Nothing of interest to report today. Move along.
Tomorrow's itinerary includes a trip to town to buy shoes for the #1 son (baby needs a new pair of shoes--mama needs another gambling trip). I will also shop for a phone for myself. My 5-year-old brick, as my son calls it, has now started acting up. It will stop working intermittently. Like when I am talking to someone, it goes dead for several seconds at a time. I might miss some crucial information. The boy is trying to talk me into a new iPhone, but I do not need the bells and whistles, nor the increased $10 per month it will cost me. I would be a candidate for the Jitterbug, except that it does not work in our area. Don't think I have been shopping for one. It shows on the commercial. There's a tiny blank area in the middle of the country where it won't work. That's us. And anyway, I think the Jitterbug looks like a toilet seat.
HH and #1 are gone to the Cardinals' game tonight. HH the Miser took a collapsible cooler of soda. Last time, they took cans, which were disallowed. The guy offered to let HH go in and buy cups of ice to pour it in. But no. HH walked all the way back to the car, which he parks way down the street and not in a parking garage, but in a lot, and poured the canned soda into bottles. You don't want to know where the bottles came from. But I'm going to tell you. They were HH's empty Mountain Dew 20 oz. bottles that he tosses over his shoulder to accumulate on the floorboard. #1 was mortified. HH said, "Well, I didn't want to waste the soda." The boy told him, "Duh. We could have just put the cans in the car and drank them another day."
I saw another good movie last night. I think it was on the Sundance channel. Not that the acting was good, or that there weren't holes in the plot big enough to run the Mississippi River through. But it was gripping, and I couldn't surf away from it. I tried once, in the first 10 minute, and wouldn't you know it, a main character disappeared, and I don't know the mechanism of departure. That'll learn me. The name of it was The Favor. It starred nobody I had ever heard of. There was no action. But I was entranced. It was about a guy raising a troubled teenage boy who was not his son.
Here's a treat for you. I'm listening to part of my Time-Life collection of 70s music. This one happens to be One-Hit Wonders. Let me share the QUEUE, as my Windows Media Center calls it. What's with Windows Media Center? Is it British, or perhaps Canadian? Nobody here in Missouri talks that way. And that's a fact, Jack.
70s One-Hit Wonders Queue
Play That Funky Music...Wild Cherry
My Maria...W. Stevenson
One Toke Over The Line...Brewer & Shipley
Afternoon Delight...Starland Vocal Band
Life Is A Rock...Reunion
I Can Help...Billy Swan
Beach Baby...First Class
O-O-H Child...The Five Stairsteps
Precious And Few...Climax
Brother Louie...Stories
Put Your Hand In The Hand...Ocean
Please Come To Boston...Dave Loggins
No extra charge for the time travel.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Take, Take Me Home
continued from yesterday...
When you last left Hillbilly Mom, she and 23 cohorts were being held hostage at the casino by Ebony and Ivory, drivers of the short bus.
Since Ivory had told us "Two forty-five" as the departure time when we disembarked onto his little blue stepstool, we believed him. After all, that's what it said on the mailer we got concerning the new route for the Old People Gambling Bus. So like all good old people, we met out front at 2:30. That's how it worked with the other drivers. We loaded the bus, and LEFT when he told us. Ebony and Ivory must have gotten their wires crossed. I stopped gambling at 2:20. I was out front at 2:30. So were most of the other risk-takers from the short bus. We waited. And waited. At 2:45, Ebony pulled up to the OTHER door, the one where we were not waiting, and Ivory got out his stepstool. We followed the lead cow to the short bus, and got on. Twenty of us got on. After a head count and a recount of his precious clipboard, Ivory stated that we were missing four people. He asked us who they were. One lady volunteered that her landlady and the landlady's son were missing. Another said the guy in front of her was gone. That's all we could think of. The rowdies in the back seat asked if we could leave them.
When we rode the Husky bus, we left two people.
It's not like we're kids. We were told when to be here.
Who do they think they are?
I'd like to be gambling right now, too.
If they have a problem, they'll just have to walk home.
That's really inconsiderate to the rest of us.
Leave them!
Ebony said that we couldn't leave until 3:00. At 2:55, the landlady duo came out, followed by a guy who seemed simple. They received a cold reception. Ivory tried to decide if he had miscounted. Then one white-hair said, "Hey! Aren't we missing that guy who got on with you?" The simple guy kind of nodded. But he didn't speak up. Rowdiest said, "I hated to leave my machine. I just hit it big at 2:20. I know it was going to pay more." I told her that the missing guy had sat down to play it when she left, and was at this very moment collecting his giant jackpot. She shuddered. At 2:59, the bald guy in the green Hawaiian shirt came walking toward the bus. "He isn't in a very big hurry, is he?" "Why should he be...he still has one minute left!" The guy across from me mumbled, "You almost had to walk home, Bub." But not loud enough for Bub to hear it distinctly. Old people can be so cruel.
Ebony ripped out of the parking lot like he was getting a bonus for each minute he was under schedule. He ran the first stop sign. I can't say any of us were surprised. We held on for dear life down Harrah's slalomy entrance/exit road. Ebony hit I-270, and made a bee-line for the next-to-fastest lane. Our bodies swayed back and forth in a sideways sine wave, like a 24-ducky pull toy at the hand of an inebriated toddler. Every couple of minutes, a car on our right side lane would honk, and Ivory would say, "Here comes another one." I was seated right under the emergency exit. You better believe that I had those instructions memorized in case I needed to blow the hatch. In addition, my window was an emergency exit. LIFT BOTH HANDLES AND PUSH OUT, it assured me. I turned to the rowdies. "We'll be the first ones out." They knew what I was talkin' about. Every so often, we hit a bump and caught some air.
