Losers Gonna Lose

Friday Farmer H and I took some savings bonds on a little ride. Of course we had to bring them back home to deal with their redemption for our own selves, but we knew that was the procedure when we set out. Our adventure is detailed on my not-so-secret blog. The point here is that we were trapped together in T-Hoe for 3.5 hours. More details of THAT experience might be revealed at a later date, once I recover from the togetherness.

Anyhoo...I asked that we take T-Hoe because I didn't want to grind my knees getting in and out of A-Cad. As long as I had Farmer H behind the wheel, I asked if he would take T-Hoe through the car wash. I used to do it myself every couple of months, but that last time I drove in there, I freaked out. Don't know what was going on, but it was a flat-out panic attack. I had The Pony to sooth me (from his regular seat behind me, of course), but I did not feel like venturing back into the car wash. Especially alone. And now The Pony has had the nerve to go off to college on an almost-full ride and leave me behind in my dark basement lair, with a dirty, dirty car in the garage. If you doubt that, just ask my sister the ex-mayor's wife's husband, the ex-mayor. T-Hoe is filthy. Most of the time. The exception being if I'm out and about in a downpour. Let's face it. T-Hoe drapes himself in dust.

Farmer H veered right as we almost passed the Save A Lot complex, and took T-Hoe for a washin' first cat out of the bag. I didn't care WHEN he got washed. I just assumed it would be on our way home. Of course Farmer H put out his hand when he pulled up to the money-taking slot.

"What?"

"Do you have a five?"

"No. I don't have a five. I only have twenties. And a couple of ones, for my sodas."

"Huh. I think I might have a five."

Farmer H dug into his pocket and wallet and put money in the machine. I thought he had trouble with the five being spit back out, because he grunted a couple of times, and reached out the window again. The guy on duty came out and sprayed T-Hoe with a pre-wash, and then we pulled in. It was no big deal. I didn't feel the least bit nervous. Not even when Farmer H turned on the windshield wipers to get the bugs off, he said. I'm pretty sure that's not recommended. Anyhoo...I don't know what my fuss was about. I guess my brain realizes I'm not in danger of imminent death when I sit in a car wash, as long as Farmer H is in the driver's seat.

"I'll pay you back your five later, when I get change."

"Seven."

"What?"

"Seven. I got the automatic dry, too."

"Uh. We're going to be driving down the highway. Which I think will dry it. I'm only giving you a five."

Farmer H had no response to that. He just might be learning to pick his battles. However, when the green light came on, he was, as always, in a hurry to get going. So he barely waited long enough for those giant blowers to dry T-Hoe. They were still going as we left. I'm pretty sure he only got about 45 cents worth of his automatic dry.

After a morning fraught with...um...togetherness, my sentence day with Farmer H was done.

Our last planned stop was the gas station chicken store. Hopefully for my 44 oz Diet Coke, but their fountain has been out of my magical elixir. I got us some chicken for supper, and a couple of scratchers for myself. When I came out, the observant Farmer H said, "Did you forget your soda?" AS IF!!!

"No. They're still out. We have to stop by Orb K."

It's on our way out of town. No big deal. They have the second-best Diet Coke in town. As Farmer H parked T-Hoe, I said, "Oh, I can give you your five now, or I can just buy you a five-dollar ticket when I go in."

Let the record show that Farmer H NEVER wins, but a couple weeks ago, he stopped to get the newest five-dollar ticket. One that I had recommended, and shown him what it looked like with one of my winners. He had bought one for himself, won, bought another, won double, bought two more...then lost. I never buy one from the same roll after a winner, but it worked for him. A couple times.

Anyhoo...Farmer H said he wanted a ticket. I asked if he wanted that one he won on, or the newest ticket that came out Monday. He said the newest one. So I got it for him.

It was a loser.

You know that I buy tickets for Genius regularly, and he's had a couple of good winners. And that I buy tickets for HOS on occasion, after he's helped us, and twice he's had a $100 winner. I guess the luck doesn't work when Mrs. HM's ticket-buying magic is specifically requested.

