Thank The Gummi Mary He's Not A Criminal

Farmer H would be locked up, key at the bottom of a landfill, if he had criminal tendencies. He's just not a good liar. And he's always setting himself up to be caught. Like a couple days ago, when I noticed my Crocs out of place. The stalling game, rather than a quick denial of wearing them, while under interrogation, resulted in his conviction, though the judge and jury saved him from the executioner.

Tuesday, Farmer H returned to the Mansion for lunch, to heat up some hot dogs he'd grilled on Gassy G Jr, under the Christmas lights, the night before. He was moving things around in the kitchen, hollering to me in the living room, that he was going to bring some of the Ponytail Guy's milk over from the BARn. 

"This milk in here is bad," he said, peering at the date, then setting it back on the shelf.

"Wait a minute! Are you going to LEAVE it there? You just said it was bad! WHO does that? You picked it up, read the date, and PUT IT BACK! Do you think it's MY job to go in there and throw it out?"

Farmer H sighed, making sure I could hear it in the living room. He opened up FRIG II again, took out the milk, and left through the laundry room. He can't simply pour bad milk off the back porch. He has to soggy-up the dogs' dry food with it. I hope the squirrels like dog food cereal!

Seriously. That milk was in there for making some flavored noodle packets. We had not used it, because of so much Ponytail Guy freebies. The only usage had been Farmer H, having a glass with his cherry pie in the days after Thanksgiving. There was about half a half-gallon of milk left. Past the date. I don't think about milk, because I don't drink it. I wasn't cooking with it. So I figured if it was past the date, then Farmer H, the guy who'd been drinking it on a nightly basis, would have discarded it.

Which he DID. One way, or another...

The Time Has Come, The Hair-Muss Said...

To talk of many things

Of dye and bangs and tendril-fly

Of Farrah Fawcett wings

Lovely lady-mullet length

And neck-nape collar clings

 

Yep. I had to do it. Had to succumb to my second haircut since Stay-At-Home-Down. You know how I hate a haircut. But even more, I hate spitting strands of stringy hair out of my mouth when I can't touch my face until a good handwashing.

 

I colored it at home, thanks to L'Oreal and The Pony. He picked up hair color for me, from my list a while back, since he's bearing the Devil's Playground load. Unfortunately, I did not realize that I'd forgotten to list ASH in the name of the hue. Medium ASH Brown. So now I look like somebody dunked my head in melted dark chocolate. Mmm... dark chocolate.

 

That's not too bad. It will fade. But it won't shrink. So I checked in on my Terrible Cuts app while sitting in front of the School-Turn Casey's, and saw that only one person was ahead of me, and there was a 6-minute wait. By the time I got to their parking lot, my wait was 0 minutes. I grabbed my St. Louis Blues mask, and hoofed it inside. They won't let anyone in without a mask, you know. Though I'd like to see two hairdressers trying to strong-arm a strong man out of there.

 

No such excitement was to be had. A lady sat in the waiting chairs. I saw her name below mine on the list. Sucks to be beaten out by a tap of the finger, huh? The gal took me right back.

 

Here's the thing. My Terrible Cutter was the sister of one of The Pony's high school cronies. I've had her before. As I said this morning, coming out of the bathroom after a shower and subsequent haircombing,

 

"Every time she cuts my hair, I marvel at how she can do a worse job each time!"

 

Seriously. I wish I'd had my Janice Dickinson (the world's first self-proclaimed supermodel) lookalike cut my hair. But no. She was cutting the hair of some bald old man. She's really good, Faux Janice. Or else she's good at pretending she's cutting hair on a bald man. Probably good tips in that. 

Anyhoo... Terrible Cutter LOOKED like she was doing a good job. She took 2-3 inches off the back. She cut the bangs even with my eyebrows. She put in layers. She made small talk about people we know. Then she released me. I gave her a tip. Then I headed home.

WHERE I WAS SHOCKED TO SEE THE LEFT SIDE LONGER THAN THE RIGHT!

