Mrs. HM Is Her Own Worst Enemy

Sunday, we had single-digit temps and uncleared roads. I didn't venture out in T-Hoe because...

Farmer H actually sent me a text asking if I wanted a soda from town! Of course I did! He brought me a 44 oz Diet Coke from ORB K! Seriously. Would it have been a hardship to drive another 1/4 mile to The Gas Station Chicken Store to get my magical elixir? I must say I was disappointed, but I've gotten my own magical elixir in the form of a Polar Pop before, so it wasn't a tragedy. It almost was, though, because Farmer H confessed that the lid had come off, and he nearly spilled it.

Even worse was what I did to my Farmer-H-delivered magical elixir. I dumped the powdered Sugar Free Cherry Limeade into it, but the last packet emptied itself without enough powder for proper flavor. No problem. I had another pack in the pantry. I peeled the film that prevented tampering, popped the top off the plastic container, and snipped the end off a foil packet. As I poured a generous helping into my 44 oz Diet Coke, I thought,

"Huh. That looks really green. Maybe they've altered it again, to make it more limey."

I put away the packet in the container and set it to the back of the counter. My first sip made me look again. APPLE! I had bought the wrong flavor! No mistaking that taste. Like pure apple juice. No hint of Diet Coke.

I cry shenanigans! The packaging is virtually identical!

I will scrutinize the label tomorrow. Maybe I should ask Farmer H if he needs any powdered drink mix to keep at his Storage Unit Store, for when he wants to add flavor to a bottle of water.

Don't Say Mrs. HM Never Gave You Anything

Now that I'm retired, I don't really have a schedule. As long as I make a daily trip to town for my 44 oz Diet Coke, and serve up something for Farmer H to eat every evening, the other 22 hours a day are mine. Now, I could use that time to improve my geography skills (have you heard, ENGLAND is an ISLAND!), or clean up my dark basement lair, or work on a cure for Idontwannadoititis. But I'd rather not.

Like right now, I could be revealing the latest attempt of Farmer H to possibly kill me, or his latest infraction of my ever-changing arbitrary rules. But those can wait. Because I've discovered the most incredibly time-consuming website ever!

https://interviews.televisionacademy.com

If you're a fan of television, especially vintage shows and actors, you will not regret checking this out. Just don't do it when you have limited time. I will not be held responsible!

I'm not even sure how I got there. I think I had looked up an old movie on IMDB. I saw it last night on TCM, just the middle part, and was curious. The title was "Butcher, Baker, Nighmare-Maker." It's a really bad horror movie from 1982. Then I got to looking at some other horror-ish movies. And somewhere down the line I got to "The Birds." And from there, I don't even know the connections, I found a site with Suzanne Pleshette being interviewed about her career.

Sweet Gummi Mary!

I spent several hours listening to those interviews. While doing other time-wasting computer activities, of course. That Television Academy site also has a list of TV shows, with some interviews concerning them. All you have to do is go into the ALL INTERVIEWS part, and you can pick SHOWS or PEOPLE or the other stuff, and have many glorious hours of entertainment. IF you like older shows and actors.

I DO!

As long as I have internet, this might keep me out of trouble for a while.

I'm Pretty Sure This Internet Outage Thing Is Going To Be The Death Of ONE Of Us!

If the coily cable doesn't bring me down, I'm pretty sure Farmer H is going to suffer greatly from my internet outage. We have the crucial part. It arrived on Wednesday. As I'm typing this, it's Friday night. That crucial part is still on the back of the couch. In its box. Right now I am suffering from internet outrage!

Here's the thing. Every Thursday night, I write a letter to Genius and The Pony. I've done it since Genius left for college back in 2013. Some of the week's news I can copy and paste, but I always have a part of the letter specific to each young 'un. Maybe about the lost brownie maker for The Pony, and La Croix flavored water for Genius.

