No Premonition, Just A Hunch

I mentioned last week on my not-so-secret blog that I have been  taking an alternate route through the roundabout rather than taking a chance on my regular way to and from town, due to the sidewalk construction and occasional flagman. Last Friday, Farmer H asked a question when he got home.

"Did you see the semi truck turned over by the car dealership?"

"No. What do you mean?"

"On my way home, I saw it when I got off the highway."

"Do you come by the Gas Station Chicken Store?"

"No. I was on the other side of the highway, by Orb K. But I heard it on the radio, and looked over that way when I got off the exit ramp, and saw it. Traffic all backed up."

"Well, I'm glad I went the other way, and didn't get caught up in it. Because that's right when I was leaving town. I just got home."

Anyhoo... the article showed up in the local online paper on Monday. It happened on Friday. But it wasn't a semi truck. It was an ambulance! Coming from where it sits by the rat poison factory across from Country Mart. Headed to the highway for an emergency call. A truck coming from the road by the Gas Station Chicken Store hit the ambulance. Hard enough to turn it over on its side!!! There was a picture. The flipped ambulance hit a mini van that was at the light. What a time to be in the wrong place at the wrong time!

Anyhoo... there was a reason I took myself on an alternate route. I just didn't know it at the time.

The Carnivorous Pony Puts Himself To Sleep

Better late than never! The Pony didn't send me pictures of his meal yesterday because he FELL ASLEEP! That's understandable, working a full day, then doing meal prep, and stuffing his belly with meat and carbs! But he sent me SOME pictures the next day.

"Forgot to send last night!"

"This steak? Only four dollars!"

"How did you get that steak bargain?"

"It was one of those bargain things at Country Mart. Less than half a pound, and a really poor fat distribution for a ribeye, I guess."

"I like fat in a steak. It gives the flavor."

"Your salad looks delicious. Did you bake the cake?"

"I fell asleep too early to bake! I'll try today if I meet my writing goals. And yeah, for the salad, getting a slapchop type thing makes cutting the onions for salad sooooo much easier and more satisfying."

I don't know what a slapchop thing is, but if it makes a salad look that tasty, I'd say it's a good investment. No word yet on whether a cake was attempted. I'm guessing there was pasta and bread, but perhaps not...

What? No Pictures?

Saturday evening, The Pony said he was going to have steak/salad/pasta/garlic bread for his meal. And THEN he was going to bake a red velvet Oreo chocolate chip cake. That was at 5:19. Last I heard. With a clarification that it was WHITE chocolate chips.

That sounds pretty good, except for the red velvet cake part. I am not a fan. I might have tried it once. Not my thing, but Farmer H loves it. I made the mistake of reading him the text. Hope he doesn't drop in at The Pony's house with an excuse, and help himself. Like he did when going over there to wait for The Pony's package to arrive last year.

Anyhoo... I hope The Pony took pictures. I can ask for them later. Unless he fell asleep before his baking adventure. That sometimes happens when you spend your week working.

The Pony Learns The Hard Way That Farmer H's Safe Advice Is Not Actually Safe

As the remodeler of The Pony's house, Farmer H advised him of the best location to put his safe. The Pony likes to keep some cash on hand, even though he most often uses plastic for daily expenditures.

When I stopped by to pick up a check for The Pony's half of our flip house expenditures, The Pony revealed that he had a problem. He was paying cash for his portion of the air conditioning unit. Upon opening his hidden safe, he was unpleasantly surprised.

"I'm not listening to Dad any more. He told me that was the best place to hide my safe. But when I opened it, my money was all moist! Moldy. Mildewed. I'm trying to dry it out. I'm going to put my safe somewhere else!"

The money he gave me looked okay. I guess it was the best of the soggy bills.

Farmer H says that The Pony should microwave the bills. I said he should put them in sunlight, though that could be problematic.

"I guess I could lay them out on my kitchen floor, where the sun comes in every morning..."

"Probably not a good idea! Dad and Old Buddy might come barging in while you're at work, and tromp all over them."

I think the best idea is for The Pony to deposit that money in the bank, and then draw it out again the next week, if he still wants to keep some cash on hand. 

Yeah. That's the best way for The Pony to launder his money.

Death By Misrepresentation?

Shh... don't tell anybody, but I think Farmer H is trying to kill me.

He came home Thursday around 4:00 with two small styrofoam containers, which he immediately held out to me, even though he was by the door, and I was by the cutting block.

"Same as usual. Anything you don't want in your hand, you hold out to ME!"

"Well. One is yours. You can put them in the fridge."

"Okay, wait until I can get over there. You can't put them in the fridge?"

"No. I'm getting a trash bag and going to clean out my truck."

Farmer H then proceeded to walk around the counter and through the kitchen, into the living room, and on to the bathroom. Why he couldn't have carried those two containers to FRIG II is beyooooond me!

Anyhoo... I glanced inside, and couldn't tell what it was. When he came back, I asked.

"I don't know. Dessert. Some kind of cake."

"What is that, caramel? I see nuts."

"Yeah. Apple I guess."

He ate his right after supper. I waited until after my own supper, around 10:00, after Farmer H had already gone to bed.

It kind of looked like caramel icing on a cake. With pecans. I took a bite. My fork wouldn't go all the way through. What kind of cake does THAT? The taste wasn't actually apple-y. Nor cakey. I swear, the bottom of that thing looked like a stale biscuit!

I think that was PIE! I hate pie! Because I don't like crust. But this was like a really thick dry crust. I ate around it, leaving some nuts behind. I swear, the more I though about it, the more I likened the consistency to cheesecake. And I think the flavor might have been pumpkin.

