quit a supermarket because the boss made him soak expired chicken in bleach water and repackage it with a new date on it. The during the investigation, the boss admitted that was his policy. BOOYAH! Unemployment for the quitter. It's all relative.
Another misconception this 'expert' spread nationwide this morning was, and I quote her, "Don't be ashamed to file for unemployment. It's money you have paid into the system." Wrongo, so-called expert! The individual does NOT pay unemployment insurance. That is paid by the employer. You don't see any deductions on your check for 'unemployment insurance', now do you? Nope. There's social security, and medicare, and taxes out the ying-yang, but not unemployment. I should know. I worked for the Missouri Division of Employment Security for five years. I'm an insider. I've been burned by the fire. And I've had to live with some hard promises. I've crawled through the briars.
OOPS! That's a Tom Petty song. Insider. A song he was going to give to Stevie Nicks, but took it back, making him a Native American-giver. There goes my Nobel Prize for Political Correctness. Seinfeld learned that--you can't call someone a person-who-lived-here-in-North-America-first--giver. You have to say they are a 'person who gives something and takes it back'. He learned that when he wanted to date Elaine's friend Winona, and bought her a cigar-store Indian, which was a bit of a faux pas, considering Winona's ethnicity. You would know this if you didn't have a life, and had seen every episode of Seinfeld, and had watched the four-hour Tom Petty documentary called Runnin' Down a Dream.
I am counting my blessings that HH and the #1 son escaped the killing spree of that wacko Sheley guy who allegedly murdered 8 people in Missouri and Illinois. The last sighting, before he was caught the next day in a bar parking lot in Granite City, Illinois, was outside the stadium the night my boys went to see the Cardinals play. That was kind of a close call. I'm glad that HH did not walk back to the car to pour out his illegal canned soda into bottles that night. He might have been a victim of the serial killer. They found two victims, you know, in Festus. That ain't far from here, by cracky!
There are three road construction projects that are cramping my style. One is the new bowling alley complex, where Rudy Giuliani, the giant inflatable rat, presides over the work. Another is a highway interchange about a quarter mile from the future bowling alley, but involving another road. The most annoying project is the new bridge on our county road, next to where our gravel road enters the county blacktop road. The workers are the source of my angst. They have taken an area of our gravel road, wide enough for three cars to pass, and narrowed it to one car, if you are lucky. First, they dredged a bunch of big rocks out of the creek that were home sweet home to some water snakes, and dumped them on the parking area on one side of our road. Good thing people aren't waiting for the school bus there right now. Then they parked their heavy equipment on the other side. Today, a passenger truck was parked right in the middle, with the passenger door open. Another passenger truck was coming the other way, and wanted to stop right next to it. I think they were having lunch sitting in their trucks, and wanted to chat. Gosh darn county workers! They took a two-hour lunch, too, because they were loitering around our road when we came back from town. They wouldn't even move out of the way. It's a good thing they wear steel-toed shoes. They have destroyed our private road that WE pay for, and a big ol' drainage pipe under it that their heavy equipment smashed by driving over it. I can't wait to see what monstrosity they design for us to get out after the new bridge is built.
Did you know that if you have a lefty in the house, your twist-tie thingies on packages will be twisted the wrong way?
Some woman guest commentator on CNN this morning gave out unemployment information willy-nilly. She mis-spoke. She said that you can't get unemployment if you've been fired. That ain't necessarily so. It depends on the very last incident for which you were fired. Say, for example, that you're a slacker. You've been late to work twice a week for a month. The boss tells you that the next time you're late, you'll be fired. On the way to work, your car hits a pothole and you get a flat tire. You have to call a tow truck, but first you call work before the time you have to be there, and report that you have a flat tire and you're going to be late. When you arrive, the boss fires you. But you can still get unemployment! At least in Missouri, you can. Without even a penalty. Because the last incident that caused your termination was not your fault. You called to report your lateness per company policy. Everything that happened before does not matter, because they didn't fire you for it before. Last incident, people. That's what we go on. And just because you quit does not absolutely mean you can't get unemployment. I had a guy who quit a supermarket because the boss made him soak expired chicken in bleach water and repackage it with a new date on it. The during the investigation, the boss admitted that was his policy. BOOYAH! Unemployment for the quitter. It's all relative.
Another misconception this 'expert' spread nationwide this morning was, and I quote her, "Don't be ashamed to file for unemployment. It's money you have paid into the system." Wrongo, so-called expert! The individual does NOT pay unemployment insurance. That is paid by the employer. You don't see any deductions on your check for 'unemployment insurance', now do you? Nope. There's social security, and medicare, and taxes out the ying-yang, but not unemployment. I should know. I worked for the Missouri Division of Employment Security for five years. I'm an insider. I've been burned by the fire. And I've had to live with some hard promises. I've crawled through the briars.