I looked two seats in front of me, and saw Bub sleeping with his bald head resting against the window. I told the rowdies. Rowdiest proclaimed, "Well, he'll be black and blue tomorrow! I hit my head, and I was just sitting here." Rowdier said, "I don't know HOW he can sleep." I told her he was tired. He must have fallen asleep with his head on the slot machine, right after winning that big jackpot, and that's why he was late for the bus.
The next thing I saw froze the blood in my veins. By now, we were on a two-lane highway. We were fast overtaking a yellow behemoth of a highway department vehicle being towed on a low-belly trailer, with flags announcing OVERSIZE LOAD. Sweet Gummi Mary! We were all going to die! I warned the back seat. Rowdiest closed her eyes and started praying. Rowdier held her breath. We squeaked by. I don't know by how much. I couldn't watch. Rowdiest grew bold after her near-death experience. She said, "My ring tone is a police siren." Rowdier told her, "Don't you dare. It will scare him. He might stop right in the middle of the fast lane." Rowdiest took no heed. I'm guessing that her favorite movie is The Year of Living Dangerously. She set off that ring tone. You could hear the crack of arthritic necks throughout the bus. Rowdiest held up her phone so they wouldn't panic. Then she switched it to a fire engine. My aunt said, "Is there a fire truck coming?" She's a bit slow. Everybody heard it but Ebony. It must have been the rush of air at 100 mph that kept the sound from making it all the way to the front.
Ebony pulled onto the exit ramp to let off the one lady from the last/first stop. I told her, "At least YOU arrived in one piece." The guy across from me said, "Not so fast. You aren't to your truck yet." At the top of the exit ramp, a small SUV had stopped at the stop sign. A guy got out of the passenger seat, went to the back, and took something out. FOOL! He had no idea we were driving the bus from Speed. I say that, because I don't think we drove under 50 mph the whole way from Harrah's to that exit. At the turn-in to the commuter parking lot, two young fools were standing in the middle of the road on their Razors. I mean the metal scooter-type Razors, not the phones, which would be kind of pointless, not to mention having a different spelling. They skedaddled right into the weeds of the right-of-way when they saw us careening at them. After we dropped off Rowdy, and pulled back on the road, Rowdier said, "I wonder if she kissed the ground."
We made it to my stop in about 10 minutes. That's 15 miles in 10 minutes, on a Holiday tour bus. Let's just say we made good time. My mom was there to take me home, because HH and the boys had my new LSUV at a family reunion picnic. HH's family.
After my mom got back to her house, she called me. "I was waiting at the stoplight on the outer road [the one where Rudy Giuliani, the inflatable rat, sits each day] and I heard a 'roar'. I looked over at the highway, and a short bus flew by. I think it was your bus going back to the city. It went so fast I couldn't see the driver."
That was him. I have no doubt.
When you last left Hillbilly Mom, she and 23 cohorts were being held hostage at the casino by Ebony and Ivory, drivers of the short bus.
Since Ivory had told us "Two forty-five" as the departure time when we disembarked onto his little blue stepstool, we believed him. After all, that's what it said on the mailer we got concerning the new route for the Old People Gambling Bus. So like all good old people, we met out front at 2:30. That's how it worked with the other drivers. We loaded the bus, and LEFT when he told us. Ebony and Ivory must have gotten their wires crossed. I stopped gambling at 2:20. I was out front at 2:30. So were most of the other risk-takers from the short bus. We waited. And waited. At 2:45, Ebony pulled up to the OTHER door, the one where we were not waiting, and Ivory got out his stepstool. We followed the lead cow to the short bus, and got on. Twenty of us got on. After a head count and a recount of his precious clipboard, Ivory stated that we were missing four people. He asked us who they were. One lady volunteered that her landlady and the landlady's son were missing. Another said the guy in front of her was gone. That's all we could think of. The rowdies in the back seat asked if we could leave them.
When we rode the Husky bus, we left two people.
It's not like we're kids. We were told when to be here.
Who do they think they are?
I'd like to be gambling right now, too.
If they have a problem, they'll just have to walk home.
That's really inconsiderate to the rest of us.
Leave them!
Ebony said that we couldn't leave until 3:00. At 2:55, the landlady duo came out, followed by a guy who seemed simple. They received a cold reception. Ivory tried to decide if he had miscounted. Then one white-hair said, "Hey! Aren't we missing that guy who got on with you?" The simple guy kind of nodded. But he didn't speak up. Rowdiest said, "I hated to leave my machine. I just hit it big at 2:20. I know it was going to pay more." I told her that the missing guy had sat down to play it when she left, and was at this very moment collecting his giant jackpot. She shuddered. At 2:59, the bald guy in the green Hawaiian shirt came walking toward the bus. "He isn't in a very big hurry, is he?" "Why should he be...he still has one minute left!" The guy across from me mumbled, "You almost had to walk home, Bub." But not loud enough for Bub to hear it distinctly. Old people can be so cruel.
