I have a terrible headache, so this will be brief.
Make that: I HAD a terrible headache. I will still try to be brief. It came on all at once, a severe pain at the top of my nose, between my eyebrows. You know, where the UNI would be, if I had a unibrow. At the same time, my nose started to drip. The Sherlock Holmes part of me says it is a sinus headache. (Make sure you realize I said 'Sherlock Holmes', not 'Surelick Holmes', which is the name of a movie I was once persuaded to see at a little theater called 'The Studio' during my misspent youth. While I'm sure you'd like to hear the rest of THAT story, I'll leave that to your imagination, and my friend Bean's foggy memory. I don't actually remember if Bean was part of that excursion, but it was our mutual acquaintance who resembled tiny singer Paul Williams who organized the trip).
Anyhoo, I don't know why the sudden onset of my noggin pain. I did not make any sudden movements. Are you kidding? I'm Hillbilly Mom, by cracky! The biggest energy-conserver on the planet. IF it is my own energy. The #1 son put on some new anti-perspirant, but I've never reacted to fragrances in that manner. The Mansion air conditioner kicked on, and seemed colder than it has been. So cold, in fact, that I accused HH of changing the filter, a task which the thermostat warns us should be done each month, but which HH thinks he can let slide for about 18 months. HH would only declare that he has changed the filter, and when pressed for a date (which he used to write on the side of the unit, until the #1 son started following him and would read to me, thus proving HH's negligence) that he has changed the filter THIS YEAR. Since it is now June, I'm thinking this is not a good sign.
The pain has abated somewhat, after my self-medicating experiment. If I was working, I would take two ibuprofen and been done with it. The only complaints I have with the ibuprofen is that it takes too long to work (sometimes 90 minutes), that it makes my hands swell up, and that it makes me drowsy. In a hurry to shed the pain, I took a shot of The Pony's liquid Tylenol left over from when he broke his elbow. It's not the good kind, like with a number 3 or 4 after the Tylenol part. It's just the regular stuff that smells like red Kool-Aid. The Pony has also taken it when he gets a headache. It works within 5-10 minutes for him. Since the label said that The Pony should take 2 teaspoons every 4 hours as needed, I figured I could take 4 teaspoons. You know, since The Pony is just a 10-year-old hank of bone and skin, weighing about 70 pounds, and I'm...well...an old hag weighing just a little bit more. Then I threw a Bufferin down my throat for good measure, and chased it with some Coke (the soda, not the recreational drug) to get it all mixin' in my bloodstream. That's because when they gave The Pony his medicines at Children's Hospital, they always made him take them with a sip of soda instead of water. I don't know why, unless the carbonation gets it going faster, or if the sugar spikes the blood sugar level, or if the soda fends off nausea, or what. Perhaps they just thought it was easier to get kids to take medicine with soda.
I am pleased to report that this little remedy kicked that headache's butt within 22 minutes. It has now been 2 hours and 15 minutes without pain in my melon, so I consider it a success.
I've got to get a refill on that magical elixir before October.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Blaming The Victim
What kind of namby-pamby nation have we become? You know what I'm talkin' about. We reward every tiny accomplishment of our children. Who needs a kindergarten graduation? Why do all the kids on the soccer team get a trophy, no matter what place the team finishes? Why does everybody get an award instead of just the MVP? What's with having to invite every child in the class if you pass out birthday party invitations? We are not preparing our youth to face the real world! Or ARE we?
Now these kids are growing up and trying to make the real world conform to their experiences. Let's pretend everybody likes everybody else, and life is fair. Don't say anything that 'disrespects' somebody else. Free speech is no longer an option. You are not allowed to have an opinion unless it is the popular opinion held by society. You must not dislike anybody. If you start a club or business, you must let all people participate. You must let boys play on a girls' team if they don't have one of their own. Military academy? Make sure you let in girls. It's getting to the point that churches will have to accept people of different religions into their congregations, and reformulate their religious beliefs in case they are offensive to the new joiners.
You'd better toe the line, too, or we'll sue you! We know our rights, by cracky! Don't mess with us. We'll point the blame on you, and you'll have to defend yourself, or pay up.
Here's the story stuck in my craw today. Mother arrested with daughter for bullying teen. Uh huh. Remember that Missouri woman (poor ol' Missouri) for pretending to be a teenage boy on the internet, and causing that poor girl to commit suicide? Well, here's a new one. Only she's embarrassing the state of Indiana. Seems she drove her 15-year-old daughter and friend to dump some disposable diapers inscribed with naughty sayings into a rival's yard. Yep. There was not even poop in those Pampers. They just had insults written on them. They probably could have been picked up and disposed of in 5 minutes. It's not like the troublemakers took out an ad in the paper, or put up a billboard, or prank-called her 100 times a day, or plotted a Texas cheerleader murder. It was folded diapers dumped in the yard. Oh, and one little detail I forgot to mention...the recipient of the diapers tried to commit suicide. Don't worry. She was a failure. She lives!