An hour after eating it, I felt queasy. Especially after thinking how lunch was served at 11:00, and Farmer H didn't get home until 4:00. It was 79 degrees today.

I'm pretty sure I'm being poisoned with a fast-acting spoiled pumpkin cheesecake.

The Clueful Helping The Clueless

I can still remember the time several years ago, when Farmer H was bemoaning the fact that his goat, Goatrude, did not like him any more.

"She used to come running, and follow me all around. And now that I got those other goats, she ignores me! Like I don't even exist!"

The next day, Farmer H came home from work spouting the most important discovery in the history of the world, having spent time in his office consulting with Mr. Google.

"Goats are HERD ANIMALS!"

"Um... yes. They have been since the beginning of time."

"Well, THAT'S why Goatrude don't follow me any more. She goes with the herd. She's like their leader. She don't need me."

"Uh huh. I could have told you that."

Now Farmer H has amazed me once again with his total ignorance of the animal kingdom. I told him how I'd gotten the fruit fly infestation under control, between smashing the random dumb ones with my thumb, and trapping the more wily with a red Solo cup half-full of tap water and couple drops of dishwashing liquid.

"Huh. If they're really fruit flies..."

"What do you mean by that? What else would they be?"

"Fleas."

"Are you crazy? Why would we have fleas? Fleas don't flit around the kitchen!"

"How do you know?"

"Fleas jump! They're hard and crunchy if you can manage to smash one. They BITE! If you had fleas, you'd know it! You don't get rid of them with a cup of water by the kitchen sink. You need to set off a flea bomb. If we had fleas, your ankles would be eaten up by flea bites. I don't know how you've lived this long without knowing the difference between fleas and fruit flies!"

Sweet Gummi Mary! You'd think Farmer H never lived in a college house with roommates who had Cocker Spaniels!

The Incredible Unending Generosity Of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom

Remember when The Pony's interest inventory upon filling out his FAFSA form for college returned the verdict that he does not really care about helping people? He did not get that trait from Mr. Congeniality Farmer H, nor from Mrs. HM. You might say that Mrs. HM is the AntiPony. All about helping people, even though her personal motto is "People Piss Me Off."

Tuesday morning, I was in a bit of a time crunch. I had to get to town WAY too early compared to my usual schedule, which is 3:30. I needed to pick up a flip house construction materials payment from The Pony on his day off, and get to the bank for cash reimbursement for Farmer H's outlay to pay Old Buddy for labor. AND pop in the Sis-Town Country Mart for bananas. Which meant I'd need to be in the shower by 1:00 and on the road by 1:30.

I sat on the short couch at 9:55, contemplating whether my limited time would best be spent by dozing off and catching the winks I'd missed since being awake until 4:00 a.m., or getting off my ample rumpus to wash up the chili bowls that were soaking in the sink. My reverie was interrupted by the ring of the Mansion phone. I don't bother to jump up and answer. That ship has sailed.

"Hello? Is this Hillbilly Mom? I am Jane Doe, and I used to teach with you at the Mentia school district." Meaning that while I toiled in Lower Basementia and Newmentia, she was edumacatin' at Elementia. "I am getting ready to get off school insurance and sign up for Medicare, and I'd like to ask you some questions about how to do that. Please call me back."

Welp! Of course Mrs. HM is your go-to gal for that type of thing, right? Having all the answers, after needing to pay three extra months of high-dollar school insurance until all the kinks were worked out in her own sign-up.

Sweet Gummi Mary! What was in it for ME to answer questions for this gal? So you know what I did, right, on that morning I was tired and pressed for time. I PICKED UP MY CELL PHONE AND CALLED HER BACK.

"I don't think I'm the one you need to talk to..."

"I have no idea what to do. I retired 16 years ago. But I'm just now old enough to get off the school insurance and onto Medicare. I asked around the main office if they knew somebody who had gone through it, who could help me. I said I didn't want anybody OLD, because they wouldn't remember how they did it. So I asked if there was anybody who'd gone through this within the last year, and they gave me your name. I said, 'Oh, I know her! I had both her kids at school.'"

"Yes. I still remember the day we were picking up Young Genius, and The Pony said, 'WAIT! Can I get out and give Mrs. Doe a hug?' Even though Young Genius told him he was crazy." [Mrs. Doe was not known for her huggy-feeliness, and was thought by most to be a hard-rumpused taskmaster.]

"Well, I would really appreciate it if I could talk to you about what to do. I have no idea! If now is not a good time, we can meet somewhere and talk about it--"

"No! I'll tell you all I know right now. Just talk to the people at our insurance group! That's what they're paid to do. Go online and find This Gal, who helped me. She was prompt and returned my emails and got everything done for me. And I get a bill every three months from the government to pay for it. She'll look up your doctor and meds, and give you quotes on two or three supplemental plans so you can compare and choose. But make sure you go to the Social Security office first, so they can sign you up for the basic part. That's what held me up."

"Oh, I already have my appointment there. My birthday is in January. I guess they will have it all ready then, and I can stop paying the school insurance in December."

"Maybe. This Gal will walk you through it."

"Thank you so much! You've been very helpful. I didn't have a clue, and was getting all these calls from people trying to sell me the supplemental plans."

You'd think if it's this hard for TEACHERS to figure out, perhaps the system needs to be overhauled and simplified. Especially the online signup that locks you out mid-application...

Just another 20 minutes in the life of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, Director, of One Great Big Helping Party.

The Road Committee Has Cut Off Mrs. HM's Limbs To Spite Her T-Hoe

The local Hillmomba geniuses who have declared themselves the new road committee were at it again on Saturday. Between the time I left for town, and the time I came home, they had lopped off a lot of limbs from small trees along the gravel road down by the creek. I understand the need for lopping. The limbs can scratch vehicles when two cars pass by each other and have to get over to the edge.