I felt kind of bad for Farmer H. I even gave him his two dollars of car wash drying money.

Karma, Or Perhaps Just Coincidence

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has been in a scratching slump. The lottery has not been showering her with riches as usual. Switching denominations, switching tickets, reducing outlay, increasing outlay...nothing has proved a solution. These slumps happen. You can ride it out, or you can take a break. Right now, Mrs. HM is riding. Just like a winning streak doesn't last forever, neither does a slump. The odds will always even out.

I keep notes of winner and loser numbers, and a record of where I buy them. That way I don't go back and try for a good win after I've already gotten most likely the best ticket from that roll, barring a giant jackpot, which is random and can't be odd-ified like knowing there are 20 tickets in a roll, and 7 winners, one of them being a $100.

So put-upon by The Universe was I feeling that I checked my winner/loser notes yesterday, back to September 9. Would you believe that I had EXACTLY the right number of winners vs losers according to the odds for that ticket? So I figured today would be a clean slate. The odds are 1 in 2.82. So that's the chance I had of winning on any given ticket. That's always the odds, but streaks are funny things. As of yesterday, my wins had been evened out by my slump.

Today I stopped by Country Mart to buy tickets from their two vending machines. I put my money in the machine on the left, got two tickets ( my favorite Golden Ticket, and a lesser denomination), and saw that there was $1 left. That's impossible! I put in an even amount. Exact money for my two tickets. I'm no novice. I know what they cost. I can tell my bills apart. Somebody had left $1 in that machine!

You know the devil and the angel that movie people have sitting on their shoulders, giving them conflicting advice? I didn't have that. Not because I'm a bastion of honesty. Because I don't play the $1 tickets. That dollar meant nothing to me. The machines don't give change. In fact, the workers have taped a red sign above the bill slot on the machine on the right side. MACHINE DOESN'T GIVE CHANGE. You have to know what you want, what money you're putting in, and be prepared to pick a second choice if a ticket runs out.

I could have pushed a button and gotten myself a free $1 ticket, but I didn't. I couldn't cash it out and give it to the service desk. They'd looked at me like I had two heads that time I found a $1 ticket laying in the trough, and turned it in to them. So I just went about my business. I stepped over to the right machine, and bought my two tickets.

A lady came up behind me, then went over to the left machine. I figure she saw the extra $1. Maybe it was hers to start with. She didn't ask me if I'd left some money in it, though she most likely saw me at that machine first. OR she might have left the dollar in there as well.

Let the record show that when I got home and scratched my tickets, a ticket from the left machine won $50. And a ticket from the right machine won $100.

 The slump is over, baby! At least for today.

Looks like I won't be buying out of the right side machine for a while, since there are 18 more tickets that are NOT a $100 winner! (From 000 to 019 is how they're numbered, and my winner was 001)

A Shocking Discovery

Thursday morning, I was getting ready to leave for the bank, to get Farmer H's handyman check from Bev cashed. Standing by the sink, stuffing the check in my purse next to my scratcher winners (few and low-yielding lately), something over by the windows caught my eye.

When we hosted RetirementPartyPalooza, I cleared some items off the counter to make room for the spread of vittles. I had a small Amazon box of odds and ends. In my haste to get things ready, I just set the box on the kitchen chair by the windows. It also holds two Devil's Playground deli containers of Chex Mix for my favorite gambling aunt next time I see her, the Coke bottle with my name on it that Farmer H has stuffed with his cookie wrapper, a miscellaneous charging cord, and Mr. Shocky.

My eye had been attracted to a red flashing light. The light on Mr. Shocky. Let the record show that Mr. Shocky has not been used for about 6 months. He has rested comfortably on the kitchen counter under my trucker cap that I wear for walking when the sun is bright, or rain is falling. Mr. Shocky was turned off after his last use. Nobody had been using Mr. Shocky. I even asked Farmer H this morning, and he said he didn't even know where Mr. Shocky was.