Is it just me, or do we need to place some responsibility on the child-raisers of the 'victims' as well as the perpetrators? Sure, it was wrong to write insults on diapers and distribute them in the front yard. But would that make YOU attempt suicide? It would make ME vow revenge. Oops, my upbringing is showing. Seriously...isn't there something else going on if such a prank pushes you over the abyss? Perhaps someone was in need of a diagnosis, or counseling, or medication. Maybe the diaper dumpers actually did this family a favor.
I don't mean to blame the 'victim', but where is this going to end? Boo hoo hoo! Somebody just TeePeed my yard! The whole world is against me. I'm going to kill myself. Mom, make sure you sue whoever did this. They should have to pay for this hate crime.
It seems that we are harming, not building, self-esteem with this 'everybody wins' philosophy. Teach your children that they are losers. But not in a bad way. On MSNBC's Morning Joe the other day, the panel ridiculed Mike Barnicle because he raised his children on the premise that 'There's always going to be somebody better than you.' The rest of the panel, especially Mika Somethingshevsky, were outraged. "That's great. Your kids grew up thinking that they could never be the best." Something like that, it's not an exact quote. And Barnicle IS the guy who said Hillary Clinton 'looked like everyone's first wife standing outside a probate court'. OK, that's kind of sexist, but it's also kind of funny. I forgive him this slight on my gal Hillary, because at least he tried to prepare his kids for life.
Snap out of it, people! We need to toughen up tomorrow's citizens.
Now these kids are growing up and trying to make the real world conform to their experiences. Let's pretend everybody likes everybody else, and life is fair. Don't say anything that 'disrespects' somebody else. Free speech is no longer an option. You are not allowed to have an opinion unless it is the popular opinion held by society. You must not dislike anybody. If you start a club or business, you must let all people participate. You must let boys play on a girls' team if they don't have one of their own. Military academy? Make sure you let in girls. It's getting to the point that churches will have to accept people of different religions into their congregations, and reformulate their religious beliefs in case they are offensive to the new joiners.
You'd better toe the line, too, or we'll sue you! We know our rights, by cracky! Don't mess with us. We'll point the blame on you, and you'll have to defend yourself, or pay up.
Here's the story stuck in my craw today. Mother arrested with daughter for bullying teen. Uh huh. Remember that Missouri woman (poor ol' Missouri) for pretending to be a teenage boy on the internet, and causing that poor girl to commit suicide? Well, here's a new one. Only she's embarrassing the state of Indiana. Seems she drove her 15-year-old daughter and friend to dump some disposable diapers inscribed with naughty sayings into a rival's yard. Yep. There was not even poop in those Pampers. They just had insults written on them. They probably could have been picked up and disposed of in 5 minutes. It's not like the troublemakers took out an ad in the paper, or put up a billboard, or prank-called her 100 times a day, or plotted a Texas cheerleader murder. It was folded diapers dumped in the yard. Oh, and one little detail I forgot to mention...the recipient of the diapers tried to commit suicide. Don't worry. She was a failure. She lives!
Is it just me, or do we need to place some responsibility on the child-raisers of the 'victims' as well as the perpetrators? Sure, it was wrong to write insults on diapers and distribute them in the front yard. But would that make YOU attempt suicide? It would make ME vow revenge. Oops, my upbringing is showing. Seriously...isn't there something else going on if such a prank pushes you over the abyss? Perhaps someone was in need of a diagnosis, or counseling, or medication. Maybe the diaper dumpers actually did this family a favor.
I don't mean to blame the 'victim', but where is this going to end? Boo hoo hoo! Somebody just TeePeed my yard! The whole world is against me. I'm going to kill myself. Mom, make sure you sue whoever did this. They should have to pay for this hate crime.
It seems that we are harming, not building, self-esteem with this 'everybody wins' philosophy. Teach your children that they are losers. But not in a bad way. On MSNBC's Morning Joe the other day, the panel ridiculed Mike Barnicle because he raised his children on the premise that 'There's always going to be somebody better than you.' The rest of the panel, especially Mika Somethingshevsky, were outraged. "That's great. Your kids grew up thinking that they could never be the best." Something like that, it's not an exact quote. And Barnicle IS the guy who said Hillary Clinton 'looked like everyone's first wife standing outside a probate court'. OK, that's kind of sexist, but it's also kind of funny. I forgive him this slight on my gal Hillary, because at least he tried to prepare his kids for life.
Snap out of it, people! We need to toughen up tomorrow's citizens.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Random Thought Thursday 6-12-08
It's Thursday already. Good thing. I don't really have any lengthy ideas to discuss. Stop that! Stop jumping with glee! I'm right here, you know.
When it rains it pours. Especially in Iowa. And on the Morton Salt box. But that's not what I'm talking about. I go for days with no communication from my posse. But when one calls, they all call. Like last week, when 3 of them called within 90 minutes. Then today, right when I was talking to MyOldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight about bringing her daughter out to swim in Poolio, who should try to call me? Mabel. Uh huh. And after bending her ear for part of the afternoon, my #1 son called me 4 times. Sweet Gummi Mary! How can I be expected to keep this Mansion running with all those distractions?
Kathy Griffin's show starts a new season tonight.