Here's the problem: nobody picked up the limbs. So they're lying along the edge of the road, actually intruding onto the road, with branches akimbo. Now there's room for about 1.5 cars to pass. You have to get over and be gouged by those limbs if you meet a car. It happened to me and T-Hoe on Monday. I heard the SCREEEEECH of a limb scraping along T-Hoe's passenger side.

I mentioned the lopping to Farmer H on Saturday evening.

"Yeah, that's their thing they were doing this weekend. Trimming those limbs. I was working at my Storage Unit Store, or I would have helped. If I have time, I'll take the tractor down and clear some of them."

Well. Of course Farmer H didn't have time. And it's not like they include him or his ideas in this road crew, like the old crew used to do. So he's not particularly invested in the task.

I really wish they'd left things as they were, if they hadn't planned on finishing the job. At least there was more room before The Lopping.

Genius Makes An Upgrade

Genius made a change in his fancy-schmancy Pittsburgh apartment on Sunday.

"Replacing our old Ikea storage unit with three big bookshelves today."

That's the old one. Make note. Because Farmer H and I both had to look twice to tell the difference.

That's the new one. Taller, wider, with drawers at the bottom.

"Impressive. No earthquakes there, I hope! Nor climbing toddlers. Or it needs anchoring."

"No climbing toddlers haha. I am not inclined to start climbing it myself."

Of course Farmer H had his own opinion.

"Looks nice. If I was there I would take the old one for my storage locker."

"Thankfully one of our friends down the road has a perfect spot for it so no hassle getting rid of the old one."

Poor Farmer H. Cheated out of a cast-off. What a bargain that would have been for him!

Chili Is A Liquid, Not A Solid

I am a little perturbed with Farmer H. I know you're shocked...

Saturday morning, I spent 1.5 hours making a pot of chili. Fried the hamburger that I'd thawed overnight. Diced two onions and fried them. Opened five cans of assorted beans. A can of diced tomatoes. Added a packet and half of chili powder mix. Poured and squeezed in six liquid ingredients. Brought them to a boil. Then simmered. Washed the dishes.

Saturday evening, Farmer H was ready to eat before I was. I warned up the chili for him. Set out his bowl and spoon. And he proceeded to eat two bowls of beans and hamburger. That's right. We're talking about the man who once made himself a towering bowl of vegetable beef soup, taking a whole roast out of the pot, with a couple of spoons of potatoes and carrots.

"I don't like liquid in my soup," Farmer H had reported when interrogated.

Well. He apparently doesn't like liquid in his chili, either. I do, but I also enjoy having a few beans and pieces of hamburger. As it was, I used over half a sleeve of saltine crackers in my "chili" so I could feel like I had some solids, and not just chili broth. 

We are having the same thing again on Sunday. I will probably be eating my chili with a straw. The plan was to have chili dogs on Monday night. I guess Farmer H will have hot dogs on buns with a drizzle of chili broth.

Some people are not very considerate of others...

An Unpunished Good Deed By Mrs. HM

It is common knowledge that Mrs. HM has better-than-average luck with scratchers. Something gives her the inkling to buy certain tickets at certain places. There is no scientific explanation.

Farmer H and I had our yearly appointment with our financial adviser on Wednesday. Since I was over in Sis-Town, I bought some scratchers at the Casey's. I won nothing remarkable. I always get the same kind of tickets. I might have gotten my money back on a couple of them.

Thursday, I was back for my regular errand day. Another stop at the Sis-Town Casey's, for T-Hoe's gas, and more scratchers. This time it paid off. I had winners of $77, $25, and $10. Of course I didn't know that until I got home and scratched the tickets.

When I got back in T-Hoe, after pumping the gas, I wrote on the back of my tickets so I'd know where I got them if they won. I had a $3 crossword, which I didn't really want, but took because they were out of my favorite Froot Loot ticket. I stuck that crossword down into the envelope I had with two other $3 crossword tickets in it to give to The Fave at the Gas Station Chicken Store, as gratitude for a couple of last week's wins. It was her birthday, so when I handed her the envelope when back at the GSCS, I told her, "Happy Birthday!"

Friday, I went into the GSCS to cash in the $77 winner from the Sis-Town Casey's and get more tickets. The Fave was working.

"I've been waiting for you to come in! I won $100 on one of those tickets!"

Sweet Gummi Mary! That was good news to me! I love giving people winning tickets. I had done so well on my own, it made me happy to share the wealth. AND it was the ticket from the Sis-Town Casey's! That I'd stuck in the envelope as an afterthought. The other two were losers.

I'd never have expected the Sis-Town Casey's to pay off so well. Just think. If I hadn't gone in there on Wednesday and bought some tickets, I wouldn't have gotten the big winners on Thursday.

Life's rich tapestry has a pattern. 

Still There

The boxes of Amazon packages that I spied in a field behind an auction business are still there! Plus more! Not just in a line down the side of the property, but now also behind the building. 

IT LOOKS LIKE TRASH!

Looks like there was a tornado that blew stuff around. Or like people have been cleaning out a flooded house. Except the boxes are stacked and seemingly in some type of bundles. Like for different buyers or routes. Not all are wrapped in plastic. 

There's a white trailer parked beside the property. Kind of a cross between a camper and one of those construction site portable offices. I suppose maybe somebody is staying there overnight, to prevent theft? Not sure how you would do that, though. You can't shoot somebody for picking up boxes in a field to steal them. A stern "STOP THAT!" would most likely not be effective for a seasoned thief. Who wouldn't hang around waiting for police to show up and arrest them.

