He's A Celebrity, Get Him Out Of Here

Everybody knows one. Some people, like Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, know two. Uh huh. Don't be giving me the stinkeye with your envy-green peepers, though. It's not necessarily a good thing.

I'm talking about those men in the office who are all gung-ho for a potluck dinner. The ones who load up their plates with three of the six servings of Sue Ann Nivens's Veal Prince Orloff, like Mr. Grant at Mary's dinner party. The ones whose plate is so full that they might take a second one. But they have the right, you know, because they brought something to the potluck! Just ask them. Okay. You don't actually need to ask them, because they will tell you about it. Often.

"I signed up for the loaf of bread. They have Wonder Bread for fifty cents at the Hostess Outlet!"

Uh huh. Sir Gabs-a-Lot used to regale us with his culinary exploits often at the Semi Weekly Meeting of the Newmentia Lunch Time Think Tank. Until his lunch shift was changed. Let the record show that Mrs. HM had nothing to do with that.

This week, I discovered that Farmer H is the new Sir Gabs-a-Lot.

Last weekend, Farmer H went to a family reunion. I have never attended one with him. Both of his parents were deceased when I met him (I had nothing to do with it, I swear), and his brothers were living in other states, and these relatives like Great Aunt Gertie barely know Farmer H. So I didn't think they or I would be missing out on anything by my absence. Some years, one of the boys would go with Farmer H. Under duress. Maybe the #1 Son only went to prevent Farmer H from bragging for another year that, "My boy is pretty smart. He has an IQ of almost 100!"

Anyhoo...for a couple of years, I made a dish for Farmer H to take. Something like deviled eggs, or potato salad. They take a long time to make, you know. And are not exactly suited for an hour's travel, and sitting on a warm picnic table. Let the record show that nobody ever got food poisoning at the family reunion. But if they did, I had nothing to do with it. I swear.

So...Farmer H said that he would pick something up at The Devil's Playground. It might have been one of the years that #1 attended with him. They settled on something simple. A couple of deli sub sandwiches. Of course Farmer H always has a knife with him. It's his bread-and-butter. His factory makes knives. So he bought a couple of foil pans and sliced up two foot-long sandwiches to take to the picnic. Now that's his routine. His loaf of day-old bread, if you will.

I asked Farmer H how his family reunion went, and he said, "Them kids loved that sandwich! They ate it up! There were two girls standing around the table, maybe almost teenagers, and one of them took two pieces of sandwich, and the other one took three! They loved it!"

Yes. Farmer H provided the best sandwich ever known to man. He was the star of his family reunion picnic. To hear him tell it.

I'm living with a celebrity.

The $5,750 Phone Call

I am not well-versed in the meaning of IRONY. In fact, I used to consult my resident couch academian, The Pony, before he left me high and dry (or low and Diet-Coke-soaked), on the proper usage of the term. I think it applies here, but The Pony is on a camping trip, and incommunicado.

Yesterday, I mentioned that the student loan scammers had called on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday, I saw that the #1 Son's tuition statement for fall semester was ready for payment. Unlike every other semester statement of his illustrious college career...this one did not show ANTICIPATED AID. #1 usually has 5 scholarships listed at the bottom of his statement. And an adjusted amount that is due this pay period.

#1 is due to graduate in December. He has used his scholarships for 7 semesters so far. During the spring of 2016, he did not attend classes on campus, but worked for an engineering firm in a co-op arrangement. It is quite common for students at #1's university to take a co-op semester. They work a real job, 40 hours a week, to see if they are suited to the work they are educating themselves for. Their scholarships are put on hold until they return. There was no lapse in the scholarships when #1 went back to school during fall of 2016, nor during spring of 2017.