OOPS! That's a Tom Petty song. Insider. A song he was going to give to Stevie Nicks, but took it back, making him a Native American-giver. There goes my Nobel Prize for Political Correctness. Seinfeld learned that--you can't call someone a person-who-lived-here-in-North-America-first--giver. You have to say they are a 'person who gives something and takes it back'. He learned that when he wanted to date Elaine's friend Winona, and bought her a cigar-store Indian, which was a bit of a faux pas, considering Winona's ethnicity. You would know this if you didn't have a life, and had seen every episode of Seinfeld, and had watched the four-hour Tom Petty documentary called Runnin' Down a Dream.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Prepare The Handbaskets
Is the world about to end, and nobody told me? I don't mean like in-the-year-2012 end. I mean like, tomorrow, end. Actually, I just mean the U.S. I don't know that the rest of the world has been showing its a$$ as much as we have. I haven't noticed animals milling about willy-nilly like they do just before an earthquake. But people have become increasingly stupid lately.
A boy swims with alligators, loses his arm, and blames the animal rights activists.
A different boy ignores two signs marking an off-limits area, climbs two fences, and loses his head to a roller-coaster. His parents are planning to sue the amusement park. I can't figure out why they need an autopsy.
A model jumps from the 9th floor and loses her life. Guess she won't be blaming anybody. Her parents might not even sue the manufacturers of her antidepressants. She was Russian, after all. Perhaps they are not so litigious as our society. To further complicate matters, it seems that the reporter found it necessary to mention that she was wearing jeans and a tank top, but no shoes. Umm...does that mean something? Should she have paid more heed to her suicide ensemble since she was a model? I don't see anybody talking about the clothes of that alligator swimmer or roller coaster un-artful dodger.
A man shoots two burglars in the back, killing them. The jury acquits him. Doesn't matter that they robbed his neighbor's house, not his. Doesn't matter that he was watching them from inside his own home, then went and got his gun and went outside. He says they were in his yard and he was afraid. I don't know about you, but I don't go outside toward the thing I am afraid of. Do you think it mattered to the jury that they were illegal aliens? Guess who's not getting a civil lawsuit.
A 15-year-old girl competes in a 24-hour bicycle race in Far North Bicentennial Park in Anchorage, Alaska, and is mauled by a bear. She didn't even lose a limb or her life, by cracky! But you can bet I would never let my child go enter that bike race, especially after a grizzly had tried to attack a hiker in that park two weeks earlier. I've been to Alaska, people. And near Juneau, which is even farther south than Anchorage, I saw a bear. It was a cub, and it was across a rapidly-running creek, and I was grateful. I wondered why my uncle, who lived there, had let us go walking through those woods, even after we saw a big ol' bear footprint. Maybe those people do it all the time.
Just like the kid who swam with alligators.
A boy swims with alligators, loses his arm, and blames the animal rights activists.
A different boy ignores two signs marking an off-limits area, climbs two fences, and loses his head to a roller-coaster. His parents are planning to sue the amusement park. I can't figure out why they need an autopsy.
A model jumps from the 9th floor and loses her life. Guess she won't be blaming anybody. Her parents might not even sue the manufacturers of her antidepressants. She was Russian, after all. Perhaps they are not so litigious as our society. To further complicate matters, it seems that the reporter found it necessary to mention that she was wearing jeans and a tank top, but no shoes. Umm...does that mean something? Should she have paid more heed to her suicide ensemble since she was a model? I don't see anybody talking about the clothes of that alligator swimmer or roller coaster un-artful dodger.
A man shoots two burglars in the back, killing them. The jury acquits him. Doesn't matter that they robbed his neighbor's house, not his. Doesn't matter that he was watching them from inside his own home, then went and got his gun and went outside. He says they were in his yard and he was afraid. I don't know about you, but I don't go outside toward the thing I am afraid of. Do you think it mattered to the jury that they were illegal aliens? Guess who's not getting a civil lawsuit.
A 15-year-old girl competes in a 24-hour bicycle race in Far North Bicentennial Park in Anchorage, Alaska, and is mauled by a bear. She didn't even lose a limb or her life, by cracky! But you can bet I would never let my child go enter that bike race, especially after a grizzly had tried to attack a hiker in that park two weeks earlier. I've been to Alaska, people. And near Juneau, which is even farther south than Anchorage, I saw a bear. It was a cub, and it was across a rapidly-running creek, and I was grateful. I wondered why my uncle, who lived there, had let us go walking through those woods, even after we saw a big ol' bear footprint. Maybe those people do it all the time.
Just like the kid who swam with alligators.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
