The Josher Behind Me

What in the actual Not-Heaven is wrong with people? And by "people," I mean late-middle-aged men. Can they not contain themselves until it is their actual turn in a convenience store line? MUST they start with the witty (in their mind) repartee during someone else's turn? Mainly, during Mrs. HM's turn?

Sweet Gummi Mary! Thursday, the guy behind me at the Gas Station Chicken Store turned to the old cane lady behind him, holding his phone, saying, "What is this REDACTED thing?" Mentioning the name of a certain LIST that is advertised on TV.

The Old Cane Lady replied, "It's a list to get people to do work for you."

Heh, heh! She didn't make the connection that my favorite cashier's name is the same as the name of the list. Joshing Man continued, saying how difficult it was to find such a person to do actual work. And then referring to the cashier as "Ethel" and "George" and other random names, calling out to her about what kind of work she knew how to do.

As for Joshing Man, I don't begrudge a josher, but WAIT YOUR FREAKIN' TURN! He had the cashier all discombobulated, trying to be polite and respond to him. It just slowed things down. Namely, MY turn at the counter.

Then there was Old Cane Lady, who made me feel bad because I was parked in the handicap spot. Then again, her husband had pulled up in the nearest lane, by the gas pumps, right outside the door, putting her 3x closer to the door than I was. Plus, she had a CANE! So I doubt she was in any more discomfort than I was.

Anyhoo... these guys who fancy themselves to be such comedians need to limit their repartee to the time they are actually the customer at the counter, and stop interfering with other people's turns.

They are NOT The Universe's gift to women, nor to comedy.

They Said It Was The Same, But It Isn't The Same

Anyone a fan of Roseanne? And remember the show where an adult DJ was talking to a psychiatrist, and kept mumbling, "They say she's the same but she isn't the same." Referring to his TV sister Becky, who was replaced by another actress in the middle of the series, who then left when the first actress returned.

Anyhoo... that's how I'm feeling about Country Mart. When I drove by a couple days ago on the way to Dairy Queen, I saw that the new paint job was finished, and A DIFFERENT NAME WAS ON THE SIDE! It's now a 10 Box Cost +. I'd never heard of such a chain, but apparently it's the cut-rate version of the chain who took over the original Country Mart.

It won't open until October 18, but it appears to be like Save A Lot. You have to bag your own groceries. Supposedly the prices will be cheaper. No deli, no pharmacy. And the catch is, going along with the name, the prices are what it costs the store to buy the merchandise PLUS 10 PERCENT.

I'll have to see for myself once it opens. According to the innernets, the price on the shelves will be the COST price, and when you check out, they add the 10 percent. That seems like deceptive marketing. But I'm pretty good at math, and can add that 10 percent in my head when I'm deciding whether I want to spend that price for an item.

Supposedly the older stores in the chain are renovated and called 10 Box Cost +, so as not to sully the reputation of the other stores, which have the deli and pharmacy, and pride themselves on freshness. So says the innernets. I didn't notice any particular freshness at my branch, what with the expired products sold to the unwary.

Anyhoo... I will surely give it some business in the beginning. It is close. And has ample parking. Besides, I was used to paying the outrageous prices. So this might be an improvement.

The LoudTalker

Farmer H has had a guy out here "helping" him. Not that Farmer H is here to receive the help. It's a guy he met at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), and he's trading him junk in lieu of payment. The Guy is supposed to clean up some of the piles and barrels of junk Farmer H has accumulated over on Shackytown Boulevard. Also, to transport a pile of bricks that used to be a road behind my $17,000 house, from a pile near the BARn over to the carport area, and finish the sidewalk Farmer H started many years ago.

There are other duties on which I'm not too clear. I think trimming the big cedar tree by the driveway was one. Moving some gravel around. I just know it involves driving one of the tractors and making lots of noise. As payment, The Guy gets the junk. He has burn pile privileges to melt it down before taking it to the junk man. According to Farmer H, there are several hundred dollars to be had.

The Guy works on his own timetable. Sometimes Farmer H checks in with him. Sometimes he's home mowing the yard/field while The Guy is working. But he pretty much comes and goes as he pleases.

As you might surmise, this is annoying to me. I don't like people here. The Guy never knocks or asks for anything. The dogs bark their fool heads off, but accept him, since they met him the first time while Farmer H was home.

Wednesday morning, The Guy was walking back and forth across the front yard. I suppose he needed something from the carport area. And then had to go back to check on his burn pile. Then he drove the tractor over and scraped around some. Then I saw his truck drive across the front yard. Not too big a deal, since Farmer H drives through the front yard. However...

The Guy stopped right in front of the house. THEN he got out of his truck, and proceeded to talk loudly on his phone for 15 minutes, all while the dogs barked their fool heads off. Making it hard for me to hear my reruns of Who Wants To Be a Millionaire.

Sweet Gummi Mary! You can't tell me that the only place to get phone reception is right in front of my living room from 10:00 to 10:15 a.m., while standing outside a truck.

I know that Farmer H makes phone calls from the end of the driveway. From the BARn field. From Shackytown Boulevard. No idea what was going on here. I asked Farmer H when he got home, and he shrugged it off. "Maybe he was talking to his son. I don't know." No excuse for the location.

It just hit me... Maybe Farmer H is trying to kill me by stressing me out!

The Computer Desk Is Complete, Now With Computer

The Pony's computer desk quest is complete. He has the armchair moved in, and his new desktop computer set up. Sent me a picture this afternoon:

"Cool. That will look really good at night."

"Yeah. The window glare makes getting a good picture hard!"

"The picture is fine. Just thinking how magical it will look at night."

Later in the evening, I got another picture. Two.

 "It IS magical!"