Let the record show that Mr. Shocky was not turned on when I put him in that box way back during RetirementPartyPalooza. In fact, in trying to turn him off Thursday morning, I realized that I am no longer familiar with his inner workings. Besides, I come upstairs in the wee hours of the morning every night, run water from the sink into my bubba cup, and have not noticed a red flashing light from the box on the chair.

Somehow, Mr. Shocky turned himself on Wednesday night. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the walking sounds in the kitchen that I heard from the basement.

Maybe Farmer H is sleepwalking and training Jack. Yeah. That's easier to believe than another scenario.
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I took several pictures trying to capture the flashing red light. Thought I had it, but it didn't show up. It's that little line above the +2 button. Also, the screen was showing a '2' even though it looks blank in the picture. I guess my phone's flash overpowered it.

Mrs. HM Needs A Poo-ologist, STAT!

Please do not read this if you are of delicate constitution. It deals with the subject of excrement. You have fair warning. At least the Blogosphere isn't smell-o-vision. Actually, there was no smell at all. So that might be something to help with the identification process.

WE HAVE MYSTERY POO ON THE SIDE PORCH!

I saw it this morning as I left the Mansion. I was feeding Juno and Jack a going-away bite of cat kibble, and noticed these two poo logs laying under the high chair that Farmer H picked up somewhere and no doubt plans to build a shed for.

We have a cat, Dusty, a mostly-gray, short-haired, calico who lays under that shelf and growls all the livelong day whenever Jack gets near. Granted, he loves to chase and bark at her, but since she never gets out when he's around, he doesn't get that chance often. I think Dusty is taunting him so he gets in trouble if he perks up his ears and runs over to the shelf to bark.

Anyhoo...Dusty has been a denizen of this under-shelf lair for many years. She has never left her poo on the porch. Especially right in front of her Jack-taunting area. Besides, cat poo smells. This didn't. Jack's poo is bigger than that. So it appears that a mystery critter was prowling the porch last night. Which could explain the frenzied barking we sometimes hear from Juno in the wee morning hours. I've caught a possum on the back porch by the laundry room, eating the dry dog food. Farmer H has caught a raccoon on the porch. The cat kibble is up on the high shelf, which would be where the upper left hand corner of the picture extends.

Need a closer look? That's a rhetorical question! You're not getting out of it by answering, "No!"

The culprit didn't crap a brick. That's some kind of Farmer H gadget that has fallen there beside the poo. Might have come from the upper shelf. Might have dropped off of something when Farmer H posed his Goodwill swag for a picture on that high chair. I'm pretty sure there wasn't an actual baby who crawled up there overnight and had a leaky Huggie.

Closer inspection makes the poo look almost stick-like. But it's poo. Not dead twigs.

A couple years ago, we were having trouble with a mysterious pee-er poo-er in the garage. The poo looked like this. About a month or two ago, I also saw some at the end of the driveway. Could it be the return of the Mystery Poo-er? A neighbor told Farmer H he saw a coyote on his land. And a fox.

Any ideas? C'mon! Who wants to take a stab at fingering the Mystery Poo-er?

The only thing I'm sure of is...it's not from a lady jogger...

If Credit Cards Were Horses, The Pony Would Never Ride

Too bad those Certs mints weren't THREE mints in one! Or I could have added to yesterday's complaint tally. Except the complaint didn't come up until today.

I have been trying to get The Pony a credit card, because he will be going on a trip to California with a college organization next month. I don't think he will NEED a credit card, because he has his debit card, and the plane and lodging are covered by the university. But it never hurts to have a backup.

For the past year, The Pony has been getting credit card offers in the mail. I throw them away, because I figured he didn't need a credit card. Until now. So I took one of them, recommended by Genius, whose friends have this card, and used the code and put in all the information, following every instruction on the website.

THE PONY GOT REJECTED!

Can you believe it? No Hillbilly has ever been rejected for credit! That's preposterous! So I tried another company, online, and the same thing happened again! I got right on the phone and texted Genius. He was flabbergasted, considering some of the people he knows who have this card. Then I told him how I filled it out.

"There's your problem! NOBODY is going to issue a credit card to somebody with no income!"