It's Friday. Maybe the buyers/receivers will show up today and this mess will be dispersed. Farmer H was complaining about them last week, parking along the main road on both sides. I'm pretty sure some ordinances are being violated.

I wouldn't give a fat rat's rumpus, but the location makes my Gas Station Chicken Store sorties more difficult, with more traffic, and loading equipment and stacks of parcels out front blocking my view to pull out onto the road.

Is This Where Your Hillmomba Amazon Packages Come From?

Such a sight to behold, from my favorite parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store. The view across the back alley, where an abandoned auto shop has been revamped as some kind of auction and package service. This is where the truck came from that I observed losing an Amazon box at the intersection.

I thought maybe they were doling out Amazon shipments to be delivered by private contractors. Farmer H says they are selling them. That people are buying pallets of Amazon returns like crazy, and re-selling the stuff. Either way, I'm not sure I'd want something that's been sitting in a field out back.

This was at 3:30 on a Wednesday afternoon. How long were those boxes going to cool their flaps in that location? Surely not overnight! Think of the dew. Or maybe even frost as the weather is cooling. Or unwelcome spider and mouse visitors looking for shelter! That's a lot of packages to expect to have picked up by dark. 

Hillmomba is a curious locale. Let the re-buyer beware.

I Aim To Kill You, Drosophila Melanogaster

Mrs. HM is locked in a battle of wits with a home invader. Drosophila melanogaster to her, a common fruit fly to you. Ever since we studied them in my college Genetics class, I can't help but think of them by their official name.

Every now and then, the Mansion harbors such a pest. It's inevitable, when I bring in eight bananas every four days. I usually am able to dispatch them forthwith. Squashing on my HIPPIE screen, or by clapping one between my palms. After all, my brain is much larger than theirs. I seriously doubt that any of them were class valedictorian!

Anyhoo... there's one that is driving me crazy. I can't seem to outsmart it. I know my reflexes aren't what they used to be. But this one scoots away just when I think I've delivered a good smooshing. And it follows me like Scarlett follows her much-adored Farmer H.

Since my regular murder tactics have not borne fruit-fly, so to speak... I will now resort to a trap. Can't hurt. I'm not going to spend 80 DAYS chasing after this pest. That's the average life span, you know.

The innernets say to put out a bowl of apple cider vinegar, with a couple drops of dishwashing liquid in it to destroy the surface tension, so the pest can't stand on the liquid, and will submerge and drown. I don't have any apple cider vinegar. I have regular vinegar. Or I can make my own tempting treat of a piece of banana in water.

We'll see how long it takes me to premeditatedly murder this unwanted visitor.

If Looks Could Kill, Mrs. HM Would Be Under Arrest And Awaiting Trial

People don't know how to drive anymore! And they don't know how to PARK, either!

When I came out of Orb K on Monday, some clueless dude had pulled his large SUV up to the sidewalk so close that I swear half his front tires were on the curb. The bumper stuck so far over the edge of the sidewalk that I could barely get past the support pole holding up the roof over the front doors. I had to SIDLE! I made sure to glare in the direction of the windshield. It was tinted, so I didn't get the satisfaction of seeing what kind of creature would park like that.

Good thing I could squeeze through. I can't step off the curb without a handrail. I would have needed to wait until that dude left. As it was, I sidled my way to the ramp where I descended to get into T-Hoe. A teenage girl sidled her way out, and got into the passenger door of that SUV. 

Seriously, people. It's common sense. You don't have to ram your tires up against the sidewalk to park. It's okay to not put the front end of your car over the sidewalk. Orb K has a large parking lot. It's not like the car's rear bumper will be in the way of anything if an extra foot of space is allowed for the sidewalk to be clear.

Lucy's Back At The Pony's House, And She's Still Juicy

The Pony asked me if hamburger was still good on the day after the sell-by date. I told him the color would fade, but as long as it didn't smell rancid, he could cook it. So on Sunday, he sent me a picture:

"PAses my smell twst"

Which translates as 'passes my smell test' after a few sips of rum.

"Looks okay. Can't smell it from here."

"It's so cold ad I season!!"

Translation: 'it's so cold and I season it'.

"That's a lot to cook for one day. Probably last another day cooked."

"Bit under a pound. And yeah whatever I don't make into burgers this meal gets fridged with foil for tonight. Got enough for two juicy lucys now and two single patties tonight."

"By the grace of all the gods, this is amazing!"

Good to know that The Pony is getting the hang of ADULTING. Even if he does need some advice every now and then.

After All That

After agonizing over the interception of the $3 crossword scratcher that I gave The Fave at the Gas Station Chicken Store... turns out that it was a LOSER! I gave it back to her, in an envelope as an early birthday card, and she reported that it was not a winner.

I guess all that stress was for naught. I wasn't worried in the least that a ticket I bought was being held by the owners of the GSCS. Once I give a ticket away, it's not mine. Whether it wins or loses is of no consequence to me. I hope it wins, because that's why I gave it away. But whether it wins $50,000 or wins nothing, I don't have a right to rejoice or to resign myself to a loss. It's not mine!

My only worry was a bad outcome for The Fave, if she got in trouble for accepting it. Looks like the owners just regarded it as a lost ticket. So no penalty. I'm quite relieved about that.

However... it's too bad The Fave didn't win anything. 

Steak Day #2 For The Pony

The Pony finished cooking his second steak on Thursday. Looks like he had the leftover pasta, and this time made some garlic toast to go with it.

I see some minced garlic in there, despite the jar of garlic power on the counter.