Let the record show that when Farmer H came home, I showed him that afternoon picture of the desk and desktop computer. And his response was:

"Huh. Look at that chair he put out there."

Heh, heh! THAT'S why The Pony originally put the kitchen chair there, when Farmer H was still around after desk construction. Because he knows Farmer H is King of All Computer Desk Chair Design.

Would You Like Some Shrimp With Your Butter?

The Pony sent me a picture of his supper on Monday.

"My shrimp are swimming in butter!"

"They need a lifeguard!!!"

"They have garlic knots!"

Looks like The Pony saved the garlic knots from the day before, when he ordered pizza after putting together his desk with Farmer H. I imagine the shrimp were the frozen kind, which he cooked in butter.

I'm pretty sure no butter went to waste.

The Pony Pulls His Weight

The Pony did not sit idle while waiting for Farmer H to stop by after his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) business on Sunday, to help put together The Pony's new computer desk. I got a text around 1:30.

"Coming along! Skipping around and doing what I can before Dad gets here because working on it is easier than cleaning!"

"And there's no bossing!"

By 5:48, Farmer H had arrived home, and The Pony sent me a picture of the finished product.

It's in the living room, behind the couch, against the wall of The Pony's bedroom.

"Ooh! That's nice! Now you need a rolly chair."

"I'm gonna do an armchair. That one was just for Dad. Maybe I'll get an actual gaming chair at some point, but my plan is just moving in the blue chair from my bedroom. Gotta decide if I'm leaving the tower on the floor or having it up in the hutch part."

"That left corner of the hutch looks like it will be unused space, good for the tower."

"Yeah. Just depends on the airflow, and how the cables go."

I think that little project turned out well. No complaints from either party about a power struggle during construction.

The Pony Has A [Sort Of] Leg To Stand On

I think I mentioned that The Pony has decided to get a desktop computer, and that he purchased a desk for half price. Farmer H went with him to pick it up. Said it was a good thing, because one person could not have loaded that desk. Which came in a box.

Anyhoo... near midnight on Friday, The Pony sent me a text:

"I have one leg of the desk together."

"Three to go."

"Not exactly. By leg I mean the right lower part."

"I will never consult you for surgery!"

"Sans drawers."

"Baby steps."

"Next step says to have two adults."

"Why? Will it go rogue and attack?"

"No. But it might try to run away."

That must be the drawing on the box. Even with its skewed perspective, this is above the artistic abilities of my former Pictionary partner, The Pony. Not sure why it needs two adults. What is it made of, lead? 

Anyhoo... Farmer H will be stopping by to help put that desk together on Sunday after he's finished at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). Hopefully The Pony will send me a picture of the finished product.

The Un-Unlovable Farmer H

Farmer H overslept on Friday morning. I had to wake him around 5:40, when he's usually up and ready by 5:15. He didn't sit to chat, just put out water for the dogs, grabbed his banana and Diet Mountain Dew, and picked up the bag of trash I had ready, before going out to feed the dogs and leave for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). 

I went about my day as usual. Watched some game show reruns on TV, like People Puzzler, Who Wants to be a Millionaire, and Deal or No Deal. Checked out the innernets for an hour or so. Got ready to leave for town by 3:00.

When I tossed out my banana peel, my little Jack ran around to the kitchen door, barking and glad to see me. I waited to be assaulted by Scarlett, but she was missing. Even when I got to the side porch with two treats. Of course Jack was willing to eat Scarlett's treat as well as his own.

I hobbled down the steps, stopped to pat Jack, wondering aloud where Scarlett might be. That's when I heard something at the garage door. A light tapping. Something tap-tap-tapping at the people door. When I opened it, SCARLETT RAN OUT!

What in the Not-Heaven? Scarlett does not have opposable thumbs. She cannot let herself into the garage. She is not a big dog, but too large to fit through the little flap door we had for the cats. Besides, Farmer H has locked that flap door, to keep out possums. I can only surmise that

FARMER H SHUT SCARLETT IN THE GARAGE AT 6:00 A.M.!!!

I sent him a text accusing him of such. 

"I guess you left Scarlett in the garage for 9 hours."

"I don't watch for her. So I must of."

Not even an apology! Farmer H opens the people door and scoops the dog food to put in the dog bowls. Then he puts the scoop back and screws the top onto the big bucket he keeps the food in. So I suppose hyper Scarlett ran in while he was closing up the dog food, and he turned and shut the door with her inside the garage.

Scarlett was not yipping like my Dear Departed Juno did when she was closed up in the garage after her very special operation. Or like when Farmer H would shut her up in the BARn all day, and only find her when I said she was missing. Nope. Scarlett just ran out and smiled at me from the side porch. A little less bouncy than usual. Perhaps thinking that I had punished her. But as Farmer H said later, 

"Well. She's used to being shut up all day, from when she was in that crate."

She didn't even poop or pee in the garage!

When Farmer H got home around 5:15, he gave her another bowl of food. Said she started eating it. Of course Scarlett did not hold a grudge. She ADORES Farmer H. She stood on the porch, head tilted, while I was talking to him in the kitchen. When Farmer H went out on the porch to pee over the side, Scarlett was right there to keep him company, stars in her eyes.

I believe the term is "Stockholm Syndrome..."

The Unbearable Rightness Of Seeing

No good deed goes unpunished. Just ask Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Wait! You don't have to ask. Because she is eager to tell you about it, whether you are interested or not.

On my Thursday errand day, I went into the Sis-Town Casey's to pay for T-Hoe's gas, and buy some scratchers. I have given up on cashing in winners there, because they seem to have such state of confusion trying to accept those tickets as partial payment. It's easier to cash in winners at the Gas Station Chicken Store, then take the remaining cash to apply to my purchase at the Sis-Town Casey's. 