Last night, at 11:30, I started the letter for Genius. By midnight, I was done. The envelopes were already addressed. I hit PRINT. And NOTHING HAPPENED! That's because the bad part of my internet is the hub. The hub that connects everything to the home network, I'm assuming. I'm not a computer genius, but when assorted wires have been switched around, and the only time I lose internet is when depending on something running through that hub...it seems to me that the hub is the problem. The hub whose replacement is sitting in its box on the back of the couch.

I had a bright idea, though! I figured I could connect my printer directly from New Delly. That's how I used to get a printer to work, you know. Plug it into my computer. So I got to looking at the connectors on the back of New Delly's tower, and the connections on the back of the printer. Well. I figured out what everything did on the back of New Delly. Which wires were mouse, external speakers, keyboard, main internet, and PRINTER!

I looked on the back of my printer. Easy peasy! It only had a power cord, and ONE other wire. A wire that looks like an ethernet cable. With the clicky lever thingy like a plug for a land line's wall jack. It runs along the top of my desk, and drops through the hole in the corner. Underneath, it connects to the bad hub. Then another wire comes up from the bad hub and connects to the back of New Delly's tower. That HAS to be the printer! All other wires are spoken for. But this one is a weirdo thingy like it has a bunch of bits and two little screw thingies. Huh. I can't crawl down under my desk and unplug that from the bad hub. Otherwise, I figure all I have to do is run the other end of that screw-bit wire to the printer directly.

So the contingency plan was to use my new wire that wasn't needed, the short 7-foot ethernet cable, from the back of New Delly's tower to the printer. Which I did. I unplugged the coily blue tripper wire, and put in my short black ethernet cable, and connected that to the printer, where I pulled out the ethernet-looking cable that runs across the desk and down to the bad hub.

Huh. New Delly didn't recognize the network! No dice. I didn't even get the message box that says the printer has a job waiting. Only a message box that said New Delly didn't recognize the network.

I guess Genius might have been able to talk me through it. Maybe something I had to do through settings, to make my printer run when it's not on the network. I just gave up, and wrote each boy a note by hand.

BUT HERE'S THE THING!

I tried to shame Farmer H into replacing the bad hub with the good hub. It will take about 5 minutes. It's plug and play. Unscrew the bad hub from the wall, screw on the new hub, and plug in three wires. Easy peasy! I'd do it myself if my knees were more cooperative about crawling on tile-over-concrete, and bending enough to get me up and down.

Can you believe my shaming tactic did not work? I'm sure you can. I told him how I certainly hoped the hub would be installed within a WEEK, because I couldn't print the boys' letters Thursday night.

In his little "Oh, you poor simpleton who can't do anything without my help" manner...Farmer H chuckled and said,

"Heh, heh. All you had to do was run that new black wire, the short one, from your computer to the printer."

Well. The joke is on him. Because that's EXACTLY what I did, even though he was too busy laughing at me to let me state that fact. It took three tries before he quit shaking his head and rolling his eyes and repeating the same thing, before I could tell him that was EXACTLY what I had done, and my computer did not recognize the new network.

All this happened while I was five steps down the 13 stairs to the basement, holding onto the banisters with one hand, clutching my supper tray in the other, because he just would not shut up and believe that I had done exactly what he was telling me would work.

I hope he enjoyed the colorful language that flowed back upstairs once I escaped. And that he enjoys seeing that unrecognized network message when I make him show me HOW that connection will make my printer work.

I'm not as dumb as he wants me to be.

The Bright Side Is, I Don't Need A Gym Membership

Dang! This problem with my internet connection is for the birds! Active birds. Not shuffling penguins, or perching vultures. Birds all hopped-up on the avian version of catnip.

I might have mentioned here or there that my ethernet wire is now plugged into a router under Genius's desk, and runs across the basement floor in all its coiled glory, through the door of my dark lair, up across the counter full of junk necessary items that might one day be needed, and into the back of New Delly's tower.