I texted #1 to ask if he needed to do anything about his scholarships. Without them, the fees will drain his college account quicker than he anticipated. He is fortunate, even if that happens, to have the Hillbilly Family Safety Net to allow him to complete his degree, should his living expenses cause a shortfall in his funds. #1 sent a reply to my text, saying he would look into it. That everything he had researched before his co-op said the scholarships would be there after the co-op, and that he didn't have to do anything.

I sent him another text the next day, asking if he found out anything.

"I have not. SOME of us work a full time job, you know."

"How unfortunate. Some of us drink 44 oz of Diet Cokes and peruse conspiracy sites all day, yet are responsible for paying the bills."

"OK. It's hard for me to call because their office closes at 4:30. I am off early at 3:30 on Friday and will call."

"If you think they will talk to me, I'll call. Once I take the money from your account to put in mine to pay, the bank is going to put a 10-day hold on the check. And the bill is due on the 15th."

"They should talk to you. You're on my student account so you can pay. Here's my student number."

So...I called and talked to somebody who sounded like a student answering the phones over lunch. He said this happens a couple times a week. That there's a glitch in the university's system, and it doesn't pick up the scholarships after a co-op semester, and the only way that the university knows is when the parents of the student call asking where the scholarships are.

You would think, wouldn't you, that a university known for churning out TECHNOLOGY geniuses would be able to fix something like that?

Anyhoo...he said it was nothing that #1 had done wrong or neglected to do. That it was a glitch in the system, and it would actually take an appeal process for the scholarships to be reinstated, but that if #1's GPA was okay, it should be fine. But the lady who handles it was out of the office until July 5. So he would send her an email. Then he transferred me to a financial aid counselor.

The financial aid counselor looked up the account, and saw the scholarships, and said that even though the scholarship lady had been emailed, he was going to push them through right then, and to give him a half hour, then call the finance office, who would be able to see them, and give me a new total for the bill due on July 15.

I did that, and all but one of the scholarships was showing up. So I'll pay the new total and deal with that other one in the coming months.

It might have cost me a few dollars of long distance on my landline, since our cell phones don't work in the house, but I'm pretty sure #1 can kick in several bucks (whether he knows it or not) from the savings on his college fund.

[From the DOO DOO DOO DOO Files: Not 30 seconds after I hit PUBLISH on this post, an email popped up from the BURSAR'S OFFICE that said "Billing Statement." I swear, this computer is reading my mind! The time on the email was 6:22, same as the posting time. EXCEPT the email was from OU, about The Pony's summer tuition, with a balance of zero.]

Who Ya Gonna Call? EAR Busters!

I'm pretty sure I am single-handedly perpetuating  telephone scam opportunists. Not purposely, of course. I don't answer just so I can have fun and SCREAM into the phone, "THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY COMPUTER!" when those heavily-accented folks call to warn me about a problem with my Windows Computer.

No, I answer because I don't know the number, and I have two sons a couple hundred miles away at college. Just in case. I wouldn't want to be call-screening if there was an emergency.

Tuesday, somebody called to offer me a payment plan for my student loans. Well, I'll be ding-dang-donged! Ain't they just the nicest folks! Wanting to help me lower my debt, and they don't even know me. Out of the goodness of their hearts, I assume. It takes a village and several foreign countries to help Mrs. Hillbilly Mom pay her bills, I guess.

That selfless angel scratchy recording of an accented voice was so nice such a waste of my time that I didn't have the heart see the point of mentioning that I have never had any student loans. So I hung up halfway (or less) through the spiel.

Wednesday, an actual person called to offer the #1 Son help on paying down HIS student loans.

"He's not here. What? He has NEVER HAD A STUDENT LOAN, SO YOU CAN CALL SOMEBODY ELSE AND WASTE THEIR TIME!"

I know. It's counter-productive, really. Since now they know it's a working phone number. But I HAD to answer. And it felt pretty good to give them that little bit of information.

Man-Lining At The Devil's Playground

Today we take a break from product reviews, and review the people buying the product.