Anyhoo... two people were ahead of me. The older man who often waits on me was the only one at the counter. He left one dude putting in his card information, and stepped to the other register to ring up another guy. Much to my dismay, a woman I'd never seen there before came out, and said she'd wait on me at the register where the card-guy left.

I told her how much gas I wanted on Pump 6, and then told her the scratchers I wanted. She tore them out of the case, and went to ring them up by scanning them with the little lottery-scanner thingamabob. Of course it beeped too many times, and she had to void some and then resume. 

Long story not much shorter... she told me the total.

"I think you might have missed a $5 ticket. That's $5 less than I expected my total to be."

"Well, I though you asked for three tickets."

"Three of the crosswords. And then that other $5. See?"

I showed her my tickets, as the older man stepped over to help. He voided the whole transaction. Rang up my gas again. Then scanned the tickets. BINGO! It came to the total I had planned on. Then he stepped away. The gal apologized.

"No problem. I don't want to cheat anybody. It's fine."

She told me to have a nice day, and I returned the wish to her. Then I headed out to pump my gas, hoping my pre-payment hadn't expired. I put the nozzle in T-Hoe's orifice, then took my tickets to put on the console while the gas was pumping.

The dang nozzle kept shutting off, so instead of leaving it with the automatic lever on to pump, I had to stand by it and squeeze the handle. NOTE TO SELF: Don't use Pump 6 again, even if your favorites are taken.

The pump shuts off when it gets to the pre-paid amount. So I didn't keep turning to look at the display. When it clicked off, I took the nozzle out, and returned it to the holder. Imagine my surprise when I saw the display showing that I had pumped an EXTRA 4 CENTS of gas!!!

Sweet Gummi Mary! I was NOT walking back inside to pay that extra 4 cents! After all, I had just corrected their own $5 error when I saw that they had charged me too little. Nobody came out to demand that extra 4 cents while I sat in T-Hoe and wrote the initials of the Sis-Town Casey's on the back of my tickets.

The way I see it, they can eat that 4 cents. Considering I had saved them $4.96 by correcting their error.

One Small Step Above Seeing How The Sausage Is Made

The Pony sent me a text, unsolicited, to show how he makes Lucy juicy:

"So beefy."

"More Juicy Lucy? Mmm."

"Yup!"

"These ones are a bit overstuffed! Starting to split."

I guess The Pony was ravenous, and started cooking them as soon as he got home from work. The text was at 4:49. And no further communications, nor pictures of the finished product. Better than takeout or fast food, anyway!

I Suppose You Could Call It A Clony Pony

The Pony's day off was Tuesday, so he had time to prepare his own food. He's a fan of cooking channels, and we've seen many an episode featuring a Juicy Lucy. It's a burger that's a staple in Minnesota, with cheese tucked inside before cooking the burger.

"Made a Juicy Lucy today!"

"Ooh! They always look so good!"

"It was DELICIOUS!"

"And the red onion. But not the purple lettuce stuff."

"There is radicchio in it too! It's good!"

"Not for me. I pick it out of everything."

"I seasoned the meat and hand made the patties too! Garlic powder, salt, pepper, bit of paprika, a bunch of Worcestershire."

"Sounds good!"

Indeed. That looks like a very tasty creation.

You Can Take The Pony Out Of Chemical Engineering, But You Can't Take Chemical Engineering Out Of The Pony

The Pony often shares pictures from his route. Monday, he sent this one:

"Recognize why this is moderately concerning?"

"Gas?"

"Gas can next to Styrofoam and plastic baggies. Dissolving Styrofoam in gas is a redneck version of napalm."

"Get away!"

"Probably innocent, but you never know around here!"

Well. Good to know that The Pony's degree in chemical engineering is serving him well in his current vocation. Seems like an odd display of ingredients in his path.

I sometimes read the USPS thread on Reddit. Carriers show odd things left in mailboxes. As if it's bait to tempt them to take it. With the caption: "Not today, Postal Inspector." That's the first thing I thought of when The Pony sent me this picture!

The A-MAZING Steps Orb K Takes To Annoy Customers

Orb K used to have an open floor plan, where you could easily spot a penny, while waiting in line for one of three cashiers. Sometime during The Virus debacle, they made a maze customers had to navigate to pay for their merchandise. I'm pretty sure this configuration did not confuse The Virus.

The maze is composed of four racks of last-minute items that I never see anyone pick up before paying. Candy bars, gum, mints. Perhaps a savory item, though I have not noticed chips while whiling away time in this maze. NOW they have put a stand-up rack in the path between the door and the entrance to the maze. I am NOT pleased. My knees do not need extra steps from door to counter. 

When I see that nobody is waiting to pay, I sometimes go directly to the counter. That seems to be frowned upon. As if me navigating that maze will cause me to buy something besides the scratchers I intend to purchase. 

Anyhoo... on Sunday, I dutifully entered the maze, because I saw one cashier working, and one customer being waited on. I was next, standing in the exit of the maze. 

Welp! To my chagrin, I spied a man holding a can of Pringles and a soda, standing on the far right, not in the maze. Huh. Was he there when I walked through the maze? I didn't recall noticing him until I was waiting.

When the customer finished his transaction, I glanced at The Man to see if he was moving up to pay. He motioned me ahead.

"You go ahead. I was just too lazy to go through the maze."

"I don't know who was first. You can go."

"No. That's okay. You go ahead."

So I did. Not sure what the two customers behind me in the maze thought of this. I cashed in my scratcher winner, and asked for more, and paid with exact change.

"You had that planned out well." Said The Man.

"Yeah. I'm not a beginner!"