Not only have I been watching 2 hours of ER on TBS every morning...I have been watching 3 hours of ER on ION at night. It's a very special All-Star guest tribute. That's 5 hours a day of ER, people! Somebody needs to get her priorities in order. Good thing the ION mini-marathon was only Monday-Wednesday. I think.
I squeezed in a good movie in 3 partial viewings over 3 different days. When I skimmed through the channels, it popped up and grabbed my attention. It is called Down in the Delta, starring Alfre Woodard and Al Freeman, Jr. and Esther Rolle. The more I watched, the more I wanted to find out the mystery of Nathan, the silver candelabra. It even brought tears to my eyes. Twice.
The #1 son went to school yesterday and today, because the school went to a YMCA camp and a city park swimming pool. Never mind that we have a pool right here at the Mansion. That's what HH said on the subject. I instructed him to put on his chapstick-looking sunscreen every two hours, and not to drown, and not to play the dunking game. I guess one out of three isn't bad. He said his buddy tried to shove him underwater, but it didn't work. I suppose not. My boy is now 5' 10" and 150 lbs. That's a pretty good size 13-year-old. His buddy might be an inch taller, but he's a real twig, kind of spindly, and he couldn't close the deal.
My boy says I'm overprotective and obsessive. I agree. When he got home last night, I made him come downstairs and watch the news with me. That Iowa tornado at the Boy Scout ranch really wrapped its fingers around my cold, cold heart. Boy Scouts. The best Boy Scouts, chosen to attend a leadership camp. Their proud parents sent off their 13- and 14-year-old sons to have a good time, never thinking that it might be the last goodbye. "This," I told my boy, "is why I am so overprotective. You never know what might happen."
Now I have made myself sad again, and I need to go see what time Ms. Griffin can cheer me up. Thank the Gummi Mary, I haven't lost my urge to end sentences with prepositions.
When it rains it pours. Especially in Iowa. And on the Morton Salt box. But that's not what I'm talking about. I go for days with no communication from my posse. But when one calls, they all call. Like last week, when 3 of them called within 90 minutes. Then today, right when I was talking to MyOldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight about bringing her daughter out to swim in Poolio, who should try to call me? Mabel. Uh huh. And after bending her ear for part of the afternoon, my #1 son called me 4 times. Sweet Gummi Mary! How can I be expected to keep this Mansion running with all those distractions?
Kathy Griffin's show starts a new season tonight.
Not only have I been watching 2 hours of ER on TBS every morning...I have been watching 3 hours of ER on ION at night. It's a very special All-Star guest tribute. That's 5 hours a day of ER, people! Somebody needs to get her priorities in order. Good thing the ION mini-marathon was only Monday-Wednesday. I think.
I squeezed in a good movie in 3 partial viewings over 3 different days. When I skimmed through the channels, it popped up and grabbed my attention. It is called Down in the Delta, starring Alfre Woodard and Al Freeman, Jr. and Esther Rolle. The more I watched, the more I wanted to find out the mystery of Nathan, the silver candelabra. It even brought tears to my eyes. Twice.
The #1 son went to school yesterday and today, because the school went to a YMCA camp and a city park swimming pool. Never mind that we have a pool right here at the Mansion. That's what HH said on the subject. I instructed him to put on his chapstick-looking sunscreen every two hours, and not to drown, and not to play the dunking game. I guess one out of three isn't bad. He said his buddy tried to shove him underwater, but it didn't work. I suppose not. My boy is now 5' 10" and 150 lbs. That's a pretty good size 13-year-old. His buddy might be an inch taller, but he's a real twig, kind of spindly, and he couldn't close the deal.
My boy says I'm overprotective and obsessive. I agree. When he got home last night, I made him come downstairs and watch the news with me. That Iowa tornado at the Boy Scout ranch really wrapped its fingers around my cold, cold heart. Boy Scouts. The best Boy Scouts, chosen to attend a leadership camp. Their proud parents sent off their 13- and 14-year-old sons to have a good time, never thinking that it might be the last goodbye. "This," I told my boy, "is why I am so overprotective. You never know what might happen."
Now I have made myself sad again, and I need to go see what time Ms. Griffin can cheer me up. Thank the Gummi Mary, I haven't lost my urge to end sentences with prepositions.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Current Events With Mrs. Hillbilly Mom
We are rapidly approaching the year 2012, people. Do you have your handbaskets ready? Because every day, the world goes a little crazier.
Gone are the days when suicidal people could just close the garage door and start the car. The price of gas might even be affecting the way people decide to end their lives. Or the economy is so bad they can't even afford cars. Did you see this? A guy went up with some skydivers to take pictures, and when they all jumped out of the plane, so did he...without a parachute. The police ruled his death a suicide. Apparently, he took pictures of himself on the way down.
The son of Indiana Jones used the f*gg*t word on YouTube, though I'm sure he didn't plan on being on YouTube at the time of slurring. That Shia dude is one bad seed. He has also been arrested for trespassing in a Walgreens, and had a warrant issued for failing to appear in court on illegal smoking charges. Crikey! Lock him up and throw away the key! Three strikes, you know.