Every time EVERY TIME that I enter or leave my lair, I have to hurdle this beast! Let the record show that Mrs. HM's hurdling days are over. I must goose-step like a German soldier, or lift my knees like a prize Lipizzaner stallion to navigate those ankle-catching loops. So every time EVERY TIME my 44 oz Diet Coke demands that my bladder visit the NASCAR bathroom, I must overcome that obstacle. Which is often.

Yes, the giddy days of being reunited with my innernets have passed. I now take it for granted again, and am waiting for Farmer H to install that new hub that's sitting upstairs in its box, fresh from Amazondotcom on Wednesday, resting on the back of the couch right by the basement stairs. I'm pretty sure I could do it myself, if I could only crawl on my knees under my desk.

That's about ALL I can't do. I've been bending to look under there at the wire configuration. Stretching to see and reach the connections on the back of New Delly's tower, the back of the printer, and the wires on my old desktop that's now on the floor out by Genius's desk. Lifting and carrying that hub's Amazon box that also contained some items for The Pony's upcoming birthday (no, it's not a brownie maker...YET). Balancing myself on a 4-inch-thick slab of ice (good for the core muscles) while trying to reach the lock box that fit the key I found in EmBee's gullet.

Yes. I'm being whipped into shape against my will by this faulty connection. I miss the good old days of sitting on my ample rumpus, merely exercising my elbow for sips of my magical elixir.

The Audacity Of Farmer H

I can't believe this guy! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! Farmer H is one of those "Do as I SAY, not as I DO," kind of people. There's no other explanation for his shenanigans.

Let the record show that on Sunday, Farmer H had the audacity to say to Mrs. HM:

"I thought you just bought a new pair of shoes."

I know, right? He's lucky I didn't lop off his head with one of my new Pioneer Woman ceramic knives. Which, I might add, have a very sharp blade, and which, as you know, FARMER H GAVE ME FOR CHRISTMAS! I'm pretty sure that would be irony, me using the knives he gave me to lop off his head.

Anyhoo... I don't take kindly to Farmer H assuming that I should not be contemplating a new pair of shoes. The shoes, I might add, which are New Balance, of the stabilizer variety, to take the place of my very old New Balance 1011s, which I think came out in 2008, and are now quite without any cushioning, and very stinky, but work to make my Posterior Tibial Tendinitis feel better.

I've been thinking about getting a replacement pair since I hurt my ankle and found out that a motion control shoe is good for what ails me. Because the 1011s are no longer available, I've had trouble finding a suitable replacement. So I keep putting off the purchase.

Let the record also show that Farmer H and I went to Famous Brand Shoes (not exactly a high-end show store) to get us each a pair of wear-around shoes for CasinoPalooza 3. He got a nice pair of Skechers (The Pony couldn't stop laughing over that), and I could only find a pair of Nikes that were somewhat comfortable. I also had a $10 off coupon.

Anyhoo...these Nikes were not meant to take the place of a good motion control shoe. They are lightweight and cushy, but wearing them more than for short trips to get my 44 oz Diet Coke will wreak havoc with my posterior tibial tendon, since they don't have good arch support, and don't prevent pronation.

Let the record further show that I only brought up ordering those special New Balance in conversation, in reply to Farmer H saying he needed a new pair of work boots (even though he's not working) because his old boots have worn soles and are slippery on ice, snow, and wet surfaces. I don't begrudge Farmer H a pair of new work boots. In fact, I've encouraged him to go to his special boot store and get them. I thought he had done so, back in December.

Sweet Gummi Mary! "All for me, and none for thee!" That must be Farmer H's unofficial motto. He didn't say I didn't need new shoes. He didn't say not to get them. He didn't even act like I shouldn't get them. I just took offense to his comment.

It's not like I'm shopping for Jimmy Choos or Manolo Blahniks or Louboutins! I wouldn't know one of them if they bit me on my ample rumpus. Just a pair of sturdy New Balance. That's all I'm looking for.