He moved in after me to take his turn. I don't know why that maze has to take up all that room. No other convenience store forces me through a maze. Most people have sense enough to wait behind the people in front of them. A maze will not keep a line-jumper from jumping. 

I'm still not sure what purpose that stand-up rack has. I'm tempted to roll it out of my way. 

I Met My Old Country Mart Cashier By The Lottery Machines Last Week, She Seemed So Glad To See Me I Just Smiled...

Since the Hillmomba Country Mart shut down for remodeling, I have been shopping at the Sis-Town Country Mart once a week. I'm over there anyway on my errand day, for the bank and main post office. So it's not a hardship to get there. Just a hardship to shop there. I don't know the layout, and the hilly parking lot bothers me. Especially when I buy Farmer H's soda in mass quantities, and the cart wants to run away with me.

Anyhoo... last Thursday, I pushed in a cart/walker and made my first stop at the lottery machines. The Old Lady Cashier from the Hillmomba Country Mart came over to greet me. I've never seen her in there before, despite the store being closed since the end of July. She seemed really glad to see me. 

I mentioned how I didn't really like this store, but it DID seem to have more selections.

"Oh, I know! I can't figure out why our manager didn't keep our store stocked better. I am really enjoying working here, and I will miss this manager when I go back. There's supposed to be a grand opening on October 18th."

"I noticed a guy painting a big stripe on the outside of the building a couple weeks ago. I was wondering when it would reopen."

"Some of the gals are working there still, putting up shelves. The last I heard, the bathrooms were being re-done."

"I saw some Port-A-Potties on the parking lot."

"If you go look through the doors, you can probably see some of the progress they've made inside. I think they might have something on there about the re-opening."

"I can't wait to go there again. Even though I'm over here once a week, this store is just not convenient for me."

"It won't be too long now."

"I'm sure we'll meet again, whether here or there!"

Can't wait to get back into my routine. Even though there won't be a deli any more.

The Pony Is Not A Grudge-Holder

Apparently, The Pony bears Farmer H no ill will on the washing of his brushes, post-house-painting. He has asked Farmer H to assist him with a project on Saturday after work. He's buying a desk to put in his living room, with the plan of getting a desktop computer. The desk is a great bargain, around 50% off. 

The plan is for Farmer H to meet The Pony at Pony House on Saturday evening after The Pony gets back home from his route in Bill-Paying Town. Then Farmer H will drive him back to Bill-Paying Town, and load the boxed desk into the back of SilverRedO. Yes, Farmer H will already be in Bill-Paying Town, at his SUS2, but will drive over to Sis-Town to pick up The Pony. That's because even though The Pony has a route in Bill-Paying Town, he can't go to pick up his desk before driving back to Sis-Town and the main post office to clock out.

Anyhoo... Farmer H does not begrudge The Pony this inconvenience and gas consumption. They will be going to supper before driving the desk home. Probably on the dime of Farmer H. The assembly of the desk will wait until mid-week, when The Pony is off again. It will be a good project for them. The Pony is good with getting a desktop computer set up, but not so good with mechanically assembling the desk. A task Genius could whiz through, having Farmer H's mechanical aptitude. Along with my grudge-holding capabilities.

The Pony got Farmer H's forgiving nature, and my writing creativity. Life is a trade-off sometimes.

The Pony's House Is DONE! Kind Of...

The Pony sent me a picture of his last painted wall. Since Farmer H forgot that part.

You can see why The Pony might have been apprehensive about paint staining his sink. It's kind of a dramatic color. I think it looks good on the outside of the house, though.

Yes, that's the giant pecan tree that finally got taken down. Not sure how long Farmer H plans to wait on the people who said they wanted that wood! I think it's time to get rid of it. But at least it's on the ground, and not waiting to crush The Pony's house in a storm! I guess if he waits long enough, vines will cover it, making a mysterious yard ornament!

The garage still needs paint or siding, but that's not a pressing concern. The Pony has other things to spend his money on. 

The Pushy Unwanted Not-Guest Condescends To School Mrs. HM On The Nuances Of Paint-Brush-Washing

Sweet Gummi Mary! Don't dare to ask a logical question to Farmer H before he leaves the Mansion at 6:00 a.m. You will have your rumpus handed to you forthwith!

"Can't you wash your paint brushes outside The Pony's house?"

Well. You would have thought I was the stupidest VALEDICTORIAN ever to draw breath! Farmer H glowered at me and heaved a heavy sigh.

"You need hot water and soap. You always have to wash out the brushes."

"I KNOW you have to wash out paint brushes. But I've never heard of using hot water. My dad never used hot water. He just washed them with regular water."

STILL the look from Farmer H. I don't believe for a minute that hot water is necessary. In fact, I just now looked it up on my estranged BFF Google, and found THIS:

Give your brushes a rigorous clean with mild soap and cold water, one at a time. Cold water is key here because warm or hot water will actually help the paint set. Rinse until the water runs clear. Next, take a moisturizing bar of soap and stroke the wet bristles across the top.

Of course, there are other instructions touting warm water, but I'm just making the point that it does indeed seem possible that Farmer H could have washed his brushes outside with the hose. I later sent The Pony a text to say that I regret Farmer H invading his space for that. I suppose Farmer H might have gotten a bit horsey with The Pony, as my dad used to call a mild smart-alecky outburst.

"All I did was ask Dad to use the hall bathroom, since I didn't want to risk the kitchen one clogging with strands of congealed paint if they didn't rinse right or I missed one. Because once it's dry, it's a mess as I learned after moving in."

"He told ME you said he might clog up your drain. No mention of you asking him to use a specific sink."