Remember last blog, when I told you about the guy who killed his wife by shooting into the wall to install his satellite dish? Even though she was outside, his bullet found her and snuffed her out. I can't find the link right now, but my main horror at this incident was that it happened in MISSOURI. Of course it did, you say. Well, here's a story just to prove that our neighbors to the west are just as dumb. A guy's friend accidentally shot him in the head with a nail gun, nailing his hat on sideways, and not in a fashionable way.
My favorite part is: Med-Act spokesman Jeff Johnson said Chandler remained alert and conscious for the most part, passing out only once when someone mentioned the nail.
That part, and this:
He was scheduled for surgery when his doctor entered his room early and announced he was going to remove the nail using a sterilized screwdriver and claw hammer from the maintenance department.
“I thought he was just trying to scare me,” Chandler said.
Yeah. It reminds me of the SNL recurring sketch 'Appalachian Emergency Room.'
Thank the Gummi Mary, MISSOURI people were able to stay out of the news so far this week.
Gone are the days when suicidal people could just close the garage door and start the car. The price of gas might even be affecting the way people decide to end their lives. Or the economy is so bad they can't even afford cars. Did you see this? A guy went up with some skydivers to take pictures, and when they all jumped out of the plane, so did he...without a parachute. The police ruled his death a suicide. Apparently, he took pictures of himself on the way down.
The son of Indiana Jones used the f*gg*t word on YouTube, though I'm sure he didn't plan on being on YouTube at the time of slurring. That Shia dude is one bad seed. He has also been arrested for trespassing in a Walgreens, and had a warrant issued for failing to appear in court on illegal smoking charges. Crikey! Lock him up and throw away the key! Three strikes, you know.
Remember last blog, when I told you about the guy who killed his wife by shooting into the wall to install his satellite dish? Even though she was outside, his bullet found her and snuffed her out. I can't find the link right now, but my main horror at this incident was that it happened in MISSOURI. Of course it did, you say. Well, here's a story just to prove that our neighbors to the west are just as dumb. A guy's friend accidentally shot him in the head with a nail gun, nailing his hat on sideways, and not in a fashionable way.
My favorite part is: Med-Act spokesman Jeff Johnson said Chandler remained alert and conscious for the most part, passing out only once when someone mentioned the nail.
That part, and this:
He was scheduled for surgery when his doctor entered his room early and announced he was going to remove the nail using a sterilized screwdriver and claw hammer from the maintenance department.
“I thought he was just trying to scare me,” Chandler said.
Yeah. It reminds me of the SNL recurring sketch 'Appalachian Emergency Room.'
Thank the Gummi Mary, MISSOURI people were able to stay out of the news so far this week.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Limbs Falling From Cedars
Okay, I'll give you something fresh today. I'll give you an unrecycled story, fresh off the vine. And while you're at it, have a heapin' helping of these round red tomatoes. Or perhaps you would prefer the roma or plum tomatoes. Dig in. Don't cost nothin'. I won't be using them. I'm off my tomato feed lately. Don't think they're from my garden. Ever since the deer ate the baby watermelons, and a giant hornworm ate half of each tender tomato on the vines, we have refused to plant a garden. (There's 3 pictures linked there, people. Be sure to check them out. None of them are my personal hornworm. HH caught him and squeezed him to death until a gush of tomato-seedy slimy poop squirted out of him. That would have been a feast for Bear Grylls. Don't tell PETA, OK?)
Around 11:00 this morning, at the end of a TBS ER episode where Benton breathed a sigh of relief because he didn't really kill the Herlihy baby, I saw a big orange vehicle driving up the gravel road through the prisms of the cut-glassy door-framing tall windows. That's not a very good sentence. It kind of sounds like 'HH shot a possum eating dogfood in his pajamas' kind of sentence. Which is silly, really, because HH doesn't wear pajamas. But anyway, I told The Pony to look out and see what was going on. He reported that it went by the house, and it looked like a highway truck.
As we gathered up our various electronic gadgets that we have to take with us as pacifiers on the 10-minute ride to town, The Pony went back to the door. He heard the dog's tail beating on the front door. When he opened it (the door, not the dog's tail, but don't think that act hasn't crossed his mind), I heard a man say, "Is your mom or dad home?" The Pony came in, all a-fluster, and said, "There's a MAN out there. I thought he was the dog." The man wasn't actually ON the porch, but at the bottom of the steps. He must not have brought his dog-club. C'mon, people. Don't think those fellas don't carry a dog-club. My brother-in-law-the-mayor used to be a meter reader for Union Electric. You can bet HE had a dog-club, and it saved him from a-biting several times. Anyhoo, now that I am being hotlined to PETA, I must pick up the pace of my little story.
The guy was with AmerenUE, the only electric company in town. (I'm being facetious--my dad made a career of working with Southwestern Bell, back in the day, before the telephone business was deregulated, and they had a catchy saying: We May Be The Only Phone Company In Town, But We Try Not To Act Like It. They even had caps and jackets with WMBTOPCITBWTNTALI on them. I can't really complain. That company put food in my mouth and bought me a new color TV to watch One Life to Live when the old one broke and made sure I had a CPO jacket so I was stylish and wouldn't freeze.) So much for making my long story short.