Ebony ripped out of the parking lot like he was getting a bonus for each minute he was under schedule. He ran the first stop sign. I can't say any of us were surprised. We held on for dear life down Harrah's slalomy entrance/exit road. Ebony hit I-270, and made a bee-line for the next-to-fastest lane. Our bodies swayed back and forth in a sideways sine wave, like a 24-ducky pull toy at the hand of an inebriated toddler. Every couple of minutes, a car on our right side lane would honk, and Ivory would say, "Here comes another one." I was seated right under the emergency exit. You better believe that I had those instructions memorized in case I needed to blow the hatch. In addition, my window was an emergency exit. LIFT BOTH HANDLES AND PUSH OUT, it assured me. I turned to the rowdies. "We'll be the first ones out." They knew what I was talkin' about. Every so often, we hit a bump and caught some air.
I looked two seats in front of me, and saw Bub sleeping with his bald head resting against the window. I told the rowdies. Rowdiest proclaimed, "Well, he'll be black and blue tomorrow! I hit my head, and I was just sitting here." Rowdier said, "I don't know HOW he can sleep." I told her he was tired. He must have fallen asleep with his head on the slot machine, right after winning that big jackpot, and that's why he was late for the bus.
The next thing I saw froze the blood in my veins. By now, we were on a two-lane highway. We were fast overtaking a yellow behemoth of a highway department vehicle being towed on a low-belly trailer, with flags announcing OVERSIZE LOAD. Sweet Gummi Mary! We were all going to die! I warned the back seat. Rowdiest closed her eyes and started praying. Rowdier held her breath. We squeaked by. I don't know by how much. I couldn't watch. Rowdiest grew bold after her near-death experience. She said, "My ring tone is a police siren." Rowdier told her, "Don't you dare. It will scare him. He might stop right in the middle of the fast lane." Rowdiest took no heed. I'm guessing that her favorite movie is The Year of Living Dangerously. She set off that ring tone. You could hear the crack of arthritic necks throughout the bus. Rowdiest held up her phone so they wouldn't panic. Then she switched it to a fire engine. My aunt said, "Is there a fire truck coming?" She's a bit slow. Everybody heard it but Ebony. It must have been the rush of air at 100 mph that kept the sound from making it all the way to the front.
Ebony pulled onto the exit ramp to let off the one lady from the last/first stop. I told her, "At least YOU arrived in one piece." The guy across from me said, "Not so fast. You aren't to your truck yet." At the top of the exit ramp, a small SUV had stopped at the stop sign. A guy got out of the passenger seat, went to the back, and took something out. FOOL! He had no idea we were driving the bus from Speed. I say that, because I don't think we drove under 50 mph the whole way from Harrah's to that exit. At the turn-in to the commuter parking lot, two young fools were standing in the middle of the road on their Razors. I mean the metal scooter-type Razors, not the phones, which would be kind of pointless, not to mention having a different spelling. They skedaddled right into the weeds of the right-of-way when they saw us careening at them. After we dropped off Rowdy, and pulled back on the road, Rowdier said, "I wonder if she kissed the ground."
We made it to my stop in about 10 minutes. That's 15 miles in 10 minutes, on a Holiday tour bus. Let's just say we made good time. My mom was there to take me home, because HH and the boys had my new LSUV at a family reunion picnic. HH's family.
After my mom got back to her house, she called me. "I was waiting at the stoplight on the outer road [the one where Rudy Giuliani, the inflatable rat, sits each day] and I heard a 'roar'. I looked over at the highway, and a short bus flew by. I think it was your bus going back to the city. It went so fast I couldn't see the driver."
That was him. I have no doubt.
HM Rides The Short Bus
Yes! I'm happy to report that I rode the short bus today. I'm even happier to report that I survived. I need to print some T-shirts for that: I Rode the Short Bus and I Survived! I know I could sell 23 of them. The short bus, you see, was today's Old People Gambling Bus to the casino. We had a new driver again. I don't think we're that bad. I don't know why they have to keep replacing the driver. It's not like we mutiny, or dance topless in the aisle, or start a fire in the trash can in the back. Oops! That trash can stunt was my HH, when he went to Vo-Tech in high school, and there was no heat on the bus. That scathingly brilliant idea earned him 3 days suspension. But we're not talking about HH--we're talking about ME, and how I survived the express horizontal escalator to H*ll.
When I got on with three other people at my stop, I saw that the short bus was crowded as all get-out. And I wished some of those folks would get out, but NO, they insisted on riding the whole way to the casino. Go figure. I knew I was in for a bad trip when I counted 23 people on that 30-passenger bus, with one stop left to make, and I WAS NOT THE YOUNGEST! How dare the young people ride our bus! One was two years younger than me, and another had the gall to be born FIVE years before me. Ungrateful whippersnappers! Usually, we pick up 8 or 9 people from the northern stops. But...the route was changed after June 16, and they combined two stops, and made the folks drive out to the interstate. So thank the Gummi Mary, we only picked up one lady at the last stop. We were over 10 minutes late already.
We had 2 drivers this time. A black one and a white one. Ebony and ivory. Salt and pepper. Cookie and cream. Night and day. To be perfectly honest, only ONE of them drove. The white guy rode shotgun, and hopped out with the step-stool. He also held reign over the sign-in clipboard, which was a scary spectre, what with him swaying down the aisle and harping that we stole his pen. Criminy, they're ten-for-a-dollar at The Devil's Playground. At first, the ladies behind me were wishing this dude would drive. That's before they saw him walk. We were so crowded that there were four ladies on the last seat behind me. The conversation went a little like this...