The Pony sent me a screen shot of their text conversation:

DAD: I have them but I have wash them after I'm done painting

PONY: OK. Could you use the hall bathroom sink? Because last time it got all over my kitchen one

DAD: Yes I'll watch Old Buddy he's a little sloopy. And I'm sure I'll have to pee

PONY: Yeah. It's just hard to scrub it off and I don't want the sink drain to get clogged if you two miss something by the drain and it dries

DAD: It will be fine I've been washing paint brushes in sinks for years no worries

PONY: I'm just saying because I've picked out strings of solid paint from there before after moving in

DAD: I'll be careful. I'll only use the hall bathroom that was my plan anyway didn't mean to upset you

Anyhoo... The Pony didn't say if he found any clogs of paint in his sink. So I guess maybe Farmer H was more careful this time...

Still no reason to belittle me or The Pony about paint brush washing!

Farmer H, The Pushy Unwanted Not-Guest

Farmer H will be painting the last outside wall of The Pony's house on Wednesday. I forget why he put it off so long. Maybe it got cold too soon last year when he painted the other three. Anyhoo... The Pony had requested that it be done before winter this year. 

Farmer H has been working at the flip house every weekday morning except Fridays, and when he has an appointment. That's since around March or April, when he recovered enough from his back surgery. He only works until 10:30 or 11:00, so he can get to his Senior Center lunch. So not a lot of hours, even though he leaves home at 6:00. Not knocking Farmer H for this. He works hard. But you'd think maybe he'd have more to show for it.

Anyhoo... on Monday, he took the power washer over to Pony House to get that wall cleaned off. It's the east wall, the one that faces the neighbor, and where that big walnut tree had to be cut down. A doctor appointment on Tuesday put the painting off until Wednesday.

Anyhoo... The Pony was off on Sunday. Worked Monday when the washing took place. Was off Tuesday, his regular day off. And on Tuesday evening, Farmer H had the nerve to text The Pony about "picking up the house" because he and Old Buddy would be coming in to wash the paint brushes!

I have a problem with this. Farmer H had already told The Pony to set out the paint in case Farmer H got there before he left for work. Which I imagine he will because he's always early for stuff that he's set a definite time to do. So Farmer H knew it would be a disruption of The Pony's schedule if he went traipsing around inside while The Pony was getting ready for work. You know how it is. You don't want "company" underfoot when you're doing your morning things before leaving for work.

Anyhoo... I can't figure out why Farmer H can't just wash his brushes OUTSIDE when he's done. The temperature is mid-70s to 80s. There's obviously a working spigot outside, since he used the power washer there on Monday. WHY must he go inside the house? 

The Pony gave a little push-back, saying, "You might clog up my sink with your brushes."

Sweet Gummi Mary! Farmer H has no business going inside. He is not a landlord. The Pony is PAYING for the house. It's his! He's not renting. He's never missed a payment. Next month will be #18. 

If I remember before Farmer H leaves the Mansion, I'm going to ask why he can't wash his brushes outside. 

Four Wrongs Don't Make It Right

Sweet Gummi Mary! Farmer H is at it again! Shenaniganning me into apoplecticism!

On Monday, Farmer H brought home some plums that he got at the Senior Center. That's nice. He doesn't like plums. I said to put them on the cutting block. The cutting block that I cleaned off for our Labor Day grilling with The Pony. So no clutter.

Farmer H set that bag of plums on top of my butter knife! Not used for butter, but for chipping at the ice in FRIG II's freezer that likes to clump up and keep the ice maker from making. There I was, getting ice, wanting to knock some half-moon cubes loose, with nothing to use for prodding them. Oh. But when I moved the whole floppy bag of plums, there was my butter knife. He could have set that bag anywhere else on the cutting block besides the few square inches taken up by my butter knife.

That's relatively minor shenanigans, compared to what came next. Farmer H went down through the basement workshop to unlock the basement door. It has a deadbolt, and he can't open it from outside with a key. He wanted to carry in the power washer he had used on The Pony's house. The Pony is finally getting his fourth wall painted blue on Wednesday! Farmer H came back upstairs, went out the front door, and drove SilverRedO around to unload. I could hear him carrying stuff in. Then felt the vibration from the slamming of the door. He drove SilverRedO around front, then came back in to go downstairs and deadbolt the door again.

Next, Farmer H went over to the BARn to leave some items. I was still sitting at the kitchen table with HIPPIE, perusing the innernets. Until I wasn't. I tried to scroll down the page I had been on for a while, and it stopped! Said I didn't have an internet connection. Did I want to reconnect. Well, of course. But HIPPIE is set up to do that automatically.

I ran the troubleshooter, which told me to plug an ethernet cable into the back of my computer! The NOT-HEAVEN, you say! I'm not using a wired connection in my kitchen! I'm using that new expensive WiFi that got set up with two new routers!

I called Farmer H, and told him my predicament. 

"There ain't no reason it would quit working. All I did was carry in the power washer and close the door."

"Well, that's when the issue started. Seems like the last time this happened and I had to go downstairs myself to fix it, was another day you had come home before going to the auction, and been down in the basement."

"Huh. I can go down and unplug them. Maybe that guy didn't plug things in tight, and a wire fell out. I'm on my way in a few minutes. I'm going to mow for a while."

Farmer H went down and unplugged. Hopefully not the Wii gaming system, heh, heh! Within a couple minutes, HIPPIE was showing he had an internet lifeline again.

I'm kind of apprehensive about what Farmer H will try tomorrow. He's going to be underfoot in the morning, before leaving for a doctor's appointment.

Killin' Me Softly With His Wrongs

Once again, I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me. To push me over the edge with his shenanigans that raise my blood pressure to higher heights.