Those really were some good-looking steaks. I think The Pony just seasoned it with salt and pepper, with garlic and butter in the pan. Real butter for him, not margarine. Kerrygold is his favorite.

"That looks like a really good steak!"

"It was good! Still a bit more done than I wanted, but better than last time. I slept for 12 hours after it."

"Food coma!"

At least The Pony is getting some rest.

Update On The Missing Ticket

Last Thursday, I mentioned how I tried to give my favorite cashier a $3 crossword scratcher, and it was kidnapped by other staff. The Fave had forgotten it when she closed up, and it had the Gas Station Chicken Store in a tizzy. The owners talked about it to other workers, but not to The Fave.

This Thursday, as I stepped up to the counter, The Fave slid that ticket under the plexiglass. It had a note paperclipped to the top. She took it off before I could read it.

"Here. They never talked to me, but left me this to give to you."

"Oh! I wanted to read the note."

"It's nothing. Just saying I should give it to you."

Heh, heh! Maybe she was protecting me. Perhaps it described me in an unflattering light! Like Ample-Rumpused Woman Addicted To Scratchers, So Poor She Picks Up Pennies. Who knows?

Anyhoo... I told her I would be giving it back to her, along with a couple other $3 scratchers I had gotten for her, on days I had some good wins. I don't dare bring them into the store now! I had them in an envelope, but it was a small one that wouldn't close. So I'll get a regular letter-sized envelope, since Genius's $5 tickets have no trouble fitting in them.

The Fave said that the Man Owner even called the state lottery office and read them the code number, to see what store the ticket came from! Right across the street, from the Liquor Store. 

I told her to thank them for their trouble. I'm glad to put this chapter behind me. I'd hate for The Fave to get into any trouble over that ticket, when I was only trying to be nice.

The Immaculate Cleansation

When I prepare Farmer H's supper, I lay out everything he needs. He prefers to eat in the living room. Most often in his recliner, but if it's something sloppy like nachos, he'll sit on the long couch and use the marred coffee table. Anyhoo... I put out his plate and silverware and paper towel, with whatever condiments me might use, and his already-sliced pickles and onions.

Tuesday night, I made fake McRibs. You can buy the similar kind-of-like meat frozen in BBQ sauce. All it needs is warming in the oven. I had long rolls. The kind of pickles Farmer H enjoys, which I don't, that are the crinkle-cut slices I saw too many tubs of set out for kids to serve themselves in the cafeteria. He said he wanted his onion in slices, not diced like on an actual McRib.

For sides, I warmed the baked beans I'd made the day before, when Farmer H grilled pork steaks for us. He also said he wanted ruffled potato chips. I put out a new bag, so he could have the big chips, leaving me the broken crumbs in the previous bag. I'm okay with that. I don't really like the big chips. Pieces are fine with me.

I left Farmer H alone for three minutes as he was getting his food on his plate. Three minutes! While I took a bathroom break. When I came back to the kitchen, he had broken the chip clip. How do you do THAT? All he had to do was give it two squeezes. One to get it off the bag it was already on, and another to put the new bag with the old bag, and clip them together.

Whatever. It should not surprise me. I'll just have to buy more chip clips. I went back to scratching my scratchers at the kitchen table. Farmer H said his fake McRibs were really good, and that yes, he would have that  meal again sometime. Mrs. HM is pretty good at slopping prepared foods together for him.

Farmer H had thrown away his paper plate, put his silverware on the counter, and was enjoying his dessert of a Little Debbie Zebra Cake when I next walked by the cutting block.

"HEY! Why did you leave your paper towel here? You didn't even use it!"

"Didn't need it."

"You had drippy fake McRibs, and POTATO CHIPS! How can you not need a paper towel? I can't imagine how greasy the TV remote will be when I try to use it later."

"I didn't use it."

Sure. Maybe he only watched his Gunsmoke while eating his supper. But when he brought his plate back, and got dessert, he did NOT wash his hands. And I had heard the channel changing since then.

I suppose his hands just miraculously cleansed themselves of the potato chip grease. 

Feeding The Beast Of Burden

The Pony had four days off in a row, considering his regular Sunday off, the Monday holiday, his usual day off of Tuesday, and a doctor appointment scheduled for Wednesday. He did, however volunteer to work if needed. He would get overtime, or could instead swap that for future time off. Not sure about the other days, but on Tuesday, The Pony worked until 1:00. Then he went shopping.

"Woooo just finished helping out today as much as I was willing to. Time for a store trip, for steaks! Look at these beauties!"

From the looks of the cart, I would have predicted steak, salad, and garlic bread. But no...

"I got over ambitious and overdid my steak!"

"That's good. Even though it's not walking off the plate. No garlic bread?"

"I'm low on garlic because the store hasn't had the giant jars. Just the small glass ones that are a ripoff pricewise." 

Lucky for The Pony, I found one of those big jars in my pantry. Farmer H will drop it off on Wednesday when he goes to eat lunch at the Senior Center. Looks like The Pony will have some stove-cleaning to do after he finishes strapping on the old feedbag.

Eating in front of the new computer, on a call with his Bestie from college, and another friend, listening to a musical from a composer The Pony knows loosely.

I'd say The Pony is enjoying his little holiday.

The New Fake Country Mart Can't Open Soon Enough For Mrs. HM

If I had a calendar, I'd be crossing off the days. The new version of Country Mart is supposed to have a grand opening on October 18. So close, but yet so far!

Monday, I went to Save A Lot for bananas and some other stuff. It's closer than the Sis-Town Country Mart, which is 12-15 miles away. I was sure I was in for an easy shopping trip. After all, I went at 1:45. Who shops then? Surely normal people go in the morning, or later, after work and school.