Why are there two drivers?
Is that one new?
Maybe he is being trained and he's just riding along.
Well, I wish HE would drive. This swaying is making me seasick.
Whoa!
She just said, "At least he hasn't run off on those noisy bumpy things."
Stop saying that! It's a jinx. Now he'll do it again.
What? Oh, here it is.
Your pen? I gave it to you when you came to get the clipboard.
There. It fell off. Pass this up.
Yeah, we don't want him walking back here again.
I'm glad he's not driving. He can't even walk straight.
He walks like he's drunk.
Do you think it's because we're moving?
Well, we are whipping back and forth like a carnival ride.
To make matters worse, we encountered road construction. I blame the traffic jam on MODoT. They put up signs (heh, heh, first I wrote 'sighs') on each side of the highway that only said, "Road work ahead." Then, at the actual work site, after traffic crawled along for ten minutes, another sign said, "Right lane closed." Duh. Maybe the first sign should have told them 'abandon hope, all ye who enter the right lane'. That might have kept people from packing that right lane and having to wedge their way in front of us. Oh, and I think some people went up the exit ramp and came right back down the entrance ramp to merge in and skip ahead of about 50 cars. Anyhoo, this little roadblock cost us 20 minutes. This is where it gets dicier. That driver put the pedal to the metal. I was afraid to look out. Our heads were whipping side-to-side like bows on a kite tail. We were supposed to arrive at Harrah's at 10:15. We got there at 10:30. I have no idea how we made up that extra 15 minutes of the 30 we were running late. Of course, it didn't help us, because neither Ebony nor Ivory had our free money vouchers. We had to mill about on the sidewalk until one of the geniuses decided we could wait inside the air-conditioned casino. Then Ebony brought the lady to us, and instead of passing out the vouchers, she made us stand in line while she scanned them one at a time for us to step up individually and scan our player cards. There went the 15 minutes we had saved.
The gambling itself was a bit anticlimactic compared to the ride there AND BACK. Oh, yes. There's more. But let's get my gambling out of the way first. I always lose a bit, or break even. Today, I am the proud winner of $45! Yeah, I know. Now I can pay for that new LSUV I just bought. I was really hyped about my winnings, until I remembered that I had two free $15 vouchers, plus the $5 voucher from the bus, and that I spent $9 on lunch. Which leaves me with a grand total of ONE DOLLAR in winnings. Que sera, sera. It is what it is.
I went in the other side of Harrah's today. The part that is not the Mardi Gras casino. It might be the Island, but I forget. It is the dirtier, more run-down side. Instead of playing one game, I flitted from slot to slot. I was rewarded with a 3X/3X/7, which garnered me about $60. Don't you be proud of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. While she didn't play that away, she DID continue to play, which frittered her bankroll to $67 in the hole by lunch time. That's another bone I have to pick. Those grill workers are slower than molasses in January. But at least they spoke English in this one, not like the one out on the main walkway area. Oh, and then I stood in line 10 minutes at a freakin' cashier, just to get my free $5. I had precious little time left to lose the rest of my money. I was planning to cash out and go to the bathroom to count my money at 2:20. At 2:10, I was down over $100. Pretty far over, methinks, but I hadn't counted in a bit. I went to a progressive Red, White, and Blue quarter machine. I had a $6.50 ticket I had cashed out. I put it in, and pushed max coins twice. I noticed that my machine had no sound, no ding-dingety. I pushed max coins again, and hit 4X/double bar/4X. Whoop-ti-doo! That counter thingy went up to 1020 credits! I cashed out $255 on that silent machine. While I was glad to reduce my debt and enter the win column, I couldn't help but feel a bit cheated that my one-armed bandit was mute. Nobody turned to stare at me while my credit counter was going wild. But I'll take it.
I will have to save the return trip until tomorrow.
TO BE CONTINUED...
When I got on with three other people at my stop, I saw that the short bus was crowded as all get-out. And I wished some of those folks would get out, but NO, they insisted on riding the whole way to the casino. Go figure. I knew I was in for a bad trip when I counted 23 people on that 30-passenger bus, with one stop left to make, and I WAS NOT THE YOUNGEST! How dare the young people ride our bus! One was two years younger than me, and another had the gall to be born FIVE years before me. Ungrateful whippersnappers! Usually, we pick up 8 or 9 people from the northern stops. But...the route was changed after June 16, and they combined two stops, and made the folks drive out to the interstate. So thank the Gummi Mary, we only picked up one lady at the last stop. We were over 10 minutes late already.
We had 2 drivers this time. A black one and a white one. Ebony and ivory. Salt and pepper. Cookie and cream. Night and day. To be perfectly honest, only ONE of them drove. The white guy rode shotgun, and hopped out with the step-stool. He also held reign over the sign-in clipboard, which was a scary spectre, what with him swaying down the aisle and harping that we stole his pen. Criminy, they're ten-for-a-dollar at The Devil's Playground. At first, the ladies behind me were wishing this dude would drive. That's before they saw him walk. We were so crowded that there were four ladies on the last seat behind me. The conversation went a little like this...
Why are there two drivers?
Is that one new?
Maybe he is being trained and he's just riding along.
Well, I wish HE would drive. This swaying is making me seasick.
Whoa!
She just said, "At least he hasn't run off on those noisy bumpy things."