Sunday evening, Farmer H helped me carry in some groceries. Good for him! I was lulled into a false sense of security. While putting a Save A Lot pizza in FRIG II, having liberated it from its large box, I asked Farmer H to toss out the remaining two home-grown tomatoes given to him by his buddies. They were sitting on a plate on the cutting block. 

Farmer H grunted his assent, and started around the kitchen counter to toss those two disintegrating tomatoes off the back porch. I went to the sink to start washing up the previous night's bowl and silverware. Next thing I knew, Farmer H had the pizza box I had laid face-down on the cutting block, to consult when it was time to put the pizza into the oven.

"Hey! What are you doing? I need that box to see the cooking directions!"

"Huh. I thought you was done with it. I was putting it by the door."

As if that wasn't enough, I saw that Farmer H had put the tomato plate back on the cutting block. Because obviously moving it two feet into the wastebasket was too much effort.

Sweet Gummi Mary! Leaving trash, yet throwing away my needed pizza directions. I'm pretty sure this was a cold-blooded, calculated move on Farmer H's part. Nobody can be THAT clueless. Right?

Really, Universe? Did Mrs. HM Deserve Such Treatment?

The Universe continues to conspire against Mrs. HM...

Let the record show that when I shower, I do not like to scrub my thin skin with a nubby washcloth. I use the bar of soap itself. I always rinse it off and start on a cleanish section like my arms, since you never know what orifice Farmer H might have ended his shower scrubbing. When I feel that the bar of soap is sufficiently clean enough to proceed, I swipe it over my face. 

This method has worked for years. I've not gotten a disease, nor blinded myself. But on Saturday, The Universe was cutting up, full of shenanigans, wreaking havoc with Mrs. HM's tried and true method.

I WASHED OUT MY OWN MOUTH WITH SOAP!!!

Oh, the horror! A bar of Irish Spring poking its end between my lips! Slipping right off my upper lip and into my mouth. Ptooey! That is not a good taste!

Surely this is not some kind of irony... no specific message The Universe is trying to confer.

Farmer H Has Been Initiated Into The Club

Farmer H came through the kitchen door on Thursday afternoon with blood running down his arm.

"That dern dog! She jumped up and scratched me!"

"Welcome to the club! One more, and you'll tie me."

Scarlett ADORES Farmer H. Have I mentioned that? Pretty sure I have. Even though he has given her reason to be afraid.

"Last time I mowed, the mower shot out some gravel in her direction. Now she don't get so close to me when I'm on the mower."

Indeed. When Farmer H was mowing the front yard/field as I left for town, Scarlett was hunkered down behind the base of the basketball goal at the end of the garage. She didn't take her eyes off Farmer H, though. 

Another Attempt, I'm Pretty Sure

Sweet Gummi Mary! Nobody can be this dumb or awkward! It's gotta be premeditated! To get Mrs. HM all worked up with veins in her crazy twirly finger temple area popping out and throbbing.

Thursday night, Farmer H grilled four sausage patties to go with our leftover sides from the Labor Day feast. I was inside, warming his Corningwear bowl of baked beans in the oven. Setting out his plate and buns and the deviled egg container. Slicing his onion and tomato. Farmer H brought in a foil-covered pizza pan with the four sausages, and set it on the stovetop.

Let the record show that my stove is old-style. Coiled metal burners with drip pans. Four. The back left burner was covered with another pizza pan and metal tray. Clean, not in use, just waiting until they were needed. They always sit there.

The front right burner is where Farmer H set the pizza pan of sausages, oozing juices that would be good later for dipping the dog bread in for treats. I was still slicing up the remainder of Farmer H's tomato.

"Your two slices of onion and tomato for your sandwiches are next to each other. The extra onion slices are by themselves. I'm chunking up the rest of your tomato in a bowl. You can get your beans out of the oven. You'll need a mitt. They're hot."

Farmer H fetched his beans and put them all on his plate. He brought the empty Corningware bowl over to the stovetop and set it on the back right burner.

"No. I've told you a million times, that is the hot burner. Heat comes up from the oven. That will burn those bean juices even more, and make it harder to wash."

With a heavy sigh, Farmer H pulled the bean bowl back, and grabbed the sausage pan to move to that back hot burner!

"What are you doing? They will also burn!"

In a huff, Farmer H dragged the sausage pan back to the front burner, slopping those juices all over the stovetop I had just cleaned on Monday. Then he yelled at me that I keep yelling at him. And tried to move the pans from the back left burner over to the hot burner.

"Just put that bean bowl on the left front! How hard is that? Why can't you see that? It's an empty burner, not hot. That's all you had to do! Not move everything around!"

"You're never happy!"

"I'm really not happy now, with you walking off, leaving that sausage juice for me to clean up!"

"FINE! I'll clean it up!"

"You're always making more work for me!"

"I cooked."

"I will gladly spend 20 minutes cooking, any time you want to plan the meal and buy the food and make the sides and then clean up."

Funny how Farmer H had no response to that. And that he had eschewed the thin onion slices designated for his sandwich, and used the uneven, chunky leftover slices instead.

The dogs will not be pleased with getting only 1/3 of the grease on their bread treat.

It's Easier To Catch Jackpots With Courtesy Rather Than Impatience

If I'd been out catching flies on Tuesday, I would have come home with a bushel of them! That's because I know that the best bait is sugar, not vinegar. But I wasn't out catching flies. I was just making my rounds, putting a check from The Pony for Flip House expenses in the bank, and withdrawing Farmer H's cash money that he'd spent on the Flip House during August. Of course I took advantage of my travels to buy scratchers while outside of Hillmomba proper. It was a good day for that. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The day before, I had been in the Liquor Store in Hillmomba. It was pretty busy, as you might imagine, it being Monday, and the Labor Day holiday. So lots of people were buying adult beverages, and their vapes. I was fourth in line. A lady came up beside me, holding a case of beer. When it was my turn, I motioned her ahead.