It was Columbus Day, which meant The Pony and some other government workers had the day off. I can't imagine them wanting to shop in the middle of the day. The schools were still in session, as were most regular businesses. Well! I was in for a not-so-pleasant surprise!

Save A Lot's parking area was packed! You'd think that every government worker in the county had decided to shop at 1:45. There were two parking spaces left on the far side. One had a car parked on the line, and the other had a car parked crookedly. So I parked crookedly, with T-Hoe's tires very close to the line on the passenger side. 

Inside, I was pleased to find some sausages made without cheese, and three boxes of my Shasta Diet Cola. I took two. The bananas were good enough, though they had those long stems. The large baking potatoes that I needed for making Terrible Taters with pulled pork were in sad shape. Not all that large, and each had some flaw. I managed to find three that were suitable, and one that I can cut a spot out of and give to Farmer H!

Of course all those people wanted to check out at the same time. A gal announced that she was opening up a second register. I could easily have gone right into it, being the closest, but I kindly waited to see if the two people ahead of me wanted it. One guy went right over there, but the lady with a full cart waffled. She'd start over, look back at the line she'd been third in, then back at the new line. I was about to just GO already, but she wheeled over there in front of me.

I went to her old line, with one man already checking out, and a lady with a single tub of sour cream waiting to be next. Well. While I was standing there, FOUR people went through the new line. The man was trying to buy some chewing tobacco, and the checker didn't know the price, and was calling for help. I went to the newly opened line, and was done before that poor sour cream lady checked out.

While boxing my food at the counter in front of the front windows, I saw that a black pickup truck had parked next to T-Hoe where that crooked car had vacated. No way was I getting my door open. I took my time boxing. Decided I'd just have to put my groceries in T-Hoe's rear, and lean on the dusty back bumper while waiting for the truck to leave.

But WAIT! As I pushed my cart out the door, that black truck left! So I could get in and leave as normal. The only drawback being the seven or eight cars that were driving the WRONG WAY down those one-way aisles. People are SO entitled...

Good Deed Regrets

Mrs. HM has once again stoned a hornet's nest with her attempted kindness! 

Remember how I was concerned about the absence of my favorite clerk at the Gas Station Chicken Store? Well. On Thursday (I think), I found out she was back. I told you so here.

Anyhoo... I had been across the street buying scratchers at the Liquor Store. I wrote on the back of them to indicate where I got them, and put them in my purse. They were by the winners I was going to cash in at the Gas Station Chicken Store, my next stop. On my way in, I looked down as I was putting my phone in my pocket, and saw that I had also picked up a $3 crossword with my winners. I thought about just stuffing it in my pocket and leaving it there, but no good can come of a lottery ticket in a pants pocket.

Anyhoo... once I stepped inside and saw that The Fave was back, I was so happy that I decided to give it to her. I know she plays the crosswords, because she has told me about her winners, and where she gets them. Which is not at the Gas Station Chicken Store. There might be a rule about that.

Anyhoo... I related in that earlier post how the customer ahead of me, who was leaving, got into a three-way conversation with us about The Fave's bout with pneumonia, which had caused her absence. As I handed her my winners, I gave her that $3 crossword from the Liquor Store. "Here. I had a good day yesterday. Good luck!"

We were still having that three-way conversation about pneumonia as The Fave turned to scan my winners. She set the $3 crossword on a counter by the window while she was scanning my winners and stapling them together with the receipt. The previous customer left, I got my new tickets, and then I left. Didn't think any more about it until the next day.

The Fave said that she had forgotten about the $3 crossword, and left it on that shelf. Apparently the owners found it the next morning, and were perplexed about why it was there. This info came to The Fave from a clerk who worked an earlier shift. The owners checked it and saw by the code numbers that it was NOT from a roll in their store. They had it in the office, trying to decide what to do with it.

They did not mention it to The Fave. She was worried that she might be in trouble, since that ticket appeared during her shift. I told her I would be fine with talking to the owners, if they had questions, to explain that ticket. There was no need for The Fave to be in any trouble. It was not a ticket from that store, and I had given it to her.

Three days have passed, and the owners have not brought up the issue with The Fave. I thought about calling to explain, but figured it's best to let events proceed at the owners' timeline.

I will be devastated if this gets The Fave into any trouble. I've given tickets to other workers at other places, and I put my dollar change in the tip jar at the Liquor Store when a certain guy or gal is working. It's because they are pleasant and do their job efficiently, not because I garner any favors from them. AS IF they could predict what tickets will be winners!

I swear, if there are repercussions, I will never do anything nice for anyone again!

Toot, Toot, Tootsie Roll, Goodbye

For the past two days, there's been a charity collector standing outside the door of the Gas Station Chicken Store. A man the first day, and a woman the next. They were wearing a vest that I suppose identified the charity. I didn't want to look too closely. 

I don't like charity collectors standing outside the door. Or standing at stop signs like the fake-poppy-giver-outers, or the local fire department with their big stinky boots to drop money into. Like I've stated many a time, I donate to my charities by check, even though my taxes over the past few years have not been itemizable to take the deduction.

Anyhoo... in cashing in my winners and buying more scratchers, I've been getting back a dollar. So as I left both days, I donated the dollar to their clear plastic container. They both offered me a Tootsie Roll. I looked up the charity that gives out Tootsie Rolls, and it's the Knights of Columbus, collecting for people with intellectual disabilities. That's a good cause. They can have my dollar(s).

Anyhoo... both times, I declined the Tootsie Roll. They're okay, but not so delicious that I want to risk them pulling out a tooth! 