Stop saying that! It's a jinx. Now he'll do it again.
What? Oh, here it is.
Your pen? I gave it to you when you came to get the clipboard.
There. It fell off. Pass this up.
Yeah, we don't want him walking back here again.
I'm glad he's not driving. He can't even walk straight.
He walks like he's drunk.
Do you think it's because we're moving?
Well, we are whipping back and forth like a carnival ride.
To make matters worse, we encountered road construction. I blame the traffic jam on MODoT. They put up signs (heh, heh, first I wrote 'sighs') on each side of the highway that only said, "Road work ahead." Then, at the actual work site, after traffic crawled along for ten minutes, another sign said, "Right lane closed." Duh. Maybe the first sign should have told them 'abandon hope, all ye who enter the right lane'. That might have kept people from packing that right lane and having to wedge their way in front of us. Oh, and I think some people went up the exit ramp and came right back down the entrance ramp to merge in and skip ahead of about 50 cars. Anyhoo, this little roadblock cost us 20 minutes. This is where it gets dicier. That driver put the pedal to the metal. I was afraid to look out. Our heads were whipping side-to-side like bows on a kite tail. We were supposed to arrive at Harrah's at 10:15. We got there at 10:30. I have no idea how we made up that extra 15 minutes of the 30 we were running late. Of course, it didn't help us, because neither Ebony nor Ivory had our free money vouchers. We had to mill about on the sidewalk until one of the geniuses decided we could wait inside the air-conditioned casino. Then Ebony brought the lady to us, and instead of passing out the vouchers, she made us stand in line while she scanned them one at a time for us to step up individually and scan our player cards. There went the 15 minutes we had saved.
The gambling itself was a bit anticlimactic compared to the ride there AND BACK. Oh, yes. There's more. But let's get my gambling out of the way first. I always lose a bit, or break even. Today, I am the proud winner of $45! Yeah, I know. Now I can pay for that new LSUV I just bought. I was really hyped about my winnings, until I remembered that I had two free $15 vouchers, plus the $5 voucher from the bus, and that I spent $9 on lunch. Which leaves me with a grand total of ONE DOLLAR in winnings. Que sera, sera. It is what it is.
I went in the other side of Harrah's today. The part that is not the Mardi Gras casino. It might be the Island, but I forget. It is the dirtier, more run-down side. Instead of playing one game, I flitted from slot to slot. I was rewarded with a 3X/3X/7, which garnered me about $60. Don't you be proud of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. While she didn't play that away, she DID continue to play, which frittered her bankroll to $67 in the hole by lunch time. That's another bone I have to pick. Those grill workers are slower than molasses in January. But at least they spoke English in this one, not like the one out on the main walkway area. Oh, and then I stood in line 10 minutes at a freakin' cashier, just to get my free $5. I had precious little time left to lose the rest of my money. I was planning to cash out and go to the bathroom to count my money at 2:20. At 2:10, I was down over $100. Pretty far over, methinks, but I hadn't counted in a bit. I went to a progressive Red, White, and Blue quarter machine. I had a $6.50 ticket I had cashed out. I put it in, and pushed max coins twice. I noticed that my machine had no sound, no ding-dingety. I pushed max coins again, and hit 4X/double bar/4X. Whoop-ti-doo! That counter thingy went up to 1020 credits! I cashed out $255 on that silent machine. While I was glad to reduce my debt and enter the win column, I couldn't help but feel a bit cheated that my one-armed bandit was mute. Nobody turned to stare at me while my credit counter was going wild. But I'll take it.
I will have to save the return trip until tomorrow.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Friday, June 27, 2008
A-Fishin' We Did Go
The Hillbilly Family went fishing this morning. We had planned the trip the night before, if by planning, I mean not loading the poles in the truck, not having any bait, and not setting an alarm. I woke HH, who loaded the truck, and I woke the boys and told them what to wear. It would be my first time using my new pink-and-black Shakespeare Ladyfish rod and reel that HH got me for Christmas. Except that he forgot that he got if for me, and several days after Christmas, he said, "DOH! #1, go get your mom that present that I put over in the BARn."
Since HH had not thought out the bait issue, it was decided that we would make a trip to town for some worms from Casey's. HH thought the store by the lake would not be open. DUH! What convenience store in the middle of nowhere is not open at 7:00 a.m.? The hicks need their coffee and soda and donuts on the way to work, people. So instead of just taking the country roads out past our house, we drove to town for worms. It never entered HH's mind to dig for worms somewhere on our 20 acres, even though when we lived in town, I was awakened many a day by strange men digging in the ditch by our driveway. Only the best store-bought worms for this Hillbilly family to feed to the fish.
I offered HH $20 of the vacation money for the use of his truck for the fishing trip. He snapped that right up. It took him all of 3 minutes to pump that $20 worth of gas. I imagine that gave us about 50 miles, what with the appetite of the truck, and the lead foot of HH. The boys clamored for a donut, but neither would go in with HH. He returned with a white-rosting donut for The Pony, a chocolate-frosting donut for the #1 son, and a cinnamon roll and Diet Coke for himself. It seems that children don't have a thirst early in the morning after eating donuts. HH had offered to get me something, but I had already eaten to take my medicine.