"Well, he doesn't have income. Unless you consider his allowance."

"You have to consider his allowance as income!"

"And it said that if somebody else pays your rent, you should list it as ZERO. So I did!"

"NO! You have to put the rent. And then count that amount plus the allowance as his income."

"I don't know how to do this stuff! I have ONE credit card. We've had it for years. We pay it off every month. I'm on The Pony's bank account. Not the credit union he uses for his debit. Just his reserve account. The student account. Like you used to have before you took my name off of it! I'm going out there to the bank tomorrow, to see if I can get him a credit card through them."

"NOOOO! Once you go in there, they'll know what you're up to. There's no way they'll issue a credit card in HIS name to YOU. Even if you're on the account. What you need to do is get online and pretend to be him, and apply that way."

"Because I'm 0 for 2 doing it that way in the last 12 hours."

"Seriously. DON'T go in there. Call, maybe. You can ask. But it needs to look like he's doing it himself online."

"I guess if I HAD to, I could have him log on and talk him through it over the phone."

"YOU can do it. Just put in the right information. Otherwise he's never going to be able to get credit. My Friend got one from them, and he'd never had credit, and they gave him one with a $500 limit."

"And now he's got a job making more money than I did when I retired. Good for him. I hope they can raise his limit."

Here's the thing. The first week of move-in at the colleges, a kid can walk up to any table and apply for a credit card, and get a free gift, and probably get that credit card, too. And the companies send offer after offer to their home address...then when I try to get one for The Pony, using the specific code they reserved for him, so that his name popped up on the form...they REJECT the applicant!

I'm sure it was nothing I did wrong, despite what Genius the Master of the Financial World tells me...

Sooo...I'm going to try again. But too many tries, I hear, alerts the credit companies. I hope I don't get The Pony locked up for fraud!

Two, Two, Two Complaints In One

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has never been called a breath mint, but today she tears a page out of the advertising plan of Certs, and gives you two complaints combined in one post.

Of course the first complaint concerns the USPS, namely the dead mouse smelling post office branch, which played fast and loose with my debit chip card. I'd love to know where that card was, between Thursday when the bank records show it was delivered to my address, and the following Tuesday when I actually got it. If only it had a little mini camera that could record through the envelope. Perhaps showing the sour face of my mail lady as she sorted mail, then tossed it over her shoulder to be trod upon by other sour-faced mail ladies and gentlemen as they picked and chose which items they wanted to deliver that day. Because let me tell you, some days we get a box full, and some days we get nothing at all.

Saturday, I got home with my mail, and stopped briefly in the driveway, in the bright sunlight, to look through it before parking T-Hoe in the dark, radioless metal-roofed garage. There was a bill or statement about eye care for one of my neighbors, whose box is right next to EmBee. So...I drove all the way back down to Mailbox Row, eating my own dust, to put it in his box. Next time, next SEVERAL times, I will check it before I drive home.

While I was there, I casually thumbed through the mail of my neighbors on each side of EmBee. It's not against the law, is it, if you don't get caught? I didn't TAKE their mail. I was actually GIVING one their mail. I don't care what they get. Just so long as MY mail isn't in THEIR box. Oh, and my horsey neighbor with the crazy rottweiler also gets casino mailers!

If you read my not-so-secret blog, you know that since I jotted notes for this post, Farmer H got a special letter from his former workplace, notified by an orange postcard, which he had to sign for...and the POST OFFICE LOST IT! He went back to get it today, with the second notification, and got a different, less attitudinal postmistress, who told him, "Of course we couldn't find it yesterday! This card says to pick it up TODAY!" She was hearing none of Farmer H's facts that this was the SECOND notice. Anyhoo...he got his letter that cost $7 for the old employer to send.

Now this brings me to my second complaint, which is not directly about the post office, but about health insurance's views on prescription medicine. Let the record show that some people simply CANNOT get their medicine through the mail! Seriously. Lay off all the mailed thingies telling them to order by mail! That's a racket!