Nose Bitten Off, My Face Definitely Feels Spited

Welp! Now I've gone and done it! A couple nights ago, I refused some cheesecake that Farmer H brought home for me from the Senior Center. All because he had been driving it around in A-Cad since noon, and then went to a football game, and arrived home at 9:00. I even shamed him into not eating it, pointing out that I was too lazy to plan his funeral.

On Friday, Farmer H was home by 5:30. He had watched my alma mater's homecoming parade from the Senior Center. It started at 2:00. Then he went for his weekly shot. Then to work on the flip house, since his buddy who hosts the Friday afternoon bull-shooting sessions had something else to do.

"What was lunch today?"

"Fish. The catfish."

"Both kinds of fish there were really good."

"Yeah. They tried to get me to bring home three dinners that people called in and didn't pick up. But I told them, 'I'm not going home right now.'"

Sweet Gummi Mary! It's not like it would have been 9-hour car-fish! I'm sure they would have kept those dinners in the Senior Center refrigerator until after the parade was over. So we're talking three hours max that Farmer H would have been driving them around.

It's not like fried catfish is cheesecake...

The Dizzy Bone's Connected To The Lung Bone

Last Wednesday, I stepped into the Gas Station Chicken Store during a lull. I was the only customer. My favorite clerk was working, a day earlier than she normally does. She was near the soda fountain, and said "I'll be right there."

"It's just me. I'm never in a hurry."

When she came to the counter, she stopped, put her hand on her forehead, and said, "Whew! I guess I turned too fast. I'm really lightheaded." She proceeded to scan my winners, but had to stop. Take a breath. Concentrate on what she was doing. "I don't know what's wrong. I just don't feel right."

"Bend over and put your head down lower than your heart. It lets the blood flow back to your brain."

She did so, and said she felt a little better.

"Don't worry about me. If you need to go sit down, I can wait. Or I can come back later."

"No. I'll be okay. That's just weird. I don't know what's going on."

She seemed like her old self again, though moving in slow motion. Another customer came in, so I headed on my way. The next day, Thursday, she didn't mention anything, and appeared normal.

On Friday, I noticed that the OTHER clerk's car was parked out front. Huh. That was unusual. I wondered if they'd switched up the schedule, or if The Fave had taken off for the local school's homecoming weekend.

Every day, I scanned the parking lot before turning in. Still that other gal's car. Huh. Was something wrong? I was dying to ask, but didn't want to look like a stalker. Also, I didn't want to stir up something if The Fave had been.... fired! Surely not. But you never can predict the whims of the Woman Owner.

I was starting to worry as time dragged on with no sign of The Fave. She usually works 4 days in a row. Predictable enough to set my calendar. But The Other had now been working for 6 DAYS! 

On the 7th day, there was no car out front. My hopes were raised. Sometimes The Fave has her truck there, sometimes not. As I was hobbling in, I heard an exiting customer say, "See you tommow, Fave." Could it be? YES! The Fave was back!

"Where have you been? I've been worried about you!"

"I had pneumonia. I finally broke down and went to the ER."

"Did they keep you?"

"No. They let me go, with medicine. Said I had pneumonia."

The man who was leaving, putting his tickets for the gas drawing in the box, said, "Did you have The Virus? My mother died of that. The Virus Pneumonia."

"No. They tested me, but said I didn't have it."

"I spent four days in the hospital with pneumonia. They told me it was The Virus Pneumonia, but my discharge papers said Community Acquired Pneumonia. Meaning that I didn't catch it in the hospital."

"It was written on my mother's death certificate."

"Well, I don't have THAT, anyway! But I'm still not quite over it. Even though I'm really glad to be working again."

So... mystery solved. I guess she was coming down with it during that dizzy bout. I'm really glad to see that The Fave is okay.

The Trauma Is Real

Mrs. HM did not have a good day on Wednesday. Especially considering that Tuesday was pretty darn good, with a total of $243 won on scratchers! First ticket, $100 winner. Second ticket, $77 winner. Third ticket, $30 winner. Followed by a loser or two. Then a $25, $5, and $6 winner.

Anyhoo... I've been having such good luck in Hillmomba that I can't buy the tickets I like, because I've gotten the good winners off the rolls that are still being sold. So I decided to drive over to the School-Turn Casey's. I haven't been there in a couple weeks.

Some rain started to sprinkle, but T-Hoe has one thing that still works right, and that's the windshield wipers. So not a problem, just not what I would have chosen to drive and walk in. Anyhoo... I avoided three different idiots pulling out in front of me. And arrived at Casey's at 2:40.

I swear, I cannot figure out the schedule of the local school district! Most schools let out between 2:50 and 3:10. But this one seems to vary. I drove past the high school around 2:20, and there were several cars leaving, and a couple students walking along the road. Yet other times when I drive by there at 3:00, I get in a quagmire of traffic that backs up at the lights by the Devil's Playground a mile or two away.

Anyhoo... I knew I was early enough to avoid the women with their little kids from the nearby elementary, who can clog up a Casey's line with each of them carrying their own treat and putting it on the counter. But here came three girls who looked high school age, who would have had to come from over in Hillmomba. Thank the Gummi Mary they were browsing the snacks and not getting in line. As they walked in front of me, I saw them step over A SHINY PENNY on the floor near the door!

Of course I planned on getting that penny on my way out. Too many people were coming in, and I didn't want to ample-rumpus anyone on the rain-slick floor. I got in line by walking around through the coffee and other drinks, as that store does its line. But some darn crackhead skinny guy in a wife-beater took the shortcut, which was actually a line-cut, to the next register.