The dude looked kind of like that Hugh guy from Ice Road Truckers, kinda scraggly and red-necky, but without the 'aboot' and 'don't cha know' accent. He said they were wanting to trim some limbs so they don't fall on the lines in the winter. I told him to hack away at the cedars that were already sporting broken limbs. Cedars are the worst, you know. They soak up snow and rain and when it freezes, they can't hold their water. The #1 son had to get the keys and move HH's Ford F250 Extended Cab Long Bed Off-Road-Packaged piece of crap. He drives his Mercedes piece of crap to work, due to the price of gas and the meager allowance that I allow him. He parks his truck in the gravel he poured between the Mansion and the BARn. Not in the garage, because the truck is too long for the garage after HH built in a shelf. Not in the driveway, where HH's pimpin' 1980 copper-colored Olds Toronado sits. No, HH drives his truck through the front yard to park in our little shady patch of woods that the electric line runs through.
That was the excitement for the day. It gave me a flashback to the book salesman. I must be psychic. I picked that intruder story that wasn't even a good story out of the blue, to put on my brand-new blog. And now this. I'm thinkin' I might rerun the Devil post again. You know, the one where I woke up to find the Devil on my front porch? If there are any other stories you would like to share with me while we reminisce in rockers on the front porch while smoking our corn-cob pipes, let me know.
I'm taking requests.
Around 11:00 this morning, at the end of a TBS ER episode where Benton breathed a sigh of relief because he didn't really kill the Herlihy baby, I saw a big orange vehicle driving up the gravel road through the prisms of the cut-glassy door-framing tall windows. That's not a very good sentence. It kind of sounds like 'HH shot a possum eating dogfood in his pajamas' kind of sentence. Which is silly, really, because HH doesn't wear pajamas. But anyway, I told The Pony to look out and see what was going on. He reported that it went by the house, and it looked like a highway truck.
As we gathered up our various electronic gadgets that we have to take with us as pacifiers on the 10-minute ride to town, The Pony went back to the door. He heard the dog's tail beating on the front door. When he opened it (the door, not the dog's tail, but don't think that act hasn't crossed his mind), I heard a man say, "Is your mom or dad home?" The Pony came in, all a-fluster, and said, "There's a MAN out there. I thought he was the dog." The man wasn't actually ON the porch, but at the bottom of the steps. He must not have brought his dog-club. C'mon, people. Don't think those fellas don't carry a dog-club. My brother-in-law-the-mayor used to be a meter reader for Union Electric. You can bet HE had a dog-club, and it saved him from a-biting several times. Anyhoo, now that I am being hotlined to PETA, I must pick up the pace of my little story.
The guy was with AmerenUE, the only electric company in town. (I'm being facetious--my dad made a career of working with Southwestern Bell, back in the day, before the telephone business was deregulated, and they had a catchy saying: We May Be The Only Phone Company In Town, But We Try Not To Act Like It. They even had caps and jackets with WMBTOPCITBWTNTALI on them. I can't really complain. That company put food in my mouth and bought me a new color TV to watch One Life to Live when the old one broke and made sure I had a CPO jacket so I was stylish and wouldn't freeze.) So much for making my long story short.
The dude looked kind of like that Hugh guy from Ice Road Truckers, kinda scraggly and red-necky, but without the 'aboot' and 'don't cha know' accent. He said they were wanting to trim some limbs so they don't fall on the lines in the winter. I told him to hack away at the cedars that were already sporting broken limbs. Cedars are the worst, you know. They soak up snow and rain and when it freezes, they can't hold their water. The #1 son had to get the keys and move HH's Ford F250 Extended Cab Long Bed Off-Road-Packaged piece of crap. He drives his Mercedes piece of crap to work, due to the price of gas and the meager allowance that I allow him. He parks his truck in the gravel he poured between the Mansion and the BARn. Not in the garage, because the truck is too long for the garage after HH built in a shelf. Not in the driveway, where HH's pimpin' 1980 copper-colored Olds Toronado sits. No, HH drives his truck through the front yard to park in our little shady patch of woods that the electric line runs through.
That was the excitement for the day. It gave me a flashback to the book salesman. I must be psychic. I picked that intruder story that wasn't even a good story out of the blue, to put on my brand-new blog. And now this. I'm thinkin' I might rerun the Devil post again. You know, the one where I woke up to find the Devil on my front porch? If there are any other stories you would like to share with me while we reminisce in rockers on the front porch while smoking our corn-cob pipes, let me know.
I'm taking requests.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Hillbilly Mom's Greatest Hits
This week is going to be dedicated to ME. I am bring you my greatest hits from the last four blogs. Don't get all excited. Greatest hits from Hillbilly Mom ain't nothin' to write home about. The Hammster's comments yesterday mentioned 'The Shootist', which is also a John Wayne movie, and in a roundabout way, it reminded me of THIS post from 2005:
***************************************************************
I'm at the bottom of Connecticut. You know, that little part that sticks out? I am overlooking the New England Sound. I can see across to the lights of New York, and what's that island just off
of New York?