"Go ahead. I'm getting lottery. It might take a minute. I'm not holding anything."

She thanked me and went ahead. As she was paying for her beer, she asked for a scratcher.

"I never buy these."

"Heh, heh. I DO!"

The cashier/manager who is a former student of mine chuckled and agreed. "She DOES!"

"I just feel like getting one today." 

She asked for a $5 ticket that I was planning to buy. Normally, I hate that, and won't get one. But this one I wanted. It was the bright green 50X ticket. When it was my turn, I asked for it, and got the last one on the roll. Huh. Not what I would have chosen had I known.

Anyhoo... when I got home and scratched it, my ticket was a $15 winner. No, that's not a fortune. But by letting that beer lady go ahead of me, I got a winner. And for two days since then, I've had FANTASTIC LUCK!

On Tuesday, I won a total of $309! Which included $50 on a $5 crossword from the Sis-Town Casey's, and $200 on a $5 crossword from the School-Turn Casey's. There's the big one below. I had four words on the top puzzle, and four words on the bottom puzzle. And the 10X symbol amongst the letters given. They are played separately. So that was ten dollars on top, and ten dollars on bottom, each multiplied ten times.

On Wednesday, I won a total of $223! Which included $100 on a $10 ticket from the Gas Station Chicken Store, and $60 on a $3 crossword from the Liquor Store. 

I'm pretty sure my politeness has garnered me favor with Even Steven.

Turning The Pony Into A Workhorse

I'm pretty sure The Pony was not expecting to be put to work when he came out Monday for steak-grilling. It's not like we harnessed him to the plow. But we DID ask a lot him with little chores.

First of all, I asked if he'd set up my new printer in the living room, so it would work off the WiFi to communicate with HIPPIE in the kitchen. So The Pony unboxed it, glanced at the directions, moved some stuff off the TV tray where I used to have my laptop set up in front of the living room window. He plugged in the printer, and started downloading stuff. While that was going on, we had some other requests.

Take the password off HIPPIE, so I don't have to sign in when I turn it on or let it go to sleep.

Find the kitchen smoke alarm that Farmer H took down because it was beeping. I was in the bathroom changing clothes, and when I came out, The Pony said the alarm worked, so he just put it back up! NO! It would start beeping again soon enough, and it has been two months since The Pony was last at the Mansion. I don't want Farmer H climbing on the cutting block, or going to the basement for the stepstool. So The Pony took it down, and actually put in the new battery, then put it back up.

Figure out which smoke alarm was currently chirping in the basement. The Pony said it was in the workshop. He brought up the printer paper as I had asked.

Put an icon for the calculator on Farmer H's main phone screen.

Test the printer. IT WORKED!

Dust and set the kitchen table for our feast.

Throw some eggshells, lettuce cores, and onion skins off the back porch.

Clear the plates from the table.

Take my purse and HIPPIE and files back to the table when we were done.

The Pony carried out all duties as directed. He's a credit to the workhorse force.

The Proof Is In The Puddin'

Farmer H is always getting freebies. I know I don't have to prove it to you. You've heard plenty about his hauls here and on my not-so-secret blog. He's always showing up with something. Like Thursday evening, when I saw him taking four little styrofoam containers with lids out of a plastic bag, to put in FRIG II.

"What's that?"

"I got us some banana pudding!"

Well. That's just what he told me. Turns out he had a little more that he didn't mention. That being some peanut butter cookies, four, I think, each in a waxed-paper envelope. I only noticed because I saw him surreptitiously grabbing something off the cutting block, after I heard the rustling of the waxed paper. AND when I cleaned off the kitchen table for our Labor Day grill-out, I found two of them. Heh, heh. I just ate one. It was pretty tasty, even though a bit overdone. Just let Farmer H complain! Then I'll raise the question of  "How was I supposed to know, you never mentioned any cookies to ME!"

Anyhoo... on Thursday night, after supper, Farmer H opened up FRIG II.

"Don't forget the pudding! There's four of them."

"I saw them. I figured we'd each have two. One tonight and one tomorrow."

"I got mine right here."

When I looked, Farmer H was holding a big styrofoam container, like he brings home a sandwich or something meaty from the Senior Center. Which is where the pudding came from.

"Wait. I thought that was some kind of main course."

"Nope. It's my banana pudding!"

Huh. Looks like there's more Farmer H didn't tell me...

Seriously! Is It Too Much To Ask For A Job To Be Done Right?

I think we know the answer already. Yes. It IS too much to ask. Expecting a paid worker to carry out job duties adequately is sure to make that worker feel put-upon!

Farmer H picked up Chinese food on the way home from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) on Saturday evening. As with many things Farmer H does, he made a little mistake. He was supposed to get himself Hunan Chicken with fried rice and eggroll. Get me Garlic Chicken with fried rice and crab rangoon. And an order of crab rangoon, which consists of eight. When he got home, he said

"I think I messed up. I asked for TWO orders of crab rangoon."

"Yeah. We only get one. But that's okay. They have the best ones around here."

Well. Farmer H started unpacking the bag, to eat his right away, and he couldn't find his eggroll. Nor did he find the little packet that would have held my two crab rangoon that came with the dinner special. I looked through both of the larger bags of crab rangoon, in case they had, perhaps, tried to save the environment by using less waxed paper. Nope. Only the eight-per-order crab rangoon in each bag.

I told Farmer H that after he was done eating, he should call and complain. He said no, that would do no good. Well. It would have satisfied ME. Just to chastise them!

He says he'll tell them next time he goes. Like they're going to believe him. I have the receipt. But this place only gives you the TOTAL. Doesn't even list what you're paying for. None of the order. Just the total and method of payment.