Let the record never forget that Farmer H has spent $1700 on a new lawnmower without consulting me. And bought himself a new used tractor after swearing he was going to sell the old one (didn't happen). And built himself a freight container garage with a car lift that was stuffed with the contents of 18 storage units within a month of being completed. AND SPENT $1000 ON SHOE INSERTS AT THE GOOD FEET STORE!!!

So excuse me if I take offense to his casual comment: "I thought you just bought new shoes."

While we're on the badmouthing Farmer H bandwagon, let me also inform you that Farmer H can go to bed at 9:00 p.m., and sleep until 9:00 a.m., yet complain if I get more than five hours of sleep! Not so much verbally, but by sending me texts that say, "IF YOU'RE UP, then you can..." do something or other for him. Or "IF YOU'RE UP and are going to town, watch out for slick parking lots." Rather than just saying what he means.

ANDDDDDD...Farmer H grabbed my ethernet! Uh huh. After all the trials with my computer woes, hooking and unhooking assorted wires, telling ME to drag out New Delly's tower and disconnect and connect the wires! Yes, a bug must have crawled up Farmer H's butt while he was down on the floor under my lair desk. Because all at once, he popped up and grabbed my coily blue ethernet, knocking several items off my piled-up desk top, when I had laid that wire aside, ready to slip it right back where I'd had it, and plug it in.

Farmer H needs to learn his place. And it's NOT deciding my wake-up time, or when I can buy shoes, or grabbing my ethernet coil.

There. Now I feel refreshed. Ready for a new onslaught of out-of-place Farmer H-isms.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Is Butthurt

Yes. It's true. I've hurt my butt.

Now don't go thinking I've overextended myself with a New Year's Resolution workout plan. No siree, Bob! I'm pretty sure I hurt myself sitting down on the toilet. It's not a resolution. I pretty much have planned all along to sit on the toilet throughout 2019. No special resolution there.

I suppose my ample buttocks are not as ample as they once were. Because I have a pain in that bone where your butt cheek turns into your upper leg. It's pretty hurty. I have to lean sideways on my broken-armed rolly chair in my dark basement lair. And adjust my position every five minutes or less. Getting up hurts. Bending over to pick up anything off the floor hurts. Ascending and descending the 13 steps to the basement hurt. Climbing into T-Hoe hurts. At least my OPC (Old People Chair) has a lot of cushioning.

I think it happened last night, when I left my OPC and paid a visit to the NASCAR bathroom. My right knee was acting up a bit, and I suppose I plopped down on the toilet more forcefully that usual, favoring the knee, not wanting to bend it too tight. In retrospect, I wish I'd held onto the edge of the air-brushed race-car countertop, to slow my trajectory. Also, that I'd not used the words plopped and toilet in the same sentence.

Surely I will feel better in a couple days. I'm writing about it Sunday night, so by the time you read it, perhaps I'll have healed already.

Lurking In The Shadows

You know how people sometimes take a picture, and upon later viewing, notice something in it they didn't plan on? I'm not talking about misty ghosts or strangers exposing themselves or premeditated photobombers. Not even awkward family photos, that seemed like a good idea at the time, but later ended up in a book or calendar. Uh uh. I'm talking about a detail that was overlooked.

Like this picture I took mid-snowstorm on Saturday, after the initial photo of the sidewalk right after the snow started.

Well. Now I've tipped you off, between that description, and the title. But when I first took the photo, and glanced at it, I just thought I was showing you how we'd gotten a bit more snow after a couple hours passed. And that Farmer H had driven his truck through the front yard, as he is wont to do, and hopefully to show you the flakes falling. They didn't get picked up by my phone camera. But something else did!

I'm sure you saw it right away. Down at the end of the porch. The shadowy silhouette of Copper Jack! I swear, when I first noticed this on New Delly's monitor, I heard in my head the REE! REE! REE! of the Psycho knife stabs!

I'm pretty sure Juno's heart was racing as well, at the moment I took the photo.