We got about 5 miles up the highway, on our alternate route to the lake, and I asked, "Where's the worms?" HH looked at me. Uh huh. A trip to town just to get worms, and HH forgot the worms. "It's almost 8:00. I'm sure that little store will be open." Indeed, there were about 7 cars there when we pulled in to the little store at 7:50. While we waited for HH to purchase the gourmet worms, a mosquito buzzed its way to the inside of my window. The #1 son, sitting behind me in the club part of the club cab, quickly dispatched it with a 'THWAK' of a stuffed Dracula doll. Of course he argued that it was not 'Dracula', but rather 'The Phantom of the Mask' or some such label on the stuffed, caped, masked, bug-thwakking fellow. The Pony had won it in a grabber machine last year, and HH wouldn't let him throw it away. It went where all unwanted toys go to die: Club Ford.
We staked out our regular fishing spot on the dam of a small pond within the lake development. The #1 son caught a nice 18-inch catfish within the first 5 minutes of our arrival. I, on the other hand, had one nibble in 90 minutes. I can hardly tell the rest. The sting of injustice is lurking just behind my steely hazel eyes. I asked the boy to take my pole around the pond and have HH put another hunk of worm on the hook. (Shhh...when I was without an HH, I used to bait my hook by myself. Now, I have an HH, and I'm not letting him go to waste). I told #1, "I just got a little bite right there. The first one all day. If you want to throw your line in, I will watch it while you take my pole." He agreed. He cast in---"HEY! I've got another one!" And he reeled in the 16-inch catfish that was rightfully mine. I almost cried. He took his fish so HH could remove it, leaving me sitting with my worm skin to practice casting where my fish had once been.
#1 came back with his freshly-baited hook and the worm box. Using my thumbnail, I severed a fat wiggley front end from a thin wiggly back end, and baited my own hook. I left my newly-fishless location, and walked down to the shallower end of the pond. Since I'd had no luck with a bobber, without a bobber, or letting the worm lie on the bottom, I cast in and reeled back immediately at a moderate pace. On the second cast, I caught a 10-inch catfish. I'd been hoping for a bass, but any fish was better than no fish. It was not received with much enthusiasm. Even HH said, "Do you want to keep him?" Of course I didn't. We tossed him back, as we did the other two before we left. The Pony caught a 4-inch bluegill, also not a keeper, and that was the meager sum of the fishing trip.
I don't mean to brag, but I have 8 fat nightcrawlers on the top shelf of my refrigerator.
Since HH had not thought out the bait issue, it was decided that we would make a trip to town for some worms from Casey's. HH thought the store by the lake would not be open. DUH! What convenience store in the middle of nowhere is not open at 7:00 a.m.? The hicks need their coffee and soda and donuts on the way to work, people. So instead of just taking the country roads out past our house, we drove to town for worms. It never entered HH's mind to dig for worms somewhere on our 20 acres, even though when we lived in town, I was awakened many a day by strange men digging in the ditch by our driveway. Only the best store-bought worms for this Hillbilly family to feed to the fish.
I offered HH $20 of the vacation money for the use of his truck for the fishing trip. He snapped that right up. It took him all of 3 minutes to pump that $20 worth of gas. I imagine that gave us about 50 miles, what with the appetite of the truck, and the lead foot of HH. The boys clamored for a donut, but neither would go in with HH. He returned with a white-rosting donut for The Pony, a chocolate-frosting donut for the #1 son, and a cinnamon roll and Diet Coke for himself. It seems that children don't have a thirst early in the morning after eating donuts. HH had offered to get me something, but I had already eaten to take my medicine.
We got about 5 miles up the highway, on our alternate route to the lake, and I asked, "Where's the worms?" HH looked at me. Uh huh. A trip to town just to get worms, and HH forgot the worms. "It's almost 8:00. I'm sure that little store will be open." Indeed, there were about 7 cars there when we pulled in to the little store at 7:50. While we waited for HH to purchase the gourmet worms, a mosquito buzzed its way to the inside of my window. The #1 son, sitting behind me in the club part of the club cab, quickly dispatched it with a 'THWAK' of a stuffed Dracula doll. Of course he argued that it was not 'Dracula', but rather 'The Phantom of the Mask' or some such label on the stuffed, caped, masked, bug-thwakking fellow. The Pony had won it in a grabber machine last year, and HH wouldn't let him throw it away. It went where all unwanted toys go to die: Club Ford.
We staked out our regular fishing spot on the dam of a small pond within the lake development. The #1 son caught a nice 18-inch catfish within the first 5 minutes of our arrival. I, on the other hand, had one nibble in 90 minutes. I can hardly tell the rest. The sting of injustice is lurking just behind my steely hazel eyes. I asked the boy to take my pole around the pond and have HH put another hunk of worm on the hook. (Shhh...when I was without an HH, I used to bait my hook by myself. Now, I have an HH, and I'm not letting him go to waste). I told #1, "I just got a little bite right there. The first one all day. If you want to throw your line in, I will watch it while you take my pole." He agreed. He cast in---"HEY! I've got another one!" And he reeled in the 16-inch catfish that was rightfully mine. I almost cried. He took his fish so HH could remove it, leaving me sitting with my worm skin to practice casting where my fish had once been.