You mean Manhattan?
Yeah, I guess. The place where everybody goes for the summer.
No, that would be the Hamptons. Long Island.
Yeah, whatever. My boss lives two doors down from some famous author lady. Betty something. I can't think of it now.
Hmm...you mean like famous for her writing now? Or did she write classic literature? Or poetry? How old is she? Does she live by him, or just her house is by his?
She just died. I think she was born in the 1930s.
You're not giving me much to go on.
I know. I don't know that kind of stuff. I'll have to ask him again.
Thirty minutes later #2 son answered the phone. Hey, Dad is back at his motel.
Ask him about that author lady.
Oh. Mom, it was Katherine Hepburn.
Only at my house, people, is Katherine Hepburn best known for her writing. And her nickname, "Betty." Nice of HH to shave 30 years off her age, because she was born in 1903. And only at my house does "just died" mean 2 years ago she died.
We won't even get into our geography issues.
There. That should satisfy you until tomorrow.
***************************************************************
Saturday, August 27, 2005
The Famous Author
Hillbilly Husband is in Connecticut to fix a machine and visit with his company's big boss. He called tonight to check in. It went a little something like this:I'm at the bottom of Connecticut. You know, that little part that sticks out? I am overlooking the New England Sound. I can see across to the lights of New York, and what's that island just off
of New York?
You mean Manhattan?
Yeah, I guess. The place where everybody goes for the summer.
No, that would be the Hamptons. Long Island.
Yeah, whatever. My boss lives two doors down from some famous author lady. Betty something. I can't think of it now.
Hmm...you mean like famous for her writing now? Or did she write classic literature? Or poetry? How old is she? Does she live by him, or just her house is by his?
She just died. I think she was born in the 1930s.
You're not giving me much to go on.
I know. I don't know that kind of stuff. I'll have to ask him again.
Thirty minutes later #2 son answered the phone. Hey, Dad is back at his motel.
Ask him about that author lady.
Oh. Mom, it was Katherine Hepburn.
Only at my house, people, is Katherine Hepburn best known for her writing. And her nickname, "Betty." Nice of HH to shave 30 years off her age, because she was born in 1903. And only at my house does "just died" mean 2 years ago she died.
We won't even get into our geography issues.
8 Comments:
-
At 10:40 PM,
deadpanann said… -
At 12:07 PM,
Hillbilly Mom said… -
At 3:59 PM,
KarbonKountyMoos said…HH isn't doing bad geographically. I "grew up" (to a point) on Longuyland. Well, in Astoria, Queens. It always amazed me that folks in Queens & Brooklyn would say, "We're going out to the island."
You're already on "the island" - knuckleheads - you're going east...
And here I thought that Katherine Hepburn was a famous dancer. Oh, maybe that was Audrey. -
At 4:15 PM,
Redneck Diva said… -
At 7:06 PM,
Hillbilly Mom said…Babs,
He got back today, and told me that he drove out onto the causeway, which is "just like a big low-water bridge." I guess you can take the redneck out of Missouri, but you can't take the Missouri out of the redneck.
Karen,
But have you been to "New England Sound?"
Diva,
HH is not book-friendly. He wouldn't read a book on a$$-biting if it bit him in the a$$. OK, so maybe that's not a very good example. -
At 7:09 PM,
Hillbilly Mom said…Bec,
I guess you think you're clever, sneaking in while I was busy responding to others. There's one of you in every crowd. Me me me! Stop talking to them and talk to me!
Are you sure you weren't googling "world class car-singers?"
There. That should satisfy you until tomorrow.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
A Blast From My Past
WooHoo! It's Sunday evening, and I don't have to work tomorrow! I loves me some summertime. So much for whipping my new blog home into shape. It can wait, by cracky!
I have run out of scathingly brilliant ideas. The well has run dry. So has the pond in the pasture where the Oreo cows live. They are on our way to town, the Oreo cows. They are black at the head and butt, with a thick white stripe around their belly area. They are double stuff Oreo cows. One was in the road the other day, having rolled under the fence, happily munching grass along where the road's shoulder would be if our roads had a shoulder. Why he couldn't stand in the grass, I don't know. That's one of the perks about living in the middle of nowhere--you never know what you might find when you round that blind curve, or crest a hill. Some days, it's the front end of a dually pick-up truck coming at you. Other days, it's a beast with four stomachs.
Because I have no imagination today, I see no reason to punish you. So I'll treat you to one of my golden oldies. Or moldy oldies. Today, I bring you one from my very first blog, the Redneck Review. You be the judge of whether I have improved over the past 4 blogs. But don't feel like you have to tell me.