I waited my turn in line, and got a pleasant guy who I've seen working there twice. He scanned my winners, got my tickets, scanned them into the register, and then said, "OH NO! MY REGISTER JUST LOCKED UP AGAIN!" So he had to pawn me off on the gal at the register who was helping the crackhead skinny guy, who was buying two Swisher Sweets skinny cigars, two mini bottles of Fireball Whiskey, and a scratcher.

When it was my turn AGAIN, she messed up on scanning in my tickets, and had to start over again, since I told her she was $5 short. So my tickets were actually rung up three times. Which delayed me, and when I started out, THAT PENNY WAS GONE!

I'm going to blame the crackhead skinny guy...

Mrs. HM Has Counted A Chicken That May Not Hatch

For a week now, I've been looking forward to Farmer H going to play bingo on Wednesday night. He didn't go last week, because his "people" were doing something else that night. So he was home with me, which included supper. Still, I knew there was another Wednesday coming.

Now here it is, Tuesday night, and Farmer H gets a phone call during supper. Lots of chatting. THEN he tells me that he MIGHT NOT BE GOING TO BINGO! Because he's driving 30 miles to make a deal with this guy, and trade him some stuff, so he might be too late for bingo!

Well. I feel cheated! I DID quiz him about what to do for supper, and Farmer H finally said he'd get something, even if he didn't make it to bingo, and came home. So there's that.

I was SO looking forward to my brief respite... 

I'll Be Right Back

Farmer H continues to drive me crazy. He came in Sunday evening, after arriving home at the same time I did. Helped me carry in some groceries. Then acted like he was "helping" me by putting a couple things away. Meaning stacking the "fancy" paper plates on the counter, still in their plastic wrapping. And opening every cabinet with the plain paper plates, as if he was putting them away.

"You've lived here for 25 years, and still don't know where the paper plates go?"

"I don't know where you keep things!"

I pointed out the right cabinet, and went about putting away the other groceries. When I looked into that paper plate cabinet, I saw that Farmer H had stacked the wrapped plates on top of the ones I reach in to use.

"Can you not even take the wrapping off the paper plates? Do I even have to do THAT for myself? You just blocked my use of the plates we already had."

"Well, you don't need them yet."

Seriously. He has a million excuses.

I was going to read him The Pony's texts about maybe working some overtime. Farmer H said he was going to his truck. "I'll be right back."

I waited. Waited. Waited. Then gave up and went back to innernetting. Farmer H was taking FOREVER! Even if he stopped to pee, pet the dogs, and check on their food dishes. He finally came back. Said he was carrying something over for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). Good thing I wasn't holding my breath! Or maybe that's what he thought I was doing. Another way to try to kill me!

THEN I heard rustling from Farmer H's recliner. Huh. Wonder what THAT could be?

"Hey! Are you eating something in there?"

"Oh. Well. Just a couple fortune cookies from the other night."

"A couple? There were three or four on the cutting block."

"I don't know, HM. I just picked up a handful."

"Then say so! Just say you took the fortune cookies. Don't say a couple."

After Farmer H had gone to bed, when I went to the living room to watch TV, I saw a fortune cookie on the floor in front of Farmer H's recliner! Still in the wrapper! I don't know how he could have missed that. But there it was. I guess maybe he DID only have a couple. Though he had intended to have more.

Farmer H's BARn Door Is Open

Saturday evening, Farmer H was in a tizzy, decrying the fact that he had seen his BARn DOOR OPEN that morning as he was driving to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). Not the main BARn door, but the people door under the lean-to. 

"I was sure it was closed. I was in it a couple days ago. I know I shut it."

"Was your guy working over there? Did you let him in, or give him a key?"

"No. He didn't have any reason to be in the BARn."

"Are you sure you closed it?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure."

"Maybe you didn't pull it all the way until it latched. Scarlett jumps on doors. She does it in the garage, and sometimes at the kitchen door before I get over to unlock it. Jumps up and puts her paws on it. She could have pushed it open, if she followed your trail over there. She ADORES you, you know."

"I guess maybe she could of."

"Was anything missing?"

"No. Nothing."

"So I don't think somebody broke in. You either forgot, or Scarlett jumped on it."

"I guess so."

Another mystery solved. Didn't even have to call Mystery Inc., or have the Mystery Machine drive through the BARn field.

Still Trying, I Tell You!

It never ends! Farmer H's eternal quest to make me unalive. By conscious effort or welcome coincidence. It's like he can't help himself.

Saturday evening, he came in with a story about his BARn that I might repeat at some point. He meandered around the kitchen. I told him that I'd started bagging the trash, but got sidetracked. I had the bag ready to pull out of the wastebasket, already cinched up. I normally take out the bag and put it by the kitchen door, and Farmer H drives it up to the end of the driveway the next morning, and puts it in the dumpster.

I was surprised that Farmer H started removing the trash bag, and put a new one in its place. He carried the full bag past me at the kitchen table, to set it by the chair that holds his hat and cheater sunglasses and his vest or jacket in cold weather. I heard the bag CLUNK and fall over, but didn't pay much attention.

Farmer H went about doing his own thing. About ten minutes later, I started to get up for a trip to the bathroom. 

MY FEET WOULDN'T MOVE!

The full bag of trash was on them! It had fallen over when Farmer H set it down, onto my Crocs. I was scratching tickets at the time. Not concerned with my feet. I had just uncovered a $100 winner on a $10 ticket. With another one yet to come, though I didn't know it at the time.

Anyhoo... I had to reach under the table and grasp the ties on that full bag of trash, and wrestle it off my feet. Not something an old lady wants to do when she's on her way to take a pee. Luckily, there was not too much squeezage during the bag removal. Good thing I didn't try to stand, and fall over because I was unable to move my feet!

Farmer H. Finding ways to possibly kill me while looking like he's HELPING me...