And... the front part, by my face, was too long. It seemed longer than the back. My first clue should have been when I walked outside the shop, and the wind immediately blew tendrils into my mouth. That was what I'd just gotten it cut for!!!

Really. Faux Janice gives me the best haircuts. Not quite terrible. Then again, she's an old lady just like me. Maybe Terrible Cutter was trying to be all artsy about it, with her young whippersnapper ways. I may hack at it myself in a day or two. 

 

After my casino trip.

The Truth Hurts Like A Bite In The Ample Rumpus

The Pony is not a laughing hyena. He has a droll sense of humor. Mostly, he keeps it to himself. Every now an then, he lets it loose.

I came out of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday with my magical elixir. The Pony had stayed in T-Hoe, munching on his Domino's pizza. He's a car-eater. Not one to wait until he gets home to strap on the old feedbag.

A new song started on the radio. I knew that opening. I'd be great on Name That Tune, if all the songs were from the 70s. Twang, twang, twangtwangtwang twa-aaa-ang!

"Ooh! I need to write that one down. I listen to it when I scratch my tickets."

"I've heard that one somewhere."

"I hear it all the time."

"You mean, like lately?"

"Yeah. But it's from the 70s. Rod Stewart. Maggie May. I've heard it every day for three or four days."

"Well. Then it's not really good luck, is it? Considering that you haven't been winning..."

I don't recall asking The Pony for his analysis.

And Now, The EpiLOGue

I'm just LOGging back in to tie up some loose ends. To show another view of yesterday's giant creek-log that only a few days before had been a tree.

This is from the other direction, as I headed to town on Sunday. You can see the claw marks from the heavy equipment that lifted the log over the bridge. At least I HOPE that's what made the claw marks! You can see the future journey of our twisted friend. It will take a lot of water. I imagine this log will spin around and get caught several times on the bank, taking more than one flood to make it down to the river. When the weather warms up, it will provide shelter for the little fish and crawdads between floods.

In other closures... The Pony held steady with his ear infection for two days. Since the initial feel-better after one dose of his ear drops, he plateaued for two days. But by golly, right at the 48-hour mark he perked up, and said his ear felt a LOT better. The magic two-day window of antibiotics! In fact, he changed his morning mind about not feeling well enough to ride along and pick up pizza for our lupper (lunch/supper).

A-Cad has been paid off! I mailed the final payment last week. Now I'm sure A-Cad will start falling apart and require repairs. That's usually how it goes.

Farmer H's innards seem to have returned to normal after his gallbladder surgery on Nov 19. He is having a test for his shoulder pain on Tuesday morning. That throws off our casino schedule. But we can still go, because his Cancer Girlfriend doesn't have an appointment this week.

My Christmas shopping has just begun, and I anticipate many a skirmish, or even a small war with FedEx.

More news as it develops.

When The Dead, Dead Log 'Un Goes Bob Bob Bobbin' Along

We had some rain last week. A lot at once. That wreaks havoc with our creek and bridges. Farmer H called to warn me a couple days ago that the county road crew was at the main low water bridge, working on a fallen tree. I had seen it on my way to town the day before, a giant tree, lying in the creek. It would have been floating, but the creek was back to normal level, and not deep enough.

 

Sometimes a log will get stuck on the bridge, when the next rain comes, and it starts to wash across. Then one of the local residents will use his tractor to shove it off. No good waiting on the county road crew to fit it into their schedule.

 

Anyhoo... I had successfully avoided these workmen for a few days. I figured surely they would be done. Farmer H said they had a some kind of heavy equipment parked there, and some dump trucks. I knew it would be difficult, if not impossible, to squeeze by them.

 

Friday, I figured surely that dead tree would be gone by now. I took my regular route, and saw a bunch of men in glowy green t-shirts and hardhats walking around on the bridge. The Pony and I were able to squeeze through. Only regular pickup trucks from the county were parked there.

 

"I guess they're waiting on some heavy equipment to come and get rid of THAT tree."