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I have run out of scathingly brilliant ideas. The well has run dry. So has the pond in the pasture where the Oreo cows live. They are on our way to town, the Oreo cows. They are black at the head and butt, with a thick white stripe around their belly area. They are double stuff Oreo cows. One was in the road the other day, having rolled under the fence, happily munching grass along where the road's shoulder would be if our roads had a shoulder. Why he couldn't stand in the grass, I don't know. That's one of the perks about living in the middle of nowhere--you never know what you might find when you round that blind curve, or crest a hill. Some days, it's the front end of a dually pick-up truck coming at you. Other days, it's a beast with four stomachs.
Because I have no imagination today, I see no reason to punish you. So I'll treat you to one of my golden oldies. Or moldy oldies. Today, I bring you one from my very first blog, the Redneck Review. You be the judge of whether I have improved over the past 4 blogs. But don't feel like you have to tell me.
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Thursday, July 21, 2005
INTRUDER!!! INTRUDER!!!
Sit down, buckle up, and prepare for a rant.
I am a lazy slug in the summer. I stay up until 2:00 or 3:00 am, and
on good days I am up by 9:00 am to watch ER reruns on TBS.
Yesterday was not a good day.
At 9:10 am, #2 son came into my bedroom. He usually sleeps until
10:00. He slept on the living room couch last night, because he can.
We don't care about bedtimes in the summer, and he stays up late.
He was in his pajamas (which he insists on wearing inside-out), and
rubbing his eyes. "There is someone on the porch, and I saw
someone walking in the yard."
WHAT? We live a mile up a gravel road. At the entrance to this
gravel road is a sign about 3 feet by 3 feet that proclaims: Private
Road. Trespassers will be prosecuted. That means, people, that
we don't want your trash dumped on our property. It means that
we pay for our own road upkeep, and don't want you using our
2.5 miles of gravel to cut 7 miles off your daily drive. Our roads
are maintained by our hard-earned dollars, not your county
taxes. And we haven't notice you kicking in your $200 every
winter for gravel and tractor gas. We don't want to adopt your
discarded pets. We don't want to host your underage beer parties,
or to provide the guest of honor for your mailbox-bashing sprees.
So JUST KEEP OUT!!! And that especially means SALESMEN!
And anybody planning to chop me up and put me in a 55-gallon
barrel. (Thank your mama, Redneck Diva, for giving me this
new phobia).
I huffed out of bed, made myself crack-of-the-door presentable,
and traipsed through the living room after #2 son. He put his face
to the glass panel at the side of the door and announced, "He's
still here."
Now what kind of person keeps standing at the door when
nobody answers? He never rang the doorbell--not even once.
And that is the one thing around this house that works. The kids
ring it all the time when they are hankerin' for a trip to spankytown.
#2 said the guy knocked on the door, and that woke him up. So
I guess he had been standing there for at least 5 minutes. He was
probably perusing the yard for kid toys to help his sales pitch.
I opened the door a crack, and there's this kid about 20-25 years
old with a clipboard. "Are you the lady of the house?" Yeah, what
other haggard hag would drag herself to the door to deal with him?
I wanted to say, "No, I am this week's ho. The wife is really ugly."
He started his spiel, "I'm a college student and I'm trying to earn
money..."
"We're not interested." I started to close the door. He took a
step closer and continued. Then I was really ticked, and I said,
"How did you even get in here? This is a private road. We don't
want any salesmen." Then I slammed the door. I guess he left.
I didn't look out to give him another chance.
Last year another guy from this company was here, and the year
before that a different one. They are persistent and don't want to
take "NO!" for an answer. One year I actually went out and
stood on the front porch with one, and when he saw I wasn't
buying anything, he turned to #1 son, who was in 2nd grade.
He started asking him wouldn't he like to read about dinosaurs,
and trains, etc. #1 told him, "No. I'm into computers." The
nerve of that guy, trying to manipulate me into buying something
using my kid! I asked him how he got up in here to solicit on a
private road. He seemed to think it was OK, because a neighbor
had "recommended" us. Then he tried to pump me for information
on the next house up the road from me. No way.
I understand that people have to make a living. That does not
give them the right to make their own rules. Private means
private. I does not mean everybody but you, keep out.
There are plenty of houses in town where you can peddle
your wares. That's one of the reasons we moved out here.
What with the Mormons parking their bicycles in the yard and
wanting to sit a spell, and the Jehovah's Witnesses hawking
the Watchtower, and the van full of kids selling cleaning supplies
one week and magazines the next, and the Sheriff's Deputies
trying to serve warrants on people who didn't live there anymore,
and the traveling health team wanting to suck our child's blood
to test for lead.....I pretty much needed a butler to answer my
door all summer. Now I want my privacy.
Disclaimer: I have nothing against the Mormons or Jehovah's
Witnesses. This is their way of spreading their Word, and
they are just doing what they have to do. And they know the
meaning of the phrase 'Private Road.' My mother used
to invite them in and chat for an hour or so. They stopped
coming back.
I am a lazy slug in the summer. I stay up until 2:00 or 3:00 am, and
on good days I am up by 9:00 am to watch ER reruns on TBS.
Yesterday was not a good day.
At 9:10 am, #2 son came into my bedroom. He usually sleeps until
10:00. He slept on the living room couch last night, because he can.
We don't care about bedtimes in the summer, and he stays up late.