#1 came back with his freshly-baited hook and the worm box. Using my thumbnail, I severed a fat wiggley front end from a thin wiggly back end, and baited my own hook. I left my newly-fishless location, and walked down to the shallower end of the pond. Since I'd had no luck with a bobber, without a bobber, or letting the worm lie on the bottom, I cast in and reeled back immediately at a moderate pace. On the second cast, I caught a 10-inch catfish. I'd been hoping for a bass, but any fish was better than no fish. It was not received with much enthusiasm. Even HH said, "Do you want to keep him?" Of course I didn't. We tossed him back, as we did the other two before we left. The Pony caught a 4-inch bluegill, also not a keeper, and that was the meager sum of the fishing trip.
I don't mean to brag, but I have 8 fat nightcrawlers on the top shelf of my refrigerator.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Random Thought Thursday 6-26-08
Aha! Thursday didn't get away from me this time!
The boys and I are going to see Get Smart this afternoon. HH and the #1 son saw it last night. Go figure. The boy wants to see it again. It's vacation, by cracky. I can shell out four bucks a ticket on vacation.
A new bridge is being put in on the county road by our mailbox. They have been clearing trees, and are set to start on the Monday after July 4th. That means we will have to go out a different road, which will add about 4 miles to my daily drive. I hope they hurry up with it.
The guy who put the first mastodon skeleton found on display, calling it the "Missouri Leviathon", had assembled the skeleton wrong. Some foreign guy saw it, and determined that it was really a mastodon. Oh, and they used to think that man did not exist at the same time as the mastodons, but somebody found an arrow tip lying against a mastodon bone. Or DID he? I'm a bit skeptical if this is the only evidence. Who's to say that somebody didn't fudge just a little bit on the location of that arrow tip? In case you are saying to yourself, "WTF's a mastodon?" it's a critter like a non-woolly mammoth.
I am riding the Old People Gambling Bus again on Saturday. My aunt and I are taking my grandma. She is 91 years old. I hope she makes the trip OK. It was her idea.
HH has created himself a regular Squatter's Village down by the creek. I will try to get pictures of his settlement in the next few days.
The boys and I are going to see Get Smart this afternoon. HH and the #1 son saw it last night. Go figure. The boy wants to see it again. It's vacation, by cracky. I can shell out four bucks a ticket on vacation.
A new bridge is being put in on the county road by our mailbox. They have been clearing trees, and are set to start on the Monday after July 4th. That means we will have to go out a different road, which will add about 4 miles to my daily drive. I hope they hurry up with it.
The guy who put the first mastodon skeleton found on display, calling it the "Missouri Leviathon", had assembled the skeleton wrong. Some foreign guy saw it, and determined that it was really a mastodon. Oh, and they used to think that man did not exist at the same time as the mastodons, but somebody found an arrow tip lying against a mastodon bone. Or DID he? I'm a bit skeptical if this is the only evidence. Who's to say that somebody didn't fudge just a little bit on the location of that arrow tip? In case you are saying to yourself, "WTF's a mastodon?" it's a critter like a non-woolly mammoth.
I am riding the Old People Gambling Bus again on Saturday. My aunt and I are taking my grandma. She is 91 years old. I hope she makes the trip OK. It was her idea.
HH has created himself a regular Squatter's Village down by the creek. I will try to get pictures of his settlement in the next few days.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
HM's Phoney Faux Pas
Yesterday, on the way to Mastodon State Park, I had the most scathingly brilliant idea of calling OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight to see why she hadn't called about bringing her young child to experience the joys of Poolio. When last we spoke, it was agreed that she would call one morning and come out in the afternoon. Since then, she has dropped off the face of Hillmomba.
I gave my phone to the #1 son, since he had only put in her home number. He said he could find her cell number in 'received calls'. He put in the number, and I called. After 5 or 6 rings, it said, "The party you are calling does not have a voice mailbox set up." Then I looked at the number I had called, and told the boy that did not look right. He said, "Oh!" and I knew he had made a mistake. He put in the right number. I tried it twice, but it went immediately to voice mail. The boy told me I had no signal. When I did, I said I would try her home number. I selected that entry my boy had programmed into the phone. It started ringing. I tried to turn up the volume, because my family has no respect for a momversation-in-progress. When I heard the phone was picked up, the conversation went a little something like this:
OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight!
Hey!
What are you doing?
Not much. What have you been up to?
Wondering why you didn't call me last week to come swimming!
Oh. Well...I forgot. I've been busy tearing out my kitchen floor.
Why are you doing that?
We're selling the house.
What? Why are you selling the house? Is it because the neighbors are a$$holes?
Naw. I'm only going to be at HillbillyMom'sSchool one more year.
You're kidding! How come?
We're moving to southeast Missouri. I'm going to look down there.
All through this exchange, something didn't seem quite right. OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight sounded really, really tired. I thought that maybe I had woken her up. But it was 10:00 a.m. I didn't think she could sleep that late with a 4-year-old in the house. I thought maybe she was mad at me and didn't really want to come out to frolic in Poolio. And what did she mean, she would only be at school one more year? She has been gone for two years, and has subbed a couple of times. Her child has called the neighbors 'a$holes' like her daddy does, but aside from them being suspects in the disappearance of Fred-the-cat, I didn't think they were a reason to move. And the house had just been remodeled a couple years ago.
Then, it dawned on me. I was not speaking to OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight, but instead I was speaking to my Lower Basementia Buddy!!! How freakin' embarrassing!!!
Hey! I'm sorry! I thought you were OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight! That's why I called you that at the beginning. My boy told me this was her number, and I dialed it.
Well, I wanted to know why I hadn't been invited out to swim!