Have you ever known a business in the business of making money that cares about the little people? NO! They are in business to make money! NOT to save YOU money! How many people order their three month prescriptions, just to save 1/6 of their prescription costs, only to find that they don't need all that medicine? What if the doctor changes their drugs? What if they develop an allergy? What if they die? Nobody's giving a refund on what was already spent on that medicine! You're stuck with it, by cracky! And if the drug-taker dies, it gets flushed down the toilet. That's money swirling away! What if their medicine is lost in the mail? They still have to buy more. You put money out, and the drug companies rake money in, and I imagine the health insurance companies get a kickback.

No, a post office box in town is not the solution to my mail delivery or prescription ordering problem. The same workers who sort the mail and deliver it here are going to sort the mail and put it in a box there. When I lived in town, in my $17,000 house, I had a post office box for about 6 months. It was right down the street, next door to where I worked.

I was always getting somebody else's mail in my box! Mostly for a radio station that had been operating for as long as I could remember. Didn't the postal workers know their box by now? Especially since their mail was addressed to it, too? I even got CHECKS for that radio station in my box. Of course I didn't open them. Some advertiser would have been mighty disappointed to be paying ME to promote their wares by word of mouth.

Did people used to be this incompetent in their work habits? Imagine if the Pony Express riders took a wrong turn. That's a lot of wasted pony.

The Handy Man Can, The Handy Man Can. Can't He?

Like a cobbler's kids go barefoot, and the preacher's children are on an express elevator to Not-Heaven, I fear the Manison is going to burst into flame one of these nights from an electrical fire. Not to go all Aunt Josephine, and fret about a series of unfortunate events...but I think a man who made a career as a manager of facility maintenance would notice an anomaly in the wiring of his own abode.

Sure, I'm not paying him twice my once-upon-a-time salary to notice such things. But he can't be so oblivious to malfunctioning appliances. Isn't his back-creek neighbor, Bev, paying him to install new ceiling fans for her? It would only stand to reason that a man would notice a problem with his OWN ceiling fan.

Two evenings ago, I was looking for something in the master bedroom. Normally, I have no need for a light in there, since the sun shines in brightly at 9:00 a.m., through the louvers on the built-in mini-blinds of the french doors that overlook Poolio. And when I go to bed at 3:00 a.m., I don't turn on the light out of fear of courtesy for not waking Farmer H. But while he was gone to a volleyball game, and I was readying dog snacks, I thought of something I needed from there.

I flipped on the light switch by the door. It operates the ceiling lights which are part of the ceiling fan over the bed. Farmer H has souped it up with LED light bulbs brighter than the surface of the sun. I know that, because he often turns them on it the morning as he is getting himself ready for not-work. Since the heat wave this summer, he has left the fan on as well. Soon I will make him climb up on the bed and pull the chain to dis-enable those blades for the winter.

I'm not sure what has gone horribly wrong in the walls, but when I flipped on that light switch, everything worked as normal. For about 2.5 seconds. Then the lights went out, and the fan blades that were beginning to whir coasted to a stop. I pushed up that light switch again, kind of jiggled it, which worked the last time I had a flickering problem months ago. I haven't used the light since then, so it's probably been an ongoing problem getting worse.

This morning, I mentioned it to Farmer H, and he said, "Oh, I just need a new switch. I might even have one over in the BARn." Huh. So confident is he that the problem is in the switch. Not the walls. Not the fan-powering doodad in the ceiling. Not the fan itself.

We'll see what happens IF I DON'T BURN TO A CRISP. Tonight Farmer H made a trip to Lowe's, and said he was buying a new switch.

Let the record show that our front door knob is still not fixed from the problem it developed in January or February. Farmer H offered to take the doorknob off Sunday to take a look at it, but I remembered the last time he did that with the kitchen door. And found that it couldn't be fixed. Nor put back on like it was. And drove at that very moment down to Lowe's, a distance of 20 miles, with the door pushed-to with no latch, a red shop towel stuffed in the hole that should have held a doorknob, and snow swirling around the porch, the beginnings of 4 inches.

I'm really kind of glad I didn't marry a cobbler or a preacher.