I'm pretty sure neither of us will get any satisfaction from Farmer H's next-time complaint. I sure hope the workers enjoyed feasting on our eggroll and two crab rangoons...

Tomatoes Are The New Zucchini

I remember late summer, when my grandma couldn't give away all the zucchini in her garden. She resorted to making loaves and loaves of zucchini bread, which people were much more willing to accept. 

Well. Apparently Farmer H's buddies are having a tomato problem! They have stopped short of baking loaves and loaves of tomato bread, but they DO dole out their tomatoes like a local political candidate handing out rulers in a high school homecoming parade.

We have not even finished the last batch of homegrown tomatoes, given to Farmer H by the old man we bought the Double Hovel flip house from. That's right. That guy not only mows the yard for Farmer H for free, but he also gives him tomatoes!

The latest tomato windfall came from a guy Farmer H knows from the SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). He had a huge bag of them, and stacked them on a paper plate next to the other paper plate of tomatoes. 

While Farmer H was outside on the back porch, fending off his not-so-secret admirer Scarlett, while trying to use nature as one big toilet... I picked out three tomatoes that had to go.

"Here. Throw these off the porch. Two have dark bruises, and they won't last. And this bigger one has a worm hole."

That Farmer H and his freebies. I'm surprised people don't run after him and toss money!

Grrr, Interrupted

Mrs. HM has been in a murderous mindset for the past few days.

Farmer H let a fly into the Mansion while carrying in groceries. I don't know how he does it. I can leave that door open while setting my purse down, and getting treats for the dogs, and no insect dares invade my abode. But let Farmer H leave that door open one time, and there it is. Actually, he did it two times. And we had two flies.

I dispatched the second fly fairly easily. I was standing by the kitchen sink when it landed on a paper plate I re-use for my morning fake Honey Nut Cheerios. I grabbed the flyswatter that hangs off a hook built into the metal frame that holds the cutting block.

WHACK! 

Direct hit! I stunned him, since he was not on the flat part of the plate, but on the edge. Finished him off with a Puffs With Lotion, squeezing him into a leggy pulp full of creepy fly-eyes. Of course that was the end of my plate! Had to get another one for the next morning.

The first fly proves more problematic. It has more energy. And I swear it FOLLOWS ME! Spends the evenings buzzing around the kitchen, then comes to the living room overnight and darts between me and the TV. Yesterday morning, I was perched upon the throne, only to see it swoop into my vision, making me realize that it had gotten into the bathroom before I closed the door! Not long ago, it dive-bombed my right cheek (the face kind, you ninny, we're out of the bathroom now). I hate a buzzing darting fly!

I even have the flyswatter beside me at the ready while typing on HIPPIE. I had a good chance at a kill, when I saw that fly sitting on the edge of the counter by the sink. It's only about an inch wide. That fly was so still. Not even rubbing his front leg-hands together in glee. Just watching me, I think. I picked up the flyswatter and took my shot. No hesitation. 

Unfortunately, the flappy part of the flyswatter, the killing surface, was blocked by the raised edge of the sink. Mr. Fly got away, and had the nerve to buzz right at me! What kind of psycho fly does THAT? They usually dart away, happy to be alive.

I am highly irritated by this irksome critter. Almost had him. My quest continues.

Youth, And Cashiering Jobs, Are Wasted On The Young

Sweet Gummi Mary! I hope I survive long enough to see the re-opening of the Hillmomba Country Mart! I saw a man on a ladder painting a wide stripe on the outside of the building Wednesday. There were several Port-A-Potties out front, so I guess they are updating the bathrooms. No date on their big sign by the road. It just says CLOSED FOR REMODELING.

The Sis-Town Country Mart is trying to kill me! I'm pretty sure. Though perhaps not outright with a light fixture rigged to decapitate me like a guillotine. They're more subtle. It could be the sloped parking lot, where Thursday I almost did a face-plant when my cart/walker filled with 3 six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew, and 3 six-packs of Sprite, Coke, and Diet Coke, along with a robust bunch of bananas, red onions, a 5-lb bag of potatoes, salad dressings, mustards, sour cream, pulled pork, romaine lettuce, a triple-chocolate cake, 18 eggs, Kerrygold butter, hot dog buns, and yo ho ho a bottle of rum... tried to run away from me, nearly pulling my arms out of their sockets.

But the likely trigger of my demise will be a rapid rise in blood pressure due to the young checker's bagging techniques!

I swear, that young 'un has never in her life ever carried in a bag of groceries. I bet her mother does it. And puts away the food, and cooks it for her, and possible baby-birds it into her mouth so she doesn't starve to death. That little gal is pleasant enough, but not very worldly in the ways of grocery bagging.

I swear, it's like the money for each bag is coming out of her pocket. She uses the bigger of the two bag sizes, and packs them randomly until full. Forget about putting the cold objects in together as I have laid them on the conveyor. Or the same shapes. Or with a balance of light and heavy. Nope. Not in her wheelhouse.

When I tried to lift the bags up over the little shelf where old ladies write out their checks, the first one's handles stretched so much that I thought they might break. The next one was so heavy and awkwardly balanced that it got caught on the edge of that shelf, and a tear resulted in its side. So I had to baby that one lest all the contents spill out.

At home, Farmer H was there to help. I told him to get my Save A Lot boxes that he was going to burn. So at least we got those groceries inside without losing them.

I really wish they would have more than one checker in that store. Or maybe an older one. There seem to be a lot of those old biddies running around doing nothing but talking in the "office" between their lottery machines. Their talents could be better used by having them TEACH THAT LITTLE GAL how old people need lighter bags. And how fragile those plastic bags really are.