I was just talking about that poolside just the other day. I told the #1 son, "LBB and Sonny could come down and swim. You boys could ride the 4-wheelers."
Sure. We'll do that sometime. I didn't remember telling you I would call last week, but I thought maybe I forgot, so I should just admit to it.
Let us know. We'll be home the rest of the summer.
Well, I'm in southeast Missouri now, so I'm going to let you go.
OK. We're on the way to Mastodon State Park. I'll call you later. If I get the right number.
I gave up on calling OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight. What with my track record and all. It appears that when I went to adjust the volume, it popped the call up to the previous number on my list. The #1 son was off the hook. Never mind that he had actually given me the wrong number the time before. Thank goodness I wasn't calling anyone whose opinion matters to me.
That would have been really embarrassing.
I gave my phone to the #1 son, since he had only put in her home number. He said he could find her cell number in 'received calls'. He put in the number, and I called. After 5 or 6 rings, it said, "The party you are calling does not have a voice mailbox set up." Then I looked at the number I had called, and told the boy that did not look right. He said, "Oh!" and I knew he had made a mistake. He put in the right number. I tried it twice, but it went immediately to voice mail. The boy told me I had no signal. When I did, I said I would try her home number. I selected that entry my boy had programmed into the phone. It started ringing. I tried to turn up the volume, because my family has no respect for a momversation-in-progress. When I heard the phone was picked up, the conversation went a little something like this:
OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight!
Hey!
What are you doing?
Not much. What have you been up to?
Wondering why you didn't call me last week to come swimming!
Oh. Well...I forgot. I've been busy tearing out my kitchen floor.
Why are you doing that?
We're selling the house.
What? Why are you selling the house? Is it because the neighbors are a$$holes?
Naw. I'm only going to be at HillbillyMom'sSchool one more year.
You're kidding! How come?
We're moving to southeast Missouri. I'm going to look down there.
All through this exchange, something didn't seem quite right. OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight sounded really, really tired. I thought that maybe I had woken her up. But it was 10:00 a.m. I didn't think she could sleep that late with a 4-year-old in the house. I thought maybe she was mad at me and didn't really want to come out to frolic in Poolio. And what did she mean, she would only be at school one more year? She has been gone for two years, and has subbed a couple of times. Her child has called the neighbors 'a$holes' like her daddy does, but aside from them being suspects in the disappearance of Fred-the-cat, I didn't think they were a reason to move. And the house had just been remodeled a couple years ago.
Then, it dawned on me. I was not speaking to OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight, but instead I was speaking to my Lower Basementia Buddy!!! How freakin' embarrassing!!!
Hey! I'm sorry! I thought you were OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight! That's why I called you that at the beginning. My boy told me this was her number, and I dialed it.
Well, I wanted to know why I hadn't been invited out to swim!
I was just talking about that poolside just the other day. I told the #1 son, "LBB and Sonny could come down and swim. You boys could ride the 4-wheelers."
Sure. We'll do that sometime. I didn't remember telling you I would call last week, but I thought maybe I forgot, so I should just admit to it.
Let us know. We'll be home the rest of the summer.
Well, I'm in southeast Missouri now, so I'm going to let you go.
OK. We're on the way to Mastodon State Park. I'll call you later. If I get the right number.
I gave up on calling OldLoverFromTheStreetLastNight. What with my track record and all. It appears that when I went to adjust the volume, it popped the call up to the previous number on my list. The #1 son was off the hook. Never mind that he had actually given me the wrong number the time before. Thank goodness I wasn't calling anyone whose opinion matters to me.
That would have been really embarrassing.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Here She Is
Introducing, in all her glory,
the new Hillbilly Family LSUV.
See how she sparkles, see how she shines!
Oh, and there's no black hole where the
license plate goes. In the original photo,
some criminal could zoom in and read
five numbers, so the boy chopped it out.
Her guts are a bit fancified for my tastes,
but you can't walk away from a
sweetheart of a deal.
I asked the boy to take pictures of
the inside, outside, and the back.
Meaning, to show how much room
there is inside, back to the 3rd seat.
Obviously, the #1 son has depicted what is
important to HIM, and chose to show you
the controls to his wireless head-phoned
radio and DVD player and air conditioner.
He didn't even show the seats that fold up
at the push of a button. I swear, this vehicle
is right out of Get Smart.
And thank the Gummi Mary, the underline
thingy went away. I don't know how to fix it,
and don't want to take the time. Just so you
know, I wasn't doing it on purpose to put on
airs about showing off my new gas guzzler.
the new Hillbilly Family LSUV.
See how she sparkles, see how she shines!
Oh, and there's no black hole where the
license plate goes. In the original photo,
some criminal could zoom in and read
five numbers, so the boy chopped it out.
Her guts are a bit fancified for my tastes,
but you can't walk away from a
sweetheart of a deal.
I asked the boy to take pictures of
the inside, outside, and the back.
Meaning, to show how much room
there is inside, back to the 3rd seat.
Obviously, the #1 son has depicted what is
important to HIM, and chose to show you
the controls to his wireless head-phoned
radio and DVD player and air conditioner.
He didn't even show the seats that fold up
at the push of a button. I swear, this vehicle
is right out of Get Smart.
And thank the Gummi Mary, the underline
thingy went away. I don't know how to fix it,
and don't want to take the time. Just so you
know, I wasn't doing it on purpose to put on
airs about showing off my new gas guzzler.
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