He was in his pajamas (which he insists on wearing inside-out), and
rubbing his eyes. "There is someone on the porch, and I saw
someone walking in the yard."
WHAT? We live a mile up a gravel road. At the entrance to this
gravel road is a sign about 3 feet by 3 feet that proclaims: Private
Road. Trespassers will be prosecuted. That means, people, that
we don't want your trash dumped on our property. It means that
we pay for our own road upkeep, and don't want you using our
2.5 miles of gravel to cut 7 miles off your daily drive. Our roads
are maintained by our hard-earned dollars, not your county
taxes. And we haven't notice you kicking in your $200 every
winter for gravel and tractor gas. We don't want to adopt your
discarded pets. We don't want to host your underage beer parties,
or to provide the guest of honor for your mailbox-bashing sprees.
So JUST KEEP OUT!!! And that especially means SALESMEN!
And anybody planning to chop me up and put me in a 55-gallon
barrel. (Thank your mama, Redneck Diva, for giving me this
new phobia).
I huffed out of bed, made myself crack-of-the-door presentable,
and traipsed through the living room after #2 son. He put his face
to the glass panel at the side of the door and announced, "He's
still here."
Now what kind of person keeps standing at the door when
nobody answers? He never rang the doorbell--not even once.
And that is the one thing around this house that works. The kids
ring it all the time when they are hankerin' for a trip to spankytown.
#2 said the guy knocked on the door, and that woke him up. So
I guess he had been standing there for at least 5 minutes. He was
probably perusing the yard for kid toys to help his sales pitch.
I opened the door a crack, and there's this kid about 20-25 years
old with a clipboard. "Are you the lady of the house?" Yeah, what
other haggard hag would drag herself to the door to deal with him?
I wanted to say, "No, I am this week's ho. The wife is really ugly."
He started his spiel, "I'm a college student and I'm trying to earn
money..."
"We're not interested." I started to close the door. He took a
step closer and continued. Then I was really ticked, and I said,
"How did you even get in here? This is a private road. We don't
want any salesmen." Then I slammed the door. I guess he left.
I didn't look out to give him another chance.
Last year another guy from this company was here, and the year
before that a different one. They are persistent and don't want to
take "NO!" for an answer. One year I actually went out and
stood on the front porch with one, and when he saw I wasn't
buying anything, he turned to #1 son, who was in 2nd grade.
He started asking him wouldn't he like to read about dinosaurs,
and trains, etc. #1 told him, "No. I'm into computers." The
nerve of that guy, trying to manipulate me into buying something
using my kid! I asked him how he got up in here to solicit on a
private road. He seemed to think it was OK, because a neighbor
had "recommended" us. Then he tried to pump me for information
on the next house up the road from me. No way.
I understand that people have to make a living. That does not
give them the right to make their own rules. Private means
private. I does not mean everybody but you, keep out.
There are plenty of houses in town where you can peddle
your wares. That's one of the reasons we moved out here.
What with the Mormons parking their bicycles in the yard and
wanting to sit a spell, and the Jehovah's Witnesses hawking
the Watchtower, and the van full of kids selling cleaning supplies
one week and magazines the next, and the Sheriff's Deputies
trying to serve warrants on people who didn't live there anymore,
and the traveling health team wanting to suck our child's blood
to test for lead.....I pretty much needed a butler to answer my
door all summer. Now I want my privacy.
Disclaimer: I have nothing against the Mormons or Jehovah's
Witnesses. This is their way of spreading their Word, and
they are just doing what they have to do. And they know the
meaning of the phrase 'Private Road.' My mother used
to invite them in and chat for an hour or so. They stopped
coming back.
5 Comments:
-
Salespeople are evil. Yes, they have to make a living somehow, and there are some nice salespeople out there. But more than often we come across the ones who go to great lengths to make a sale. It's ridiculous that even when you politely tell them that you're not interested, they will still keep grilling you about their deal anyway. Jerks.
What you need is a savage dog on your property. I hear they are very effective.
-
Misha,
We adopted out dog from the Humane Society when he was a puppy. He barks at Hillbilly Husband, snakes, turtles, and nothing. When a stranger comes, he wags his tail. Useless fleabag!
Bec,
To throw goldfish water on them, I would have to touch the goldfish water. No thank you. I prefer to keep all of my fingers so I can continue with my mediocre posts.
-
My husband has a psychopathic uncle who has sworn to murder us all before he dies, therefore when strange vehicles come up our 1/10 of a mile driveway, the house goes into panic mode and I start loading my 9mm. Peddlers, solicitors, Jehovah's Witnesses, fruit salesmen and the guy that serves us with 48 hour cut-offs on the electric are met at the door by me, usually in my pajamas, wielding a rather nasty looking handgun. Heh, even when I realize it's not the crazy uncle, I still wield the gun. Strangely, we don't get too many repeat offenders.
-
There's an idea. There is certainly no shortage of guns around this house.
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I find myself saying that something "just" happened when it's been a while. But I guess I'd like to think that when I die it will take more than 2 years before it's exactly as if I had never existed.
God I'm depressed.