Monday, I went to The Devil's Playground over in Bill-Paying Town. I didn't have a cart full of items. Just specific things I went after. I don't browse there, because I don't know where things are. They have an odd way of grouping things. Not that I'm and expert, of course, but let's just say that bottled water should not have any reason for being found on four different aisles.

Anyhoo...I pushed my cart/walker up front, and was pleased to see that the first line only had ONE cart in it! The regular first line. Not the self-check. There's no line at all there, because people don't want to do all the work themselves when there are checkers paid to stand there and watch them. That's pretty backwards if you ask me. YOU'RE the one getting the money. So YOU should be doing the work. I'm funny like that. Funny peculiar. Not funny ha-ha. It's no laughing matter to do the work for free while somebody else gets paid for it.

So...I wheeled my cart/walker into that first line, quite pleased with myself, being so close to the exit door, and only having one customer to wait on. Two, actually, but they were an elderly couple. None of this foolish separate orders business, where they slap that divider between their stuff, and then force me to endure two transactions. They WERE elderly, though, which means they like to chat. And they move kind of slow. So I took out my phone to send myself some pictures, because I had a good signal in there, and my phone has been working right lately.

No sooner had I opened up a picture and typed in Hillbilly Mom as the destination than I felt someone encroaching upon my space. I don't go for that. Go find a culture that doesn't mind you breathing down their neck. Actually, he couldn't quite reach my neck. He was a bent old man. Bent on saying, "Looks like there's no getting out."

What in the Not-Heaven is THAT supposed to mean? It's not like we were having an adventure, trying to escape from the Poseidon. I had no intention of swimming through a flooded passage so HE could get to the surface. If Mrs. HM goes down, we ALL go down.

I ignored him and kept looking at my phone. Not my job to entertain bored old geezers in The Devil's line. I thought maybe he was hinting that I should let him go ahead of me. I had a cart about 1/3 full, and he had ONE ITEM. Too bad, so sad. He was nowhere around when I got in line. You can't just walk up at your leisure and expect somebody to let you cut. It would be different if we were headed there at the same time. Besides, he had ONE ITEM. He could have easily utilized the self-check, and been out of there pretty quick. If only there had been getting out. Which he said there wasn't.

"Hey! It's been a long time!"

Sweet Gummi Mary! Old Geezer had to chat up the Elderlies in front of me, distracting them from their business of heaving a 108-pack of bottled water onto the conveyor, using all four of their withered arms. AND they had to talk to Old Geezer! They even walked back, leaving the checker idle, waiting for their payment. Which of course they were going to write a check for, even though they hadn't taken it out of Mrs. Elderlies' purse yet.

I learned more about stiff knees and gardening than I will ever want to know. And about assorted surgeries endured by Old Geezer, and his recoveries. While this joyous reunion was going on, I fished out that rubber divider and put my stuff on the conveyor. Old Geezer was all the way up in front of me now, glad-handing with the Elderlies. Somebody else, with a cart, got in line behind me.

The Elderlies wrapped up the reunion tour, produced the checkbook, and FOUND A WAY OUT! Old Geezer came to get back in line, but a cart was there now, at my rumpus. So he stood beside me. I moved up and pointed to two four-packs of strawberry water hung over the side of my cart. "I've got them turned so you can scan them." No need to pick them up when you don't need to.

While I was lifting bags into my cart/walker as the checker filled them, Old Geezer was HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH MY CHECKER! That's not right. I certainly don't enjoy making small talk with my checker, but I'll be darned if I'm going to let her pay attention to somebody else! They went on and on, about gardens, and family. She was young enough to be his granddaughter, and it didn't seem like she even knew him. While chatting away, she grabbed his one item, a six-pack of bottled cranberry juice, to run over the scanner.

"THAT'S NOT MINE!" No way was I paying for Old Geezer's home kidney-infection treatment.

"WAIT! THAT'S MINE!"