 

Because now there was a huge tree on the OTHER side of the bride, lying in the water. I assumed its roots must not have been able to hold onto the wet soil of the bank. We returned home by our alternate route, to avoid what I thought would be some tree-hoisting and chainsawing and woodchipping.

 

Saturday, I was surprised to see that big tree still there, and no sign of workmen. I asked Farmer H why they wouldn't have cut up THAT tree, too.

 

"It's the same tree, HM. They moved it across the bridge."

 

"With all that equipment? WHY wouldn't they just get rid of it?"

 

"I don't know. I guess they figure it will wash on down to the river with the next flood."

 

The river is at least a half mile downstream. But don't you worry about this tree.

 

 

The water rises up over those 5-foot markers, and goes down to that last pole you can see on the road, and up to the level of T-Hoe's hood. That tree will get washed on down. No more bridges or roads on the way to the river.

 

I stopped to take this picture, but a car came up behind me, and I had to move along. It doesn't do justice to the size of that tree.

 

 

Nor does this zoomed-in version. But I wouldn't want to be in the way when that thing goes bobbing down the creek in the muddy whitewater.

Not A Screecher Uncaring, The Treasonous Louse

Oh, the places I go! The same places, really. Every day and every week. But each has a story to tell. The most prolific place is the Gas Station Chicken Store. Friday, I caught the Man Owner there behind the counter, training a young man on his second day of cashiering.

While Young Man was ringing up my winning scratchers, and fetching my new selections, Man Owner started to chat with me.

"This lady here is one of the winningest people we have."

"I do okay. Enough to keep playing every day."

"I bet you miss that Casey's over in the wedge."

"Oh, you mean the School-Turn Casey's. Yes. I had a $1000 winner from there, on a $5 ticket."

"I used to buy my gas there all the time." [DON'T LET WOMAN OWNER KNOW!]

"Me too! One day I parked around the side, by their propane tank locker, and something caught my eye as I got out. It was a little MOUSE! Sitting there looking at me! I thought, 'I'm glad I don't buy my pizza here lately.'"

"Oh! We had a mouse back here in the kitchen one time. It was years ago. I can't remember the name of our cashier, but she'd been here a long time. I can picture her face. I told her I was going to trap the mouse. I asked her if it would bother her to hear a mouse screaming. She said, 'Nah! Nothing bothers me!' So I set out my sticky trap.

A little bit later, she called me up from the back. 'I think you caught your mouse.' I went in there, and sure enough, I got 'im. I didn't want to waste my new sticky trap, so I pulled him off the paper. His legs stayed stuck on there! That woman SCREECHED! I mean, she REALLY screeched! She lied to me! Something DID bother her!"

I don't know what the new Young Man cashier thought about this.

Kind Of Like A Village Missing Its Idiot

It looks like we'll be having a Geniusless Christmas this year. So sad, to look forward to seeing Genius for the holiday, and then NOT.

He said he hasn't decided for sure. So I guess I'll send his gifts directly to him, rather than have them sent here for the mailbox thief to nab. At least he isn't alone. He has his roommate Friend with him. 

 

Last year, they planned a ski trip a couple days after Christmas. They flew here, and then home from their ski chalet, heh, heh, or whatever you call it. So I knew to mail gifts to Pittsburgh ahead of time, since they couldn't get them here and take them on two flights. Except I'd get a text from Genius, saying he didn't remember ordering from such-and-such company, and did I send something.

I have that problem solved! I will have gifts sent there, addressed to either Genius or Friend, depending on who it's for, and I will include a MIDDLE INITIAL OF C, for CHRISTMAS! So they'll know to put it under the tree and not open it until Christmas.

I'm kind of a genius like that.

In response, Genius said that would be fine. And also, "You don't have to send us anything." And he included a HEART emoji!!!

"I will dip into my meager retirement funds to provide trinkets for the rich."

"Lol. Again, that's why you don't have to."

"I'll do as I please!"

Sometimes, you gotta put those young whippersnapper future-millionaires in their place.