Pretty bold of Old Geezer to carry on like that, when HE was the one who HAD MOVED THE DIVIDER BEHIND HIS JUICE. I guess he was acting like he was with me, so the folks behind him would not object to him cutting back in line ahead of them.

In all that commotion, the checker forgot to scan my two four-packs of water. I told her, though. No good comes of giving Even Steven a reason to even you.

The weirdos have really honed in on my magnet. They can now find me three towns over.

I Came Undone Faster Than A Flimsy Cellophane Wrapper

Just when I thought PEEPS would be my undoing, and refused to pass down that aisle in the store for a couple of months, to avoid temptation...a new delicacy sabotaged my wise choices.

Oh, don't think I dodged that PEEPS bullet without a nick. A couple weeks back, I found those two stashed packs in a Devil's Playground bag under the desk in my bedroom. Remember? I didn't. Until they practically screamed EAT ME from their safe hidey-hole as I walked by to open the shade on the french doors to the porch. Yes. I ate a box of year-and-two-months-old PEEPS. They were not nearly as delicious as I anticipated.

I put that little indiscretion behind me. Thinking, perhaps, that I should throw away the last pack, but clinging to it as a test of my willpower. Will those PEEPS make it ANOTHER year? We'll see. Right now I don't have a PEEPS tooth.

However...my willpower was sabotaged when I least expected it, pushing my cart-walker up the main aisle of The Devil's Playground, headed to the front, shopping done, on a mission to check out. It's so unfair of those floor managers to pile impulse purchase items on pallets in the center of the aisle. Why can't we just wheel our cart-walkers along these high-traffic areas without dodging other cart-walkerers, and piles of tempting taste treats?

Here is my downfall.

Oh, what's that? The pack is EMPTY, you say? Yes. Yes it is. I had an unfortunate lapse in willpower. Not all at once! Sweet Gummi Mary! I was not consumed with such a feeding frenzy that I tore through that package in one sitting! I ate them one at a time. One a day. Okay. Sometimes two a day. But spread out, at lunch time and as an evening snack. I don't even LIKE those filled Twizzlers! We tried them way back when they first came out, The Pony and I. Not fans. I can't remember the flavor back then. Probably the red flavor, whatever that is. It tastes like nothing in nature, so I'm not sure. I think of it as the Twizzler fruit.

Anyhoo...can you see what I scarfed up gorged on stuffed myself to the gills with enjoyed in moderation here? KEY LIME PIE Twizzlers! Oh, they are delectable! If you can control yourself, which I DID, aside from buying them and eating them in the first place. They are only 70 calories apiece. They can be budgeted into an eating regimen. Not into a sensible eating regimen. But if you're willing to forego nutrients, you can work them in if you eschew vitamins and minerals and food groups for flavor.

Oh, what's that? Why didn't I use that easy open feature to gain access to my verboten snack? Because they're KEY LIME PIE Twizzlers, people! I ripped into that package with haste. Didn't even THINK of turning it over to look for some kind of bogus easy-open directions. Of course, my Twizzlers were then exposed to the elements due to the rip all the way down the package. But I rolled them up and stuck a baggie over the end. They stayed remarkably fresh.

Of course, they didn't have all that many days to age.

I'm Not Exactly Turning Pinwheels With Excitement

This is not really a product review blog. You may THINK so over the next few days. But it's not. No siree, Bob! It's more of a complainer-about-products blog. Or a ravenous-consumer-of-products blog.

Today, we take a look at my new favorite lunch.

"What's that?" you say? "Oh. So Mrs. Hillbilly Mom likes to eat strips of tortilla with large stickers and a plastic box?" Not exactly. But you would think so, huh? The Devil's Playground has recently revamped their packaging. Now, instead of getting six pinwheels in a package, you only get four. I don't pay enough attention to the price to tell you if they're cheaper now.

Anyhoo...these new packages are smaller. The pinwheels are crammed inside. The good thing about the new packaging is that the plastic has grooves and knobs molded into it. So they stack. Or one might ASSUME that they stack.

You know what happens when we ASSUME.

The geniuses who work for The Devil slap their stickers on these containers all willy-nilly. This one is actually pretty good because you can read what you're getting, and the date, without flipping it on end. Here's the catch. They cover up the little grooves and knobs. So the containers don't stack.

Here's the bottom:

There's the groove. But it won't stack on top of one with a sticker over its knob. At least you can see what you're getting if you flip it over. A MESS! That's what you're getting. But I understand that the ranch leaks out. No big deal. At least they seem to be actually putting bacon in them now.

Perhaps they need smaller labels to go with the smaller packages. So you can see the product, and so they will stack.

Let the record show that the The Devil is usually out of the Chicken Bacon Ranch Pinwheels at both of his Playgrounds that I frequently frequent. The Turkey Pinwheel is a reasonable substitute. It doesn't have any sauce. I think it's supposed to have mayonnaise, but I never find any. Just something moist that kind of sticks the pinwheel layers together.

Yes, I know I could make them myself. That smacks of effort, you know.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Solves The Clues: The Case Of Surburban Noise Pollution

Today I stopped by Orb K, because THE GAS STATION CHICKEN STORE IS OUT OF DIET COKE!!! Yes! Sound the alarms! Get some assistance on the way forthwith!

I actually knew of the dry spell at the gas station chicken store. Yesterday, as I was filling my trough vat 55-gallon drum 44 oz cup at their soda fountain, some serious noises emanated from behind the machine. I knew it wasn't Oz the Great and Terrible. But I thought, you know, maybe their wastewater lines were clogged by roots or something. The street out front is always springing leaks. The infrastructure of Hillmomba is crumbling. Or maybe a prisoner had escaped from the Diagnostic Center maximum security prison two miles up the road, and was stuck in a pipe.

The clerk ran over, yelling, "Diet Mountain Dew? Diet Mountain Dew?" I forgive her for automatically assuming I needed DIET soda. Sweet Gummi Mary, that li'l gal sees me buy a soda EVERY DAY, and it is most certainly not the color of dehydrated green pee. Anyhoo, I told her no, it was Diet Coke. "You better taste it! We're running out!" It tasted fine. But I confirmed my previous insider knowledge that they would not have it up and running until TUESDAY. When their Coke supplier (heh, heh) comes with their inventory.

Anyhoo...I pulled into my regular spot by the yellow cross-striped walkway next to the HANDICAP parking spot at Orb K today. Which was occupied by an old-style Suburban. The kind that's shaped like a truck, only with four doors, and an enclosed back. Kind of a cross between a van and a truck. A boxy vannish kind of  vehicle. This one was black along the bottom, then a wide section of blue-gray, then a thin red stripe border, then more black on top. It was rusted out on the lower panels. The back had two upright doors. Not a hatch like T-Hoe or the more modern versions. And on each window of the two back doors was painted A WHITE SKULL. WITH HORNS.

Anyhoo...I saw that the driver's door was standing open, and a man, who might have looked not out-of-place seated upon a Harley, was standing there. The music was blaring SO LOUD that I could hardly think. But I DID think. I thought, "Well. That would certainly be objectionable, if I didn't like the song." Which was Can't You See by The Marshall Tucker Band.

I was a bit taken aback that this old-style Suburban was parked in the LONE handicap spot of Orb K. Differently-abled people don't often drive such a vehicle. Not that I've seen, anyway. At least not in any of the 20-odd handicap spaces over on the parking lot of Country Mart. This Harley dude didn't look like he had any mobility problems. And when I returned, his woman had climbed up into the passenger seat.

Man. That music was BLASTING. But it made me want to go home and listen to The Marshall Tucker Band. That's when it hit me. Became crystal clear. Mystery solved.

That handicap-parked dude must have been hard-of-hearing.